I apologize for the very long gap. I got stationed in Korea a year ago and have had a lot on my plate here, but I'm still writing, albeit slowly.

Context note: 'Half-swording' is a longsword technique where the wielder grips the blade itself midway with one hand to allow for more thrust force, similar to stabbing with a spear. I also thought I'd give definitions to all the military terms I've been using.

-Trooper: a cavalryman ('soldier' technically refers to infantry).

-Platoon: a unit of 30-40 soldiers.

-Section: a unit that serves a specialized purpose and is usually smaller than a platoon, though its size can vary.

-Company: a unit of multiple platoons (usually 4).

-Battalion: a unit of multiple companies (usually 4), a battalion is the smallest unit that can operate independently.

-Troop: the cavalry equivalent of a company (can also be platoon sized).

-Squadron: the cavalry equivalent of a battalion.

-Brigade: a formation of multiple battalions or squadrons (usually 3-6).

-Division: a formation of multiple brigades (the Church 'legions' in this fic are actually divisions).

I'm admittedly being anachronistic using these terms as they are all modern NATO terms (but the game uses the terms 'battalion' and 'company' anyway so I think I'm fine lol).

Medieval terms:

-Grandmaster: the commander of a knight order.

-Horde/Orda: a Turkic and Mongol organization that was something between a tribe and an army (in this fic, it refers to nomadic Almyran tribes who ride wyverns instead of horses.)

-Khan: the ruler of a horde.

-Marshal: a knight commander subordinate to the grandmaster.

-Paladin: an old feudal lord title that came to mean 'champion' or trusted commander (only really used in poems in that context).

-Seneschal: a steward of a major house or organization, could also function as the deputy commander of a knight order.

-Shah: the Persian term for king (an Almyran king in this fic).

The in-story 'languages' are also meant to be stand-ins for real languages:

-Adrestian: German

-Faerghian: French

-Leicesterish: English

-Holy Language: Koine Greek

-Brigidine: Irish (though I used a Filipino curse in an earlier chapter)

-Teutanic: Alsatian

-Almyran languages: Arabic, Iranian languages, and Turkic languages

In the Presence of Mine Enemies (Part 1)

That evening, a Western Church priest who introduced himself as Father Grunwald approached the headquarters battalion camp, carrying a white flag. Sir Matthias was debriefing Dimitri, Ashe, and I when soldiers on night watch escorted him in. He came to make one last attempt to convince the marshal knight to take the Cichol Legion and retreat. To suggest it was feeble at this point, but the young priest seemed to genuinely desire an aversion to bloodshed.

"No matter how this ends, we both know too many souls will go to Our Mother without good cause," he said. "We all know this isn't what She wants."

Matthias was silent for a long moment, then replied with a stone-cold stare, "I respect your resolve, Father. Like you, I also come in the spirit of Our Mother's peace. But I'm begging your Lord and your Bishop, with tears in my eyes, if they fuck with me. . . I'll kill them both."

Grunwald just solemnly stared back at Matthias, showing no hint of either malice or anger. Instead, the young priest just let out a tired sigh.

"I won't raise a hand against brothers and sisters of the Church," he rubbed his eyes in exasperation. "But I can't say my Lord or Bishop won't do the same. I'm disgusted with what they've been doing, especially crucifying fellow clergy." He partially turned away. "Do what you will, sir. All I ask is that you don't sink to the same level of wanton cruelty."

"We won't," said Matthias. "We reserve cruelty for the assholes who really deserve it."

Grunwald looked back in the direction he came from, beyond the Legion's encampment and the skirmish line.

"One last thing you should know, the fog is unnatural."

He left without another word.

The Legion's leadership convened a war council not long afterward. Because of their high peerage, Sir Matthias deemed it necessary for Dimitri and Claude to be there, so all the cadets sat in on the council in the headquarters tent. All commanders were present from brigade to company, huddled around a table map to meticulously analyze the terrain. They all agreed that Count Gaspard had made the Hot Gate his center of gravity based on the gathered reconnaissance. They also decided that it would be most advantageous to occupy the chokepoint of the woods and rock forward of the camp. Sir Matthias carefully listened to input and realized what I had discerned earlier; the chokepoint was an ideal killing ground. But where my cautious mind saw a danger, his aggressive spirit saw a deadly opportunity.

"That's where we'll attrit them," he declared as he planted his finger on the neck of woods on the map. "If Gaspard sends any of his force forward, we'll stop them dead cold, right where the woods narrow."

Intelligence from the Legion's reconnaissance troopers and the Central Church's spies indicated that Lonato had nearly 250 knights and 300 squires who could fight as men-at-arms and some 7,000 levies, seemingly all volunteers. That was an astonishing number for a county militia, especially since that was nearly a seventh of Gaspard's male population. That fact alone would reap disastrous consequences for the county. Some spy reports also suggested that the Western Church wanted to send a 2,000-strong brigade to reinforce Gaspard, but no one had detected a large troop movement thus far. Count Gaspard had a reasonably standard feudal army for the time, in stark contrast to the all-professional I Legion. However, this did not mean that the Legion held the advantage over Gaspard, as they still occupied a solid defensive position.

The I "Cichol" Legion numbered approximately 10,000 personnel, not including 120 personnel of the Field Hospital and 370 of the security element. Central Church combat doctrine dictated that a force shouldn't attack a defended position directly unless the attacker held a three-to-one numbers advantage. While Mad Dog was not known to be a stickler for doctrine, even he knew directly attacking the Hot Gate would be costly. Instead, he opted for an aggressive defense. He argued that we would challenge the Teutanic army to attack us by occupying the chokepoint. We may have technically been outside the border of Gaspard County, but we were barely a mile away from the Teutates River. We may as well have been directly in their territory.

"Our very presence here is an affront to them, and we can use it to seize the initiative," said Matthias. "If we provoke them into attacking us at the chokepoint, the militia will take the bait, and we will demolish them."

The militia levies were common folk of Gaspard County, not professional soldiers. Matthias wagered that their volatile combination of high morale and low discipline would cause them to succumb to mob mentality. It was also more than likely that Lonato didn't have the resources to equip so many levies properly. They probably didn't even have much food. His intent was effectively to bleed Lonato's army through an aggressive defense. However, there was one weather factor that concerned the Legion's Bishop, René.

"This fog is unnatural," he said.

"What do you mean?" asked Matthias.

"There shouldn't be this much fog, not for this time of year and not for this specific region. We're not in a valley anymore."

"Surely, it can't just be magic," one of the infantry marshals suggested.

"I doubt it is, but magic is definitely in play here," said Bishop René. "The white magic sections have also reported detecting mana in the air, and the fog only appears to be getting thicker, far faster than natural."

Matthias furrowed his brow. "Son of a bitch, that priest was giving a warning," he said mostly to himself. "How is it even possible to magically generate a fog covering like that?"

"Extremely difficult, but not impossible. It would require a delicate balance of ice and wind magic to create the correct dew-point imbalance, which would take hours of nonstop resonance to generate enough mana. I would say it would take no less than a full battalion of white mages to resonate that much mana and then maintain it. They would have to be constantly rotating companies to keep their entire echelon from succumbing to exhaustion."

"But it can be done."

"Most likely."

Matthias carefully considered that factor, but the mission came first. So he issued the guidance for the white mage sections to maintain fifty-percent nullification at all times, meaning half of them always needed to be chaining Nullify fields together to dampen outside mana; that was the highest capacity the mages could continuously operate at without exhausting themselves too fast.

The council's discussion of our battle plan was much more in-depth than that, of course, but actual scholars have discussed all the nuances of the real battle far better than I can. I confess I barely paid attention to most of the council, which was highly uncommon behavior. Ashe's 'parlay' with Lonato still rang in my head. I further confess that part of my mind was also trying to fully decipher what they had said to each other, as there were several uncertainties where I had to fill in the blanks. I will never know the full depth of their conversation; perhaps it's better that way. But more than that, I became increasingly infuriated by the thought that Lonato deliberately tried to provoke information out of Ashe. Something about that tempered anger inside me, and I couldn't even understand why. By now, I was fully aware that being the professor of the Blue Lions had stirred up emotions in me that I had never dwelled on before, and I couldn't decide if that was good or dangerous.

I felt somewhat relieved when Sir Matthias adjourned the meeting with a final statement of his intentions.

"Knights, make no mistake, even with an aggressive defense, we must be the ones to seize the initiative. Violently," he said. "Lady Rhea has charged us with this pacification mission, and it is our sworn duty to defend the faith. I don't care if Fhirdiad is trying to send whatever troops they can muster. They've got their thumbs stuck up their asses anyhow. This is our fight alone. As we are all sadly aware, there are some assholes in this world that just need to be put to the blade, and Count Gaspard and his allies in the Western Church are just such assholes. So tomorrow we're gonna kill them. Gaspard decided to fuck with the Central Church, so tomorrow, we will turn his world into a living fucking nightmare. Any further alibis?"

No one answered.

"Dismissed."

Everyone in the tent stood, saluted, and roared the Legion's battle cry in unison, "Saint Cichol!"

So battalion and squadron commanders left to prepare their units as the sunset. Matthias was correct about one thing; the next day battle was nothing short of a living nightmare.

"Everyone up!" I roused the sleeping cadets as the drums began beating reveille and the security elements shifted into stand-to in the pre-dawn grey. "Rise and shine and give the Goddess the glory!"

We slept in a dogpile next to the Field Hospital palisade, too tired to lay out our bedrolls. The security and support personnel worked long into the night finishing the Field Hospital's fortifications. We had effectively turned the camp into a small fort with fence walls, palisades on the inside, earthworks on the outside, and two layers of ditches around the whole camp, one of which was still filled with turpentine. The camp workers had even gone a step further in building our layered defense by burying sulfur in another line around the camp to be ignited by Volcano spells if necessary. Entry and exit points had to be cut out along the ditches and walls. It was all standard fare for a Field Hospital, which required such defenses by nature, but it was no less an exhausting endeavor for the cadets, who had never done this before.

"Ah, man, haven't been this sore in a while," said Raphael and sat up. "C'mon, Lysithea, it's time to wake up," he prodded the tiny girl, who was practically latched onto his shoulders like a cub attached to her papa.

"Mmph. . . wha. . . whuzz happening?" she mumbled.

"We're all accounted for, Professor!" Dimitri practically shot up, still in a slight haze.

"The day of battle has come!" Petra said in barely comprehensible Faerghian. "Let us do our duty!"

Dedue, Ashe, and Mercedes stood up without a word, though the blonde girl groaned as she rubbed her lower back.

"Seriously, Hilda, wake up," said Claude.

Hilda just moaned, "I'm too exhausted. . . this is too much. . . "

"How the hell were you ever accepted into the Academy?" Cyril deadpanned.

"Even Lysithea has more spine than you," Leonie frowned at her classmate.

"H-hey!" Hilda whined as she suddenly sat up. "You guys are so mean-AH!"

She yelped as I yanked her up on her feet by her hair.

"Goneril, I swear to the Saints, if I hear you bitching one more time, I will put you to work scooping horse shit in the monastery stables."

"Yes, please," Cyril said unironically. "I could use the help."

Hilda's eyes widened with horror, but I let her go before she could respond.

"We must do our noble duty, Hilda," said Lorenz. "Even if we are filthy," he forlornly looked down at his dirt-laden gambeson.

"Ingrid, as beautiful as your hair is, please get it out of my face," an annoyed Sylvain said through a face full of Ingrid's long, messy braid.

Ingrid semi-consciously rolled off him and pushed up to her feet while muttering about her muscle aches.

"Fraldarius, Dominic, break up the cuddle session and get on your feet!" I said to them.

Felix and Annette finally stirred. It took Annette a moment to realize that she was unknowingly spooning Felix, then she yelped and jumped up in embarrassment.

"I-I'm so s-sorry, Felix; I didn't know what I was doing!" she stammered while blushing profusely.

"Please, stop shrilly shouting; it's too damn early for that," Felix replied as he gingerly stood up.

"Goddess, give us strength today," Marianne prayed as she rubbed her forehead, still exhausted on her feet.

"We're gonna need a lot more than strength," said Ignatz, trying to wipe the dirt off his spectacles.

"Everyone head to the water troughs and wash up," I said. "The whole legion will probably shift into stand-to soon."

Annette didn't look where she was going and ran smack into a barrel of tools, spilling its contents all over the ground as she dramatically stumbled.

"Who put this stupid barrel here?!" she moaned.

I tried to suppress a sigh.

Once the stand-to was cleared, the security elements began to cycle through the hospital camp for hygiene and food. We cleaned ourselves as much as possible with the dirty water in the troughs. Hilda started complaining about how she could smell herself until I gave her a look that immediately shut her up. We then cycled through the mess tent for breakfast, consisting of rock-hard bread, slightly fermented fruit, and near-rancid eggs that were more liquid than solid. Lysithea clearly didn't want to eat her soupy eggs, but since she didn't want her classmates to view her as a child, she forcibly gulped them down for no other reason than her pride. No one else in the group, bar Hilda, complained about that miserable yet tense morning. The fog had grown so thick during the night that the sky was no longer visible. Even the camp interior seemed to be blanketed in mist.

There was still work to be done as usual, and the walls needed guarding, so the security elements conducted pre-combat inspections. I made everyone clean their weapons, ensuring that the weather had not caused them to rust. Claude, Ashe, Petra, Cyril, and Leonie brought bows with their kit but kept the bowstrings stowed to prevent them from being worn out or dampened by rain and mist. Petra's bowstring became inadvertently frayed beyond use, so Ashe gave her one of his extra strings. Petra's Brigidine bow was smaller than most Fódlander warbows. It was composite, meaning that most of its draw weight was pulled by the curves, requiring less pure muscle strength to draw than a Fódlander warbow while sacrificing greater range and stopping power.

Most of the security elements prioritized their spiritual needs as well. Priests held masses, took confessions, and gave last rites. The cadets and I joined a mass held by Father Timothée, who led a chant of the Holy Poetry of Saint Cethleann.

The Goddess is my shepherd; I shall not want.

She maketh me to lie down in green pastures: she leadeth me beside the still waters.

She restoreth my soul: she leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for her name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou annointeth my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Goddess forever.

The drummers in the main encampment began beating the assembly call, and the signalmen blared their horns to muster all units. The headquarters battalion and logistical sections kept their tents up for sustainment operations, but all other units quickly busted camp as the Legion went to war. I could hear more chants and singing in the Field Hospital and the main camp as the security elements took our battle positions on the palisade. The Blue Lions, plus Petra, took the first watch while the Golden Deer took the opportunity to snag some more rest, and we listened to the cacophony of war music as we stood on the palisade. Monks and nuns constantly led songs of praise, and we listened to the Legion's songs as they broke camp and assembled in march order to move to the chokepoint. I realized just how thickly the supposed magical fog had grown as I looked up to see that sunlight could not directly penetrate the overcast, even though the sun was fully rising. A blanket of mist was more than chest-high beyond the wall and had even seeped into the Field Hospital. I saw some pegasus troopers try to breach the cloud cover, and some wyverns defensively hovered over the ground troops, but it was clear that most of the air cavalry wouldn't be able to fly in these conditions. The grounded air troopers still gave their voices to the crescendo of chanting. Every battalion and squadron had its own war song, and together, they formed a chorus that was as terrifying as it was energizing.

"I honestly wish I could sing better," said Sylvain.

"You're not so bad during the student choirs, Sylvain," said Mercedes.

"But I can't hold a candle to the heavenly voices of you and Annette. And especially not Dorothea."

Ingrid's eyes narrowed.

"I don't sing as much as I used to since school started up," said Annette. "Gotta focus on keeping up my grades!"

"Oh, please, I once heard you singing about dinner and dessert while you were watering the greenhouse plants," said Felix.

Annette flushed red, "What?! F-Felix, I told you to forget you heard that!"

Felix shrugged, "I can't. It's permanently etched in my memory."

Mercedes couldn't help but grin. "When was this?"

"Mercie!" Annette protested.

"The week before the mock battle," said Felix. "I went to replace her on greenhouse detail and saw her singing and dancing about how she wanted to fill her 'tummy-tummy-tum' with a 'mountain of sweets and treats.'"

His very dry tone elicited laughter from the group.

"You're evil, Felix!" Annette screeched.

"And you're shouting again," he said.

"You can't just spy on people singing and then go blabbing about it! It's not right!"

"I wasn't 'spying.' I actually did call out that I was coming in. It's not my fault you weren't listening."

"Well. . . ugh. . . you need to speak louder, then!" Annette moaned in embarrassment as she rubbed her temple. "And, of course, it was some silly food song I made up. I should have been singing about. . . bears! Or swamp beasties!"

"I didn't even know there were songs about 'swamp beasties.'"

"Oh, you are the worst!"

By now, Mercedes and Ingrid were struggling to stifle their fits of giggles. Sylvain practically keeled over the wall with laughter. Dimitri rubbed his eyes in amusement, unable to stop chuckling. Dedue actually cracked a smirk. Petra just perplexingly glanced between them, not understanding what was going on. Ashe couldn't help but grin, but the ordinarily cheerful boy just couldn't bring himself to laugh.

"That reminds me of when Ingrid wolfed down an entire strawberry shortcake that Glenn gifted her at their betrothal ceremony!" Sylvain laughed.

"Shut up!" Ingrid punched his shoulder. "I didn't 'wolf down' the whole thing!"

"Oh, yeah, that's right, you barfed up half of it!" he laughed again.

"No I didn't!" she blushed.

"You did," said Felix.

"And it certainly made the celebration more memorable!" said Sylvain.

"Lord Gunnar looked like he was about to have a heart attack," Dimitri chuckled, referring to Ingrid's father.

"Can you blame him?" Sylvain said with a grin. "He finally secured a solid betrothal for Ingrid, and then she does that! Saints above, it's a good thing Lord Rodrigue is such an empathetic man."

"Please shut up, Sylvain," a still-blushing Ingrid flatly said.

"Yeah, shut up," said Felix. "My father has no conception of empathy, just his damn chivalry."

Sylvain's mirth died quickly as his last laugh morphed into an exasperated sigh.

"Felix, you know that's not true," Ingrid frowned.

"And yet he continues to romanticize Glenn like a paragon of what a knight should be."

"Because he was!"

"No!" Felix snapped back. "He was his son. And he was my brother. But you and my idiot father can only think of him as some glorious martyr as if that's something to aspire to!"

"What's he supposed to do, spend the last four years in perpetual misery?" said Sylvain. "Of course, he's going to honor Glenn's memory. His death affected all of us."

"Don't give me that bullshit, he wasn't your family," Felix sneered.

"Oh, shut the hell up, Felix," Sylvain slammed his fist against the palisade as he fully turned to Felix. "He was more of a brother to me than Miklan could ever fucking be!"

Mercedes tried to step in. "Sylvain, I'm sure he didn't mean it like th-"

"And he was my betrothed!" said Ingrid. "I'll never have someone like him in my life ever again. The least I can do is honor his sacrifice by living up to his example as a knight!"

"You'll throw your life away?" Felix glared at her.

"Felix, that's not what she means," Mercedes frowned at him.

"It's exactly what I mean!" Ingrid objected. "Should it come down to it, I gladly will lay down my life for Faerghus just as he did!"

"What is happening?" asked a confused Petra.

"Felix is right, Ingrid," Dimitri solemnly said. "Martyrdom is nothing to aspire to."

"It's not aspiration, it's duty!" said Ingrid. "It's what Glenn did for you!"

"You still insistently try to turn his needless death into an ideal to uphold?" he sighed in frustration, though it sounded closer to a growl. "Gah. . . you and he are so much alike."

"See?" said Felix. "Even the boar knows it was a needless death."

"N-needless death?!" Ingrid exclaimed. "How can either of you say that? Glenn gave his life for you, Your Highness. And this is how you speak of his sacrifice?!"

"You weren't there," Dimitri shook his head. "If you had been, you wouldn't feel that way."

"I don't care to once again hear your interpretation of his final moments!" Ingrid growled, tears starting to well in her eyes.

"My fucking interpretation?!" Dimitri exploded, causing every to step back. "Did you watch him die, Ingrid? Did you see the arrows in his chest? Did you hold him in your arms as he drowned in his own blood?! And for what?! For a peace treaty that never materialized? For all the Duscurites the Kingdom slaughtered in retaliation?! He. Died. Needlessly!"

"He still took pride in his service!" Ingrid was trembling at this point, and her voice was starting to crack as tears began to fall. "He took pride in protecting you. The very least you can do is not spit on his memory! Least of all by trusting this Duscurite!"

She tersely pointed at Dedue with those last words. Stone-faced Dedue didn't visibly react, but Dimitri took a small step back, clearly too shocked to respond.

Mercedes put her hand on her shoulder. "Ingrid, he's not-"

"The only one spitting on his memory is you!" Felix yelled at Ingrid. "You sanctimonious bitch!"

"You never loved him as I did!" Ingrid screamed in his face, tears streaming down her own.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Felix shoved her into Sylvain.

"Enough!" I yelled.

I forcefully inserted myself between them, shoving Felix back with one hand while holding Ingrid back with the other.

"Both of you, all of you, get your fucking heads on straight! This is not the time for this bullshit because, in case you haven't noticed, there's a fucking war about to break loose!" I was now addressing all of the Lions as I gestured to everyone. "This is the problem with all of you; you can't stop acting like jackass cubs! You're so focused on your own issues that you tear each other down at the worst possible time! It doesn't matter if Glenn Fraldarius was a glorious martyr or a needless casualty; he's dead! And no amount of your childish prattling will bring him back to life!"

Felix angrily turned away. I saw the slightest glisten of tears in his eyes. Ingrid's expression was anger and agony. She struggled to maintain her composure as she tried to control her breathing. Sylvain wrapped his arm around her shoulders, seemingly as a gesture of comfort, though I was sure it was also to keep her from launching herself at Felix.

"I-I know memory won't bring him back," Ingrid said with a quivering voice, unable to directly look at me with her tear-filled eyes. "All I've wanted since his death is to become a strong, ideal knight like him."

Under normal circumstances, I probably would have eased up, but given the current situation, I simply felt no sympathy. "Well, if any of you ever want to be 'ideal knights,' you need to snap your minds back to the present, or you will all be needless casualties. Do you all understand me?! If you don't a sound mind and a killer instinct, you'll all be a walking coprse!"

The Lions apprehensively gave words or nods of acknowledgment. Felix was the most hesitant. Ingrid just sniffled and wiped her eyes, and I noticed Sylvain gently squeeze her shoulder. Petra was the only one who still didn't fully understand exactly what was happening. I could hear the Golden Deer whispering behind us, obviously invested in the demented display of drama, but Claude thankfully kept them silent.

"You. . . you're absolutely correct, Professor," Dimitri said as he lowered his head, but the shame on his face couldn't assuage my anger.

"And I better not see one more fucking fight between any of you! It will not be physically possible to defend your kingdom if you tear each other down. You are a fucking team, and you will act like it! Or so help me, Saints, I will have you drummed out of the academy!"

Shock registered on all of their faces. Then the moment was interrupted by distant horn blasts, followed by a sudden crack-koom! Then the flash of lightning against the clouds. The sounds of horns and shouts echoed back to the Field Hospital.

All along the palisade, the call went up, "Stand-to!"

I strapped on my new barbute helmet without another word because hell was breaking loose at the chokepoint.

Faerghian scholars have often questioned me on the 'Battle of Magdred Way.' It was a 'combined' battle, which heavily integrated all battlefield powers from infantry, ground cavalry, air cavalry, and magic. In Imperial Year 1180, it was the largest, bloodiest pitched battle in Faerghian history since the Fourth Battle of Grand Nord Pass back in the Cresent Moon War, and I had never experienced anything like it. In truth, there is a lot I simply don't know. From my limited perspective, all I can vividly recall is what immediately happened around the cadets and I. Everything else was just too overwhelming.

For many reasons, the entire rebellion remains a controversial chapter of Faerghian history, but there is a longstanding debate over how the fighting began. Sir Matthias's after-action review to the Central Church War Council stated that the Gaspard militia, lacking noise discipline, were detected by the I Legion's reconnaissance troopers, whose warning signals forewent a barrage of resonant lighting from our black mage sections that attrited the order of an attempted ambush. By contrast, the descendants of Teutanic veterans claim to this day that their forefathers executed an effective ambush that inflicted heavy casualties on the I Legion and halted its advance in its tracks. I personally don't care what really happened that morning. No amount of debate will change how the battle ended. Either way, I cannot give an authoritative account of what exactly happened in that opening phase because I wasn't in the front echelon to witness it directly. Indeed, we didn't see much of the initial fighting thanks to the thick fog and our post in the rear at the Field Hospital.

But we could certainly hear the battle. For several hours, the area rang with the echoes of horns blaring, thunder cracking, fire burning, metal clashing, equines crying, wyverns roaring, and men shouting and screaming. It all melded together, layers of terrifying sound, to compose a crescendo of chaotic combat. For a while, all we could see in the thick fog were the burning white of lightning flashes and the wild, yellowish-orange flickering of fire. Soon we could also see the shapes of men and horses in the fog as the dead and wounded were taken to the casualty collection point near the front of the hospital.

Security soldiers formed a protective hedge around the collection point, pikes and spears pointed outward, allowing only stretcher-bearers, clergy, and Holy Knights inside. The casualty collection point was the front line of the battle to save the wounded. The Holy Knights and clergy inside rendered immediate white magic and medical care to stabilize whoever could survive. In order to prevent the Field Hospital from being overwhelmed, the Holy Knights discriminated the precedence of the wounded as urgent, priority, routine, or convenience. Soon a stream of wounded was trickling into the hospital. Holy Knights and stretcher-bearers brought them in large groups through the chokepoints of the ditches and into the camp gates, necessitating a small stand-to from the soldiers directly guarding said gates each time, and the Field Hospital sprang into action. The wounded casualties determined to be urgent or priority were the first ones rushed into the Field Hospital, often carried on stretchers, though many Holy Knights took them on the backs of their horses. All routine and convenience casualties either had to be treated at the collection point or moved into the hospital if unfortunate patient deaths cleared cots.

The casualty operations were all the cadets, and I could directly observe as the morning dragged on. The tide of the combat at the front ebbed and flowed but never stopped. Each hour brought more wounded men to the rear. The cadets became inoculated to their cries surprisingly fast, and I allowed everyone to take naps as both houses rotated on and off the palisades on security watch. I still couldn't see the sky, but the increasing brightness of ambient light told me high noon was approaching, and with the shifting time came a duty call that I couldn't ignore.

"Stretcher-bearers!" Holy Knights shouted to the security elements. "We need more stretcher-bearers!"

I looked to Claude just as the Golden Deer came up to the palisade to rotate with the Blue Lions and said, "Your Grace, keep the Deers here."

Claude didn't even blink. "Yes, professor."

It took Dimitri a moment to grasp the implication. "Professor?"

"Lions, we're moving to the front!" I announced as I stepped off the palisade. "Let's go!"

"May I be going as well, professor?" Petra asked me after Ashe told her what was happening.

"Your choice," I said.

"Best of luck to you, Claude," Dimitri said to the Golden Deer leader.

"King of Lions," Claude nodded.

Cyril also joined our group as the Lions egressed from the camp perimeter with other small groups of security soldiers. Some security soldiers went straight to the casualty collection point to assist, but most of us were needed at the front. We marched at double-time past the headquarters camp, retrieving as many stretcher as we could carry, and followed the sound of killing along the road until we could see the shapes of the infantry's formations, passing the stretcher-bearers and Holy Knights who were rushing the wounded away from the battle. The clergy here at the chokepoint were divided between waging the magic battle and evacuating casualties.

"Stretcher-bearers to 3rd Battalion!" a priest shouted to the new arrival of security personnel.

Though the fog was heavy, we could still see most of the infantry brigade from the rear. The four battalions were aligned in two battle lines, flanking the boulder on the left side of the road, two battalions anchored on each side. Their companies rotated their platoons on the front as necessary. The after-action review later stated that the Gaspard militia had waited in the woods for the Cichol Legion's infantry to march into the chokepoint before attacking. They knew they couldn't outfight a Central Church legion line-to-line in a protracted battle, so they used the trees as cover and concealment, possibly hoping to lure the Church soldiers inside the brush that would break formations. However, Sir Matthias and the rest of the Legion's commanders wouldn't fall for such tactics so easily and withdrew the infantry line several yards away from the treeline to create a standoff distance as the mages on both sides struggled for dominance with spells and counter-spells.

Predictably, the untrained Teutanic levies lacked the iron discipline of the Church soldiers, and lightning and fire flew overhead; the nerve-wracking situation compelled several mobs of Teutanics to charge into the Legion's infantry line pell-mell, but they quickly fell prey to the lurking Church cavalry platoons who hit them with attack runs as soon as they could see their silhouettes in the fog. Wyverns swooped down as well, hovering in limited visibility, and the shrill screams that followed were the only indicators of what happened to their victims. Other Teutanics who were unmolested by our cavalry were halted, or roasted alive, by the Fireball spells the black magic sections cast in a spread to attrit their charges, which also gave our infantry time to brace for contact. The gaggles of levies who managed to make it to the Legion's battle lines were thus quickly cut down by missiles or blades. Nonetheless, despite such disciplined soldiering, the Cichol Legion still sustained casualties, mainly from the few hostile lightning and fire spells that penetrated the Legion's Nullify fields. The spells had actually lulled to a pause by the time the Lions reached the line, a warning sign that I didn't immediately notice.

"What should we do, Professor?" Dimitri asked me.

"Martritz, Dominic, stay with the battalion's white magic section," I said to them. "Your Highness, take Molinaro, Gautier, and Galatea, and go to Beta Company. The rest of you are with me, we're going to Gamma Company. Grab some stretchers from the mages and don't try to carry more than two men at a time."

"But Professor, shouldn't we stay together?" said Ingrid.

The enemy answered her question by launching a resonant Thunderbarrage that arced over the Legion's battle line, and for a moment, I thought we were about to be struck by the lightning, but the white magic section fizzled it out with their overlapping Nullify fields. I saw the light-blue glow of the Nullify fields as they absorbed the mana in the lighting and were, in turn weakened themselves as the conjoining mana particles destroyed each other. In other words, we temporarily had no white magic protection in our immediate vicinity.

"Too many stretcher-bearers together are a target, now go!"

Nobody argued further as we grabbed stretchers and rushed to the rear ranks of 3rd Battalion's companies. Their comrades gathered the casualties in the rear, including several who had just been unfortunate enough have been struck by the dissipating lightning. Ashe carried a folded stretcher in both arms. Petra stayed close to him, keeping one hand on the hilt of her sheathed dagger. The two of them immediately gave aid to a screaming soldier whose entire shield-arm was charred black. Cyril and I were just about to place another wounded man on our stretcher when Sothis, of all people, gave me a word of warning.

'Something's not right here.'

'The hell are you talking about?' I was mostly just surprised that she was talking to me again.

'Why did the spells pause but then suddenly focus on this one battalion?'

'Mass and concentration, basic black magic tactic.'

'But surely the enemy re-generated mana for more barrages! Why would they hold back if not for something worse?!'

The implication hit me just as Cyril was pushing the man onto the stretcher I was stabilizing.

"Professor?" he looked at me with confusion.

Suddenly, an explosion rippled through the fog. My eyes snapped up to see a great plume of violet haze, illuminated by a pulsing glow, bursting upwards and outwards over the whole company like another blanket of mist. Then the blood-curdling screams began.

"What the f-augh!"

Suddenly I couldn't breathe. The air around us was filled with a strong odor. The haze fell all around us, and every sharp breath burned as though my entire airway was on fire. My vision became red and blurred as my eyes burned; I could just make out the shape of Cyril as he collapsed over the wounded soldier, both convulsing uncontrollably. Petra clutched her throat and fell, and a figure that had to be Ashe tried to pick her up but vomited and collapsed as well. The shapes of other men stumbled and fell all around us. The burning in my lungs seemed to rise up to my skin, and I fell to my knees. I struggled to heave in a breath but only vomited up a mess of pulpy fluid that appeared to have flesh tissue in it. I reflexively screamed, but the actual sound that came out of my throat was a mix of a moan and a howl. The mist was so thick it was quickly becoming impossible to breathe.

Then time itself froze.

"Byleth!" I heard Sothis's voice.

I heaved in a breath out of instinct, expecting to still be suffocating, but then I saw I was inside Sothis's 'throne room.'

"Byleth. . . what. . . what was that?" she asked me in a trembling voice.

For the first time since she appeared to me, I saw genuine fear in her eyes. It felt surreal to be able to 'breathe' again as I got back on my feet.

"That. . . . was miasma. It had to have been Miasma Delta. The nastiest kind."

"What it did to your body. . . " Sothis shuddered as if she had directly experienced my pain. "How can something so unnatural be created?"

"It's chlorine and bromine fused together with mana. Makes a gas that dissolves your insides. . . Dear Goddess, I think I hacked up a piece of my damn lung. How on earth did Count Gaspard find warlocks with that knowledge and skill? It can't be the. . . no. . . "

"So this is dark magic. . . " said Sothis.

She could see from my thoughts that this was the only form of magic explicitly forbidden by the Central Church.

"Lonato. . . the Western Church. . . those damn, insane fools!" I said.

I looked Sothis in the eye. I still saw very palpable terror. I also felt. . . something. It was difficult to process the fact that I had effectively been killed by one of the most feared spells known to soldiers, one that I had never stood in the midst of and walked away from. Had I actually died? I didn't know. What I did know was that I couldn't allow any of the cadets to fall.

"This. . . isn't just a campaign to put down a minor lord's rebellion anymore. You know what we have to do."

Despite her fear, Sothis weaved her glyph, and its light engulfed me.

The next chapter is about 95% done, it was initially going to be part of this chapter as one long battle sequence but I decided to split it because it was getting too long.

Sir Matthias is based on James "Mad Dog" Mattis, some of the character's dialogue is lifted from Mattis's quotes. I know chlorine and bromine technically weren't discovered in medieval times but I wanted to write a realistic version of the game's miasma spell.