“…The enlistment rate has gotten way too high.”
Demonstrating the Thunder Falcon had been a success, but its overwhelming performance had captivated people so much that far too many now wanted to enlist.
“Even if they join, it doesn’t mean everyone gets to use the Thunder Falcon…”
An army where everyone is a sniper isn’t an army at allโฆ it’s an assassination squad.
It was good that the demonstration had inspired young men with the will to fight, but realistically, not everyone could make a living as a soldier.
Besides, the situation along the northern front had been relatively quiet lately, so there were no raiding soldiers coming down to pillage.
“Captain, the boys are making a huge fuss about wanting to join. What are we going to do?”
“Set strict requirements and select only four.”
“So we’re choosing elites. Got it.”
It hadn’t been long since they’d started recruiting trainees in the first place. At the same time, refusing to accept anyone at all would likely spark resentment.
Four was the perfect number. They could justify it by saying they were selecting only the best, and with so few recruits, integrating them with the existing trainees wouldn’t cause any problems.
Growth needs balance. The village’s population has been growing rapidly lately. We should be strengthening our foundation, not expanding our military beyond what’s necessary.
At the time, I had no idea.
That choosing only four trainees would lead to trouble.
“…They got into a gang fight?”
“Sorry. I should’ve noticed and stopped it.”
To the French, the army was something anyone with enough courage could join.
It was seen as such an accessible path that many young men had worked up the nerve to apply. When they were rejected instead, they took it as a crushing defeat, leaving quite a few of them discouraged and devastated.
Those disappointed youths ended up gathering together and causing trouble outside the village.
“They were drinking and having fun in Maxey when they got into an argument with some Burgundian supporters.”
“They should’ve just stayed in the village…”
It wasn’t surprising.
The Lorraine region had many Burgundian supporters.
In fact, villages like Domrรฉmy, which supported the Armagnac faction, were the minority.
With the Duchy of Burgundy so close by, the influence of its rulers had naturally fostered plenty of Burgundian supporters in the region.
“You support filthy bandits like the Burgundians? Are you people out of your minds?”
“Bandits? The Armagnacs you support looted our village too.”
“Then the Dauphin must’ve been punishing you for siding with the invaders.”
“The Dauphin is a murderer who unjustly killed Duke John the Fearless!”
“You son of a bitch. How dare you slander the Dauphin?”
Maxime supported neither side.
In truth, most people in Domrรฉmy didn’t back the Dauphin because they admired him. They supported him simply because they’d suffered at the hands of the Burgundians one too many times.
“Boss, at least our boys won the fight. They may be troublemakers, but they defended Domrรฉmy’s honor.”
“It was a drunken brawl. Don’t talk to me about honor.”
“Come on, that’s a little harsh… Just imagine if people started saying the tough guys from our village got beaten by those Burgundian idiots!”
He was completely serious about honor.
After living here for so long, it wasn’t even surprising anymore.
The important thing was something else.
This incident can’t become the reason Domrรฉmy turns into the common enemy of the entire Lorraine region.
It might have been an excessive concern, but there was no reason to leave things to chance.
“Tell the village head of Maxey I need to speak with him. It’s important.”
“So you’re planning to take the village head hostage and wipe out those filthy Burgundian supporters?”
“…Tell him as politely as you possibly can. We’re not fighting.”
***
So this is Domrรฉmy.
The archbishop had no intention of recklessly approaching the subject of all the rumors and putting himself at risk.
He changed into ordinary clothes. By concealing his identity, he intended to observe the village and learn what was really going on first.
He assumed everything he’d heard about Domrรฉmy was exaggerated. But if even the Papacy is paying attention, he should investigate carefully. Perhaps it’s not entirely impossible. After all, God has always chosen the weak to humble the strong.
A devout Catholic. The very first rumor he set out to investigate was the claim that the village was connected to Heaven.
If he sensed even the slightest hint of blasphemy at the place spoken of in the rumors, he intended to return immediately to the Church of Embrun.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you tell me where ‘Le Paradis des รmes’ is?”
“Oh my, you must be a pilgrim. It’s wonderful to see someone your age so devoted.”
Contrary to the rumors that painted the people of Domrรฉmy as fierce and rough, its residents were relaxed and welcoming.
They don’t seem wary of outsiders. It’s as though they’re confident no one could threaten them.
Perhaps this is what an ideal society looks like…
The archbishop knew all too well how an elderly man of no apparent status was usually treated.
The woman’s unguarded kindness left a deep impression on him.
She personally guided them, and before long the archbishop’s party had ventured deep into the village.
One of the deacons, uneasy about following her without knowing exactly where they were going, leaned over and whispered,
“…Your excellency, are you sure it’s wise to keep going like this?”
“Calm yourself. We’re hardly the only visitors from outside. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Led by the friendly villager, they soon reached the heart of the settlement.
Despite being nothing more than a rural village, the place bustled with as many people as a city.
Le Paradis des รmes.
Also known as the Hall of Martyrs.
The Papacy had never recognized it, yet people openly referred to it as a holy site.
So this is… the place from the rumors…
The open square was filled with life-sized statues that looked as though they might begin moving at any moment.
There were dozens of them, each distinct from the next.
Some depicted people who had resolutely accepted sacrifice. Others captured those who had transformed rage into courage. Still others wore gentle, compassionate smiles.
Every sculpture drew the eye.
Without a single written explanation, each conveyed the emotions its subject had felt in life with astonishing clarity. Any one of them would have been worthy of display in the Pantheon.
“……”
A solemn stillness hung over the square.
With so many people gathered, it should have been noisy, yet everyone prayed in silence, creating an atmosphere of profound reverence.
The archbishop and his deacons found themselves overwhelmed.
The rumors… were true?
Each statue stirred a different emotion within them.
The flood of feeling was so intense that it became difficult to think clearly. Before he realized it, tears were streaming down the archbishop’s face.
Never before had the death of someone whose name he didn’t even know affected him so deeply.
So… this is another way to remember the dead. I’d feared these rumors about creating statues identical to the deceased meant the villagers had fallen into some kind of dark magic. But this is… noble, if anything.
Even at his advanced age, the experience shook him profoundly.
It also filled him with curiosity about the sculptor responsible for all of this.
Someone with such extraordinary skill… and yet he didn’t embellish the cross in the slightest.
His gaze fell upon the large cross.
Its plain, unadorned appearance made an even stronger impression because of its simplicity. It reflected the creator’s profound sense of religious solemnity.
He’s not someone intoxicated by his own talent. He’s someone who sincerely follows the guidance of the Holy Spirit. There’ll be no need for an inquisition here.
For the first time, the archbishop even began to wonder if the rumors that someone here had received a divine revelation might actually be true.
***
I need a dedicated shield to support the Thunder Falcon.
The Middle Ages already had a shield called the pavise.
Used primarily by archers and crossbowmen, it was as tall as a grown man.
Once a crossbowman fired, he was left completely exposed while reloading. Since crossbows took much longer to reload than longbows, English longbowmen could shoot at a crossbowman who had just fired without worrying about immediate retaliation.
Cover is essential for a marksman.
That was precisely where the pavise came in.
At a minimum, it blocked incoming arrows. At its best, it could even slow a charging cavalry assault.
For crossbowmen, it was an indispensable barrier. A lifeline that provided cover even where none existed.
The problem with the pavise is that once it’s deployed, it can’t move.
Its very design required it to be planted into the ground. It was never meant to be carried around during battle.
Taking apart and setting up such a large, heavy shield again in the middle of intense fighting was simply impossible.
Mobility is at the heart of combat effectiveness. I didn’t create a weapon as powerful as the Thunder Falcon only to have it shackled by the limitations of its cover.
I intended to create a giant shield that could move along with its users.
Before I finalize the design, I’ll organize the training. If they start practicing now, we can put the finished shield into service immediately.
That morning, I quickly built wooden training shields and mock crossbows.
Since I only needed to replicate their weight and dimensions, they didn’t take long to make.
***
That afternoon,
I summoned Jeanne, Pierre, and the others responsible for training.
“Sir Maxime Blanche, I’ve arrived as well. …I see you’re having your meal.”
“If you were going to call us at this hour anyway, you could’ve invited us a little earlier so we could’ve had lunch together.”
“I don’t mind. Restraining one’s appetite helps cultivate a devout spirit. …Though if you ever feel like sharing a meal, please don’t hesitate to invite me.”
Watching me make do with a simple piece of bread, they couldn’t hide their disappointment.
“First, let me explain why I called you here.”
I drew a diagram on the blackboard.
The board was a simple writing surface made by coating a wooden plank with a paint mixed with abrasive powder.
The illustration was there to make the explanation easier to understand.
“Until now, we’ve organized training on an ad hoc basis depending on the situation. From now on, we’ll establish dedicated specialty training.”
“So we’re finally doing what you talked about before.”
“That’s right. The first unit we’ll organize is the team that operates the Thunder Falcon. A three-man crossbow team will serve as the backbone of the battlefield, suppressing the enemy.”
Now that the weapon’s performance had improved, continuing to train the same way as before would have been a complete waste of its potential.
“Right now, everyone who wants to enlist is only interested in the Thunder Falcon’s superior performance.
But the real key to the Thunder Falcon will be the shieldman who operates the Nest.”
The shield had two primary roles.
The first was to read the flow of the battlefield and choose the best firing positions. To a marksman, nothing was more important than having proper cover.
The second was to relay commands whenever the shooter became too focused on firing to hear the commander’s orders.
“It’s difficult to make out a commander’s voice in the middle of battle.
Fortunately, even if the shooter can’t hear the commander directly, it’s much easier to understand instructions when they’re passed along by someone right in front of them.
The shieldman or the ‘Nestman’ will serve as the link between the crossbowmen and the commander.”
My ultimate goal was to create a ranged unit capable of advancing and withdrawing in real time under coordinated command.
“Each team will be issued one shield and two Thunder Falcons.
The firing sequence works like this: the first shooter fires, then the second shooter hands over a Thunder Falcon that has already been reloaded. After the first shooter fires again, the second shooter reloads the now-empty crossbow.
If the second shooter’s skill is good enough, both of them can simply alternate between firing and reloading their own weapons.”
“Hmm…”
“I understand.”
“That concludes the theory. Let’s move straight into training.”
I handed out the mock crossbows and shields I had prepared in advance.
I picked up a mock crossbow myself. Jeanne happened to be carrying one of the shields, so I took position behind her.
“The shield has a viewing slit, but don’t spend all your time looking forward. Except when you’re setting it down, you should regularly check on the allies behind you. Commanders’ verbal orders will be replaced with standardized hand signals.”
Since we wouldn’t have many opportunities to gain actual battlefield experience, I treated their instruction with the utmost seriousness.
I presented different combat scenarios and directed the movements of both the shieldman and the shooters.
“Don’t shoot over the top of the shield! You can’t do that in a real battle! Crossbowmen always fire from either side of the shield!”
“Nestman, give your shooter the signal before you move. No matter how urgent the situation is, it means nothing if your coordination falls apart.”
“Jeanne, that was excellent. Your movement was so clean it could be used as an example in the training manual.”
“Pierre! What are you doing firing over and over when you’re out of bolts? Coordinate with your partner! Treat this like a real battle, not practice!”
As we trained, various problems naturally surfaced.
Mistakes were actually welcome. Every error helped refine the training program into something more thorough.
The quickest learner by far was Jeanne.
She was so polished that she looked ready for real combat already. Considering that mastering the shield was even more difficult than using the crossbow, it was remarkable.
“Good work, everyone. That’s enough for today. We’ll rotate everyone’s roles next time. Just return the training equipment before you head home.”
The first training session came to an end.
As I organized the returned practice gear, I finally asked Jeanne something that had been on my mind throughout the session.
“You wore your chain mail the entire time. Wasn’t it uncomfortable? You don’t have to wear it during training.”
“…No. I need to get used to it. You told us to train as though it were the real thing.”
I see. That’s exactly the kind of attitude I was hoping for.
***
My face felt like it was about to burst…
Jeanne quietly let out a sigh of relief.
Throughout the entire training session, she had been painfully aware that Maxime was standing right behind her.
It was a good thing she’d worn her chain mail.
It had unintentionally hidden how red her face had become.
Though the real reason she’d started wearing the chain mail so often…
…was because it still felt as though Maxime’s hands lingered on it.
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