Lone Moon, Imperial Year 1175

The journey to Nuvelle was quick, but it wasn't as easy as it should have been. Dagda and Brigid had given up on holding anything between the Imperial army and the port. Every city, every village and town they occupied was put to the torch on their retreat. Dour misery was all the people had left as they went about rebuilding their homes. The Broken Blade in their tents had more left than these people. Much as Christophe and Glenn wanted, they couldn't share. The troops took priority here.

The invaders had refocused all their efforts solely on defending the one city and on approach it became clearer why. The walls were tall and wide with plenty of arrow cover. The main gate was bigger than a noble's mansion and probably just as thick. The ramparts protecting the forward position were packed to capacity with soldiers. Enough that they had to be weakening defenses elsewhere.

But off the coast the combined fleets of the two nations waited on floatby. Any attempts to circumvent the main gate and attack the flanks would be covered by floating ballistas and the threats of a marine invasion. Even striking the main gate would require an enormous portion of manpower be spent making sure their flanks were secure in case a beach landing was attempted. And with all the settlements around here ash and rubble a siege would run out of momentum fast even with spring on the horizon.

If Dagda and Brigid could hold out until the army could retreat they could force favorable terms. If Adrestia breached the walls, they would set the city alight and retreat back to the ships. It looked to be a clever plan.

Bergliez invited him to the final war council, to Jeralt's own surprise. He was expecting all the put-upon glares of the senior staff that some simple mercenary was being allowed inside the commander-in-chief's war council. Though maybe all the glares were spent first on the junior officers first. About all of the senior staff were spotless and well-groomed while the junior ranks were well-worn and still spotted battle damage. And Count Bergliez still looked more like the latter than the former.

Bergliez rolled out a map of the area and pinned it to a board behind him. He repeated all the observations Jeralt had made on his own time and introduced some new wrinkles Jeralt hadn't been keen to. "Right now their naval forces surpass our own. Any attempts to circumvent to the weaker side of the walls will come under ship fire or a marine landing, while they've otherwise repaired the forward walls to excellent condition. Either way has its risks and rewards." Low nods and half-said murmurs answered him.

The count smiled. "Which is why we're doing neither. I know many of you have wondered why our pegasus and wyvern wings haven't been deployed into battle beyond the personal troops of a few commanders and this battle is why. Our aerial wings are massing southeast, along the coast under cover of the east fleet. When they're ready they'll swoop in to the navies and destroy them utterly."

The mood of the room took an uptick into enthusiastic nods and light approval. "However, in order to best execute this attack, it will be required to act at night, without any torches." Made sense, the defense ships would be packed full with archers and ballistas to cover the flanks. Plus plenty of marines. "For this we will lead with our most expert riders, then strike in with the second wave shorty after dawn. Coupled with an attack on the city itself, we will cut them off entirely. Our current estimates put their food stores at two months. Three in light of eventual casualties. Which puts our two armies on equal footing. Brigid will not be able to send a strong enough force to relieve them in light of the eastern fleet's arrival and this war will be over before the year is up." Bergliez looked around the room. "Before I move on, is there anything else? Now, are there any questions?"

A number of hands went up from across the ranks. "Do the defending armies have enough men to launch an attack before our forces are in readiness?"

"We do not believe so at this time. However, if they were to strip their ships of fighting men they might be able to match us man-for-man in a direct fight."

"They aren't gonna do that," said Jeralt.

"I don't believe so either," Bergliez sided with him before any of the pompos got uppity. "The Brigid troops can't be used as front line troops. They're ambushers and raiders or flankers and rearguard. Even if Dagda had enough armor to equip them they're unlikely to be at the same level of the Dagdan regulars. Anything else"

One of the junior officers raised a point. "Sir, I've yet to receive orders to establish perimeter defenses. We've no palliside, no dirt walls, ditches or spikes. It the enemy makes a surprise attack we will be ill-equipped to handle it." Some of the older fellows stared hard at him.

Bergliez smiled at the kid. "You've made my next point before I did." He pointed to the map. "I've lowered our guard specifically to invite a sneak attack from our enemies. Make no mistake, we will prevail when it comes to taking the city, but if we can thin their ranks with a trap beforehand so much the better."

"What are you basing this on, my lord?" said a commander.

"Established patterns of the Brigid raiders. This is their last chance to leverage their greater mobility and favored hit-and-run tactics. If they could steal a supply convoy they did. If they couldn't, they're destroy it. Otherwise they'd stalled it. Count Hevring was most displeased with the constant attacks. You're all well aware of the defense strategies I've employed to rid us of their crippling effect. That is why the leaders of these small teams are with us today. They are the ones most adept in combating the Brigid directly. They'll be responsible for the initial defense when we are under attack. It may be the most key point of this battle."

"Then we should leave it to the Imperial regulars and improve our defenses," said a higher-ranked commander.

"By luring the Brigid in with a lax appearance and protecting us with an elite detachment we can damage their numbers most efficiently with a lack of loses to our own front-line soldiers. Then the day after we drive them back we'll launch our full-scale attack which will require our troops to be fully rested and able."

There was that sacrifice play that had been missing the whole year. It finally mollified the prats to, from the looks of it.

"As an additional note, I want it spread to each detachment of the army and all personal units that we're sending a call out for experienced aerial riders."

"You don't have enough?" Jeralt asked.

"We've plenty, but plenty more wouldn't hurt." He could drop the note but no one in the Broken Blade had that training. "Is there anything else?" A few minor questions went answered but eventually everyone was mollified. "Good." Bergliez followed up with grabbing a stack of papers off a side table. "Here is the force distribution and patrol schedules. Relay them to your commands at once. Dismissed."

Jeralt took his briefing and left overlooking the thing. The Broken Blade would be active on nights three to five. Common luck told him this was when Brigid was going to attack. He headed over to their section of the camp (closest to Port Nuvelle, exactly like it'd been planned from the start) and informed the rest of the upcoming distribution and the call for all aerial riders.

"I can fly," said Byleth.

"Since when?" Jeralt asked.

"Manuela's been teaching me."

"Is… is that what your lessons were about?"

"Flying, swordwork, white magic and cooking."

That would explain the meal quality. "How does she know how to handle a sword? Or pegasus?"

"She used a sword during her time at the opera. I'm not quite sure where she got her flying aptitude from. Why didn't you know this?"

"Errrr, that's not important right now. How qualified a rider are you?"

"I could pass the pegasus certification if they weren't so picky."

"You good on wyverns, too?" They wanted a strong arm to command them.

"They're what I practice on."

He didn't want to let the kid out of his sight. But he'd done that plenty and he'd come out fine. "All right, I'll forward your name to the count if you're sure about this. Glenn can take over your troop details until you get back."

Glenn cheered while Byleth answered, "That's fine."

No enthusiasm. Just how it was, even in the midst of blood and battle. Jeralt went over secondary preparations and made sure everyone would be good and prepared for.

Then a runner from Count Bergliez called him over and Jeralt had to comply with the surprise order.

It was a large tent, if lacking in furnishing. The count's personal armor rack and wine rack the only notable things. Jeralt eyeing the latter in particular even when he didn't like to drink on the job. He walked over and set down his report. "I've one rider for the ship assault."

"Good, good." The count nodded. "Come, sit. Share a drink with me." Bergliez popped open something big and strong.

"No thanks. I'm dry on duty."

"So should I." The count shrugged and poured himself a mug. "What do you think of our odds?"

"You've demolished everyone in your path with ease. Why concerned now? Why ask me?"

"Too many sycophants without the guts to tell me what's for."

"You want me to criticize you?"

"Course. Men in command need a view from all life. Or is the captain of the Knights of Seiros fighting like a common mercenary part of a greater scheme?" A knowing look spread itself thick across the count.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Then we'll leave it at that." Bergliez took a sip of his drink. "Good stuff. Whew. I always wanted to go toe-to-toe with you when I was at the Officers Academy. 'Jeralt the Blade Breaker! The man on par with a Hero's Relic!'"

"That's an incredible exaggeration." Even if there was a kernel of truth deep in it.

"You're not the type to brag. So it had to come from somewhere."

"Enough brats get scolded by me they see me as some impossible figure to overcome. It gets ridiculous. My own kid's already beaten me."

"Not exactly downplaying your skill if only yours can win."

Jeralt shook his head. "And what about your kids? Which one's coming up for the Minister of Military Affairs title?"

Bergliez slammed his drink on the table, spilling booze all over the documents. "My first and that's final." A hardline of anger shot at him. "Which you'll understand if you know what's good for you."

How many bottles deep was he? "I look forward to him at the Officers Academy."

"He's not going."

Well, there was a surprise. "Why not?"

"He's already getting everything in life he needs. My second? Sure. Let him make his own way. But not my heir."

There was a nasty story here. A good idea to avoid it. "That attitude why you sided against Ionious in the Insurrection of the Seven?" So he didn't.

He expected a mug thrown at his face but all he got was a sigh. "My father's second wife was… how to put this gently?" He pondered for half a second. "A wretched waste of a human being who wanted to rob me of my inheritance and give it to my oaf of a half brother." He slammed his mug again. "If she had her way we'd all be speaking Dagdan and Brigid now. That brat graduated only last year yet she thinks he should be in charge? Ha! Let her try. Let Ionious try and take my title. Damn her and damn him."

Family drama driving his actions. Just like Volkhard. But hell, he'd fight anyone if his son was in danger, so he wasn't so different. He'd come down here just on the slight chance he could track the man down and do something about it. "To family." Or whatever.

Bergliez took another large swig and the two continued chatting for a bit of time before the count grew too drunk and Jeralt asked to be excused.

Night was growing closer. Braziers and torches and fires going up among the tents. Jeralt headed back over to the Broken Blade's camp. There he found Glenn sitting on the ground, by a fire. Engrossed in a book it seemed. Jeralt walked closer to get a better look and—"Are those… flower presses?" he asked.

Glenn looked shocked. "Yes, yes they." he looked back down at his book. "Every Garland Moon my fiancée made me a crown."

Awww. "That's sweet of her."

"You met her once, you know? Three years ago when you and Byleth were at Fhirdiad."

"I'm surprised you remembered that." I sure didn't.

"I remember every time Miklan got comeuppance." He smirked at the idea. "And it's also when my own path changed."

"How so?"

"I used to wield a lance."

Jeralt nodded. "I know. When your class arrived in the training grounds I inspected the whole lot. Your forms and techniques. You went for stabbing motions over slashes that a lot of the other students prefered. Not just because they were better. The calluses on your hands were developed from handling lances, not swords. So, why the change?"

"Your son, if you'd believe it."

"Huh, really?"

Glenn nodded. "Miklan, Sylvain, my fiancée and His Highness all prefer the lance, as I did. But that duel opened my eyes to more. If he could defeat the lance so effortlessly even at a disadvantage, I needed to learn that. His Highness needed someone who could cover his own weaknesses."

Most Kingdom were so set in their ways they rarely changed. "You've done well to adapt to a new style."

"Thank you. Everyone in Faerghus studies the blade at least once. What once felt unsteady in my hand now feels as natural as my fists." He looked back down at his book. "I suppose the war had some effect on it."

"I've heard some say conflict is the greatest teacher. I don't buy it personally. What does fighting teach you about flowers?" he moved the conversation on a relevant path.

A small smile took hold of him as he spoke. "Every year I take one of those flowers and put it in this book." he closed it as his smile dipped. "Except this one."

"Ask for two next year."

"If I make it that long."

"You're too young to be thinking about death."

"And I'm too smart to ignore the possibility." Glenn shook his head. "I told you, I saw death at Gideon. Too young to fight, not young enough to avoid clearing the bodies. I thought I might gain perspective if I fought again."

"Have you?"

"Yes." His eyes turned far off. "Odd, isn't it? Perhaps it's merely my upbringing."

"So, what have you learned?"

Glenn faced him again. Eyes not hollow, but tired. "I mislike war."

"Welcome to the club."

"I do not understand why Dagda and Brigid conduct it. But I see how the Empire fights it. So alike us, avenging our king."

"Do you believe the Empire was responsible?" Jeralt asked.

"Do you?" Not something he could answer. "The regent runs the country like it's his own. If it hadn't been for my father he may well have turned Dimitri into a mere puppet to conduct his business." Glenn sighed. "It is not the Empire I believe is responsible for harming my country. It is my countrymen. Not to say I absolve the murderers but they are not the ones raising taxes while people starve." He hardened like a stone. "Or perhaps they are."

"I'd keep that to yourself." Denouncing the regent as responsible for his own brother's murder would get a civil war started.

"So I should turn a blind eye to this injustice instead?"

"And what justice is there in dying a pointless death?"

"I'm from Faerghus. No death is pointless." His hands gripped the book white-knuckle tight.

That kind of thinking never went away, no matter how many Blue Lions passed through the academy, "Have you ever done the exercise where a commanding officer puts your hometown in danger?"

Glenn scoffed. "Gustave was fond of that one." He looked far off. "Still is. I overheard him once, directing it at someone at the Monastery."

"What did you answer?"

"Both, over time. When I sought the pinnacle of knighthood I followed orders. When I saw Gideon I thought to protect my town. Now?" Glenn smirked. "I do both."

"Good."

"I thought that would please you."

Jeralt sat down next to the boy. "We've saved how many hometowns during this war? Fifteen? More? Starting with that little village by the hill. Some say a sacrifice for the greater good is a worthy cause."

"Are you one of them?"

"I haven't had to sacrifice in so long it's irrelevant to me." Or maybe being here was his sacrifice.

"Sacrifice, eh? Even when the sacrifice is forced upon you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Recall Miklan. His younger brother was born with a Crest. It's not been officially confirmed with a crest scholar but everyone knows it. When Sylvain is old enough, he'll be made heir and Miklan will be removed from the house."

"I've always despised that practice in the Kingdom."

"As do I," he snorted. "My grandfather was third among seven siblings. All disinherited. Much the same with Galatea to our south. Dominic in the west. Only when the previous king granted Rufus the grand duchy did the practice slide towards uncommon. But even now the branch houses sire child after child in an attempt to breed a Crest into being. Then they exile those without. All in the vain attempt that they may become the legitimate line should the main houses' heirs all die. Disgusting."

"That's the price for power."

"Relics that can render all your training and skill irrelevant. If the goddess is all-loving, why leave such weapons in the hands of men that enforce inequality? Why do lands beyond Fódlan hold none?"

"I sought the same answers when I was young. Never found anything. Eventually stopped looking. Just took life as it was."

Glenn slowly nodded. "During Gideon, Miklan was there too. Leading a troop of heavy infantry. He held the walls, he held the gates. When his men were surrounded he led the breakout. When not all escaped, he dove back in to rescue them. A hundred men owe their lives to that scoundrel. When he gets disinherited they'll follow him. Ravage the countryside as bandits until they're put down like dogs. Just another in the lone line nobles turned bandits. Solely due to a misfortune of birth."

"You've got a lot of opinions on the Kingdom."

"I came to the Empire to broaden my horizons as well. And here I see a man without a Crest leading the whole of the Empire's military might. A man like Miklan might make himself a proper name here."

"Bergliez was still born to inherit his position."

"Another tenant of the goddess."

Another thing the church enforced. "Brigid has royalty its own, yet no goddess. Almyra has a king, but no goddess. Sreng, Duscur, Dagda, Albinea? I have no idea. Morfis has a council of equals among its mages."

"I think one day I'd like to travel beyond Fódlan's walls. But that will be far in the future."

"'Til that day." They could share a drink together.

"'Til that day."

Jeralt's search for Byleth brought him to the outskirts of their camp, which was on the fringe facing Nuvelle entirely. They'd be the first camp hit when the attack came, so patrols were plenty thick in the faded sun. There, Christophe was making sure the encampment perimeter was shipe and shape. "Ah, Captain. What brings you here?"

"Wanted to check the defenses myself. See how you were holding up."

"Me? I'm fine sir. And the defenses are strong as ever."

"Can't be easy fighting for the people blamed for your king's murder." And all the terror that came with it.

No surprise he frowned at that. "It's been nearly a year. Too late to be talking about that."

"Maybe. But you've been… less miserable when we're out here fighting than when I saw you at Garreg Mach."

"Having some success in life will do that."

"You're not a failure, Christophe."

He shook his head. "I've failed plenty. There was this… this bandit group, that raided Gaspard territory. Any reports to the army to handle it were ignored. All that tax money made those bandits yet it did nothing to stop them." His face tightened in pain. "So my father and I raised our knights, raised our militia and went to rout them. We did so. But these were not men who needed to die. They were not professional soldiers, they were desperate peasants. Killing other, desperate peasents."

"So, you do hate them?"

"There was… a baker." He ran away from the question. "Samual. Always, Samual. He insisted on it. He had an older sister named Samantha, she was Sam. Samual took up arms alongside the villagers. Joined the militia. Fought with them. Died with them." Cristophe ran a palm across his face. "We only lose a dozen people. Some general would take that as a glorious victory. But they still died. Their families were still sad. Sam, she came, halfway across the country she came with tears in her eyes for her brother Sam. A knight is supposed to protect the weak, but even then people die. What cause is worth killing for?"

Jeralt shrugged. "War's the most justified thing in existence. Love, freedom, glory, honor, vengeance, power. Even simple killing. Name a reason and war's been fought for it."

"Fools, all of them."

"And you're here fighting a war."

"For defense!" he burst out, stunned even at his own reckoning. "Protecting yourself—"

"People have fought for that too. Think that it entitles them just as much."

"But the culpability lies on the aggressor."

"Yet you'd still sided with your country against the Empire on speculation."

"That's… hypocrisy, yes. I am a hypocrite, am I not?" Christophe buried his head in his hands. "Is there a way to be a knight without this dilemma?"

"Not one you'd like to hear."

"Tell me, please."

"You embrace it. Or you lay down your lance."

"I cannot abandon people in need."

"And what happens when those in need aren't victims of just war? When the opponent is a simple thief?"

Those words were a slap across Christophe's face. "My adopted brother was a thief."

"So you've told me."

"He only stopped because my father showed mercy. He laid down his lance, as it were. But… I don't think it would have been better to surrender to let those bandits run free. Even had we laid down our lances I don't think the rest of Faerghus would have looked kindly upon us."

No tolerance for traitors. "Is that someone you think is worth fighting for?

"I'll not be a traitor either. Yet, I find myself disagreeing with both sides."

"Too bad you can't join the Alliance."

A weak little smile appeared on his lips. "An equal council of lords does seem a better path. They might block one another from launching a war." Then he shook his head. "But it also makes their actions slow, does it not?" Jeralt nodded for a yes. "I think this has taught me nothing's easy."

"Most people never learn that."

"You're an excellent teacher, Jeralt."

"You weren't a half bad student yourself, Christophe. I hope when you become Lord Christophe that you rule with a wise hand."

"I hope I have one when I do. And that my father lives longer than you." He cracked a big old smile at that.

"I'd love to see him try." Jeralt laughed, and Christophe laughed. Both into the night.

Jeralt's next destination was the little duelling pit they'd worked up. Byleth wasn't there but Cassandra had made the place her new home. She was spending her time as she usually did: practicing. Her sword was clean and basic but her speed and power put it a cut above regardless. "Yo, Jeralt, care for a spar?" She was already breathing hard from her routine.

"I'll pass," he said. "You really need to get some rest."

"No thanks. I have to train six times as hard as anyone else." She hefted her sword up unto her shoulder.

"You're not to blame for Duscur."

"Never said I was?" Her eyes flickered at the accusation. "If anyone, I'd blame you."

"Thanks," he flatley replied. "But I'm not talking about culpability."

"Guilt, yeah, yeah." She tried to brush it off. "My father tried to give me the same speech but I wasn't having it."

"Really?"

"Look," she stared flatly, "this talk may work on Christophe, because he's an utter wreck. Or Glenn because the kid's too new, but treat me with some respect, would ya? Yeah, I wasn't perfect, still not, but I'm taking down plenty of tough guys even with only the one here." She flexed for emphasis.

"That's what I'm worried about."

"Me being the best there is?"

"That attitude. The one you always had. And it's only gotten worse."

She shrugged. "I think I've only gotten better."

Jeralt shook his head at her nonsense. "Dammit Cassandra. You're one of the best I've ever seen. And I've seen the best laid low. Your act gets other people worried."

"I can look after myself."

"That's what worries everyone. You've got the skill to back up your words but you never know when to stop. This conversation is the perfect example and—how long after Duscur did it take you to begin training again?"

"The next day," she growled. "I'm not rushing to my death, unlike what everyone thinks. I'm the toughest around, so I have to take on the toughest foes. And if I don't, someone else gets hurt."

"You say you're doing this for other people?"

"Just one of them. Someone like Christophe, he… he hesitates sometimes, you know? Likes to believe in people. It'll get him killed someday, trying to fight for the greater good and all that. But if I take out everyone who can hurt him it'll be fine. Same thing with you. I know you don't hesitate, but you're always so concerned with Byleth it impacts your judgment."

"I wouldn't say so."

"During that fight we had at the village when we first started out? We could have used him with us in the line. We'd have taken half the casualties if he were there fighting, and patching people up. Their archers would have broken on the most green recruits. Sending him and Alois in was overkill."

"Their commander would have slaughtered anyone else I sent, save you."

"And how many else would have made it instead?" Cassandra shook her head. "My father's the same way. Doesn't want his 'little girl' running off getting into danger, but wants to respect her wishes, but tries and help in his own way. I'm not saying there's malice behind it, but people died because of favoritism."

He'd never been this close to someone before. Not ever. "Never thought of it that way."

"Maybe you never realized it. Heck, I might even be wrong entirely. But I've seen that kind of desire to keep someone safe and secure before." She put her sword down as her expression turned frown. "These days Dimitri is never allowed out of the castle because Rufus claims the prince shouldn't be in danger. But we all know it's really to sever any connections so Rufus can safeguard his own power."

"That really something you should be telling me?"

"Eh, you'll hear it soon enough. If Rufus stops Dimitri from attending the Officers Academy he'll destroy what support he does have."

"I'm so sick of all these politics."

"You and me both. What I wouldn't do to just join the Knights of Seiros and leave it all behind."

"This is a far cry from leaving it all behind."

"Close to it as I can see. Take the Broken Blade in our own direction. No nation, no church."

He smirked. "Doesn't sound so bad. Lousy pay though."

"I accept my pay in enemies. Probably the only one though."

"What do you think of Brigid and Dagda then?"

"Not as tough as I was expecting, or maybe just having you and Byleth at my back makes it look easy. Don't know why they think they're gonna win this though. If the Empire alone is repelling them, what do they think's gonna happen if the Kingdom or Alliance or church gets involved?"

"You're the emissary saying the Kingdom would attack if the church took sides."

"Well, keep it a secret but the Kingdom isn't in shape for another war. Everything on the border is a mess and Rufus's incompetence has damaged the integreity of the royal army.."

"Even after all those taxes?"

"It's because of those taxes. Christophe and I have been travelling everywhere helping put down rebellion after rebellion. Not that Christophe would say it out loud, even to you." She winked. Or just blinked, it was hard to tell with one eye. "The army's stronger than ever on equipment and manpower, but they're sharpening their blades on their own people. Morale's so low even the commoners look happy compared to the soldiers."

No wonder Christophe was half-dead on arrival. "I can't believe the lords are going along with that."

"Why wouldn't they? The threat of the Empire's got the nobles concentrated on protecting their own power by any means necessary. Gautier's thrown his lot in with Rufus alongside Rowe. Fraldarius and Galatea try their best to mediate things but it's not enough. Dominic's lost its influence with Gustave missing. My father's always been neutral. Gaspard's a wreck. Most of the minor lords then follow their neighbor, and since they're in the west, that means Rowe, which means Rufus."

He knew the situation in the Kingdom was bad, but not that bad. "Is that why everyone wants me to teach Dimitri so much? Because they need him on the throne now?"

"Now would help. Even if it's against tradition it'd make things better. Not that the boy knows how to run the country right now." Cassandra actually sighed. "You're right. Some days I do think, 'what if I'd been stronger in Duscur'. Could I have saved the king?"

"Maybe."

She was one to laugh at that. "What happened to all that talk about not blaming myself?"

"I think we've had this conversation before."

"Yeah. Yeah." A sad smile returned to her. "Dimitri's still a kid, but one day he will be king. A lot of people would prefer sooner, rather than later. But he's always been such a stickler for tradition. Even once he knows all the ins and outs of being king he won't take the throne until he's of age. There might not be a Kingdom by then."

"Are you gonna be there?"

"Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows where this battle will end with us."

"What happened to all that confidence from earlier?" Jeralt asked.

"You beat it out of me."

"Glad you're finally listening."

With almost nothing left Jeralt headed over to the mess tent to try and find Byleth. No success again, this time was Alois was engaged in a bit of comradery with other members of the Broken Blade. Wide smiles and half-empty mugs as they sat around a well-used table exchanging stories. "Something the matter, Captain?" he asked when Jeralt got close enough.

"Just making sure the Broken Blade's ready for combat."

"We'll be as ready as ever, I guarantee it."

That scrappy little kid with dead parents and tears staining his cheeks had turned into a true man. "I'm glad to have you on my side, Alois."

"Think nothing of it, Captain. The debt I owe can't be repaid in this life."

"I hope you're not just doing this because of some debt I don't hold you to."

Alois laughed. "Of course not! I—we wouldn't be here if we didn't believe in who you are."

"I've never felt like much of a leader."

Alois had to blink. "My word, Jeralt, opening up without a drink? Should I expect the Goddess to return this night?"

Jeralt rolled his eyes. "Quite making this seem sappy you."

Alois leaned back with a great big smile. "We've room for another, if you're interested. I was just telling the men about that time you and I took out those bandits in Ailell."

Just the name of the Valley of Torment warmed him. "Not something I like to remember, so I'll pass."

"Too… hot for you, Captain?"

"Definitely passing."

There was one last person he needed to speak with before retiring. The person he was searching for in the first place.

But he wasn't palling with Glenn, or guarding with Christophe, or sparring with Cassandra or relaxing like Alois.

Byleth was reading in his own tent.

Not that his kind didn't like to read, but on a night like this? Maybe the final night of a war? Too odd for him to consider earlier. "You're good to go on the ship assault if you're up for it."

"OK." He didn't bother to look up.

"What are you reading?"

"Book of Seiros. Volume III."

"I don't think I've ever asked you your opinion on the church's dogma."

That got his eyes off the book. "While it's true, I believe. If it's not, I won't."

"That could get you in trouble." Even if it didn't. For someone raised in the church he was too flippant about it. But Rhea gave him all the leeway in the world.

"If it's false the ones in trouble will be the church."

That's true. "Do you have any concerns about this war?"

"Should I?"

Was that an ask, or a challenge? "Everyone here does." Even if he didn't ask Alois about it he knew the man had reservations.

"We know I'm not like them."

Too true. "That doesn't mean you can't share concerns."

"Yes, it does."

Goddess, why did this happen to his boy. For all the callousness of his words he'd never acted like some sort of villain. He volunteered for the village because he cared, even if he didn't admit it. "I'll always be here, if you need to talk."

"Glenn needs a talk more than I."

"Already done it. Christophe, Cassandra and Alois too."

"Then Seth, or Reo or Sain. They need you more."

Should he be happy his son wanted to be self sufficient or sad he didn't want him? "Then I'll see you after the battle."

"Good-bye, Jeralt." His son called his father by name.

The first three nights passed without incident as the Imperial army moved more and more soldiers into its camps. The third night the Broken Blade was set up was the night watch. Nothing happening.

The fourth Jeralt was on patrol with Byleth, Cassandra and Glenn. The torches from the camp and the distant walls of Port Nuvelle cutting across the night. The wind was blowing in from the south. The perfect opportunity to set fire and spread it to the whole camp. More than once did some tent have to be drenched in water to fight an ambient fire. This was the night Brigid would attack. He was sure of it.

The Broken Blade knew and were plenty ready. Fire-fighting buckets were prepared and stocked in every tent and every member was fully equipped for combat. The moment Brigid attacked they'd get a surprise they wouldn't retreat from.

The darkness between armies hide the approaching assailants. The torchlight ruining any chance to see until the arrows struck. Only narrowly did the arrow miss his neck-deflecting off his armor by the thinnest of margins. Byleth, Cassandra and Glenn moved to their defense, dodging some, or getting stuck and diving inside the camp.

"Retreat!" Jeralt gave the order and everyone ran towards the main body of the siege camp. The Broken Blade ran from their tents and placements with once-drilled movement. The arrow fire not relenting in the slightest but losing its accuracy and none died, even if a few stumbled.

The Brigid advanced into sight of the torches. Their leathers being shield by dark blue cloth which they tore off and wrapped around their arrowheads. They lit the points on fire using the sconces and arced them into the main body of the encampment.

Just as planned. The Brigid continued to advance as the mercenaries rushed to provide lines of defense or fights the fires in their casual clothing. The few tents around the Brigid only going in flames on intent to shadow their numbers with smoke.

"Here we go." Jeralt transfer command over to Byleth as he ran off to join Christophe and others in retrieving their horses. The calvary component flanking around the Brigid advance through areas of the camps cleared out specifically for this. With long-handled torches in hand they circled around the line—fifty knights with torches riding into the night and entrapping the Brigid between melee in front and cavalry in back.

The Brigid saw this, set all they could ablaze and between gouts of smoke and flame rushed to the melee they could no longer avoid.

Jeralt's contingent staked the torches in the ground between camp and city. The Brigid that tried to retreat would be visible prey for the bow knights coming in from the deepest position of the stables.

Half the knights were left to defend the spot while Jeralt led Christophe and the other half into a hard charge on the Brigid flanks. The Brigid had disengaged to the best of their ability but the camps had been repurposed for this purpose and a thick chunk of enemies fell to his lance. It didn't last long, as the smoke rising quickly struck at eyes beneath helmets and masks.

The cavalry continued to fight with the Brigid forces as they reunited with the Broken Blade. The expert mercenaries now proving themselves a hundred times over as they repelled brigid attacks and pushed back deep. Isolating pockets of enemies and compelling surrender. Soon foreign shouts ran out and the Brigid retreated back into the night.

"Get that fire under control!" This was their job now. The hands that were fighting people now fought fires with all the preparation of three days. It took an hour of hard work but everything set ablaze was under control.

The victory was crushing, and even before the sun was on the horizon. Hundreds of Brigid troops were now prisoners, hundreds more were dead and less than a thousand could have possibly made it back to the city. The horse components waiting afield had done bloody good work.

"Forward!" Count Bergliez's order rent through the night. The camp so alive for combat now moved to conduct its siege. Towers, ladders, catapults and trebuchets unscathed in the fighting lumbered forth.

Jeralt nodded to his son, who would head south to the gathering aerial wing.

The war would end today.