In the past—before Carolus set out to secure the northern and western fronts—he faced a significant dilemma.
“How can a smaller force defeat a larger one?”
Specifically, he pondered how his Central Army, numbering only in the tens of thousands, could suppress the potential rebel factions spread across the entire kingdom.
Although he had seized the capital in a coup and established his regime, the foundation of his rule remained precarious.
Hostile territories and political adversaries surrounded him on all sides, leaving him with no choice but to rely on the strength of his army.
While working to secure political allies and expand his influence, Carolus poured his efforts into strengthening the military that would protect him.
He equipped his troops with state-of-the-art weapons and expensive uniforms, training them in revolutionary tactics.
The result of this endeavor was the creation of line infantry.
It was a cutting-edge military force, utilizing tactics that others wouldn’t develop for decades.
“With this, we can crush most enemies.”
“Soon, we might even consider distributing this doctrine throughout the entire army.”
The outcome was satisfactory.
Carolus’ soldiers, despite the sudden shift in tactics, adapted remarkably well.
In time, they would achieve great victories, fully living up to his expectations.
However, even this wasn’t enough.
Line infantry was still just a concept.
“Anything that appears simple on the surface will inevitably be copied by others one day…”
The doctrine of abandoning traditional units like spearmen or swordsmen to create musket-only formations was innovative, but it wasn’t entirely unprecedented.
While the composition of the forces had changed, the operational methods and know-how weren’t vastly different from existing military strategies.
What did this mean?
In time, other armies would inevitably mimic line infantry tactics, much like copy-ninjas, learning from observing his forces in action.
If copied, it might take as little as four or five years before examples of imitation began to surface.
Once that happened, the hard-earned superiority of the Central Army would vanish in an instant.
“I need a different solution. Something so far ahead that others wouldn’t even dare to attempt copying it.”
Instead of relying on a temporary advantage, Carolus pondered how to create a long-lasting strength that could be sustained over time.
After deep deliberation, he found his answer in technology: advancing weaponry so far ahead of its time that it would ensure superiority.
“If it comes to this, I’m going all in on firepower.”
Fortunately, he had already thought of several promising ideas.
Turning those concepts into reality, he began producing and deploying them on a large scale.
Unlike with the introduction of line infantry, there was no opposition from his subordinates.
The effectiveness of these new weapons was self-evident at a glance.
Though there hadn’t been enough time to deploy them during the battles against the Empire, the preparations were finally complete, and they debuted in this battle.
The results?
The chaos among the noble coalition’s forces, with their soldiers screaming like frightened children, spoke for itself.
“Aaaaaagh!!!”
“Damn it, the fire won’t go out! Why does it keep burning even when we pour water on it?!”
“Break formation! If we stay here, we’re all going to die! Scatter! Run for your lives!!”
Carolus’s special rockets, officially named the Primary Military Objective Strike System, but nicknamed “Juche Rockets,” were composed of three main materials:
Saltpeter (the primary ingredient of gunpowder), sugar, and oil.
The saltpeter and sugar served as propellants, while the warhead was loaded with either a charge of gunpowder or oil.
In the case of oil, it was mixed with sawdust and raw rubber to create a sticky, viscous substance.
In simpler terms, the rockets were effectively incendiary weapons.
What happened when such a device struck the enemy directly?
Complete pandemonium.
“Kahahaha! Behold, humanity is nothing but trash!”
“…Colonel Vaden, sir? You’ve been saying some really strange things today.”
“His Grace told us to say it when we use these rockets.”
“I swear, sometimes he does the strangest things.”
While some soldiers were babbling nonsense as they watched the fiery trails streaking through the sky, chaos was erupting below.
Boiling oil seeped into the gaps of armor, causing armored infantry to writhe and thrash in agony.
Heavy cavalry were thrown from their horses as panicked, burned animals reared and bucked uncontrollably.
Tightly packed pikemen caught fire as the flames spread through their formation.
Skirmishers, their clothing and flesh melting together, couldn’t even scream in pain.
Dragoons, struck directly in the helmet by rockets, were blown to pieces.
The battlefield became a maelstrom of nearly every conceivable form of pandemonium.
Attacks from an unimaginable direction—the sky.
The noble coalition, having never considered the need to defend against something from above, found the rocket bombardment to be a devastating shock.
“St-stay calm! They’re flashy, but they’re not as deadly as they look!”
“Regroup into formation! Stay composed, and we can endure this!”
“Light cavalry, maneuver around our lines to the west and await new orders!”
Despite the chaos, the sheer size of the coalition’s army worked to their advantage.
Before long, officers and soldiers who had regained their composure began rallying the troops, urging them to stand and fight.
In truth, the Juche Rockets were more dramatic than they were deadly.
The actual damage was relatively minor—several hundred casualties and a few dozen horses lost at most.
Considering the size of the entire army, the losses were negligible.
The rockets were, after all, nothing more than unguided, cheaply made “rocket candy” devices.
Their accuracy was questionable at best; they were built for mass production and indiscriminate bombardment, not precision strikes.
However, the psychological impact was tremendous.
The sight and sound of fiery streaks raining down from above created an overwhelming sense of terror and confusion.
In essence, the rockets were morale-breaking weapons—dangerous if they hit, but not particularly reliable.
For those who understood their true nature and could remain calm, it was possible to withstand the bombardment.
Of course, maintaining composure in the face of such chaos was easier said than done.
“Your Grace! Please issue an order! Are you just going to let the soldiers die like this?”
“Oh, yes, of course. All intact units, resume the advance! Focus on breaking through the enemy’s exposed right flank first!”
The Duke of Barelmund, regaining his composure, quickly began issuing commands.
Positioned in the rear, he had escaped the worst of the rocket barrage and now demanded a swift counterattack from his generals.
“We’ve taken a hit, so it’s time to hit back. Crush those rebels relying on strange weapons!”
“Send the 5th and 7th Regiments to the front. Our 18th Regiment will provide support from the rear.”
“Do we have any hand cannon gunners left? As soon as you get close to the rebels, fire at will! Match their firepower with our own!”
Despite the chaos, the Duke’s forces still retained capable officers—veterans who had previously served in the Royal Army or were handpicked as vassals.
Following his orders, these commanders quickly reorganized their troops and moved to execute his commands.
The plan was to pin down General Elan’s division, which had yet to return to its original position, and finish off the rest of the Central Army.
Despite the weight of their heavy armor, the noble coalition’s soldiers pushed themselves to close the distance, intending to settle the battle in melee combat.
500 paces.
400 paces.
300 paces.
By now, they had reached the effective range of the muskets.
“Huh?”
“What’s that?”
As they closed in, something unexpected happened: the rocket barrage stopped.
Instead, something emerged from between the Central Army’s formations.
“They’ve brought out something that looks like cannons,” someone muttered in alarm.
“What is that? Are they seriously planning to fire cannons at us head-on?”
Using standard artillery at this range would be ineffective.
And if they intended to use grapeshot, the distance was still too great.
The noble coalition troops hesitated, puzzled for only a moment.
They soon learned the answer the hard way.
–Tututututututu!!
A hailstorm of concentrated fire mowed down the noble coalition forces.
This was the power of a weapon known as the Volley Gun.
It bundled multiple barrels together to fire simultaneously—a primitive ancestor of the machine gun.
The Central Army, under Carolus’s command, had deployed precisely this weapon.
While it had its fair share of shortcomings—it was cumbersome to reload, heavy, and not particularly efficient—its sheer firepower was unmatched.
Against tightly packed enemy formations, few tools could be as devastating.
General Elan’s division had been issued 40 volley guns.
Each gun consisted of 50 barrels, allowing for a total of 2,000 rounds to be fired in a single volley.
Even accounting for half of the shots missing and another 20% hitting the same targets, that still left 800 casualties per volley—a devastating blow that shredded the front ranks of the enemy.
“Once you’re done firing, reload immediately! Fire at will as soon as you’re ready!”
“Aye, sir! Somebody bring more ammo over here!”
And it didn’t stop at one volley.
With quick-loading tools on hand, the gunners were able to prepare a second barrage in just a few minutes.
By 21st-century Earth standards, this firepower might seem rudimentary, but in this world, it was unrivaled—a truly insane display of destructive capability.
“What kind of monsters are these?! Where did they even get so many unheard-of weapons?!”
“We can’t do this—retreat! Retreat! If we stay here, we’ll just die like dogs!”
“What are you cowards doing?! Retreating before the Duke’s enemies?! Stand your ground—”
“If you’ve got the guts to say that, why don’t you deal with that firestorm first?!”
From afar, there was no answer.
Up close, there was even less hope.
With the weapons they had, victory was impossible—no matter how desperately they tried.
Once this harsh reality dawned on the soldiers, they began abandoning their positions one by one, fleeing the battlefield.
It didn’t matter if officers tried to stop them with shouts or threats; the soldiers didn’t even bother to listen.
This massive army, hastily assembled, had always been lacking in loyalty and morale. Now, it had finally reached its breaking point.
“We’ve won.”
“…We’ve lost.”
The battlefield was a study in contrasts as triumph and despair unfolded simultaneously.
The Central Army’s officers grinned with satisfaction, while Duke Barelmund clenched his teeth in frustration.
The army he had poured everything into had crumbled in vain.
With the tide of battle decisively turned, his defeat was now certain.
Despair crept into his mind.
“Your Grace! Please, you must retreat immediately!”
“I know! Stop yelling at me and gather the remaining troops—whatever’s left!”
Yet, even in this moment of defeat, he did not give up.
He couldn’t afford to. He wasn’t about to be captured and executed so easily.
Clenching his fists, the Duke resolved to scrape together whatever forces remained and retreat.
He believed that if he could make it back to his estate and hold out, there would eventually be another chance to rebuild.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Unfortunately for him, his hopes ended as nothing more than an empty dream.
“Oh? Finally arrived, have you?”
Carolus was already waiting, having taken the Duke’s estate and established control.