Chapter 25: How to Use Holy Knights

Sylphietta had only just become a Holy Knight Paladin this year.

She and her childhood friend Antonio—raised together since they were kids—entered the Imperial Royal Knight Academy and naturally became partners. She had never gripped a sword before, but they drilled it into her until it was bone-deep. The Empire had far fewer people than the Kingdom. Only a handful were born with Holy Knight or Hero talent, so they couldn’t afford to lose them. Academy training was merciless by necessity, and the battlefield death rate stayed extremely low as a result.

Still, no one faced their first real battle without tension.

Sylphietta sat stiff on her horse when the voice reached her.

“You’re gonna be fine, Sylphi. I’m right here with you. And there are plenty of senior Holy Knights around. No way we lose.”

Her partner Antonio had spoken up.

In this war Antonio would finally start drinking the aphrodisiacs for real. They had walked the same path all this time. But from now on he would become Hero Chevalier, burning his life force. How much longer could they stay together? The thought alone made Sylphietta’s chest sink. At least for this first battle she wanted him to hold off on the drugs as long as possible.

“Being close is nice, but mind the other eyes. Soldiers are watching too.”

Scolded by the senior Hero Chevalier, the pair separated their horses.

Roughly two weeks out from Imperial Capital Lontegriff, the invasion army led by the Second Prince entered the Empire-side stronghold on the Kabachi Plains—Grantberg Fortress.

“Scouts put the enemy at fifty thousand, commanded by that Phalanx. Roughly ten Holy Knights as well.”

“…Roughly? Get an exact count on the Holy Knights. One single Paladin can flip the whole battle!”

Second Prince Noias Tolmakia twisted his nervous face.

Last year they had retreated without achieving anything against the enemy’s defensive line. The opposing general was famous for iron defense. The question was how to break him. That was when Noias fixed his eyes on the Holy Knights. Normally they were saved for flanking or the final clash—against a “stationary opponent” they couldn’t show their full power.

“Then couldn’t we break the enemy line with the Holy Knights’ strength?”

The idea he came up with was a “first-strike certain-kill formation” by throwing every Holy Knight into the opening charge. When he proposed it, praise rained down. He who could never become a Hero Chevalier like his brother, he who was called talentless in war—thought he could overturn that judgment right here.

“I’m better than Austro Tolmakia. I’ll prove it!”

Burning with inferiority, Noias stared at the war map.

“Enemy force roughly forty thousand, plus twenty-five Holy Knight Paladins. Commanded by Second Prince Noias Tolmakia, Vice-Commander Leopold Schwaik.”

“Leopold Schwaik? Young, but I hear he’s excellent on both offense and defense. Learned from last year and brought a real general this time, huh.”

“True. Last year we took almost no losses—the enemy just wasted supplies. That’s exactly why it feels off. Why come out again with the same formation? They must have a new scheme.”

“Probably. Those twenty-five Holy Knights are the key. But how exactly do they plan to use that many…”

General Belgarad Phalanx listened silently to his staff’s debate. Inside his head, calculations raced. Ten years guarding the north—he had walked every inch of the Kabachi Plains. From all available intel he built the battlefield in his mind and fought the battle there first.

(In last year’s fight they should already know Holy Knights struggle against a solid line. Yet they brought twenty-five… Meaning they believe they’ve found a way to make them work. At least the prince thinks so.)

The standard way to break a line with Holy Knights was to slip them inside the attacking force and shatter it with powerful magic. But “God’s Work” magic reached only about a hundred meters at best—useless against facing armies. Phalanx’s troops were trained to hold even under magic bombardment. In real combat his wall had never once been breached.

(During training… there was one opponent who did breach it once. That Hero Chevalier mocked as “Sloth,” I believe. Against someone like him it would have been fun—but he himself called it a “one-time trick,” so unlikely.)

“General, where do you expect the clash to happen?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Phalanx answered.

“Center of the plains. No room for tricks—just head-on collision. Heavy infantry forward, form the line. Now… how will they try to break it? Let’s see the prince’s plan.”

A savage grin spread across his face. The staff officers shivered—battle thrill. If they failed to meet the expectations of this general who truly loved war from his guts, the prince’s life would be forfeit. Every one of them knew it.

In the vast center of the Kabachi Plains the armies glared at each other across five hundred meters—out of bow range.

Vice-Commander Leopold Schwaik, leading the left wing, felt a thread of unease. The plan the Second Prince had laid out was indeed brilliant: both wings attacking inward to outward in sequence. Execute the “oblique order” simultaneously on left and right, create a “power vacuum” in the enemy center, then hammer every Holy Knight into that spot. The oblique order had been considered for breaking lines before, but never succeeded on open plains—the shock simply dissipated. The prince, however, wasn’t trying to break the line itself. He wanted dynamic imbalance. A shift in thinking. If it worked, it would be written into military history.

(But the opponent is that Phalanx. Will it land against a veteran like him?)

He couldn’t oppose the plan on “bad feeling” alone. So on the surface Leopold agreed. Yet facing the enemy army now, their overwhelming fighting spirit made unease swell. The enemy line shifted slightly. The bad feeling grew. Before he could dwell, the gong rang—battle start. Infantry charged with the horses. Leopold stopped thinking.

Leopold’s unease was dead on.

Phalanx had read the formation the instant he saw it.

“Wings have strong spirit. They’ll hit from both sides—oblique order, no doubt. Oblique outward from each wing, then smash Holy Knights into the thinned center… That’s the shape of it.”

Phalanx could read it because once, long ago, a Hero Chevalier and his Holy Knight Paladin had used the exact same tactic to pierce the central army and threaten the main camp. When Phalanx praised him, the hero only shook his head.

…This tactic works only once. And only against General Phalanx himself. The general enjoys battle somewhere deep down, so he’ll face an unknown attack head-on. I knew that. I won’t use this again…

Reading even the opponent’s mind and personality—Phalanx had tried to recruit that wisdom to his staff, but the hero refused. Eventually the hero died.

“Orders to both wings. Enemy is coming oblique. Open half-step gaps between soldiers to absorb the waves—ends push forward five steps.”

Soon the gong rang again. Enemy wings moved. Phalanx sighed.

“I had a little hope, but… is this all?”

That hero would have changed tactics the moment the line wavered. This opponent hadn’t. He trusted his own flash of genius and never imagined it could be broken. This was exactly what it meant to drown in your own scheme.

“Message to the Holy Knight Paladins. Five to each wing. Once the oblique ends, slaughter freely. If the battle finishes today, you get time off.”

Wings collided. Phalanx watched the front with cool eyes.

“Now the Holy Knight Paladins will smash straight into us—over twenty of them. But fear nothing. Holy Knights charging head-on are just ‘boars.’ All you do is protect. Plant shields in the earth, root yourselves, become an impregnable steel wall!”

“Ooooh!!”

Soldiers roared, slamming thick shields into the ground.

“This is… the oblique isn’t landing?”

Leopold Schwaik felt the strange lack of impact. The shock was flowing away like grass in wind. Soon the far-left wing crashed. Then an eerie sight—blood spraying up like a pillar. A woman lightly swinging a massive sword taller than a man.

“Holy Knight Paladin? All the way on the far left—shit!”

Schwaik barked orders to a runner. Too late. The central army had already begun moving. Tongue clicking, new commands.

“Don’t close with the Holy Knight Paladins! Form clusters, solidify defense, pull back!”

“Pull back? General, what—”

“The oblique was read. Their center still has full power! Keep fighting and we become Paladin fodder then get surrounded and wiped out!”

The Empire’s central army charged in a wedge. Twenty Holy Knight Paladins at the tip. Arrows rained. The Paladins’ speed was beyond common sense—they slipped under the falling shafts. Sylphietta leveled her spear—heavy iron-cored weapon two grown men could barely lift. She swung it one-handed, built momentum, and slammed it into the wall ahead. A thunderous crash—the spear bounced back.

“Nfufu… Even Holy Knight Paladins, if you charge straight, we can prepare. Your overwhelming bodies only shine when you move freely in every direction. Right now you’re just ‘strong infantry.’ Been a while since someone launched such a contemptuous fight…”

Stroking his chin beard, General Belgarad Phalanx laughed.

When you use a new tactic you must anticipate even it being broken. Not one life—over ten thousand soldiers’ lives were at stake. A commander must never drown in his own scheme.

Twenty-five Holy Knights poured power into the line. Most formations would shatter. Concentrated in one spot, even heavy infantry would have been smashed. But Holy Knights were ultimately “individuals,” not a “cluster.” Each struck a different shield and was repelled. Then the central army surged from behind. Caught front and back, they couldn’t even swing properly. No matter how strong, they lost their power.

“Here they come! Give everything!”

Tremendous impact slammed the shields. They slid backward. Trained soldiers gritted teeth and held. All movement stopped. A heartbeat of silence. Then—

“Push!!!”

Front-row soldiers were blasted back by their own shields. Spears stabbed through the gaps. They tried to pour in—rear soldiers instantly covered with fresh shields. Repel, stab, repeat. Soon friend and foe melted into chaotic melee.

“Shit! What the hell are the Holy Knight Paladins doing!”

Noias gnashed his teeth in the rear, veins bulging. Phalanx’s solid line was built on concentrated power and perfect infantry coordination. Thin the center with oblique, then break—simple. But the enemy center hadn’t weakened at all. Even the Paladins couldn’t pierce. Worse news arrived.

“Report from left wing! Oblique failed. Enemy Holy Knights split left and right to intercept—left flank under heavy pressure!”

“Split left and right… then no Holy Knights in their center! Commit reserves—break the center in one go!”

“Your Highness, wait! Center is already melee. Even Paladins can’t show power in that chaos. Plan failed—we should sound retreat—”

“Retreat?! Don’t be a fool! Even in melee Holy Knights have supernatural strength. Let them become lone warriors and keep slaughtering—they’ll break through eventually!”

A single Holy Knight Paladin wielded the strength of three or four men. The Kingdom’s strongest, Gladys Wackenheim, was said to equal ten. No ordinary man could beat one in ground combat. But…

“Foolish. They should have retreated quickly… Form fives! If each has three men’s power, five working together can surround them. Holy Knights are still human—only two arms, no eyes in the back.”

Sylphietta swung her rigid spear like a madwoman, slaughtering nonstop. The stench of blood blew away reason. Every soldier that entered her sight died.

“Aaaaaahhh!”

High battle cry. Enemy in view. Spear thrust. Bon! Something burst—head gone from the neck. Impact to her waist—spear stabbed in. No pain. Swatted like a fly. Another impact—arrow in her thigh. Snapped it off, gripped the spear again. Still could move. She muttered to herself.

“Damn it! They’re not pulling back! What the hell is His Highness thinking!”

Leopold Schwaik’s face twisted in frustration. The moment the oblique was deflected the entire plan had failed. On his left he switched to defense early to prevent collapse. Five Holy Knights leaped out—he didn’t clash head-on, used arrow barrages to pin them while pulling infantry back. Enemy didn’t pursue deep. Overall the left became a standoff.

But they couldn’t retreat. If they did, the enemy would arc around and bite the central army’s flank. By holding here, the center could focus forward. Central breakthrough failed, but twenty-five Holy Knights were still present—the center shouldn’t collapse easily. What worried him was the right flank. He couldn’t see it. If it broke, they would strike the central army’s side. No leeway to help. Holding here was all they could do. Still he gave new orders.

“Maintain line while gradually retreating. Enemy wants to pincer the center. As long as we hold, they can’t turn inward.”

“Draw them out and pincer the center ourselves?”

“No. Their goal is defense. Crush their encirclement plan and they’ll retreat.”

Gongs and drums carried the commands. Left wing began slow retreat. Phalanx watched and nodded.

“Hoh. Fine retreat. Can’t circle while the enemy in front is still alive. Orders to right wing—no pursuit. We pull back once too, reorganize. Also message to Holy Knight Paladins—fast horses, drive a wedge into the central army’s flank. Hit-and-run only, don’t go deep…”

From Phalanx’s right (Noias’ left) both sides pulled back into stalemate. A general like Phalanx would have anticipated his own retreat. He couldn’t turn the whole army centerward, but a tiny force could move—the Holy Knight Paladins.

(If Holy Knights bite the flank, even that idiot prince will have to think. Their power is huge, but better than the entire army turning.)

Use the enemy to force the central army back. Razor-thin judgment that could be called desertion before the foe. The central army buckled from the left. Holy Knights had bitten in.

“As expected of Phalanx. Knows exactly how to use Holy Knight Paladins.”

Throw them into melee and even Paladins became “just infantry.” Show overwhelming power, disengage immediately. Repeat—and terror spread. Central army began retreating. Flank ravaged by Holy Knights, holding the line became impossible.

“…We lost. At least it wasn’t annihilation.”

Leopold looked at the sky and sighed.

“You bastard! Why did you retreat the army?! Because of you the center was endangered and we had to pull back!”

Second Prince Noias roared, shaking with fury. Leopold wanted to punch the trembling prince right there but held back.

“The plan was oblique to thin the center, then Holy Knights to break through. Central breakthrough failed—plan failure is obvious. We should have retreated then. I made a field decision to limit losses.”

“Central breakthrough didn’t fail! We were this close! You interfered!”

Patience snapped. He was about to swing when the military supervisors stepped forward.

“Your Highness. With respect, General Schwaik is correct. Left wing retreated early—light losses. Right wing took catastrophic damage. Right likely would have collapsed before any central breakthrough. Truly regrettable, but this operation must be judged a failure.”

“Kuh…”

Noias turned beet-red and stormed out of the tent. In that state he couldn’t command. The remaining vice-commander gathered the army and began retreat to Grantberg Fortress.

Hero Chevalier Antonio stood stunned before his partner’s ruined body. Eight spear wounds, arrowhead buried deep in her thigh. It was a miracle she still breathed.

“S-Sylphi… Sylphi, my partner—someone, please save her!”

He grabbed the medics. They only shook their heads and walked away. Sylphietta wasn’t the only wounded. Dead and injured neared ten thousand. No time for hopeless cases. Having a cot at all was luck. Faced with cruel reality, Antonio despaired.

The Kingdom army felt no joy in victory. They had stopped twenty-five Holy Knights, but the cost could not be ignored.

“Dead exceed two thousand. Wounded—light and heavy—over five thousand.”

Largest casualties in ten years guarding the north.

“Treat as many as possible. Unit commanders submit names of dead and missing. Soldiers get full rations. Up to two cups of wine allowed.”

Phalanx gave only those orders. Face calm, guts boiling inside. War meant death—he was ready to bear it. But this time the enemy’s incompetence had created unnecessary corpses. If his own subordinates showed such stupidity he would have taken their heads on the spot.

After finishing every immediate task, Phalanx returned to his tent. He filled a cup to the brim and drained it in one gulp. It tasted nothing like victory wine.