Chapter 27：Well Earned Respite

"Whew"

Shawn took his seat at the army encampment before taking his rifleman cap off his head and proceeding to fan himself with it. Although he didn't know what a 'rifle' and especially what a 'rifleman' was, there were a lot of posh noble words that Shawn didn't know the meanings of. 'Rifle' would just be another one of them.

"Care for a drink?"

"Of course."

Shawn accepted Ross' canteen the moment the latter offered it.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would have been."

Ross started another conversation while Shawn was drinking. It seemed to be his signature tactic to start a conversation once the other person was drinking his alcohol. Not that Shawn cared. If the price to pay for alcohol was nothing more than small talk, Shawn was more than ready to oblige.

"Well how bad did you think it would have been?"

Ross chuckled before replying.

"We could have died."

Shawn scoffed when he heard Ross' reply.

"This is war. What do you expect?"

"It's just that..."

Ross paused for a moment to sigh before he continued.

"It's just that it felt too easy."

Shawn raised his eyebrows when he heard what Ross had to say. It was probably because deep down inside, Shawn felt the same way as well.

Nevertheless, Ross continued speaking.

"I don't even feel like I killed anyone... I just stood there and fired my musket... over and over again. Although I know that it probably isn't true, my hands still feel so... so clean."

Shawn stayed silence for a moment before patting Ross on the back and replying.

"The way I see it. We are lucky that this 'feeling' is all that we experience in our time in the army. Just don't think too much about it."

Ross chuckled before responding.

"You mean like what Briggers and the rest of them officers like to say? What was it again?.."

Shawn answered Ross the moment he began to trail off.

"I believe it was something like 'ignorance is bliss.'"

Once Ross was reminded of the quote, he smiled before responding.

"Yeah... ignorance is bliss."

...

Erika sighed with relief as she fell belly up on her bed inside her private tent. As a high ranking officer, Erika along with the brigadiers of the army were all granted with their own private tent.

Like most of the army, Erika returned to their encampment once the retreating Paniards were no longer in sight.

Except for the 1st Battalion who were currently counting the dead at the battlefield, the entire Violet Army returned to the encampment for a much needed rest.

Now that the battle officially ended, Erika found that she held mixed feelings about it.

Everything that Maxwell has worked towards has finally payed off.

Thanks to their intense drilling, the soldiers overwhelmed any resistance with their superior firing rate while also strengthening their will to stand firm against the imposing cavalry charge.

If even one man were to break under the cavalry charge, the entire infantry square would have crumbled.

Although Erika did witness the Dunnwal soldiers flinch under the pressure, they were still able to hold their ground. In fact, it was thanks to the successive triumphs against the early charges that the Drussian's resolve was strengthened.

If Erika had to make a comparison, she would compare it to a rolling snowball that only got stronger the more it rolled forward.

Once the Drussian soldiers saw their victories their against the Panish cavalry charges, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that their morale increased tenfold.

That was just one piece of the magnificent artwork that was the Violet Army.

However... Erika also felt a bit... underwhelmed.

It felt as if the battle concluded too quickly.

As if the battle concluded too cleanly.

As if the battle concluded too easily.

Erika herself didn't even need to fire a single shot or swing a single sword-slice to attain victory.

Although this may be seen as a bad thing by the so-called glory-bound 'knights,' Erika along with the rest of the officers understand that adhering to 'honour' in this new form of battle is nothing short of suicide.

Nevertheless, Erika was still looking forward to the battles to come. This first battle was but a taste of her future ahead. Erika found herself licking her lips as she reimagined the Violet Army in action.

They haven't even displayed their entire hand yet.

The cannons and their crews were still being refined and trained in Maximinus respectively while Erika wasn't even given the chance to put 'them' into action yet. Erika couldn't even imagine the joy she would feel once Maxwell finally gave her the order to lead 'them' into action.

There was just so many things to look forward to.

But what she was looking forward to most was when Maxwell can show his true capabilities as a commander.

Both of them knew that Maxwell's and even Erika's command wasn't necessary for the educated colonels and brigadiers to handle the paltry task of fighting Sebastian Nemeny's army.

But that raises the question.

What if there was a foe capable of facing Erika on the battlefield?

What if... there was a foe capable of facing Maxwell on the battlefield?

Erika can't even imagine what sort of incredible battle would emerge if two Maxwells were to fight on the battlefield.

Surely it must be something absolutely spectacular.

Sometimes, Erika liked to imagine what it would have been like if she was the commander of an army who opposed Maxwell.

Just what sort of epic battle would occur from there?

Or would she stand no chance in the first place?

Either way, Erika knew that it would be spec-

"Ohhhh... Ohhhh no...."

Erika buried her face into her pillow as she realised that a certain 'situation' has occurred.

When she took her face out of the pillow, Erika sighed before mumbling to herself.

"Hopefully I brought a spare."

...

Frederick Hans stared at a rank insignia that he held within his hands.

The rank insignia belonged to him.

Due to his rank as a brigadier, his insignia was composed of three overlapping silver triangles, all three of which had silver yet still defined outlines.

Although it was nothing more than a tool to show his rank within the army, to Frederick it also meant something else.

Too him, it was symbolic of the new form of warfare.

The new form of warfare that Frederick held mixed fillings on.

Frederick always considered himself a traditionalist.

It was just part of his nature as a member of the noble Hans family.

When he was young, Frederick always looked up to the heroic knights of fairy tales. To him they were legendary figures and represented the pinnacle of glory.

In his heart, Frederick always dreamt of leading a cavalry charge of knights into glorious battle.

But Frederick was also a realist.

He knew that if he were to follow his dream, especially in this new era of warfare, he would be following his dream into his death.

He acknowledged the necessity and usability of Maxwell's new form of warfare... but he also fundamentally can't accept it.

"Brigadier Hans Sir! Lord Maxwell Dunnwal is requesting all the brigadiers to meet him in the command tent!"

Frederick nodded silently at the soldier who just gave him the message.

"Inform Maxwell that I will arrive shortly."

"Understood!"

After the soldier saluted and left Frederick's sight, Frederick clutched the rank insignia in his hands.

He didn't know why he did it, he just did.

He did it for himself. For no particular reason at all.

After a short while Frederick drank to wipe away his bitterness.

After forcing the alcohol down his throat, Frederick sighed to himself as he re-attached the rank insignia to his brigadier coat.

If he was part of any other army, he would be putting on a suit of armour instead.

Whether it was steel, leather or anything else in-between, Frederick would not mind.

To him it was better than this uniform.

However, he did not dare to forget Maxwell's teachings.

Thanks to the creation of armour piercing rounds, armour was now inherently obsolete. This was especially true against an army that used nothing but muskets as their primary weapon.

And the battle on the Vlate plains just proved that.

The unarmoured Drussians had an easier time manoeuvring than their Panish counterparts who all wore cumbersome steel breastplates. In the end, the panish armour didn't even become a deciding factor in the battle.

If anything it was nothing more than a waste of good steel.

This was just another fact that Frederick has to get used to.

Frederick sighed once again as he made his way to the command tent.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for this after all."

...

Darkness.

Absolute darkness.

That was all that Sebastian could see.

Nothing more than absolute darkness.

[Am I dead?] As Sebastian tried to rationalise the darkness, he soon concluded that, that was not the case.

[I'm... breathing? But this weird feeling around my mouth... Am I gagged?] Sebastian felt cold drops of sweat form on his forehead as he realised his situation. He noted how he could not move his feet or his hands.

There was only one possible explanation for this.

He was bound. Bound to a chair.

Just as he was beginning to wonder how long he would have to stay like this-

"Oh you're finally awake?"

Sebastian felt the blindfolds and gags ripped of his face before his sight gradually returned.

The absolute darkness was instead replaced with slight darkness.

Sebastian was still in a cold, dark tent with only a few candles to illuminate the surroundings.

As Sebastian glanced around him, he caught sight of his captor.

"What do you think you're doing?! Don't you know who I am! I am Lord Sebastian Rieese Nemeny of Espain! I demand better treatment!"

Sebastian immediately unleashed his rage at his captor. Although he knew that they were enemies, he was still a noble and a noble's blood still needed to be tended to. Sebastian's treatment is in complete violation to this tradition.

However, Sebastian's only response was a cold dark laughter.

"Oh I know who you are."

The figure moved into the candlelight to reveal her face. With a smile, the silver-haired girl took the candle and used it give light to a previously invisible table. As the table was illuminated, Sebastian saw a large assortment of different knives and needles neatly arranged across the table.

Each and every one of them was as sharp as the girl's violet eyes.

Soon after, the girl responded with a condescending, malicious voice.

"But do you really think that I care?"