Chapter 46: Field Marshal

Bearing enemies on both the eastern and western fronts, the Kingdom of Runoa had, from the very moment war began, been thrust into the nightmare of a two-front conflict. The war plan it devised was born of cold calculation: exploit the delayed mobilization of the Rosha Empire—a delay caused by its lag in modernization—concentrate overwhelming force, and crush the Kingdom of Friez in a swift, decisive blow.

If successful, this plan would free Runoa from the specter of fighting on two fronts and pave the way to victory.

—or so it had been believed.

In reality, the plan collapsed almost as soon as it was set into motion.

The Kingdom of Runoa failed to force the Kingdom of Friez into submission. The attempt to eliminate the two-front dilemma ended in failure. It was no exaggeration to say that the kingdom’s entire defense structure had been built around the successful execution of that plan; its failure was nothing short of a waking nightmare. And in the end, the burden of that nightmare could fall upon only one man—the highest commander of the military, the marshal.

“Your Majesty, I am deeply grateful for your appointment of me as Marshal. I shall devote myself wholly to meeting your expectations.”

“Duke Foil Carland. Your name is well known to me. I have not forgotten the service you have rendered to the kingdom thus far.”

“Your words are far too gracious, Your Majesty.”

It had been one month since the former marshal stepped down, taking responsibility for the failure of the war plan.

The man who succeeded him—ascending to the highest military office—was a great noble whose house stood in equal stature to that of Newsbeck: Foil Carland, the current head of the Carland ducal family, and the younger brother within that lineage.

“Indeed. The kingdom’s army now stands in need of firm command. Your decisions will shape the course of this war.”

“I shall not fail your expectations.”

A month had already passed since Carland’s appointment.

Now, more than three months into the war, the royal capital of the Kingdom of Runoa hosted its first grand war council since the conflict began. Generals of the rank of lieutenant general and above—scattered across various fronts—had been summoned back, their presence filling the chamber with a heavy, almost suffocating gravity.

And in such a setting, Carland once again offered the same words of gratitude for his appointment that he had spoken a month prior.

“You are most reassuring. I thank you for shouldering this grave responsibility at such a critical juncture. I look forward to your achievements.”

“It is the highest honor to receive such words from Your Majesty.”

This exchange between king and marshal had already taken place once before.

To repeat it here served no purpose but politics.

(…What a waste of time.)

Standing among the assembled commanders, Newsbeck concealed her scorn behind an impassive expression, inwardly mocking the display. To her, this was nothing more than a political performance—one that consumed the valuable time of generals who ought to be commanding troops on the front lines.

(Such a tiresome hierarchy. Even that so-called democracy of the New Continent—mocked as uncouth and unrefined—seems far more efficient than this.)

“Though we have succeeded in launching a counteroffensive on the eastern front, the western front remains completely deadlocked. This war will undoubtedly become a prolonged one.”

Beside her, Carland spoke evenly, reviewing the state of the war before the king as though laying out an unavoidable truth.

“…Hmm. A prolonged war, you say. How long do you believe it will last? I had been told it would not extend past winter.”

“At the very least, it will continue for over a year.”

“A year… that is long indeed. Yet, perhaps it is a hardship we must endure.”

“Yes. And before then, we shall surely break the deadlock. For the time being, we are planning a counteroffensive in the west.”

“Oh? A counteroffensive in the west?”

“Yes. We are being forced to fight on two fronts. If we continue this war of attrition, it is we who will be disadvantaged. The tradition of the Runoa army lies in offense and breakthrough. True to that tradition, we intend to pierce through the western front with overwhelming force and inflict such grievous losses upon the Kingdom of Freese that they will no longer be able to endure. As for the operational plan—”

A royal war council was, in essence, a formal reaffirmation. The strategies had already been decided within the military high command; this was merely a stage upon which they were presented once more before the king and the assembled generals.

There was no expectation of debate.

No one was supposed to interrupt.

“Marshal Carland.”

And yet, Newsbeck rose without hesitation, her voice cutting cleanly through the chamber.

“A western offensive would be meaningless. We have only just failed in a full-scale assault there. With forces already drawn away from that front, there is no chance such an operation would succeed.”

“We have reorganized our lines more swiftly than the Kingdom of Friez and completed preparations for a renewed offensive. The opportunity is there.”

“Yet during that same period, the eastern front has achieved a crushing victory against the Rosha Empire. Not only have we completely neutralized their offensive, but we have also occupied the majority of the former Poln Kingdom’s territory, once under their control. Victory has been realized in the east. Judging by results, it is the eastern front—not the western—that stands closer to final triumph.”

“That is merely a short-term perspective. The territory of the Rosha Empire is vast—nothing like the Kingdom of Friez. An early surrender from them is impossible.”

It was a valid point. From the western front, the capital of the Kingdom of Friez lay a mere hundred kilometers away. In contrast, even after significant advances in the east, the distance to the Rosha capital still exceeded five hundred kilometers by a wide margin.

Carland’s rebuttal struck true.

“And yet, it is we—the eastern army—who have achieved results. Not the western army.”

Newsbeck’s response subtly shifted the focus.

Carland had been in command of the western front since the war began.

Thus, Newsbeck’s words—delivered without hesitation—were unmistakably bold.

A provocation.

“…You dare—! Are you insulting me?!”

Carland’s fury erupted instantly, his composure shattering as anger surged to the surface.