"Grand Duke, Your Highness! I was absent from such an important occasion! Please, put me to death!"
"Ha ha ha! No, no. You're here now, and that's what matters. It couldn't be helped."
"Punish me for failing to conclude my business more swiftly!"
"It's fine. It's fine."
At last, Zamuchin had returned.
He had been away conducting an inspection of territories lying even further north than Winter Castle.
He hadn't been able to see everything, of course, but he had managed to bring back a considerable amount of information.
There were two reasons nomads came south: war, or a life that had simply become unlivable.
In truth, the North was home to many different peoples — it was not as though those who had migrated from the South were the only ones flooding in.
If anything, there were far more people of nomadic origin, and certain tribes had even established permanent dwellings within the North's borders.
We had taken to calling such people "semi-nomads."
"I'd heard the semi-nomads were growing in number, but apparently there are quite a few more than expected — in the far north, of all places."
"Indeed, Your Highness. Among the semi-nomads themselves, there were already many who appeared almost entirely settled."
The power of the Central Furnace was formidable.
The harsher the winter, the greater the number of nomads who abandoned their traditional way of life entirely.
This winter had not been especially brutal, but it was still grueling enough for the nomads.
When even the horses could barely move, and southward migration was impossible —
in an environment where starvation was the only alternative, the sole recourse was to negotiate with us and take shelter within our borders.
"That arrangement suits us well enough. The more semi-nomads there are, the easier they are to manage from our end."
"Just so, Your Highness."
In principle, however, there were numerous conditions to be met before nomads could migrate south, given that we were technically at war with them.
While Zamuchin had been traveling through the northern nomadic territories, a man living a semi-nomadic life had come to him with a proposal.
Even combining all the tribes that still clung to the nomadic way of life, it was difficult to field a single cohesive fighting force — and as winter approached, they had no choice but to go hungry.
On top of that, attacking the South was no easy matter, not with the fortresses built around the Central Furnace standing in the way.
And since we could not simply stand by while the nomadic tribes ran rampant, there were periodic preemptive campaigns to contend with as well.
"Chakatai Khan, was it? The leader of the semi-nomads."
"Yes, Your Highness. I met with him during my visit, and I found the idea sound enough that I felt it warranted a report to Your Highness."
"Hmm. He wants permission to form a new unit within the North's army."
"Precisely, Your Highness. If there were a unit composed entirely of nomads, we could benefit greatly — both from their mobility and from the effect of using one force to check another."
In short: establish a foreign legion. That was the gist of it — and it was not a bad proposal.
The idea of using nomadic strength to hold nomadic strength in check was admittedly a little hard to trust.
But if it could soothe the complex ethnic anxieties at play, it didn't seem like a poor choice.
And it could organically increase the North's military strength as well.
Nomads had been riding horses since early childhood; the training was ingrained in their bodies like instinct.
Moreover, if this structure were built around the semi-nomads as its core, there was a reasonably high chance that, given enough time, they would come to live like settled people.
In that case —
"Let's proceed with it. We'll draw primarily from the semi-nomads. How many do you think we can recruit?"
"Your Highness, given the current situation, I believe organizing a unit of at least a thousand men would be no great difficulty."
"That many?"
"For us, winter has passed because Your Highness is here — but the North's winter is something no one can endure easily."
"The actual organization will be discussed with the military command. The proposal itself is excellent, so let's move on it quickly."
An army composed primarily of nomads. The southerners would be beside themselves if they ever found out.
After Zamuchin departed, I summoned Lord Riward and several of the military's generals. The matter of establishing the foreign legion.
Naturally, the veterans who had spent years fighting the nomadic tribes found the prospect of a nomadic army rather unsettling.
If they were to betray us, or build their own power base — that, too, would be a serious problem.
"Your Highness. Rather than that, grant me, James de Wintergard, a few soldiers! I shall bring every last nomadic tribe to its knees and pacify—"
"We've already nearly done that. Besides, it's winter — how exactly do you plan to lead troops out there? You're not intending to freeze unprepared soldiers to death, I hope?"
"W-well, that is..."
"We've subdued them. Now we need to learn how to coexist with them. Don't you agree?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
The generals gathered in the Hall of Winter wore expressions of open reluctance.
Command would be difficult enough, and it was obvious that training alongside one another would breed friction.
The likelihood of them failing to show loyalty to the North was also considerable.
"In that case, Your Highness — what if we send them south?"
"South?"
"Yes, Your Highness. As I understand it, we are currently dispatching forces to the South. The idea would be to send the nomadic unit there for training."
"Hmm. That's quite a sensible approach. In that case, the commanding officer would be..."
"If I may be so bold, I, Darmian, would like to take that command."
"You?"
Darmian. A young general, but one whose military achievements had been comparatively modest next to Leo de Wintergard.
In truth, Darmian's strengths lay less in commanding battles and more in training troops and maintaining supply lines. He could be trusted with this.
And he was a self-made general who had risen through the North's army one step at a time.
"You'll take command. You can handle the South as well?"
"Your Highness, place your trust in me."
"Very well. Once the unit is organized, Darmian will lead the southern deployment. See to it that Leo is recalled."
"I shall fulfill the Grand Duke's will without fail!"
The generals departed, and the formation of the nomadic unit proceeded swiftly. Zamuchin had estimated around a thousand recruits —
but far more semi-nomads and nomads came forward than anticipated.
Some tribes sent every able-bodied male they had.
Word had apparently been spreading among the nomadic peoples: even if warm spring followed the end of winter, if winter itself was already this brutal, there was no way they could survive the lean spring famine season with nothing to eat.
Time moved quickly.
I had sent word to House Barth that I would come in person, and received a reply that Leo would accompany us as well.
The nomadic unit was also being formed at a rapid pace.
The location chosen for the assembly of marquis-ranked nobles and above was transparent in its intent.
A royal villa situated between the de Bosch estate and the territories of other noble houses.
My people from the North and I set out first for the Barth estate.
"Obvious as anything. You all see it too, don't you?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
The hundred and fifty cavalry Leo was leading began to follow slowly behind us. It was, admittedly, a slight breach of protocol.
Daniela and I, along with Leo and Marquis Roland, traveled together in a single carriage.
One could fairly call it an excessive party to bring to a delegation — or a noble assembly.
But it felt like exactly the right number.
"Daniela, are you truly all right?"
"Father. I really am, truly, perfectly fine."
Well, all the right commanders and the right people for the purpose were here, so it hardly mattered.
The de Bosch estate was not far from the Barth estate. If anything, they were so close that it seemed to be the source of the problem.
Between the de Bosch and Barth territories, there had originally been a domain governed by a count's house —
which had recently been stripped of its title.
The reason for the stripping was singular: the charge of rebellion against the Crown Prince.
"What was the name again — House Marni, was it? A regrettable affair."
"It was a p-preposterous charge, but... it was most likely the Crown Prince who pushed it through."
"Most likely. Did de Bosch absorb everything?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness."
House de Bosch's scheme was plain. They were almost certainly after the Barth gold mines.
It was now clear that they had nothing left to hold them back.
House Barth had abandoned the Imperial family and chosen to side with the North.
What House de Bosch had failed to account for, however, was just how much force the North could project into the South.
"So then, Marquis Roland — what plan have you devised?"
"Ah — ahem. Y-Your Highness?"
"Hmm? You have no plan at all?"
"N-no, it's not that, it's just—"
The reaction was peculiar. Marquis Roland kept clearing his throat.
Beside him, Daniela wore a faint smile, her hand clasped tightly around her father's.
"Daniela is my daughter, and Your Highness is, well, as good as my son-in-law."
"Oh! Was that it? You should have just said so."
"My rank is lower, of course. But still, this is — well."
"Understood. Father-in-law. Please, go ahead. Do you have a plan?"
Daniela burst into laughter — ha ha ha.
Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself laughing along — ha ha. The carriage filled with the sound of it.
Leo attempted an awkward smile as well, but quickly erased it and resumed his air of stern dignity.
Learn to read the room.
"I have no plan as such, but I do have objectives."
"Objectives?"
"Yes. One or two of them."
"The more the better. Difficult as they may be."
Marquis Roland's objectives were simple, but carried no small degree of difficulty.
"The first is to create a buffer zone so that we no longer share a border with House de Bosch."
"That seems like it will be quite the challenge. And the second?"
"Revenge!"
He made his intentions clear: he wanted to grind the faces of House de Bosch and the Imperial family into the dirt.
Well.
So did I.