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For troops, a nomadic raid was nothing short of a disaster. Overwhelming mobility, an elevated vantage point from horseback, and a range incomparable to ordinary archers. Unless they were cavalry themselves—no, even if they were, fighting against nomads was a battle against the devil himself.

The empire, unable to fully restore its cavalry forces, mobilized special forces like knights and mages as a countermeasure against nomads. Sadly, we couldn’t deploy those special forces in every battle. Even superhumans had limited numbers and stamina, so we had to conserve their strength and deploy them only at crucial moments.

Tactically, it was the right thing to do. However, it also meant that ordinary soldiers must fight without their strongest countermeasure against the nomads in battles deemed less critical. The despair this caused was unimaginable.

And so, another battle unfolded today. As always, the aftermath was the same—bodies lying on the ground, heads missing. Some limbs weren’t even intact, probably trampled by horses.

“Wilhelm.”

I heard George’s voice while surveying the front line after the nomads withdrew and turned around.

“You fought directly again, didn’t you?”

I nodded at his accusatory words. There was nothing to hide nor any reason to.

“Is it strange for a commander to fight alongside his men?”

“It might be okay for a regular commander, but it’s problematic for a marshal.”

A reasonable statement, but not something I should hear from him. Didn’t he fight on the front lines while carrying the title of marshal in the last war? And now he wanted to act like he was some model of common sense. What an abomination.

“Zenobia said I might as well die in the North if I was going to fight on the front lines again. So what choice do I have? A man without a title has no choice but to obey.”

Noticing my gaze, George cleared his throat and made excuses.

Indeed. Zenobia desperately tried to stop George from joining the military. The compromise they barely reached was that he could join but not fight directly like last time. This happened because he not only passed on his title to Zenobia but also completely handed over his authority.

“You should get used to being ordered around since you handed over your responsibilities to your daughter.”

He had no rebuttal for that.

While it was His Majesty’s will that allowed him to retire successfully, he had still dumped his title and all its burdens onto his daughter at the end of the day. A man must take responsibility for his own actions.

“Anyway, as the Patriarch of your family, take care of yourself. Your wife must be worried enough with both the family’s father and son in the military. How heartbroken would she be if she heard you were injured?”

I frowned at his attempt to subtly change the subject, but his words weren’t wrong. After all, there was an arrow stuck in my shoulder right now.

“Isn’t injury a daily occurrence for warriors?”

“Ha, I’d acknowledge that if you could say that in front of your wife.”

I pulled out the arrow stuck in my shoulder as George chuckled, and blood gushed out.

The sudden loss of sensation in my arm suggested I had nicked a nerve, but such a thing was hardly worth worrying about. This level of injury could be quickly healed with magic or divine power. If severed limbs could be reattached, then a damaged nerve was nothing.

Yes, it was nothing. Compared to the soldiers who died clawing for their last breath against the nomads, this injury was utterly insignificant. It was a small price to pay for my survival.

If only we had proper fortifications.

I couldn’t help but sigh. The empire was steadily marching and expanding the front lines.

But the nomads didn’t have castles or strongholds. Whenever we took new territory, our best defensive structures were hastily assembled barricades—stakes in the ground, piles of stones, and sacks of dirt; and we expected our soldiers to fend off nomadic raids with that. It was no wonder so many of them died.

That was why I insisted on fighting on the front lines myself. I might have the rank of a Marshal, but there were other noble officers perfectly capable of leading the army. If they could handle command, then I could focus on saving as many men as possible with my own strength.

If there were nobles who could save soldiers through command, then there must also be nobles who could save them through force.

“I’ll never get used to the front lines no matter how many times I see it.”

George, who had turned his gaze to the fallen soldiers, muttered softly.

“When you’re at headquarters, war is just a series of reports. The nomads attacked. The front is holding. The enemy is pressing forward. We launched a counterattack and succeeded. It all sounds so simple.”

George approached a soldier who hadn’t closed his eyes yet and closed them himself.

“It’s enough to drive a man insane. Over there, losing dozens—or even hundreds—of soldiers is considered a minimal loss. If we manage to repel the enemy with just that, they call it a success.”

It was an emotional statement, but I understood the sentiment. Even if there were casualties in battle, from the perspective of the headquarters overseeing the entire war, it was just a small clash and an acceptable casualty rate. That was why the headquarters remained eerily calm regardless of the intensity on the front lines.

I still remember how jarring that realization had been when I first experienced it. No—if I was being honest, I still felt that way. I’d just learned how to suppress it.

“That doesn’t mean you should come to the front lines like this. What if your daughter finds out?”

“So what? Is it strange for a warrior to be on the battlefield?”

I chuckled as George threw my own words back at me.

I didn’t bother arguing further. Expecting a reckless man like him to sit quietly in the headquarters was like asking a predator to go vegetarian.

Besides, he technically wasn’t breaking his promise to Zenobia since the battle was already over. I could turn a blind eye to it.

“Oh, right. I actually came to tell you something, but we got sidetracked.”

George, who was about to turn away, spoke as if he had just remembered.

“The Barandiga tribe has appeared on the front lines this time. I heard the Inspector is coming for negotiations with that tribe.”

“...I see.”

I barely managed to nod at the news that Carl, as the military inspector, was coming to the front lines.

It thankfully wasn’t for battle, but negotiation or not, the front lines were still dangerous. If possible, I’d rather he stayed far away from even slightly dangerous places.

“I understand you’re worried as a father, but you’re worrying too much. Honestly, we couldn’t beat that kid even if you and I attacked at the same time.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“You did. Would I?”

I turned my head away without answering.

I should tell Zenobia just how many times this guy had been sneaking around the battlefield once I returned to the capital.

***A report came in that the Barandiga tribe had shown up on the Sarei front.

Why did it have to be Sarei of all places?

The name caught me off guard. The tribe Tala led was the Sarei tribe.

During the last war, it was an area we couldn’t occupy for a long time because it was the territory of a tribe personally led by one of the Eight War Machines, making it one of the hardest territories to conquer. It had taken ages before the Empire finally broke through. But now, it was a front line controlled by the empire. It felt strange.

“The Sarei front was where the nomads’ offensive was most intense, but I hear the nomads’ momentum has been broken by continuous battles. There are now more tribes observing than fighting, so it should be fine for the Inspector to go directly.”

I nodded at the Invincible Duke’s words. Negotiating on a front line where battles could break out at any time was tricky, but it was at least manageable if the offensive had entered a lull, especially when there were more defectors waiting for an opportunity to flee than actual combatants.

“Other neutral tribes will lean towards the empire if the Barandiga tribe surrenders. The Inspector’s role is very important.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As I bowed and answered, the Invincible Duke patted my shoulder and continued.

“However, many tribes have already shown signs of surrender. There’s no need to force anything. Make your safe return the top priority.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

Unlike with the Kaitana tribe, this negotiation would take place right on the front lines, so the Invincible Duke seemed concerned. Bluntly put, things could go south very quickly if nearby tribes decided to storm the negotiation site.

Of course, the tribes on the front lines were potential defectors or neutral forces, so that probably wouldn’t happen.

***Once again, I headed towards the Barandiga tribe’s camp with the Masked Unit as an escort. I thought about greeting the Patriarch since he was also on the Sarei front, but I was on official business now. Greetings could wait until after the negotiations.

And it seemed better to say ‘I’ve done it’ rather than ‘I’m going into the heart of enemy territory to negotiate.’ At least I wouldn’t worry him that way.

Negotiations, huh.

That aside, it was troubling. I didn’t have an idea how to approach negotiations with the Barandiga tribe.

To be honest, calling the Kaitana negotiations a ‘negotiation’ was almost insulting to the word itself. They were already halfway through the gates of surrender before we even arrived. The moment we dangled the title of Count in front of them, they switched to full collaborator mode, eagerly offering up every scrap of intelligence they had. Calling that a negotiation would be unconscionable.

On the other hand, the Barandiga tribe hadn’t shown any will to surrender or hinted at what they wanted. They just showed the ambiguity of maintaining neutrality instead of being pro-war while also being a priest tribe whose faith was trampled, and the strangeness of its chief not properly performing the role of a priest despite inheriting the position.

...Officially, he is still a priest.

Maybe the entire assumption that Barandiga was the spiritual center of the north was just wrong. To be sure, I gathered as much information on them as possible from different sources.

Fortunately, it was confirmed that the Barandiga tribe’s chief did inherit the priesthood three years ago. Even other tribes acknowledged this as common knowledge.

But he’s not performing that role.

Of course, he must be acting like a priest on the surface. He was just doing the bare minimum, which was why other tribes still called the Barandiga’s tribal chief a priest.

But the Eternal Blue Sky said that the priest wasn’t performing his role properly. It must be true if the god receiving said faith said so.

He has the name but not the substance...

I unconsciously looked at the sword at my waist.

As a bonus, I touched the part where Kagan had cut me.

Hmmmm.

Are you there?