Among the secrets she held was the reason why she and Sir Stan had chosen to purchase Audrey. Her tight lips constantly reminded Lansius that Hannei''s loyalty lay firmly with Sir Stan and Lord Bengrieve.
Now, Hannei was eying Felis, anger flaring in her golden eyes. "Where have you been?"
¡°In the castle. I told you I was going to the castle,¡± Felis replied innocently.
¡°No. You said you¡¯re going to get some fruit you just heard of from a peddler. Then you disappeared. I was worried, you know,¡± Hannei said in frustration.
¡°Oh, that too, hehe~ Sorry.¡± Felis approached Hannei and tried to hug her. However, Hannei was still annoyed. This made Felis walk toward Tia instead.
The little girl¡¯s eyes were wide open.
¡°What¡¯s the matter, child?¡± Felis asked sweetly.
¡°Pardon, my lady, but am I in the afterlife?¡± Tia responded.
Felis erupted into giggles.
¡°Why do you ask that?¡± Hannei questioned, a concerned look crossing her face.
¡°Well, I¡¯m surrounded by people with golden hair and the Lord of Korelia is present. Am I dreaming?¡±
Hannei snorted laughter, which seemed to break the ice, and the rest of the evening was filled with warmth and camaraderie.
This was a rare reunion of the Toruna band, with Hannei, Calub, Lansius, Audrey, and now even Felis was onboard.
With Felis soon to be married into nobility, they all sensed this might be their last gathering. Perhaps it was this subconscious awareness that made them savor the evening despite the ongoing healing process.
Felis readily helped Hannei as Tia needed a change of clothes, while Calub busied himself with brewing herbal concoctions for Lansius and Audrey.
They kept Hannei company during the final stage of the treatment. With just one healer, it was the hardest due to sleep deprivation. However, the grueling night was made lighter by friendly faces. Conversation filled the air and stories were exchanged, as Hannei couldn¡¯t afford to rest just yet.
At Lansius'' suggestion, they dragged a bed up and put it next to Tia¡¯s, allowing Hannei to recite the healing verses while lying down. It was a measure to conserve her dwindling strength.
Upon Calub¡¯s insistence, Audrey and Sterling escorted a reluctant Lansius back to the castle after midnight while Felis stayed behind to assist Hannei.
***
At first light, Audrey returned. She had let Lansius oversleep due to his below-average constitution. Together with Calub and the rest of the household, she witnessed Tia¡¯s recovery.
Now unbound and attempting to move her once limp leg, Tia¡¯s first movement in bed was shaky, but gradually, her ankle began to display a full range of motion.
The little girl wept with joy.
Finally, Hannei could rest. After a light breakfast, she instructed Calub not to let Tia move from her bed. Then she retired to Calub¡¯s room, where she soon fell asleep. Her slender form curled up in the fetal position, appearing both beautiful and fragile.
Margo and Timmy vigilantly guarded the house that day, ensuring peace and quiet. The only sound they tolerated was the soft snoring coming from Felis in the next room. Meanwhile, Calub kept himself busy by reading some scrolls while periodically checking on Tia.
Feeling satisfied with what she had witnessed, Audrey returned to the castle. On her way back, she noticed that the wind was blowing harder than usual, sweeping from the south toward the north. The season was changing.
***
Chapter 83 : The Sinews of War (Book 3)
Welcome, whether you¡¯re joining us from the 2nd book or audiobook. ??
This marks the beginning of Book III.
Disclaimer: This is the (2 years old) Free Web Novel Version and is written with Asian readers in mind and naturally (occasionally) use Asian onomatopoeia. Meaning, the use of "Eh?", "Uff!", "Kyaa!", etc.
If you want the professionally edited version, please kindly wait for Book 3 release in Amazon.
I apologize for the red text, but I have someone bomb-review me with 1.5 star in here, Amazon, and Goodreads just because of those words ??
Chapter 83
Sinews of War
Plains of Korimor, Daniella
It was noon outside, but the sun couldn¡¯t penetrate the thick canvas of the tent. There were no ventilation openings, only several small gaps in the ground or loose stitching, making the inside hot and humid. There, a Nicopolan-born lady sat upon a mat of dried grass inside a wooden cage, her clothes sticking to her sweaty skin. Her mission to secure alliances with the cooperative Nicopolans had been discovered, and she had been captured.
Looking back, she had been too hopeful to think that the majority of refugees from Nicopola could be dissuaded from waging war with Korimor and her forces. These so-called refugees were, in reality, deeply influenced by the manipulative and ambitious Tarracan man, who was also ruthlessly competent.
The price for this misplaced optimism was the death of her accompanying guard¡ªa smart, loyal, and resourceful man. He had died defending her, and Daniella blamed herself.
She licked her cracked lips and exhaled deeply, unbothered by the putrid stench emanating from the cage that had certainly kept many more victims before her. After days of subsisting on watery gruel, she felt weak. Even water was hard to come by, and her dry lips bled easily. In her boredom, her fingers absently played with the dark brown beads attached to her belt. They looked like poorly lacquered wooden beads, but they were made of highly valued sucrose and hard biscuits, coated in beeswax.
These small, hard candies could give her a burst of stamina if needed. They wouldn¡¯t cure her hunger, but they could prove invaluable in certain situations.
However, for now, escape seemed like a farfetched dream. The wooden cage that surrounded her was built to last, sturdy enough even to possibly hold a beastman.
Despite days of isolation inside the cage, poor sanitation, itchiness from lack of hygiene, and debilitating boredom, her mind remained sharp. Many would succumb to despair, especially knowing their mission had almost succeeded only to be thwarted at the final stage. But even though thrown into a cage with little hope of rescue, Daniella remained steadfast.
Ironically, her upbringing as a noble had prepared her for this kind of treatment. She remembered days when she had been confined to her chamber over disagreements with her family. In that solitude, she found strength and mental resilience.
Without her knowing it, the silence of her current confinement had empowered her further. Since yesterday, she had been replaying her last two battles in her mind: one against Lord Lansius, and the other as his ally. On both occasions, she had caught glimpses of her new lord¡¯s ingenuity.
She came to realize what made Lansius unique was his ability to understand the entire battlefield as a whole, to see the big picture.
That understanding sparked an undying conviction that rescue would eventually arrive. Lord Lansius wouldn¡¯t allow Korimor to fall. Not because the city itself was valuable, but because sooner or later, he needed to solve the Nicopolan problem before it ruined the entire western Lowlandia¡ªa region he and his Grand Alliance certainly had a stake in.
And in this regard, Korimor offered him a great advantage: a castle, city walls, and a population that would gladly fight against the invading Nicopolans.
A smile momentarily bloomed on Daniella¡¯s lips. If her assessment was true, then she would have her justice against this Tarracan man¡ªthe charlatan who had fooled thousands with his rhetoric and false hope. The ruthless man had led innocents to live and die as brigands, had used them as mere stepping stones in his rise to power.
Her stomach groaned again. She clutched her knee, as though trying to stave off both cold and hunger. She carefully tore a small piece from her leather belt and chewed it. She had learned in her youth that the less fortunate did this to mask their hunger, but she had never imagined herself resorting to such measures.
The taste was earthy and bitter, with a strong, pungent smell released upon chewing. Yet, somehow, it provided some relief to her stomach.
Just as she was about to mentally shut down and save her alertness for the night, something happened outside. Hurried footsteps, calls, and shouting broke the silence. The noise didn¡¯t fade. Instead, it escalated into a full commotion.
***
The Nicopolan Side
Thousands of horses emerged on the southern horizon, casting shock through the Nicopolans ranks, who hadn¡¯t expected any large military intervention from outside the region. Smaller advance groups also appeared separately, seemingly reconnoitering the area.
The men keeping watch shouted and clamored for everyone in the camp to take up arms. In a hurry, the Nicopolans haphazardly formed their battle lines.
Tension quickly filled the air as the cavalry from the opposing side advanced closer, kicking up clouds of dust.
¡°The attack is coming! The attack is coming!¡± one man shouted in fear.
Refugees had heard tales from Nicopolan mercenaries¡ªsurvivors who had escaped the Coalition¡¯s doomed siege in Korelia¡ªand these mercenaries had spread their tragic stories to anyone who wished to listen.
Now, upon recognizing the familiar blue and bronze banner, cries erupted. ¡°It¡¯s him! That¡¯s the banner! The Black Lord is here!¡±
Many trembled at the sight of the Black Lord¡¯s banner. Some were so distraught that they fled the camp, seeking refuge in a distant forest.
Amid the chaos, Sergio, the Tarracan man, led his detachment of men onto the field. ¡°A blue and bronze banner?¡± he asked the men flanking him.
¡°There are rumors of a powerful new lord in Korelia. They call him the Black Lord,¡± one of them answered.
¡°Why is he here, so far from Korelia?¡± another inquired nervously, eyeing the large cavalry force amassing near their flank.
Sergio took a sharp breath. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? He wants the city.¡± He then spun around to face his men. ¡°Fear not these Lowlandian dogs. I knew they were going to interfere. Luckily, we¡¯re trained in anti-cavalry techniques.¡±
His men sported nervous smiles as Sergio instructed, ¡°Move the crossbowmen and the long pikes closer to the front. We¡¯re going to teach these outdated brutes the state-of-the-art warfare.¡±
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Out of eight thousand souls, four thousand men armed with spears, swords, sickles, or spades formed the Nicopolan battle line. Sergio also put enough men in reserve and positioned plenty to cover his other flanks.
With many experienced mercenaries under his command and a cavalry unit ready as a quick reactionary force, he felt well-prepared, confident that the odds were in their favor.
***
Korelia Side
After having rendezvoused with Sir Harold and Batu, who had completed their preparations, the relief force led by Lansius had undertaken a grueling three-day marathon ride to Korimor, each night traveling from the
In record-breaking time, Lansius and his riders, along with a few hundred tribesmen, arrived on the outskirts of Korimor. Yet, even when joined with the elderly and children already stationed around Korimor, their numbers didn¡¯t exceed five hundred.
They made their numbers appear larger by tying their sleeping carpets, armor, and other baggage upward on the saddle, making them resemble riders atop their thousands of spare horses. The nomads aptly named this creation the mirage warriors.
They saw the Korimor city proper and its castle situated on a verdant hill, beside a flowing river. A large but crude encampment was also visible, not far from the river.
Lansius removed his mouth covering and cloak, then shook the dust from his hair and face. ¡°Is that the encampment?¡±
¡°Yes, my lord, the scout confirmed it,¡± said Sir Harold, riding beside him.
¡°I need to see it closer,¡± Lansius stated.
¡°My lord, we¡¯re not in armor,¡± the knight reminded him. Most of them were wearing padded jacks.
¡°Just a bit closer,¡± Lansius replied.
¡°Riders, prepare for escort,¡± Sir Harold shouted, readying them for contact.
Batu rode closer and suggested, ¡°Noyan, let me take my riders closer. I want our presence to be felt.¡±
Lansius quickly agreed but instructed, ¡°Don¡¯t engage, and make sure not to get caught.¡±
Batu smirked. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to maintain the illusion. This is the most fun I¡¯ve had in a while.¡± He then added, ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯re familiar with nomadic tactics like this.¡±
Lansius offered a faint grin at the compliment and saw Batu gallop off to lead his brethren toward the enemy camp¡¯s right side. ¡°Dietrich,¡± he called.
¡°Yes, my lord.¡± An equally dusty man with a covered head and mouth rode forward.
¡°Get twenty riders and participate. Do not engage, but try to provoke the Nicopolans and see how many cavalry they¡¯ve got,¡± Lansius instructed.
¡°At once.¡± Dietrich prepared his group and sallied forth.
Without saying a word, Lansius spurred his horse forward for closer reconnaissance. Audrey and the rest of the retinue followed.
Stopping at a safe distance, they observed the large Nicopolan encampment. Although the camp had no wooden fence or palisade, they used their carts and fallen trees as makeshift obstacles.
There was a series of large tents in the center, heavily guarded. ¡°That¡¯s where they keep the supplies. Not bad,¡± mumbled Lansius.
Audrey chimed in. ¡°These aren¡¯t common refugees. Better not to underestimate them.¡±
¡°The lady is correct,¡± Sir Harold said, sharing her concern. ¡°A simple cavalry assault wouldn¡¯t work, not with our real numbers.¡±
Not a moment too soon, the enemy reacted to the Korelian and nomadic presence by sending thousands of men to form a circular battle line. The waning sun reflected off their metal weapons¡ªspears, swords, and scythes¡ªas if challenging the newcomers to attack.
Lansius also noticed a group of crossbowmen taking positions behind men armored with pikes. ¡°They¡¯re competent, alright.¡±
¡°Look, the city gate is open,¡± Audrey pointed out.
¡°Our banner and White Lake,¡± Sir Harold observed. ¡°Must be Hugo and Sir Michael.¡±
¡°Be on guard. No matter what the scouts say, don¡¯t get complacent,¡± Lansius warned. Before he could say more, the heat seemed to suddenly overcome him. He coughed and tasted iron. Dizziness flooded him, and he saw red on his hand as he tried to cover his mouth. Before he understood what had happened, Audrey and Harold rushed toward him.
***
Nicopolan Side
The sun had finally down, and despite some cavalry activity, no follow-up action had occurred. Nervousness and anticipation ran high, but for many, burdened by hunger and fatigue, they clamored to return to their camp.
By now, even Sergio¡¯s closest aide was certain there would be no battle that day. In contrast, Sergio, recently briefed about the Black Lord by the survivors of the siege of Korelia, remained concerned and insisted that his men stay on the lines despite the falling light.
Only when complete darkness had settled did Sergio allow a majority of his force to break formation. The thousands of men returned to their families and began to cook whatever meager food they had.
However, Sergio remained vigilant. Anticipating a night attack, he worked hard to convince his officers to allocate as many soldiers as possible for the night watch, but many believed his fear was unfounded.
¡°The enemy just arrived after a long journey; they should be wary of an attack from us, not the other way around,¡± said one outspoken captain among his ranks.
¡°We¡¯re not only facing the newcomers. Don¡¯t forget the garrison in the city of Korimor¡± Sergio countered.
¡°The commoners are already starving on the few rations they have. Asking them to perform under these conditions might incite rebellion,¡± another captain warned somberly.
¡°We¡¯ll give extra to those who take the night watch,¡± Sergio conceded.
With such incentive on the line, they finally agreed to assign a third of their force to night watch. To ensure participation and maintain discipline, Sergio and his staff planned for random patrols along the lines.
Many among his inner circle understood that the stakes were too high; they would rather exhaust their men than risk defeat. This perspective was increasingly validated as they learned more from the survivors of the doomed campaign to Korelia about the Black Lord¡¯s cunning and unorthodox tactics.
That night, restlessness pervaded the camp, with everyone gossiping about the new threat and growing fearful of the Black Lord. Every distant neighing horse and every unusual sound from nocturnal animal spooked them. Sergio himself couldn¡¯t sleep, choosing instead to keep watch, accompanied by a guard with a loaded crossbow at his side.
***
Fortified Camp Outside Korimor¡¯s Gate
Lansius awakened around the third watch. He saw unfamiliar ceilings and surroundings and sat up abruptly. A damp piece of cloth dropped onto his lap.
¡°A fever?¡± he muttered to himself.
He checked his forehead but found it normal. However, a slight headache lingered.
The wooden cabin had no door, only a heavy canvas, which was pushed aside as someone entered. ¡°My lord, you¡¯re awake.¡±
¡°Sigmund?¡± Lansius asked, recognizing the skald¡¯s clear voice.
Sigmund scrambled for something before returning with a jug of water and a cup. He approached and knelt before the bed. ¡°Please, have some water, oh lord. Shall I furnish you with anything or anyone?¡±
Lansius took the cup but didn¡¯t drink. ¡°Where are we?¡±
¡°We¡¯re inside a camp just outside Korimor. The place was built by Hugo when he arrived several weeks ago. It¡¯s fortified, and Sir Harold has arranged his men on defense.¡±
Lansius breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°How¡¯s Batu and his tribes?¡±
¡°He has camped farther from the city to allow his horses to graze.¡±
¡°And the castle?¡±
¡°The city is ours, my lord. The current House didn¡¯t even demand to see Lord Omin.¡±
Lansius furrowed his brow. ¡°So, where is Omin now?¡±
¡°Sir Harold has kept him in a separate cabin. He seems calm and hasn¡¯t caused trouble.¡±
Lansius nodded approvingly and drank from his cup. The water felt good on his parched throat, although hints of a strong metallic smell still lingered in his nostrils.
¡°My lord, try to get more rest. The night is still long, and I¡¯ll remain at your side,¡± urged Sigmund.
Acting on his suggestion, Lansius lay down again. Indeed, his head felt light. ¡°What happened to me? Last I remember, I was reconnoitering the Nicopolan encampment.¡±
¡°You either coughed up blood or had a nosebleed and almost fell from the horse,¡± Sigmund explained.
¡°Ah...¡± Lansius remembered feeling dizzy and coughing. ¡°Must be the heat.¡±
The skald smiled and said softly, ¡°That¡¯s exactly what the physician has told us.¡±
¡°I hope he didn¡¯t recommend a duck egg as a remedy,¡± Lansius joked.
The skald chuckled. ¡°Just some cold water and vinegar.¡±
¡°That is surprisingly mild.¡±
Sigmund chuckled at Lansius¡¯ comment. ¡°Fear not, my lord, as I will keep you from the duck egg broth. Let music be the cure for your malady.¡±
Lansius smiled, amused at the archaic words he used. And unexpectedly, drowsiness came easily. ¡°Where¡¯s Lady Audrey?¡±
¡°The baroness is sleeping with Carla next door. She insisted on being at your side, but we convinced her not to.¡±
¡°Excellent work, Sigmund.¡±
The skald bowed his head graciously. ¡°Put more trust in us, oh lord. Let us take some of your burden.¡±
¡°I shall if I can give it to you.¡± Lansius drew a deep breath. ¡°Prepare your shoulders. By tomorrow, I think we¡¯ll have an act to play.¡±
¡°Then I¡¯ll gladly play my part to the fullest.¡±
Lansius was impressed by his eagerness. ¡°Then lend me your ears before the dream takes them away from me.¡±
Sigmund¡¯s eyes turned sharp, his face serious.
¡°Tomorrow morning, the Nicopolans will likely send an envoy. They¡¯ll either try to curry favor, offer a deal, or intimidate us. When that happens, I want you to prepare everyone in my vicinity to play along with my act. If I say ¡®let¡¯s make a party,¡¯ then let¡¯s make one.¡±
The skald nodded, and Lansius continued. ¡°If I say ¡®let¡¯s bring a big cauldron and boil a person...¡±
Sigmund raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting.
¡°I want you and the rest to not hesitate at my command,¡± Lansius explained. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to be seen making empty threats. If they try to intimidate us, then we will counter with an equal measure.¡±
Sigmund quickly understood the intention.
Lansius drew a sharp breath and reflected. ¡°When we are weak, we cannot afford to appear so.¡±
The words piqued Sigmund. ¡°Sir Michael said similar things when I met him," he noted. "He feared that after enduring famine, hunger, and conflicts, the Nicopolans, right now, understand only the language of strong action or violence.¡±
¡°He¡¯s wise to come to that conclusion,¡± Lansius said with renewed interest. ¡°Sigmund, could you please arrange a meeting with Sir Michael and Hugo at dawn. I need all the intel I can get.¡±
¡°Certainly, my lord.¡±
¡°Unsavory as it must be, we must try to talk it out, because the only other option is the ultima ratio,¡± Lansius muttered grimly, thinking about just how many lives would perish from both sides if they resorted to battle.
***
Chapter 84 : White Pieces
Chapter 84
White Pieces
Dawn had just broken when Sir Michael and Hugo slipped through the city gate and arrived outside the cabin. The cool wind was blowing, and the grass was wet with morning dew.
Sir Harold finally emerged from inside and invited them in. ¡°The lord wishes to see you.¡±
¡°Am I allowed to bring my sword?¡± Sir Michael asked, as he was not part of House Lansius.
¡°Is there any reason not to?¡± Sir Harold countered with a grin.
The one-eyed knight chuckled, pleased with the implied trust.
¡°Don¡¯t worry. He¡¯s perfectly capable of killing us both,¡± Hugo jested, then entered first.
Sir Michael entered and saw Lord Lansius sitting on a folding chair behind a small table. Lady Audrey sat beside him.
¡°My lord,¡± Hugo and Sir Michael greeted him. The latter added, ¡°We welcome you to Korimor.¡±
Deputy, Sir Michael,¡± Lord Lansius replied. ¡°How are Korimor and its people? Do they oppose you?¡±
¡°No,¡± Hugo reported. ¡°At least not openly. But the issue of food rations is ongoing.¡±
Lord Lansius nodded. ¡°How about House Omin?¡±
¡°The House consists only of Lady Hilda and her young son. They pose little threat,¡± Hugo reported. ¡°I must say it¡¯s not really a surprise. With the baroness as their new head of House, they¡¯re essentially an extension of your own House.¡±
His words prompted Sir Harold to add, ¡°I suppose they¡¯re open to the idea of becoming part of the most powerful House in Lowlandia.¡± His comment elicited a few smirks and smiles.
Amused, Lord Lansius glanced at Lady Audrey, who responded, ¡°I¡¯ll meet with Lady Hilda today and secure their support.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t promise them anything except safety, good land, and a monthly allowance. Take their son as a squire when he¡¯s of age,¡± the lord instructed. Then he turned to the two commanders. ¡°What¡¯s the situation with the city¡¯s supplies?¡±
Hugo looked at Sir Michael, who reported, ¡°The city is fortunate that the previous lord maintained a large cache of food. The records show that he consistently bought from and used Three Hill¡¯s reserves during his campaigns. However, even with last year¡¯s harvest and the current rations, the granary won¡¯t last through the winter.¡±
¡°He is indeed cunning,¡± Lord Lansius commented of Omin.
¡°Perhaps we can use him instead of sending him back to the dungeon,¡± Lady Audrey suggested.
The lord mulled over the idea. ¡°If he¡¯s not too proud, I could place him under someone. But he needs to earn our trust first.¡± Realizing the conversation had strayed, he added, ¡°Let¡¯s set this issue aside for now. What are your thoughts on the Nicopolan situation?¡±
¡°My lord, first of all, I need to inform you that Lady Daniella has been captured,¡± Hugo reported somberly.
The lord drew a deep breath but motioned Hugo to continue. He knew from the last message that she had attempted to broker peace, and it was indeed risky.
Hugo continued, his voice heavy with regret. ¡°The enemy is keeping her alive and wants to use her as a hostage.¡±
¡°Bargaining tools,¡± Lord Lansius muttered. ¡°Do we know the reason why she attempted to talk?¡±
¡°She said the Nicopolans are fractured. It¡¯s unlikely that everyone agrees on besieging a walled city like Korimor.¡±
Lord Lansius understood her intention, but alas, it had failed. ¡°How do you think we should solve these Nicopolan problems?¡±
Hugo and Sir Michael exchanged glances, and the latter spoke. ¡°I think we should levy the populace. That way, we¡¯ll have the numbers required to meet them on the field. I believe that our cavalry should suffice to flank them.¡±
¡°It¡¯ll be a good battle,¡± Lord Lansius admitted. ¡°High casualties from both sides, but a victory nevertheless.¡±
¡°My lord, how about subterfuge?¡± Sir Michael suggested.
The lord was piqued. ¡°What do you have in mind?¡±
¡°Before Lady Daniella was captured, she reported that her attempt almost worked. The Nicopolans aren¡¯t under one leadership. While in general, they follow this Tarracan man, there are mercenary companies that have joined in but have different loyalties. And not everyone likes the Tarracan man.¡±
¡°So, she went there not to broker peace but to instigate a mutiny?¡± Lord Lansius asked.
Sir Michael nodded. ¡°She found out that peace isn¡¯t possible if the Tarracan man is in the lead. The man simply wants to rule.¡±
Almost everyone murmured, and the lord allowed them to vent their disgust.
Lady Audrey sighed aloud and lamented, ¡°To use hungry people as a stepping stone.¡±
¡°It¡¯s a bloody path, none should ever take,¡± Sir Harold responded.
Lord Lansius closed his eyes, comparing himself with the Tarracan man. Despite the contrast, he saw some similarities. He had battled Robert and taken Korelia for his own personal gain. He then stubbornly defended it, also for his own personal gain.
As if noticing his troubled mind, Lady Audrey placed her hand on his wrist. The lord glanced at her and nodded in appreciation.
¡°I hope I¡¯m a better man than he is,¡± he said openly.
¡°My lord, you surely jest,¡± said Hugo, surprised. The rest also looked concerned.
The situation prompted Lady Audrey to say, ¡°The Lord of Korelia is still recovering; please forgive his tactless jest. Perhaps, a duck egg broth could cure this ailment.¡±
¡°No, wait¡ª¡±
¡°There should be a stockpile in the city. I¡¯ll put up a petition right away,¡± said Hugo.
¡°Or we can try the apothecary in the city. They should have potent medicines,¡± Sir Michael suggested.
Lord Lansius suddenly chuckled and waved it all off. ¡°No duck egg for me, on the pain of no pay,¡± he threatened. Only then did they understand just how much the lord hated the broth.
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With his retinue in line, the lord crossed his arms and said to Michael, ¡°From your words, it seems possible to divide or turn the Nicopolans against themselves.¡±
¡°Indeed, my lord, but it will require some finesse.¡±
¡°Do you think you have it?¡± Lord Lansius asked.
¡°In commanding battles, I might be worthless, but in courtly matters, I believe I can hold my own,¡± said Sir Michael confidently.
The lord sat in silence for a moment, pondering, and nobody disturbed him, knowing he was deciding on a plan. The shadows from lanterns hung around the cabin danced as the morning wind began to breeze.
He finally shifted in his seat and spoke. ¡°Hugo, you¡¯re more suited for this task. At the first light, levy a thousand militia from the populace. Double their rations for the duration of the training. Make sure to only take the fit and people with arms, helmets, and gambesons.¡±
¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Hugo replied.
¡°Sir Harold,¡± Lord Lansius called, and the tall knight stepped forward.
¡°Pick a hundred of the best from the existing troops from Korimor, their guardsmen, and their mercenaries. Meld them with your men. I want you to prepare them as crack troops in combination with our dragoon regiment,¡± the lord continued.
¡°May I ask, what¡¯s their purpose?¡± Sir Harold asked.
¡°Possibly, hostage rescue,¡± the lord revealed. ¡°If we want to divide them successfully, then chances are we¡¯ll need to rescue some families.¡±
¡°That¡¯ll be hard to do,¡± Sir Harold said without mincing words.
¡°The result may be bleak, but as long as they see us commit,¡± Lord Lansius said, seemingly out of breath.
Lady Audrey readily reached out to him. ¡°You¡¯re exerting yourself. Better finish this quickly and get some rest.¡±
The lord nodded, seeing his men¡¯s concern. ¡°At ease. Just fatigue. Let me outline that I wanted to try to avoid bloodshed. There¡¯s still time before harvest. I have discussed my plans with Sigmund; he¡¯ll be able to give you some pointers about what to do. The Nicopolans should send their envoy today or tomorrow.¡±
¡°What if they don¡¯t send one?¡± Lady Audrey asked.
¡°Then I¡¯ll make them,¡± Lord Lansius replied firmly.
***
Lansius
Within an hour, morning arrived in Korimor, and a crisp autumn breeze along with it. The wind carried a strong earthen scent, and there were more clouds overhead.
At first light, as ordered, Hugo and his men marched toward the city plaza and announced the recruitment of a thousand men. This announcement, with the promise of double rations, excited everyone. Word spread like wildfire, and soon many flocked to the plaza with helmets, swords, and gambesons.
While this was expected, there was also another movement of people. Propelled by the Lord of Korelia¡¯s presence outside, and the large group of allied tribesmen, the Korimors dared to venture outside to collect hay and firewood for the winter.
At first, the guardsmen allowed a small number of them, but before long, a large number began to amass at the city gates, and there was concern that this could turn serious. Sir Michael thus sent a message to Lord Lansius.
When the messenger arrived, the lord and the baroness were eating a light breakfast.
¡°Hundreds of people with carts could be a hazard if we need to defend against a sudden attack,¡± Audrey voiced her concern.
Lansius nodded, then turned to his knight after sipping a bitter herb-infused concoction. ¡°What do you think, Sir Harold?¡±
¡°Well, I say there¡¯s little harm, and if this baits the Nicopolans to move, then perhaps it¡¯s something we can exploit.¡±
Lansius stifled a laugh at the knight¡¯s cunning answer. ¡°Make some arrangements then.¡±
¡°At once, my lord,¡± said Sir Harold and left the cabin, taking the messenger with him.
After they left, Audrey asked, ¡°You seem unconcerned with this. Is this within your prediction?¡±
¡°No. I didn¡¯t expect this, but it sort of aligns with my plan,¡± he admitted.
Audrey offered him some sweet bread, and Lansius took a bite.
¡°Which part is aligned?¡± she asked after they finished with the bread.
¡°Well, I insist on staying here and not entering the city to try to provoke a response from the Nicopolans.¡±
Audrey tried to fathom the reason.
¡°I want to break the sense of the city being under siege,¡± he explained. ¡°It¡¯s hard on morale. I want to encourage people to venture outside to gather food, hay, wild berries, or even to go fishing. Those activities will ultimately help the city.¡±
¡°And this is exactly what happened,¡± praised Audrey.
¡°No, I expected a dozen or tens of people, not hundreds. The Korimors are either too bold or desperate,¡± he said rather worriedly. The situation inside the city might be worse than he expected.
***
Arriving at the city gate, Sir Harold personally ordered it opened, and hundreds of people armed with scythes marched out. They hurried to the meadows just beyond the city wall, working quickly to gather hay. Horse-drawn carts filled up and shuttled into the city almost nonstop.
Their livestock depended on it. Without good hay, the animals would neither fatten up for the winter nor produce milk.
Despite the bustling activity outside the walls, the Nicopolans did nothing. Frustration seemed to build up inside their camp, yet they launched no sorties.
After confirming the situation with his scout and Sir Harold, Lansius summoned House Omin. He was determined to use this opportunity to further his plan and solve as many issues as possible.
The issue of the transfer of power was particularly high on his priority list.
Despite his position, Lansius played little role except to witness Audrey take over her House¡¯s leadership from her nephew, a boy younger than Margo. The boy was only assisted by Hilda, his mother. Omin¡¯s wife was native to Lowlandia but was not born in Korimor.
Though she was already officially the baroness, with the symbolic transfer of the patent of Baron of Korimor and the key to the undercroft vault,
Audrey seemed stoic, emotionless as she took the items and gave them to Carla for safekeeping. Lansius at her side looked proud. Meanwhile, Hilda and her son seemed fearful and nervous until the lady guaranteed their safety and promised good land.
¡°We have moved from the castle and have transferred command of the guards to Deputy Hugo. But please allow me to retain some of my older retinue,¡± asked Hilda.
¡°As long as you can afford it,¡± said Audrey. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a monthly allowance, but it won¡¯t be much, since we¡¯re at war. Do try to make it work.¡±
Hilda then said, ¡°We learned that my husband is here. Can we see him?¡±
Audrey almost allowed them, but Lansius cleared his throat and advised, ¡°It¡¯ll be hard for him to be seen all dirty and dusty after a long journey. It¡¯s best to prepare him a bath and good clothes, as well as his personal barber and servant. Give them one day, and then tomorrow you can meet him.¡±
¡°That is a kind suggestion, my lord. I shall do as you say,¡± Hilda responded openly.
¡°A favor, if you could,¡± Lord Lansius said.
¡°Please, if it¡¯s within my power.¡±
¡°When you meet your husband tomorrow, please ask about his contingency plan in this situation. I might learn something beneficial to aid our situation. Rest assured, I would consider this a meritorious service.¡±
Hilda understood his intention, expressed her gratitude, and left the premises. Not long after she returned to the city, a host of workers with carts carried three wooden bathtubs. The two largest were intended for Lord Lansius and the baroness, complete with hot water, flowers, and clean clothes.
The smallest of the three was intended for Omin, a sign of humility on their part.
Lansius gratefully accepted the gift and cleaned himself. After so many days without baths, the first time always felt good. His skin became supple, and his muscles felt relaxed.
As the baroness¡¯ squire, Carla politely took the flowers away and replaced them with herbal leaves she had gathered from the tribesmen. She had been taught by Cecile and Calub not to trust anyone too easily. Even insignificant things could contain poison that might harm her charge.
After cleaning himself and feeling refreshed, Lansius sat in his cabin-turned-command-center and received updates regarding the situation. He confirmed that the Nicopolans had done nothing but dig some pits as measures against a cavalry attack.
Next, he received a report from Hugo.
¡°More than enough have joined. Selection and training are ongoing. The anticipation is high,¡± Roger, the squire, reported on behalf of Hugo.
Lansius nodded. From the window, he could watch Sir Harold condition his men to move speedily under his command and to retreat in an orderly fashion after achieving their objectives.
The newly formed dragoon regiment, the fast-moving footmen riding horses, would also participate. Lansius had yet to give them a role, but they would be vital.
Nearing midday, Lansius was about to survey the location, but Audrey and his staff urged him to get some rest to avoid a relapse.
...
Lansius lay down to rest, but a sense of restlessness kept him alert. Whatever had happened to him yesterday and this morning felt distant. Feeling better, he taught Roger how to make bird¡¯s-eye maps instead of sleeping.
Audrey entered the sleeping chamber. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake.¡±
Roger stood straight and bowed his head to the Lady of Korimor, surprising Audrey with the formality.
¡°Any new developments?¡± asked Lansius while putting down his quill pen.
¡°You¡¯re going to like this. We have an envoy,¡± said Audrey.
Lansius couldn¡¯t help but smirk. ¡°Who accompanies them now?¡±
¡°Harold and Dietrich. They¡¯re giving them the silent treatment,¡± she replied.
Lansius nodded while feeling the weight of responsibility creeping on his shoulder. It didn¡¯t bend his tempered will, merely steeled his resolve.
Here we are, fighting to survive, in a world with the darkest powers...
He recalled a catchy lyric and gazed at Audrey, feeling her trust in him. ¡°Summon Michael and Sigmund. Let the Tragedy of Nicopolans begin.¡±
***
Chapter 85 : The Sons of Nicopola
Chapter 85
The Sons of Nicopola
The three envoys had been waiting in the midday sun. They had asked to find some shade, but the guards and knights gave only a lukewarm response. Thus, they settled to wait in an awkward and heavy atmosphere.
Suddenly, a young man exited, looked around fiercely at the three envoys, and spoke to one of the knights. ¡°The lord is willing to entertain the envoys.¡±
The tall and imposing knight grumbled, spat on the grass, and said to the envoys, ¡°Well, you got your chance. Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t treat you right.¡±
The envoys hurriedly moved inside, welcoming the cool shade and sweet floral fragrance.
¡°Behold, the Lord of Korelia, the Protector of Korimor, the leader of the Grand Alliance, and the Noyan of the Lowlandia Tribesmen,¡± a squire heralded.
The envoys bowed their heads in unison toward a man in brightly colored clothing slouched on a padded chair. Indeed, he had black hair.
¡°My lord, we Nicopolans bid our welcome to this area,¡± said one of the envoys, an old but stout-looking soldier.
Another followed up. ¡°What happened between the city and our people is unfortunate, but we¡¯re willing to make amends.¡±
¡°Amends?¡± Lord Lansius laughed.
Seizing the moment, the third envoy brought forward a lacquered jewelry coffer. ¡°Please accept a gift from our leader.¡±
The two envoys looked excited, but the old soldier appeared anxious.
The lord¡¯s knight intercepted the intricate wooden box and broke the wax seal in front of them. When he opened it, a horrid pungent odor emanated from the box. The knight¡¯s eyes widened and turned fierce, sending the two envoys into panic. They gasped and shrieked in fear, nearly losing their footing.
The squires reacted quickly by drawing their swords, but the lord waved them off. ¡°Let me see,¡± he commanded indifferently.
¡°Don¡¯t let them near the lord,¡± the knight barked at the squires. Then, more politely to his lord, ¡°My lord, it¡¯s an insult.¡±
The lord rose from his seat to take a look at the jewelry box. Meanwhile, the two envoys cowered in fear, while the old soldier visibly fumed.
¡°Ah, what a gift,¡± the lord said, his tone surprisingly fascinated by the grotesque object. ¡°Signet rings complete with the cut-off fingers. So intimidating.¡±
¡°This is a preposterous insult. They should all be flogged,¡± the knight declared.
¡°Oh, they¡¯ll have their flogs, but after I¡¯m done with them,¡± the lord said ominously. ¡°I wonder what embalming he used to mask most of the stench.¡± He then gazed at the envoys and asked, ¡°Should I return the favor?¡±
Realizing the hinted threat, the two envoys dropped to the ground, their faces turning pale as they began to beg for mercy. Only the old soldier remained composed.
¡°My lord, please listen. I don¡¯t know about the content. I¡¯m just a tradesman who dealt with Nicopolan nobles. Sergio instructed me to speak sweetly and present you this gift.¡±
¡°My lord, I swear I didn¡¯t know. Sergio set us up. He must¡¯ve wanted us dead,¡± said another one.
¡°And I intend to deliver,¡± the lord replied with bizarre enthusiasm. ¡°This is a game I can¡¯t lose. He aimed to intimidate me, and I shall retaliate in kind.¡±
The envoys were paralyzed with fear. The one who had offered the jewelry coffer began to weep, while the other trembled. At this point, the old soldier dropped to his knees as if pleading for mercy.
But the lord was far from finished. ¡°My scouts found human remains in a cauldron in the forest. Perhaps I should boil you three alive.¡± Madness flickered in his eyes, unnerving the envoys, who could only beg for their lives.
¡°No, wait,¡± the lord suddenly exclaimed. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t work. Sending cooked flesh to your leader would be akin to serving him a meal.¡± He erupted into manic laughter, joined by his staff and knights.
The lord added, ¡°I bet this Sergio will gladly chug a soup made from you three. He must truly despise you to have sent you here.¡±
In desperation, one of the envoys threw themselves at the lord¡¯s feet. ¡°My lord truly knows. This Sergio, he didn¡¯t like us. He wanted us to die so he could control our families and followers.¡±
Lansius coughed several times and returned to his seat. His squire readily offered a goblet of water, which Lansius took and drank. He then addressed the envoys, saying, ¡°Gentlemen, I understand your plight. But to me, you¡¯re all already dead.¡±
¡°My lord, please...¡± the envoy begged.
¡°You¡¯re mistaken,¡± the lord corrected them coldly. ¡°I am not the one who wants you dead but if I let you return unharmed, Sergio would likely become suspicious. He might conduct a sham trial, accuse you of colluding with me, and then execute you and your family.¡±
Hearing the lord¡¯s explanation, the three envoys started to feel angry at Sergio¡¯s treachery.
The lord ignored their reaction and talked to his knight. ¡°It¡¯s not a bad strategy, using my hand to kill them and gain their followers¡¯ loyalty. A dishonorable method, but who are we to judge?¡±
¡°My lord, my name is Servius,¡± the stout old soldier declared, his strong voice capturing attention. ¡°I¡¯m loyal only to my legion, and I have influence over two hundred fighters.¡±
¡°Oh, that must be the reason he wants you to die,¡± the lord quipped.
¡°He suspected me of having contact with one of your agents,¡± Servius tried to explain.
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¡°Lady Daniella?¡± asked the one-eyed knight who just arrived.
Servius looked at the newcomer and sighed in regret. ¡°Unfortunately, I never met her. But the ones working with her have been rounded up and killed. Many were people I have shared battles with.¡±
The lord sized up Servius and asked, ¡°Why don¡¯t you and your men stand up to him?¡±
¡°It¡¯s because I don¡¯t trust my own men,¡± Servius replied, his voice laden with regret. ¡°Sergio has a reputation as a savior. Time and time again, he has proven capable of bringing food to the table as long as people do exactly as they¡¯re told. This is why your agent¡¯s plan failed. Someone must¡¯ve talked.¡±
Servius¡¯ explanation made the other two envoys cower. Sergio, the Tarracan man, was a figure they feared and revered.
The lord let out a sigh. ¡°I lost interest. Guards, take them out.¡±
The envoys panicked and were about to beg again, but the knight stood tall, silencing them. Without turning, he asked, ¡°My lord, how about their escorts?¡±
The lord rolled his eyes and replied hastily, ¡°Let them watch.¡±
The knights drew their swords, leaving the envoys with no choice but to accept their fate. The squires then tied them and covered their heads before sending them outside.
***
Nicopolan Camp
Drawn by a mix of dread and curiosity, the Nicopolans thronged to the east side of the camp, where they could watch a bizarre proceeding unfolding at a distance. The three envoys, paraded on top of carts, were subsequently tied up; to everyone¡¯s horror, they were flogged mercilessly until all three fainted.
Despite pleas from multiple people, Sergio refused to send help, claiming, ¡°This is what the enemy wants. They must have a force ready to ambush us. While it pains me to see my trusted fellow Nicopolans being treated like this, we must endure.¡±
As the crowd grew larger and more restless, he rallied them. ¡°Sons of Nicopola, hear me out! This Lord of Korelia is a ruthless man. I offered him gifts worthy of high nobles, and yet he tortured our cherished envoys. What kind of lord harms a messenger? He is brutal, no doubt, and any attempt to resolve this amicably would be futile. But now is not the time to act. To move now would be to fall into their trap!¡±
His words put heavy pressure on the group that wanted to resolve the issue peacefully. Now, they had no counter-argument against Sergio¡¯s insistence on besieging the city.
Meanwhile, the three victims of Sergio¡¯s power play were kicked off the cart and left to fend for themselves. Only afterward did their escorts, who had stood by as witnesses, finally muster the courage to carry them back to the Nicopolan camp.
The rest of the Nicopolans also rushed to their rescue.
Sergio wore a face of regret and a pained expression, but deep down he was pleased. The only better outcome would have been for all three to die, but even this result sufficed. The brutal flogging of the envoys would deter anyone from voicing support for a diplomatic solution. He knew he had won this battle of wits.
Tonight, he would gather the council of Nicopolan leaders and ask for their total support to besiege Korimor. This new Lord of Korelia had to be dealt with before they could prepare a defense.
Sergio had enough crossbow bolts, long pikes, and heavy armor to execute a fairly recent strategy: the pike and shot. It would be something that a Lowlandian like Lord Lansius would never expect.
He planned to bait the Korelian cavalry and spring a trap, annihilating them in one go. This was why they didn¡¯t evacuate to the wooded area but stayed in the plains, despite the disadvantage and the opponent¡¯s large cavalry presence.
This seemingly massive tactical mistake from the Nicopolan side was in reality a trap. The same one that had worked against the knights of southern and the Umberland cavalry. And now, the Nicopolans under Sergio had become experts at it.
***
Servius
With battered bodies, the envoys were brought back to the Nicopolan camp to a heroes¡¯ welcome. As expected, Sergio met them, pressuring them not to divulge his gift to Lansius, lest their beloved family members suffer a horrible death. Afterward, the three were led to their respective tents to receive treatment.
Servius lay face down on a bed of hay. His clothes were torn and stained brown with dried blood, as was his skin. His cousin ground medicinal herbs into a paste, while his aide provided him with wine to dull the pain.
Even without a proper whip, using just a straight wooden stick, the flogging had been painful and hard on the body. He couldn¡¯t even sit and simply tried to shake off the pain from his back.
After applying a thin layer of medicinal paste as an ointment, there was little else they could do but let the patient rest. Servius fell asleep only to awaken at sundown.
He drew a deep breath and smelled a strong iron scent inside his tent. His family was boiling their rations of watery gruel. Despite Sergio¡¯s rhetoric about how heroic the envoys had been, he refused to give their families more provisions unless they participated in the night watch.
Servius¡¯ family was bitter about Sergio but felt powerless against him. Worse, they knew that Sergio had planted spies to watch them.
Hearing his family talk about Sergio, Servius recalled the events of the day. He remembered sitting on the cart, his hands and legs tied, under a cloudy sky. Amid the creaking of cart wheels over uneven terrain and the sporadic whinnying of horses, he¡¯d had an unexpected conversation.
Unbeknownst to most, Lord Lansius, in disguise, rode beside Servius¡¯ cart as the envoys were escorted to the field where they would be flogged.
Lansius¡¯ words still echoed in Servius¡¯ ears: ¡°Do you know why I ordered this?¡±
Servius recalled that he¡¯d wanted to spit, but mortal fear had made him shake his head.
¡°It¡¯s to save you from Sergio.¡±
The words prompted Servius to do a double-take. The lord¡¯s tone was so different¡ªwarm and caring¡ªcompared to the one he used before that Servius felt he was facing another person,
The lord continued, ¡°Why did Sergio send you with that box of fingers? I think it¡¯s because he fears you. He needs you to die.¡±
Servius could only exhale bitterly.
¡°You hesitated. You fear him,¡± the lord pointed out.
¡°I do not,¡± Servius replied firmly. ¡°I fear for my family and my men.¡±
¡°Then endure the pain. It¡¯s ironic, but this is the only way to keep you alive; otherwise, this Tarracan man will become suspicious and kill you outright.¡±
¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Servius demanded.
¡°Do you want to save your family?¡± Lord Lansius replied, dodging the question.
Jumping to conclusions, Servius warned, ¡°You want me to assassinate Sergio? That¡¯s impossible. After your agent¡¯s failure, it¡¯s difficult to even get close to him. He¡¯s surrounded by guards at all times.¡±
However, the lord seemed to have another idea. ¡°How many did you say are under your influence?¡±
¡°Two hundred,¡± he replied. Then, after a pause, he added, ¡°But if I make my move, another three hundred will join, along with possibly five hundred unarmed people.¡±
¡°That¡¯ll do,¡± said Lord Lansius, surprising Servius.
¡°I can¡¯t rush at Sergio, not even in the middle of your attack. He¡¯ll place me far away and put his men in my path.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t have to. Instead of fighting, run to the woods.¡±
The lord¡¯s words puzzled Servius. ¡°Run...?¡±
¡°Spread the word that you have a backup plan in the woods if Sergio fails in the war.¡±
¡°But that still requires victory,¡± Servius warned. ¡°At least a decisive win to break the morale of Sergio¡¯s men. A rout won¡¯t happen if he¡¯s still alive.¡±
¡°Then I shall defeat him,¡± Lord Lansius declared with remarkable ease and conviction.
Even Servius was astounded by the man¡¯s conviction and couldn¡¯t help but warn him, ¡°How can you beat him? He has the numbers and the supplies. Don¡¯t be fooled by the location of the camp; it¡¯s well-fortified. The men are well-armed and equipped against cavalry attack.¡±
The lord replied with a faint smile, ¡°It¡¯s true that he has greater numbers, perhaps even better fighters, and is better equipped to handle cavalry attack. However, that will amount to nothing. Just a tragedy waiting to happen.¡±
The calm stemming from sheer conviction moved Servius, who had long sought to split ways with Sergio and his diabolical rise to power. ¡°What will you do with the people under me if you win this?¡±
¡°Nothing but grant them the freedom to find a job and feed their families.¡±
¡°My lord, we¡¯re not farmers.¡±
¡°Then your men shall fight for me. Food in exchange for bravery in battle. This is Lowlandia; you won¡¯t find easy living here.¡±
Servius heaved a long sigh but nodded.
¡°I suppose Sergio wouldn¡¯t plan for a general attack, given that his strong point is the camp,¡± the lord predicted. ¡°Fortunately, this will give you time to think. Remember this well: three days from now, when the night is burning, you must provide me with an answer,¡± he warned sternly. ¡°Fail to do so, and none of your men or their families will survive this war.¡±
***
Chapter 125 : Winds from Elandia
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Chapter 125
Winds from Elandia
New Korelia
In the height of the fall season of 4425, Lord Lansius pressed forward with his campaign into the mountainous region of Umberland. Meanwhile, in Korelia, Sir Justin, the Marshal and highest authority remaining, turned his focus to the finer details of managing the city. Lord Lansius had provided no detailed instructions, granting him a degree of freedom. While this autonomy simplified certain aspects of his role, it also came with an unexpectedly steep learning curve.
The knight-mercenary had never anticipated the breadth of knowledge required to serve as the steward of Korelia, from the basics of stone masonry to the intricacies of trade and business. Most men would be deterred, but his entrepreneurial skills as a horse trader and smuggler helped him understand the nuances of business.
Sir Justin ended up treating Korelia City like a business, and it worked wonders. Under profit-oriented guidance and a clear priority list, the various building projects were progressing smoothly.
The Marshal wasn¡¯t working alone. He was supported by a reliable team of advisors, including the alchemist Calub, Cecile, the daughter of the late Sir Callahan, and the newly arrived Sir Michael and Lady Astrid from White Lake.
The two newcomers proved to be of immense help, taking on some of the workload that had burdened Sir Justin. The responsibility of entertaining Korelia''s important guests was now shared by Sir Michael, Lady Astrid, and Cecile, allowing Sir Justin and Calub to focus on the building projects.
A crucial task was preparing winter quarters for the thousands of captured men. Although the mud housing was complete, Sir Justin used his discretion to ensure the men had some comfort during the winter. Additionally, he personally supervised the maintenance of the troops'' billets and facilities.
The workshop continued as the Lord had decreed, aiming for steady improvements in crossbow designs and addressing reliability issues. Fortunately, several highly skilled Nicopolan craftsmen who had joined in Korimor proved their worth. They quickly set up a separate shop adjacent to the blacksmith, not only to copy but also to improve upon Midlandia''s existing trigger mechanism.
Aside from that, Sir Justin also oversaw the construction of Lord Jorge and Lord Robert''s residences. Although the guilds contracted by their respective clients built them, Sir Justin was involved in numerous details beyond merely allocating land.
He needed to ensure that the roads to the site were wide enough for two carts and that there was enough spare land for potential expansion. Additionally, there was a need for a good groundwater source for wells, a factor that was crucial in determining the suitability of a location.
During a brief respite, a column of knights and cavalry returned from their successful campaign at South Hill, enjoying the new bathhouse and the lively market.
Accompanying them was a duck breeder from South Hill, who offered invaluable assistance to Korelia''s nascent duck husbandry. Despite initial unfamiliarity with forest breeding, the breeder quickly adapted. Their main contribution was sharing knowledge on how to wrangle the ducks to make them slightly more tolerable. Additionally, they provided extensive expertise in selective breeding to create less aggressive and smaller varieties.
With progress in duck husbandry, Sir Justin sent the Orchard Master to Calub, who was thrilled to have someone so knowledgeable about plants to assist with the windbreak and agriculture project.
Lastly, Sir Justin welcomed Sir Gunther, the former Lord of South Hill. In accordance with Lord Lansius'' instructions, Sir Gunther was to be made a minor member of the Grand Alliance. Thus, arrangements were made for temporary lodging while their new residence was being constructed, with several guilds vying for the project.
In keeping with tradition, Sir Justin offered his daughter Eleanor as Lady Astrid¡¯s lady-in-waiting as she came of age. Lady Astrid, fond of Eleanor''s lively and curious nature, welcomed her warmly. Eleanor''s presence brightened the atmosphere, contrasting with Lady Astrid''s calmer personality.
Eleanor''s companionship could not have been more perfectly timed, as the council dispatched Sir Michael and other promising new members to Korimor to manage the city. With only Sir Hugo and Roger, Korimor seriously lacked personnel and might need to recruit local talent to fill certain roles.
Sir Michael was chosen because it was likely that Sir Hugo would heed his advice and guidance. Additionally, he had the skills to recruit new talent and detect any dissent toward Sir Hugo''s largely unproven leadership.
Since it was a short trip, Lady Astrid chose to remain in Korelia. Although Eleanor proved to be a welcome diversion, the lady still found herself with plenty of work to occupy her time. Next on her list was accompanying Claire, Cecile¡¯s sister, to take on a role as a teacher in the orphanage.
Sir Justin whistled a note while looking at the missive brought by his daughter. "So, the lady is serious about this?"
"Yes, Papa. Lady Astrid enjoys teaching the children."
Sir Justin mulled over his decision. "I could understand Claire since she had no official role, but Lady Astrid already has several responsibilities."
"I really think she enjoys interacting with children, especially the orphans."
Sir Justin rubbed his chin and ventured, "I suppose we could make arrangements. I''ll ask the orphanage to boil their clothes, blankets, and bed sheets. That, along with some remedies will be prudent. I don''t want my daughter or our honored guest getting infected by lice and bedbugs."
The decision made Eleanor hug her father. "Thank you, Papa. You''re the best."
"If anyone asks, I''m not spoiling you. I''m just collecting favors from Lady Astrid."
Eleanor smiled like an angel. "Of course, Papa."
"One thing, though. Why does Lady Astrid want to do this? Is there a particular reason?"
"Well, it''s no secret that Astrid was so enchanted with Lady Felicity."
The knight furrowed his brow. "Ah, yes, they met, but only briefly..."
"Lady Felicity''s appearance and striking beauty are perfect in her eyes. Lady Astrid said there was strength and boldness she''d never encountered before. And that, Lady Felicity, have an assuredness like that of a warrior."Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Sir Justin chuckled. Despite not finding the answer, he decided to elaborate, "Just wait until she meets Lady Audrey."
"Papa, is the Baroness really that charming?" she asked curiously.
The knight offered a fatherly smile. "She''s as much a warrior as can be. And the eyes, oh, you have to see them for yourself."
***
Elandia Province
The leaves were orange and red, the wind carrying an earthy scent of soil. Yet, tranquil peace was absent in Elandia. Before the harvest could begin, the land was ravaged by a series of raids. Its unfortunate populace scattered northward or westward to the Targe mountains as the neighboring Nicopolans arrived in great numbers.
The conflict and cannibalism in Nicopola, spurred by famine, had worsened to the point where its populace banded together to invade the neighboring province. The Elandia nobility could offer only minimal resistance, as the bulk of their forces had been committed to defending the Capital against Lord Gottfried.
Now, the Elandia province was split in two: Northern Elandia was locked in a war against Gottfried, while Southern Elandia grappled with marauding Nicopolans. In such a situation, the Midlandians arrived from the east.
Lord Bengrieve led his army of six thousand strong and began to incorporate the locals to bolster his numbers. Instead of relying on static defense, the Midlandians actively engaged the Nicopolans, driving them out and acquiring castles, towns, and cities.
They arrived just in time, securing the harvest and preventing the province from succumbing to famine. For a while, it seemed the Nicopolan threat would soon be over. Order was reestablished, and Lord Seneschal Bengrieve actively hunted down the Nicopolans.
However, they were soon surprised by the sight of Nicopolans numbering in the tens of thousands.
The Midlandian intervention, rather than deterring the Nicopolans, had led to the unthinkable. Driven by desperation for food and with winter rapidly approaching, hundreds of Nicopolan armed groups from diverse backgrounds¡ªincluding both the sons of Nicopolans and migrants from two other provinces¡ªunited against a common enemy.
As the wise say, an army with no escape will choose to fight to the death. The Nicopolans did just that, as their only other option was to watch their loved ones suffer painful deaths from hunger.
Thus, with a renewed spirit, the Nicopolans launched attacks on the Midlandian defense lines simultaneously at various points. Castles were bypassed, while towns and cities were retaken and thoroughly plundered.
Lord Bengrieve''s response to the renewed threat was to throw armed Elandians into the fray. They were equally motivated to defend their city and lands. However, unlike the Nicopolans, who had a mercenary tradition, the Elandians were mostly craftsmen, farmers, and artisans.
Courageous as they were, they served as nothing but fodder to stall the Nicopolan advance until the Midlandian elite could breach the enemy''s command and wipe them out.
While tactically effective, the battles began to take a toll on the Midlandians. Several hundred were killed, and over a thousand were wounded. Worse, the Elandians'' morale was crippling, as they had suffered massive casualties in every battle.
There was a feeling that it would be a fight to the death against the Nicopolans, and the worst was yet to come.
...
Lord Seneschal Bengrieve
A squire clad in battle attire entered the luxurious command tent just as the Lord''s personal masseur was preparing to leave, after having treated the fatigued body of the Lord of Cascasonne.
"My Lord, I bring a collection of reports," the squire calmly stated, having ensured that the seneschal was comfortably seated in a lounge seat and not otherwise engaged.
"Is there anything of importance?" the Seneschal asked, his tone laced with skepticism. A collection of reports usually entailed routine updates from Midlandia or allied regions, rather than frontline news.
"The harvest in Midlandia is complete. There were no reports of failure or pests," the squire reported as the masseur exited.
"Splendid," Bengrieve uttered, albeit with scant excitement. His satisfaction stemmed from the robustness of his House''s drought control policy despite the ongoing succession crisis.
To outsiders, Midlandia might have appeared blessed. However, the truth was that immense effort had been made to sustain its crops against the increasingly prolonged summers. Since the last decade, Midlandia had invested heavily in creating man-made lakes, flooding underground caves for reservoirs, and constructing canal systems to ensure water availability for its most fertile lands.
Stringent rules had also been made and enforced to prevent any waste of clean water. Industries like tanneries, known for producing polluted water, had been either shut down or operated at reduced capacity. In the villages, wells had been deepened and enlarged, natural springs were protected, and surrounding woods had been preserved.
As the squire continued with his report, Bengrieve remained unresponsive, listening passively with eyes closed. Not even the news of Lord Arte''s departure to Arvena to engage in guerrilla warfare elicited a reaction. He simply signaled for the squire to continue with his hand.
At the report''s conclusion, the squire ventured, "There''s one piece of news from outside Midlandia that might intrigue you, My Lord."
This statement captured his interest. "From where?"
"Lowlandia."
"Ah," he muttered, annoyed. "That Lord of Korelia must be stirring trouble again. What is it this time?"
"It''s not him, but Lady Audrey. It turns out she is the cousin of Lord Omin of Korimor."
"She what?" Startled by the news, Bengrieve''s eyes flew open. "Does that mean... Did they secure Korimor?"
"Indeed, My Lord. Additionally, they encountered a large marauding force of Nicopolans, reported to be eight thousand strong."
Bengrieve squinted his eyes, unnerving his squire. "Let me guess, they managed to defeat this large force?"
The squire nodded, not daring to utter the full news.
Bengrieve chuckled, concealing his amazement, and instructed, "Just leave the parchment on the table. I shall peruse them later."
After the squire departed, Bengrieve turned to Stan, who lounged in a corner with a warm washcloth on his face. "What do you think?" he inquired.
Without removing the washcloth, Stan groaned slightly before replying, "Like it or not, he''s a proven war commander."
"A warlord," Bengrieve reflected.
"What surprises me is that Audrey can claim the castle and the title."
Bengrieve took the parchment from the table and responded, "She has. Congratulations, your adopted sister is now a Baroness."
"What a happy occurrence," Stan chuckled. "However, it bothers me that you seemed not to expect this?"
Bengrieve breathed deeply. "Of course, I didn''t. How could I have known that Lady Audrey had a cousin in Lowlandia?"
Stan ventured, "That means she''s even more important now?"
Bengrieve gave no direct answer but muttered, "Just a speck of gold dust."
Stan knew better than to press further and exhaled deeply, enjoying his hard-earned rest. He and his brigade had been fighting for days against thousands of Nicopolans. And it seemed like the worst was yet to pass.
Even Bengrieve started to mull over his decision not to influence the court and bring more of the Midlandian Army to secure Elandia.
"Have I been careless...?" the Lord of Cascasonne whispered to himself before a grin broke across his face. No, even this is still according to plan.
***
Three Hills City
A garden conveniently separated the guest house from the elite housing rows and the end of the market district, where expensive goods were sold. It was there that the rebels had sent their one hundred men to capture the Lord of Korelia''s small contingent, led by Dame Daniella, the turncoat mercenary.
They held little respect for her or her background. The conspirators were solely focused on removing anyone who could pose a threat to their coup. They needed to ensure the citizens'' loyalty, expecting that the Black Lord''s retaliation would be swift and severe, and knew they could only rely on the city walls for survival.
With the harvest secured, they could expel anyone who opposed them to reduce the number of mouths to feed and then wait for the Black Lord''s army to crumble from hunger. They believed that sooner or later, the Black Lord would have no choice but to return to his fief or sue for truce.
By that time, the conspirators expected to control the wealthiest city in Lowlandia and muster a formidable army to counter any threat posed by the Black Lord.
However, reality soon revealed their naivety.
The one hundred men surrounded the guest house, their spirits high after securing the gatehouse and plundering the coin chest from the tolls collected for city entry. Their leader, one of the bribed officers, a Captain, was preparing to issue a demand for surrender when a contingent of armored men in black plate emerged.
"The Black Knights!" his men shouted in shock, causing many to either reel or gasp.
The Captain gritted his teeth and said, "I expected this. Get the halberdiers to the front and put the crossbowmen to work!"
As they formed up, his lieutenant encouraged them, "There are only a dozen of them and a hundred of us."
However, they were immediately greeted by a nasty surprise. Dozens of crossbowmen emerged from the guest house and surrounding buildings, unleashing a volley that sent the rebels scrambling for cover in the adjacent garden''s dense foliage.
"Get back into formation!" the Captain ordered, slapping one of his men in an attempt to restore discipline.
But the man was paralyzed with fear, stammering, "The black, the black¡ª"
Shadows fell upon them. The Captain''s reprimand was cut short as a mace struck him with such force that blood sprayed from all the crevices in his head.
Sir Morton had charged a hundred paces in an instant, dispatching two before reaching the Captain. It was not a fight; it was an execution.
The traitor captain''s life ended abruptly, his body slumping forward, his head dangling in a bizarre position. His gruesome demise sent his men into a frenzy of panic. They now realized they were up against the Mage Knight.
One crossbowman dared a shot, only to see his bolt swerve aside, repelled by an ephemeral shield.
The Mage Knight, gripping his mace, pursued the fleeing rebels while his fellow Black Knights closed in. Their second-in-command became his next target, and recognizing their faces filled him with rage. "Rats," he sneered, charging into the mob that fled toward the garden.
Meanwhile, Dame Daniella, seizing the moment of disarray among the conspirators'' column, rallied her troops to engage, "Charge! Put them to the sword!"
***
Chapter 126 : Brighter Than Blood
Chapter 126
Brighter Than Blood
Three Hills City
There was a reason Lord Lansius had only 1,300 Nicopolan remaining from the original 2,000 that had marched from Korimor to South Hill.
While 300 were left to garrison South Hill, a select group of 400 was reassigned to the skirmishers. The Lord believed in their proven effectiveness during the recent campaign. Although Sigmund¡¯s absence had slowed the training, the new leader, Farkas, compensated by urging his veterans to share their expertise with the recruits.
Thus, over one hundred ex-mercenaries were trained as minstrels with roles as spies and fighters, while the rest were trained as field skirmishers, adapting to fight in non-traditional ways. Fortunately, the skirmishers'' tactics weren''t entirely new. To use terrain and buildings to their advantage, or to retreat when necessary, only to counterattack, was a known fighting strategy but had never been realized on a larger scale or with specialized groups.
The Nicopolans, having been mercenaries despite their young age, had more than enough experience to grasp these concepts, even when drilled during marches.
Now, two hundred mixed Nicopolan regulars and skirmishers were under Dame Daniella, reinforcing the Black Knights. Meanwhile, two hundred skirmishers, who had remained undetected in various cheap inns, rented houses, or warehouses where they could bunk, had been quietly assembled since last night in the elite shopping row next to the garden.
Farkas and his aides soon arrived. Watching as the eyes of his men lit up, he seated himself on an empty crate. The Black Bandits, ironically dressed in bright colors, quietly gathered in a circle around him.
"Fellow comrades," young Lieutenant Farkas began, "the Dame is engaging the conspirators'' column in the garden. You know their strength, and I believe we can either strike them from behind or trap them as they exit the garden."
"Which strategy do you favor most?" asked one of the veterans.
"Trap," Farkas replied without hesitation.
Without question but grins on their faces, the Black Bandits marched. Only a few carried crossbows due to their disguise, but they were more than confident with their blades.
Farkas led his men in a sprint, surprising onlookers along the still-empty cobblestone streets adjacent to the elite shopping row. His hunter''s instincts prompted him to let the conspirators exit the garden freely before striking as they emerged.
Inside the garden, the vibrant colors of the plants were marred by sticky ocher-red stains. The meticulously maintained green hedges had been trampled, sullied by gore. The usually pleasant floral fragrance was overpowered by the stench of piss and blood.
Despite the carnage unfolding in the front part of the garden, several dozen conspirators from the second group ¡ª comprising mutinous guardsmen, thugs, and hired men-at-arms ¡ª remained oblivious to the turmoil.
They had not seen the Mage Knight who ventured to another part of the garden, pursuing the fleeing remnants of the first group.
The second group''s purpose was a reserve, in case the opponents at the guest house posed a greater threat than expected. However, having secured the gatehouse fairly easily, they anticipated little trouble. Thus, they were mildly surprised to encounter the enemy, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Despite facing men in black armor, the second group quickly assumed formation. There, they chose to make their stand.
On the other side, the Black Knights, even in Sir Morton''s absence, showed no hesitation. Sixteen knights fearlessly charged into the disorganized wall of spears and poleaxes. The halberdiers thrust or swung their weapons with sheer determination, but the knights, anticipating these moves, blocked and parried with ease.
One knight quickly turned the halberd thrust into a grapple, closing the distance in one fluid motion and landing vicious thrusts with his sword. Another knight, showcasing the vast gulf in training and experience, deflected a powerful halberd thrust with just his left gauntlet, pushed the long shaft aside to unbalance the attacker, and then rushed forward to deliver a crushing thrust to his opponent''s body.
While swords stood little chance of penetrating thick gambesons or good riveted ringmail, they knew that the blunt force behind a blow could still break ribs, shoulder bones, or collapse the airways and neck.
Thus, despite their numbers and the reach of their weapons, the halberdiers found themselves severely outclassed. The Black Knights moved with a cohesion born of years of fighting side by side, exploiting every careless move to take down their opponents.
The knights'' advance was relentless, but the conspirators, still believing in their superior numbers, clung to their hope amid the sound of clashing steel and screams echoing through the garden.
A young, eager halberdier swung his weapon with all his might, aiming to catch a knight off-guard. However, the Black Knight''s ally anticipated this and blocked the strike. In an instant, the young halberdier was counterattacked not by one, but by three seasoned warriors. They attacked him like hungry wolves, striking with such ferocity that the young man had no chance to even scream before drawing his final breath, overwhelmed by multiple wounds.
For the conspirators'' column, that moment showed just how much things hadn''t gone according to plan. Their hands gripped their weapons until they were white, yet their knees trembled. They had tried to make their stand, but it was clear that it was a hopeless endeavor. Thus, in sheer desperation, they turned tail and rushed to exit the garden, trampling anyone in their path.
The survivors crawled, climbed, or pushed their way out. Upon reaching the outside in a state of panic, they rushed toward the open road, their only plan to run until their legs gave out. Suddenly, they encountered a small but seemingly friendly crowd who directed them to a hiding spot.
Swayed by promises of a shortcut or a safe place to rest and hide, many followed, believing these individuals were allies or friends. Yet, they were led into back alleys where they met their end, slain by crossbow bolts or hidden blades.
One by one, across multiple locations, they were deceived and murdered in cold blood. Only a few perceived the deception, but a swift blade to the throat ensured eternal silence. The two-hundred-strong Black Bandits, lurking in every corner, made sure that none could escape.
...
The fight lasted no more than half an hour. At the Mage Knight''s command, ten survivors with non-threatening injuries were spared. Externally, they were kept alive for interrogation. Internally, it was planned that once freed, they would serve as eyewitnesses to the populace about the consequences of crossing the Black Knights.
Dame Daniella saw Farkas and his men approaching. "How''s outside?" she asked.
"It feels like we caught everyone, but there might be survivors, so I''ve kept the men on watch," Farkas reported.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Good job," the Dame said. "What''s the tally?"
"Thirty-seven. How about here?"
"Sixty or so. Hard to get a figure, since some are missing body parts."
"The Mage Knight''s victim?" Farkas whispered.
Daniella nodded.
Farkas drew a deep breath. "I almost felt pity for those traitors."
Distinct clinking sounds of plate armor were heard, and Sir Morton and a squire appeared. "Dame," he greeted first.
"Sir Morton," the other two responded.
"I just returned from interrogation. We learned that fifty are in the gatehouse. The rest are in the castle."
"How many of them?" Daniella asked.
"A hundred or two," the Mage Knight replied, then added, "Not enough to stop me. Are you coming?"
"My Lord ordered me to provide assistance, and assistance is what you''ll get."
"Gratitude, Dame, from the bottom of my heart."
With no fatalities but several injuries among their ranks, twenty Black Knights, alongside one hundred Nicopolan regulars and three hundred skirmishers, headed to the castle. They anticipated heavy resistance but knew they had the strength and the numbers to overcome the coup.
***
Three Hills Castle Area
The castle was in uproar as the attacker managed to find and break a small door with woodsman''s axes. Unlike the battleaxe, which was too light and had a thin head to go against solid wood, a woodsman''s axe made even a sturdy door into a heap of splinters.
A series of fights ensued as the conspirators penetrated the castle''s corridors. The defenders evacuated the chamber and barricaded yet another door. It was frustrating, but they knew they were heading in the right direction. Soon, they would gain access to the rest of the castle.
In one of the recently captured chambers, a young guard lay on the floor, his sword arm mangled, broken at the wrist, his belly bleeding from a stab wound which he tried to close by pressing his hand against it. He had no armor as he was on leave and was planning to go home when the attack happened.
His pained groan caught the attention of one of the masterminds of this coup. Stopping in front of the young guard, the heir of the moneylender House looked down and asked, "Hey, how many are inside? Answer me."
The young guard looked up, gathered up his strength, and spat a mouthful of blood and saliva in the heir''s direction.
The heir jumped, but it was too late, and his pristine brigandine was stained. That immediately caused a commotion as his men proceeded to beat the wounded young guard. Despite his cries of agony, one broke his other arm as he shielded his face from a vicious attack, another swung a sword to his head.
It looked like it was over. However, the young guard, even with an open wound on top of his head, and an eye popping out of its socket, survived. In low whispers, he chanted, "Death to the traitors..."
The one who attacked him with a sword raised his sword again.
"Stop it," the heir suddenly spoke. "Don''t give him a quick death. Let him enjoy the pain," he scowled.
His men chuckled and left the mangled young guard alone to writhe in agony as his pain became unbearable. The wounds on his belly and head were fatal, and he was losing blood. The head concussion made him stuck in a dream-like state. The only thing that prevented him from fainting was the pain from both broken arms pulsating madly as if on fire.
He was just seventeen years old.
With blurry eyes, the young guard witnessed the conspirator''s growing frustration. Then, he heard that the defenders, led by Lord Jorge''s trusted old knight, had smeared the next room with tallow oil and lit it up to deny access to the attackers. Despite his pain, he took great joy in hearing it.
His look of amusement did not go unnoticed by the heir, who returned to him out of boredom. "Enjoying the news?"
The young guard wanted to respond but couldn''t think clearly.
Kneeling closely, the heir said, "Don''t die yet, because I''ll drag your friend here so you can hear his screaming to accompany you."
Yet the smile on the young man''s lips never wavered.
The sound of men running from outside alerted everyone. The heir stood up readily, and the rest readied their arms, only to recognize their allies, who breathlessly reported, "Armed men spotted in the city. Black armors."
"What did you say?" the heir asked with a troubled expression.
"Dozens of armed men, also the Black Knights," the men repeated.
There was only silence among the masterminds.
Suddenly, an older esquire in his green brigandine walked past and headed out.
"Where are you going?" his fellow from a knight family chased after him.
"Leave me alone, this is hopeless," the old esquire replied.
"How can you say that? We almost took the castle," the son of a knight tried to convince him.
The older man stared back and raised his voice, "Can''t you see? They''re prepared for this!"
The heir approached them and blurted out, "Who prepared for what?"
"The Black Lord!" the older esquire exclaimed before spitting out, "This cunningness and deviousness is not Lord Jorge''s doing. It must be his."
The masterminds could only exchange glances. The thought that the Black Lord had planned for this eventuality sent chills down their spines.
"Nonsense! This is all just cowardice," the heir raised his voice.
However, the rest thought otherwise. The man next to them, a wealthy landowner, asked the esquire in green, "What shall we do?"
The old esquire looked at him and explained, "They''ll be marching here. There''s no time, let''s head to the gatehouse and leave the city."
"Leave to where?" the heir asked mockingly.
"I have no idea. You gave me no time to prepare!" the old esquire howled, reminding the heir that he was the one who pushed for this coup.
Another stepped up, "But the castle is almost ours."
The esquire was about to answer when screams, along with the noises of clashing steel, were heard.
Everyone in the chamber turned in that direction, only to witness a man, with a spear embedded in his chest, being hurled through the air with such force that he flew straight into the wall, crashing just below the chamber''s ceiling, and then fell to the ground.
There were collective gasps. They had never seen anything like it.
Like panicked children, the masterminds in their bright brigandines ran to take cover behind tens of their men, who could do nothing but ready their swords and fix their gaze on the exit, from where more screams and shrieking could be heard. Their lieutenants quickly called in other groups from different locations; they still had more than a hundred fighters.
Their opponents, the men in black armor, appeared, their armor glistening with blood.
"They''re just knights. Get the poleaxes," the heir instructed as he regained his voice. More of his men had returned to his side.
However, a cold voice from the knight at the front captured everyone''s attention. "Greetings. Today, I''ll be your executioner."
Then another voice, a female''s, added ominously from the side, "Lord Lansius sends his greetings."
Upon her gesture, his men fanned out to the left and right. One row knelt while another row stood, each aiming their crossbows. Despite the angry shouts and pleas for mercy from the other side, the bolts were unleashed mercilessly.
***
Sir Morton sheathed his sword. His mace had been bent, and its handle was too slippery to use due to the caked blood on its grip. The fighting had ceased, but the carnage was so brutal that even seasoned mercenaries like Dame Daniella vomited in a corner. Yet, she immediately felt better and showed no remorse or pity.
Only key figures were taken hostage. They were not spared; instead, they were to be placed in the torture chamber to reveal their motives and the names of their cronies.
The Nicopolans began the dirty work of looting the dead and dragging them outside. The defenders inside had cautiously sent some of their men to assess the situation and, afterward, were glad to send more to assist with the work. The old knight overseeing the operation was amazed by the unexpected reinforcements, as he had been unaware of this plan.
As for Daniella, she was about to lead a separate detachment to the gatehouse when she saw Sir Morton kneeling next to a wounded man on the floor. The Mage Knight compassionately placed his hand on the wounded man, who looked not even twenty years old.
She stopped and overheard them.
"I saw armors in black. Is this true? Are the Black Knights here? Are we winning?" the young man asked, staring emptily at the mage knight''s face.
"Indeed, the Black Knights are here," Sir Morton replied. "We are also winning."
The young man looked so pale but offered a genuine grin between groans of pain. "I recognize your voice. It''s an honor to meet you, Sir."
"The honor is mine," the Mage Knight replied warmly.
"Then Sir, please... a favor, if you will," he begged.
"Ask away."
"The pain. It''s unbearable. Can you make it painless and quick?"
Sir Morton took the young man into his embrace, like a father to his son. "Any last words?"
The young man almost shook but said, "Please take care of my mum."
"I will. Then, are you ready?"
He nodded, and then a blast of air occurred around the young man. He instantly looked drowsy and closed his eyes for the last time. There were no more painful groans or writhing heard from him.
Sir Morton''s squire promptly assisted his master and tended to the dead, laying him on the floor until more arrangements could be made. A shield was placed honorably on his body to mark that he was one of them.
Dame Daniella offered her waterskin to Sir Morton, who drank eagerly.
"Do you know him?" she asked.
"No. But I recognize his face."
"It''s a shame. He was so young."
Sir Morton did not answer but gazed around the corridors and said, "It''s time to wrap this up."
Daniella nodded and faced her men. "To the gatehouse," she instructed.
Her men, ready with retrieved crossbow bolts and laden with trinkets and coins, marched out confidently, their eyes reflecting a sense of righteousness and purpose. They had witnessed another victory, another proof that not even a coup in an ally''s land could escape their Lord''s watchful eye.
***
Chapter 127 : Werewolf
Chapter 127
Werewolf
Three Hills, Gatehouse
Typically, at this hour, a crowd would gather, eager to pass through the gates for travel, trade, or other purposes. However, recent sightings of fighting and rumors of a coup had sown fear, deterring most from coming near. Those who had attempted to cross the city gate were turned away, and afterward, no one else dared to make the attempt.
Dame Daniella and Sir Morton had yet to arrive when Farkas allowed his men to infiltrate the area around the gatehouse. Three of them, either notably young or old, were disguised as peddlers, offering snacks and ales and capturing the attention of the conspirators hungry for food.
Their presence was so unremarkable that it failed to raise any suspicion. The conspirators, who guarded the gatehouse, casually stepped out to get the snacks.
Unbeknownst to them, the Black Bandits had encircled the area, preventing any word of the movements of black-armored knights within the city or that the conspirators in the castle were under siege. Every ally they had was intercepted and swiftly secured with bindings and gags.
Now, Farkas allowed more of his men, along with two women, to approach with additional snacks and wine. His hunter''s instincts sharpened as he noted the gatehouse''s lack of alertness. For him, it was no different than planning an ambush on unsuspecting prey.
"Should we attack?" his aide whispered.
Farkas studied the man, who appeared young for his years. "When the castle falls, these men will flee," he murmured in response.
"I''d rather not chase them outside when we could capture them now," the aide commented.
A smile was on Farkas'' lips. "I want to avoid unnecessary risks."
"But what if they locked the doors and refused to surrender? It could turn into a siege."
The smile faded. "I never thought of it," Farkas admitted, then he observed the lack of discipline among the conspirators. After nighttime fighting, their awareness was certainly waning in the daytime, especially when the weather was cloudy and the wind was refreshing.
More guards emerged for snacks, while those returning appeared wobbly from the strong and barely diluted wine.
"You''re right," Farkas finally agreed. "We should take it. Ready the men."
His aide nodded, moving to relay the orders.
Their agreed-upon plan was named Werewolf.
In the neighboring provinces of Elandia, there were tales of werewolves: half-human, half-beast creatures that roamed the countryside at night in search of prey. By day, they assumed human form, typically characterized by pale and frail appearances. This pale complexion often led to their being mistaken for nobility, as only those of noble birth, who engaged in little to no manual labor, could maintain such unblemished skin.
Thus, they could easily gain entry as guests into noble houses, which were their preferred targets since nobles were usually softer and had more fat compared to peasants. Some of the most famous tales involved female werewolves who infiltrated their prey''s homes at noon, only to devour the hosts by night.
The legend says that these creatures had no weakness. Once transformed at midnight, they succumbed to mindless rage. After feasting, they would flee, needing days to revert to their human form. They were not fond of human food, consuming it only to avert suspicion from their hosts.
Their only aversion was to black-colored clothing. It was said that in their frenzied state, despite enhanced night vision, distinguishing dark clothes amidst the darkness became impossibly difficult for them.
Moreover, folklore suggested that giving them black-colored spare clothes¡ªsince theirs were usually dirty¡ªwould force them to flee, as it would be impossible for them to find these clothes again as werewolves.
Although it might seem trivial, good clothing was hard to come by. While they could easily steal a farmer''s attire, without good clothing, convincing their next target of their noble-born status would prove challenging.
This tale, possibly also spread by the local black dye merchants, kept the demand for the expensive dye in some regions high despite its hefty price.
The wind blew hard as if taking sides, warning the unsuspecting conspirators at the gatehouse. Yet, the few men who casually moved toward the peddlers, bought ale, and lingered without arousing suspicion.
Some posed as coachmen and trader apprentices, exchanging words with the guards and asking when the gate would be open again. Another group gathered one by one, engaging in friendly banter and laughter.
When two dozen men had gathered, the guards became suspicious. That was when Farkas yelled, "Thieves!"
The women screamed and told the guards that they had been robbed, showing their missing purses. In the ensuing confusion, they pointed out a man running away, whom two of the rebels-turned-guards promptly chased.
Meanwhile, the women pleaded to be escorted inside, and the rest of the guards complied. Naturally, other men followed, feigning curiosity, and without being asked, gave their own accounts to add to the chaos.
"We''re not the city guards, we don''t make reports!" one tried to explain.
The situation seemed so natural that the guards were more annoyed than alarmed. The hard ale and wine had made them sluggish, and their sleeplessness was catching up to them.
Outside, the two guards who gave chase to the thief were captured in an ambush. Yet, the main show was inside the gatehouse. Upon Farkas'' signal, his skirmishers sprang into action. The women''s faces turned sharp, revealing their mercenary background as they mercilessly wielded their hidden blades against the shocked guards. Two guards went down, gurgling blood.
Four other guards also fell to the men in disguise, with only one able to scream before his head was slammed against the stone wall, silencing him forever. The werewolf was a success.
"Go! Go!" Farkas instructed, and his men, still in their disguises, rushed to the stone spiral staircase. Upon reaching the second floor, they were spotted.
"What do you want? Get out! You''re not¡ª" one guard turned pale as he realized what was happening. More skirmishers reached the second floor, armed with daggers and short swords.
He ran, shouting, "Intruders!" His warning was the last thing he made before being tackled to the ground and stabbed repeatedly by the skirmishers.
The rest of the rebels were alerted, and soon a brawl broke out as the Black Bandits tried to secure the chamber where the gate and drawbridge mechanisms were located.
Even in the close confines of the chamber, they fought fiercely. Suddenly, Farkas witnessed one of his men get impaled and another lose part of his face to a sword blow.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The skirmishers took a step back, assessing the situation. Noticing this, Farkas stepped forward. A burly rebel dashed forward and slammed his sword down with raw strength and ferocity. He could have easily overpowered Farkas, who wisely dodged instead of parrying.
The man, well protected by ringmail, swung his blade again, yet Farkas was well-trained. Instead of cowering, he drew the man in, luring him toward his ally, who threw metal darts at him.
The dart hit him in the chin and broke the man''s concentration. Farkas lunged, showing the agility of a hunter; his short sword struck the man''s face.
"ARRGH!" The man lashed out, thrashing about wildly in pain. He became the center of attention, with only a few continuing their fights around him. Despite injuries to his eyes and nose, the burly man kept swinging his sword.
Farkas tried to deliver the last strike but couldn''t find a way. One of the senior Black Bandits advanced alone, lobbed a wooden cup at the man to draw his attention, then, with a dagger in each hand, traded blows with the blinded man. After repeated thrusts and slashes, he finally disarmed the man, and, ignoring his pleas, ended the fight with a pommel bash to the side of the head.
Now, the place between them was dyed in red. The stone floor was slippery with puddles of ochre-red blood.
"Yield now!" Farkas shouted to his opponents as his men had secured the entrance to the gate and drawbridge chamber. "The Black Knights have already secured the castle."
This announcement halted the fighting as the conspirators, shocked by the news, hesitated.
"Your allies have been defeated. Lower your arms or face the same fate as the masterminds of this coup!"
The conspirators were skeptical. "That''s horse shit!" one retorted.
"We have two hundred men. Don''t listen to them," one of their leaders rallied.
However, the sound of horses neighing outside gave them pause.
"It''s the Black Knights," warned a lookout. Now, the conspirators started to feel the chill in their feet.
"What say you? The deal is off when the Black Knights arrive," Farkas pressed while quietly signaling his men to continue their plan.
Instead of backing down, the conspirators grew more stubborn. "Fight! Let''s fight!" one cried.
Another readily shouted, "The Black Knights won''t take us alive!"
Their leader felt the same and commanded, "Charge! Kill them all!"
The rebels rushed at Farkas and his men, trying to reach a small door to escape outside. It would have been a costly stalemate, but the Black Bandits had come prepared.
"Take them down, take them down!" Farkas shouted, and his men, who had smuggled crossbows from below, hastily took aim and sent powerful bolts toward the conspirators.
Six were mortally wounded on the spot. Their ringmails couldn''t stop a bolt at such short range. Reeling from the attack, the conspirators'' momentum was broken, and Farkas, knowing he had only one chance as it would take a lot of time to reload the crossbows, led his men on a decisive charge.
***
In the finale of the coup, more than half of the conspirators in the gatehouse perished, with fewer than ten surviving, only to be sent to the dungeon.
The attack on the gatehouse was also the one in which the Black Bandits bled the most, with eight men dead and fifteen wounded. The nature of their disguise, which permitted only the lightest form of armor or protection¡ªaccompanied by daggers, short swords, and the absence of shields¡ªleft them vulnerable despite all the preparations.
In comparison, the much larger attack on the castle, spearheaded by Sir Morton and the Black Knights, did not result in any fatalities.
While Dame Daniella did not chastise Lieutenant Farkas for his decision to attack, the hunter blamed himself for the higher-than-expected casualties. Unexpected consolation came from Sir Morton, who slapped the man''s shoulder and offered his rare commendation, "Good assault."
The other seniors in their ranks also gave their approval of the tactics used. Although the high casualties were unexpected and deemed unnecessary, as the castle had been won, many praised the success. Taking over a well-defended structure like the gatehouse was no small feat.
While the Black Bandits were licking their wounds, Sir Morton found Dame Daniella inside the gatehouse''s command chamber.
"Sir Morton," Daniella greeted the mage knight.
"Dame," he replied, then looked around, found it empty of prying eyes, and confided, "After all is over, we don''t need hostages."
Daniella drew a sharp breath. "I can''t do that. My men, and I believe even Lord Lansius, expected ransom from this."
"The city and I will do our most to compensate," Sir Morton gave his assurance.
The Dame looked to the side, pondered, and said, "The city will need its coins. Three Hills will need to recruit more men for security."
Sir Morton''s gaze turned warmer as he sighed. "Likely so."
Daniella tried to think of something, suggesting, "The heir of a powerful House is involved in this. What if you allow me to confiscate the House, so I have something to reward my men with? The rest is between our Lords."
"You have my support," the Mage Knight declared without hesitation and offered his hand.
The two clasped hands to seal the deal.
Afterward, Dame Daniella led her Nicopolan regulars and a small team of skirmishers to the moneylender''s House. They were under strict orders not to cause unnecessary damage, as the Dame wanted to present the estate and all its belongings to her Lord and Lady.
Over one hundred and fifty surrounded the complex, its separate affiliates'' store, branch office, and warehouse. They broke in and subdued more than a dozen watchmen before capturing the perpetrator''s family and staff.
"Listen to me," Dame Daniella addressed the captured member seated on the floor in the opulent-looking hall of the estate. "Your master is one of the masterminds of a coup against the ruling House. As far as I''m concerned, your lives are forfeited."
The family and staff wept and cried, pleading for their lives. Yet, the Nicopolans surrounding them showed no pity. For them, the idea that a party could deliberately cause chaos amid potential famine and war was simply too much.
Daniella gazed down at the captured and said, "Your master traded peace for a rebellion, and put your life on the line. Now, nobody but the Lord of Korelia could save you. But he''s in Umberland trying to save Lowlandia. Meanwhile, here you are, wreaking havoc on his lifeline."
The men and women couldn¡¯t argue but continued their cries alongside the children.
Cutting through the mixed emotions in the room, Daniella said, "My Lord isn''t a heartless person. If you swear allegiance and present your House to him, then I could guarantee your lives. If not, then the Black Knights will have your necks in chains."
The senior member pleaded, his head touching the floor. "If we give up the House, how will we survive?"
"The Imperium''s law for a traitor''s family is death or enslavement," she reminded them, and they recoiled in fear. "However, My Lord will judge you fairly. And if you are found without fault, chances are he''ll either employ you or free you with a decent pension. He''s one of the rare leaders who genuinely cares about his subjects."
Spurred by the chance to escape this predicament, each one of them quickly agreed to make a written oath.
The Dame felt relieved; after all the carnage, she preferred to see them alive. After all, they were probably innocents, especially the young and the children.
Daniella was rather pleased with this outcome. By securing an intact and functional House for her Lord, she could expect a significant reward for her men. Unbeknownst to her, this would serve as an even greater boon for the entire Lowlandia.
***
En route to Umberland
Despite their new ability to march rapidly, Lansius purposely kept his column at a normal pace. Many assumed the decision was made to allow Lord Jorge''s column to keep up, or so as not to burden their vast supply carts. Yet, the real reason was an abundance of caution.
His scouts had been carefully penetrating the mountain region to collect more detailed information. Unlike in the plains of Korelia, mountainous regions proved to be more challenging.
The terrain was difficult, with plenty of cover for men and beasts alike, and it also provided little space to maneuver. A horse-based army would have limited usage in this region.
Finding spots to make camps for such a large army was also challenging. While there were often no other options available, the effort required to ensure security was significant. In such forested and mountainous regions, they could have scouted three days ahead but easily missed an encampment of hundreds of enemies setting up an ambush.
Thus, Lansius had decided to play it safe. Since yesterday, he instructed his troops to wear armor and keep their shields and swords at hand at all times.
In such terrain, he couldn''t afford to be careless. The stories of how the Romans lost their legions in Syria, Gallia, and Germania during marches were always at the back of his mind.
Unlike in South Hill, where he could employ his minstrel spies, Umberland was in such chaos that even traveling peddlers or minstrels would look suspicious. Moreover, the bulk of his skirmishers were stuck in Three Hills to guard against a possible coup.
Instead of directing the minstrels into harm''s way, Lansius chose to have them play music during the march, following what the Ottomans did for their Janissaries. The marching song kept them in good spirits and took their minds off the monotonous march.
The minstrels also provided much-needed entertainment during rest in the camps while secretly gathering intelligence from their own side. Lansius needed to know if there were morale issues in their fourth campaign of the year. Many had fought for extended periods beyond the traditional forty or even sixty days.
Despite his year-round payments, Lansius still feared a mutiny might brew if any seeds of problems were left untreated. So far, nothing had emerged, so he breathed easy and focused his strategic vision on freeing the Umberland Barony from the marauding Nicopolans.
Soon, he would find his opponent and face them in either small skirmishes, pitched battles, or sieges. Whatever they had planned, he would counter them all.
***
Chapter 128 : Hilltop Ascend
Chapter 128
Hilltop Ascend
It was early in the morning on the seventh day of their campaign. The encampment was still quiet when Lansius was greeted by the aroma of freshly baked bread, rich with butter and hinting at a slightly sweet, savory taste. So enticing was the scent that he rose from his slumber and went out to find Audrey baking in a corner of the command tent.
Unnoticed by her, Lansius watched as he often did. Despite her new status as a Baroness, Audrey still lived like a squire, waking up early to either maintain their gear or gather early information from the night watch.
However, today, she wasn''t checking armor or sword, nor was she wearing her gambeson. The Baroness was baking bread, much as she had done as a squire, the only difference being the high-quality ingredients evident from the leftover goods on the adjacent table.
Lansius tried to sneak to the table for some roasted almonds when Audrey turned sharply, her right hand ready on her dagger. Her terrifying eyes quickly softened as she recognized him. "Oh, it''s still early," she said.
"Can''t help it. The aroma''s too good."
"Hehe," she giggled proudly. "Wait until you taste it with the jam I made from the berries."
The baking and jam-making prompted Lansius to ask, "Is there any special reason?"
"Special occasion?" she misheard, returning to her cauldron.
"Special reason," Lansius repeated. "Why are you suddenly baking bread and making jams?"
"Well... I just wanted to," she replied nonchalantly.
"Really?" Lansius asked as he approached her.
Audrey looked at him with a slight smugness. "It''s Centurian bread. My mother used to make this, but I couldn¡¯t remember the recipe. So, I asked Ingrid, and she taught me how to make it."
"Ah, true. Ingrid is from Centuria."
"Yep," she replied, carefully adding more firewood. The flames crackled, eager to consume it. She wiped her hand with a cloth and gazed at the fire, saying, "Also, since everyone already thinks I''m pregnant, I might as well act the part."
Lansius felt odd at her remark. "But you like cooking."
"I don''t mind cooking. Cleaning, well, that''s another matter. But really... first, you told me not to march on foot. Then, Sir Harold wouldn''t let me ride and urged me to use a carriage. Now, Carla won¡¯t even let me train with a sword or don armor," she ended with a sigh.
"Right..." Lansius muttered, apologetically. "But I''m sure they all mean well."
"Without a doubt," she agreed. "I blame no one. It''s just that I never expected this." Turning her gaze at him, she added, "I always thought I''d die a swordmaiden against that fell beast."
Lansius took her by the arms and said, "You''re mine. I would burn the entire forest if I had to."
Audrey¡¯s face softened, and then she turned her attention back to the iron cauldron as the bread''s enticing aroma filled the air, signaling it was perfectly baked. She used a ragged cloth and a sturdy wood to carry the cauldron away from the fire, with Lansius stepping forward to assist her.
She opened the metal cover to reveal the bread, tapping it with a wooden spoon and hearing a satisfying hollow yet crusty sound. "Oh, it''s fully cooked," she remarked, a bit surprised.
"Can''t wait to try it," Lansius said with a smile, pleased by the shift in mood.
As she let the bread to cool, Audrey stared at him. "Lans, promise me something."
"What is it?"
"Don''t turn me into a livestock-"
Lansius chuckled at the notion. "Come again?"
"You know what I mean. Like a goat whose only purpose is to breed," she pouted, her tone subtly threatening. "Don''t turn me into a noblewoman who''s only good for bearing children."
Lansius laughed and reassured her, "I won¡¯t. You¡¯re too valuable to be kept at home. You¡¯re one of my best Captains. And soon, a Mage Knight as well."
Audrey looked pleased. Then Lansius blurted out, "Besides, who could possibly force you? You''ve bested a dozen of our knights, and the rest wouldn¡¯t dare try."
"I guess they don''t want to be defeated by a woman."
"More like they''re afraid of being blinded," he quipped.
"Can''t be that bad..." she ventured.
"Oh, believe me, it¡¯s worse than a poke in the eye," Lansius teased.
She sighed deeply. "I hope our future son will not be afraid of my eyes."
Now, that''s a real concern...
"Why the silence? Are you seriously worried about that?" she inquired, looking at him.
"No, not really," he responded, smiling. "It''s been a while since I was stung."
"I told you I have better control now." A stiff smile was on her lips.
Lansius readily nodded. "Anyway, my stance remains the same: you can resume regular duties, just not while pregnant."
"But I''m not even sure," she said, annoyed.
Lansius shrugged. "It''s too early to tell, isn''t it?"
She hesitated but nodded her head.
"Then let''s just wait until the third month as they suggested."
"But doing nothing frustrates me," Audrey sighed. "How about we spar a little?" she asked, hopeful.
Lansius immediately shook his head. "No, too risky."
She approached him, whispering, "What about wrestling in bed?"
"Well..." He tried to find an excuse but failed.
Audrey stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him. "Husband, it would be embarrassing if all this happened and I came out without a bump after three months. So, I prefer to take precautions," she argued, her allure undeniable.
"I guess that''s wise..." Lansius conceded.
"Come, love, I demand a guarantee," she said, extending her right hand like a lady, her face adorned with a smug grin.
"Then I shall obey the Baroness'' will," he replied suavely.
Both chuckled over their exchange as they retreated to the inner sanctum of their tent, leaving the freshly baked Centurian bread still steaming on the table to cool, awaiting breakfast. Meanwhile, the wind from the mountains breezed through the camps.
***
As dawn turned to morning, the two Lords, along with their entourage and main army, marched toward the plateau ascending into the mountainous region. The horizon bore hints of green and orange, indicating the presence of wooded lands blanketing the area. What they saw was the outskirts of Umberland.
Fearing an ambush, the cavalry intensified their patrols. The Lord of Korelia had made it abundantly clear that the risk of an ambush was so high, that wearing armor while marching was considered a necessity.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Furthermore, their long-range scout, who was two days ahead, had still not detected the enemy. This situation kept the command staff on high alert.
They had information from Lord Jorge¡¯s scouts that a large number of marauding Nicopolans were spotted in the area about ten days prior, but it appeared they had since departed. A report from Sir Arius, who had garrisoned a village north of Three Hills, further corroborated this account.
Sir Arius reported that the Nicopolans did not engage and had started to earnestly withdraw several days prior.
Upon hearing this, the Lord of Korelia was convinced that there was a coordinated effort behind these movements. It seemed the armed refugees operated under a functioning chain of command, rather than being merely disjointed groups as previously believed.
In light of this, the command staff braced for a challenging battle.
Today, the main army had begun climbing the hill that offered the last ideal resting spot for a large army before the ascent began. The terrain was such that the Lords of Umberland, who had inherited this realm, could remain in power despite the frequent turmoil in Lowlandia.
As the march progressed unhindered, the forward elements had finally reached and secured the hill by midday. Mounted on a tall and sturdy pole, the blue and bronze banner unfurled majestically against the winds.
Lord Lansius arrived with his retinue, and upon surveying the wooded landscape around the hill, something prompted him to utter a foreign word: "Wallachia."
...
Lansius
As the cavalry had limited use in the mountainous region, Lansius redeployed his cavalry arm to escort their supply train, fearing an ambush at their rear. Similarly, Lord Jorge moved his family and their entourage to Lansius'' camp for safety.
The Lord of Three Hills stayed at the rear with his troops, serving as the allied army''s rearguard. Stories of marine corps legends shared by Lansius had inspired Lord Jorge to spend more time with his men.
Lansius supported this and sent Dietrich and Sterling to ensure the safety and comfort of Lord Jorge''s family.
As the main army of three thousand prepared their camps on the hill, the command staff convened once more. However, apart from the decision to fortify the hills as a lifeline to Three Hills and Korimor, today''s meeting again felt fruitless, as they had yet to receive reports of enemy movements.
"Still no sightings of the enemy?" Lansius inquired.
"Not even their shadows, My Lord," Servius reported.
Sir Harold was similarly bothered and asked candidly, "Nothing to report at all?"
"Well," Servius considered, "there are reports of animal carcasses scattered along the route. Large deer, even wolves."
Lansius was intrigued. "On the roadside or in the middle?"
"I''ve heard reports of both."
"Rotting?" Sir Harold inquired.
"Not much. They''re quite fresh when the scouts find them."
Sir Harold nodded and commented, "So, there''s a large bear on the prowl."
"Are bears common in the area?" Lansius asked.
"I''ve never encountered one, not when my group crossed Umberland, but I''ll look into it. There must be hunters or locals from Three Hills who know the region," Servius replied.
Lansius pondered and decided, "Ask the scouts if they''ve also found carcasses in the woods."
Sir Harold threw a glance at Lansius while Servius wondered aloud, "Is there any reason for this, My Lord?"
"It''s just a hunch, but animals usually hide their meals and don''t leave them out in the open."
"Then My Lord is suggesting this isn''t a bear''s doing?" Sir Harold cautiously asked.
Lansius exhaled deeply. "Maybe I''m overreacting. But I''m concerned this is a warning. The way the Nicopolans retreated was unusual."
"Fell beasts?" Sir Harold uttered, his voice tinged with disbelief, as Servius looked on with concern before responding, "Given the number of dead in Nicopola, anything is possible."
Lansius was lost in thought.
Seeing that, Servius explained, "We have legends, though not as many sightings as in Elandia. The nobles insist they were merely beastmen slaves who had escaped."
Lansius nodded. Audrey had informed him that goblins and lesser creatures existed only on the distant continent of Progentia. He had also encountered old records suggesting that similar goblin-like creatures had been eradicated from the Promissia continent following their initial contact with early human and elven settlements.
However, more mysterious and monstrous creatures, known as fell beasts, remained hidden in the ancient forests. They posed a different kind of threat than goblins. Some of these fell beasts even became pivotal elements in sagas around famed Grand Progenitors, with battles that took countless lives and prominent heroic figures.
Thus, there was a general fear of these monstrous creatures. However, such fear had largely diminished over time, morphing into myth or superstition, as no monstrous creatures had attacked human settlements for centuries. Some attributed this peace to the current Emperor''s blessing.
"What about you, Servius? What do you believe?" Lansius inquired.
Servius shook his head. "These are different times. Perhaps the Ageless blessing has faded. However, monster or not, I believe they wouldn''t dare to confront an entire army."
Lansius appreciated the condottiere pragmatism.
Outside, a cold wind stirred, causing the command tent to shudder. "Is this cold wind from the mountains?" Lansius asked, subtly shifting the conversation.
"I believe it''s from the Targe mountains," Servius noted, referencing another mountainous region near the capital, known for its everlasting snowcap.
"No wonder. I''ve heard the mountains in Umberland lack a permanent snowy peak," Sir Harold remarked.
Lansius nodded and instructed accordingly, "Make sure we have plenty of firewood. We''d better stock up before winter arrives."
Servius nodded and asked, "Would this be all, My Lord?"
Lansius did not react, so Servius waited.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Lansius quoted the advice his wife once gave him: "The hurried hare falls prey to the waiting hound." Then, he instructed his top retinue, "I want half of our men to sleep in their armor tonight. Triple the night watch patrols."
"I''ll personally oversee tonight''s night watch," Sir Harold volunteered.
"Much obliged, Sir Harold," Lansius said gratefully.
"My Lord, what about tomorrow''s march?" Servius asked.
"There''s no need to march tomorrow. Let the men rest or help with the fortification. We''ve yet to find the enemy, and this troubles me."
***
The Lord''s Encampment
Every evening after supper, Ingrid was welcomed to the command tent under the guise of giving lectures to Lady Audrey. While Lord Lansius was curious, he chose to honor the guild''s trade secret and made excuses to leave the two alone. That evening, the Lord was engaged in another study session with his top retinue, trying to learn about the region''s culture and way of life.
Meanwhile, in the command tent, the clandestine magic training continued.
"Again, inhale and exhale as you move."
"I don''t feel anything-"
"Don''t worry about it. Trust the process," the mentor reassured the student.
Audrey persevered with her training despite sensing no progress. After the session had ended, she asked, "Ingrid, am I really going to get stronger?"
"I''m confident that you will. Especially after we unlock the source." Ingrid handed Audrey a goblet of water.
"Why delay unlocking the source? Is it because I''m pregnant?" Audrey accepted the goblet and drank.
"Not at all. We deem this training to be safe, certainly safer than physical exercises."
"True, the movements are slow and deliberate."
"The move is to attune your limbs to your breathing," Ingrid explained.
Audrey nodded and put her empty goblet away. "Is everyone trained this way?"
Ingrid hesitated but decided to be frank, "Normally, I let them with a bit of my magic so they can experience wielding it."
Audrey''s eyes lit up. "Can you do that for me?"
"I''m afraid not, My Lady. Your potential exceeds mine. If I tried it, your magic might overwhelm mine."
"What would happen then?"
"It would be like a waterfall to a pond. It might cause all kinds of damage, even rupturing the connection between me and my source."
Audrey was taken aback. "Am I that dangerous?"
"It''s not uncommon, My Lady. Regrettably, with magic, the more gifted individuals are, the longer the training time required to master it."
Audrey exhaled sharply. It had been several days, but she was still struggling to grasp the concept of magic. Everything was new to her, convincing her that nothing Isolte had taught her was related to magic. "If only he were here," she murmured.
Noticing Ingrid''s confused look, Audrey clarified, "The Lord is well-read in many subjects and could explain things to me easily. I believe he even studied a book about Mages."
Ingrid furrowed her brow. "But there''s only one such book, the history of the Mage Guild."
"Yes, that''s the one. He said he read through that tedious volume to ensure he didn''t miss anything."
"Didn''t miss anything..." Ingrid repeated slowly before commenting, "My Lord is a remarkable man."
Audrey readily agreed.
Ingrid then asked, "Tell me, My Lady, does he have any other unusual traits?"
Reflecting for a moment, Audrey replied, "Aside from his hair that took a long time to grow, nothing else comes to mind. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious, My Lady," Ingrid reassured her.
"So, shall we resume training?" Audrey proposed, her spirit revived.
"My Lady, it''s best to be on the safe side of things, especially when the Lord is powerful," Ingrid said gently. "A son or a healthy daughter would boost other Houses'' confidence in your House''s standing."
Audrey nodded in understanding. She certainly knew and understood the points well, but hearing them from someone else made a difference.
...
Ingrid
The mentor exited the command tent just as Lord Lansius passed by. They exchanged polite greetings amidst a drizzle and chilly winds.
Returning to her small tent, Ingrid spent some time alone. Originally, she was meant to share a larger tent with a squire, but Ingrid had requested privacy, even if it meant having a smaller tent.
As soon as she settled onto her fur bedroll, strewn atop a thick carpet, she heard excited barking outside the tent, accompanied by the sounds of patrols making their rounds.
Ingrid began preparing a herbal concoction using a jar of hot water she had obtained from the Lady''s tent. She needed to brew it quickly before the water cooled.
Unexpectedly, a voice called out from outside. "Educator Ingrid, it''s me, the messenger you sent before."
"Please enter," Ingrid responded calmly.
The youth poked his head inside. "Maester, I''ve searched everywhere for Sir Morton, but I was told he was sleeping elsewhere or on errands. Only now, I received confirmation that Sir Morton was away."
"So you couldn''t deliver the letter?"
"Unfortunately..." the messenger replied apologetically, then returned the sealed letter.
Ingrid took her purse and handed the youth five copper coins despite his failure. "Tell no one."
"Of course, and gratitude, Maester."
The messenger departed, leaving Ingrid with a heavy sigh. Not even the freshly brewed aroma of her herbal concoction could lift her spirits. While the Baroness'' training had progressed better than expected, Ingrid was facing a big dilemma and needed Sir Morton''s expertise and consultation.
Most mages, like Ingrid, couldn''t see magic; they could only sense it. Only gifted individuals like Sir Morton had the ability to see magic.
Ingrid needed to consult him about Lord Lansius. She was certain that Sir Morton had met Lord Lansius several times and was baffled as to why the Mage Knight hadn''t reported anything peculiar about him.
In truth, Ingrid was utterly shocked when she first met the Lord. His magic potential was so ridiculously low that it seemed impossible.
Thus, for the past several days, she had quietly inquired of the Baroness about any other gemstones or artifacts that the Lord might wear¡ªsomething to conceal magic. However, the Lady wasn''t aware of any, and Ingrid didn''t sense anything unusual either.
This troubled Ingrid deeply. "To think that the champion of Lowlandia, the leader of the Grand Alliance, isn''t even human."
***
Chapter 129 : A Warning in Blood
Chapter 129
A Warning in Blood
The drizzle persisted while a cold wind howled through the night. Lansius had returned to his command tent, and Audrey greeted him at the entrance. "Welcome back. How''s the study?"
"Well, I''ve learned some interesting things. How about the training?" Lansius asked as they found themselves alone. Carla was catching some shut-eye in an adjacent tent, preparing for the night watch.
Audrey exhaled deeply. Seeing this, Lansius motioned for her to pause. "Apologies for asking."
"I really wish I could say I''m making progress, but I don''t feel any different."
Lansius approached her, reached out for her shoulder, and began to massage it. "It''s stiff. Perhaps you''re trying too hard."
"I can''t see any results, and that frustrates me," she paused, turning to him. "You must be tired. My apologies, I didn''t mean to nag."
Lansius chuckled and patted her shoulder. He looked at the table and noticed a silver jug.
"Boiled water, as per your instructions," Audrey pointed out.
"It''s too bad that we had to give up the ale," Lansius said as he poured water into his goblet.
"I won''t complain. But you really don''t have to abstain on my account," she said, concerned.
"Ah, abstaining also clears the mind, so I don''t really mind," he replied, then offering her a goblet. "Besides, it''s not like you can''t have any at all, just in small quantities."
"As long as the food is good, I shall have no complaints." She drank the water and afterward, both walked to their quarters.
Muffled sounds of dogs barking from outside were heard as the guardsmen went on their patrols.
"Did you increase the patrols?" She asked as they prepared to sleep.
"Yeah, I tripled them," Lansius said after brushing his teeth.
Audrey nodded and quietly resumed preparing her twin crossbow along with spare bolts. Lansius was ready, with a spear and sword nearby. In peace or war, they were accustomed to sleeping like this.
The only change, now that they were Lord and Lady, was their ability to select a set of ''clean'' weapons for their quarters. While Lansius gave it little thought, Audrey believed that weapons that had taken lives might bring bad luck. Regardless, this preference was purely personal. As customary, their primary weapons, armor, and field equipment were stored in an adjacent space, serving both as an armory and a resting area for the squires.
"Have you got everything?" Lansius inquired as he made his way to the entrance of the quarters.
"Water, bread, an extra lantern, and oh, this gemstone too. All set," she responded. The gemstone she mentioned was a gemstone of light, another gift from Ingrid.
Lansius observed as Audrey activated the gemstone with a prolonged touch. The gem glowed with a bright white light, free of smoke or residue, and posed no risk of fire. This was not their first encounter with such a device, as Sir Stan possessed several in his manor. Its use was common among high nobles and the wealthy who had connections with the Mage Guild or associated traders to maintain them.
Lansius then proceeded to arrange three thin wires at their quarters'' entrance, securing them to the nails on the wooden frame. The wires were a gift from Lord Jorge, one that was gratefully received by the couple. The strong but slender wires connected to several small bell-like brass objects offered them more protection than just relying on thick canvas and knots while on travel.
Despite the presence of guards outside and Carla with her trusted fighters inside, the Lord and Lady understood that, ultimately, their safety rested in their own hands.
***
Hilltop Encampment
It was the second day, and the men began early with breakfast before starting work on the fort''s construction. Fortunately, despite the risk, there was no night attack.
After breakfast, mid-sized trees were felled and stripped of their branches. The trunks were then sharpened at one end and driven vertically into prepared holes in the ground, reinforced with additional wooden structures and ropes for extra strength.
A section of the palisade wall prepared the previous day quickly took shape. Other groups worked to erect the base of four wooden towers and two gates. Experts from Lord Jorge''s army were brought in for consultation and to take an active part in the construction.
Lansius inspected the various work sites, pleased with the ample wood supply from the surrounding area for materials. Since taking command, he had always wanted to construct a Roman marching fort. He encouraged his captains and lieutenants to view this project not just as a one-off task but as a skill to master.
He shared stories of how the ancient armies in his homeland could build such forts at the end of every march. And how larger, more grand, and permanent forts were constructed for prolonged encampments. Lansius'' stories about Roman fortifications surprised his men and gave them a vision of what was possible.
"I have no desire to burden you further," Lansius reassured them. "It''s not my wish to have a wooden fort at the end of every march. That would be a luxury, even for me."
His officers chuckled, expressing their trust in Lansius'' sensibility.
"However, I want you to learn about fort construction so that when there''s a dire need, we can build it quickly. I pray that such needs never arise, but from the looks of it, we may need it in the near future," Lansius continued.
The men nodded solemnly.
"Learn how to build it. Gain experience. Imagine if we''re defeated and need to construct a wooden fort to survive and care for our wounded. Do not rely on anyone else to build it for you. Currently, we may have carpenters among our ranks, but after such losses, who can guarantee?"The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Lansius'' words put them in a better mindset.
"Sometimes, victory doesn''t come from fighting, but from building a defense and standing guard," he concluded his sessions with his officers. While unsure of his inspirational impact, he had at least demonstrated eagerness for this skill to be mastered. From this event, diligent and aspiring officers could later be identified and promoted based on their expertise and skill in fort construction.
A group of cavalry returned through the still unfinished gate. Lansius saw Sir Harold dismount and approached.
"My Lord," the tall knight greeted.
"Sir Harold, what''s the situation at the rear?" Lansius asked.
"The last of our supply carts is nearing. Lord Jorge has inspired his men, and they marched early."
"Excellent," Lansius remarked in high spirit. With the convoy secure, the first phase of their plan was achieved.
This fortified hill, merely four days from Umberland Castle, would serve as a perfect staging ground and a stronghold to secure their supply line. This success bolstered Lansius'' confidence in his odds.
***
While waiting for the construction to progress and for Lord Jorge''s arrival, Lansius held midday meetings with Sir Harold and Servius. These meetings were typically intended to discuss plans moving forward. However, with Umberland proving difficult to decipher, the conversation often veered off course.
As lunch was served, they resumed the discussion from the previous night. Since the campaign''s outset, Lansius had established a new routine: after supper, he would hold sessions to learn about Umberland from Servius, Sir Harold, or other knights and members of his House.
As a foreigner, he recognized his limited understanding of this world, occasionally finding himself surprised by the different cultures and ways of life. Determined not to be caught unprepared, he decided to delve deeper, aiming to understand not just the land''s topography but its people as well.
Their evening discussion, initially centered around Umberland, naturally drifted to Nicopola, the significant southern province with a strong influence in the region. As members of his House exhausted the topic of Umberland, they increasingly shared stories about Nicopola.
Lansius was keen to learn about Nicopolan culture and history. After all, if Centuria was the Imperium''s birthplace and Tiberia its heartland, Nicopola was its stomach. The region was renowned for its fertile lands, forests, and valuable mines, including emerging coal mines.
What began as a way to pass the time¡ªLansius needed to be elsewhere so Audrey could use their tent for mage training¡ªunexpectedly enriched him greatly. He delighted in his retinue''s stories about the region''s famous cities, people, cuisine, agricultural practices, and why some chose to become mercenaries as a side job.
The sun was beset by clouds that hung like fish scales in the sky. Although the clouds were black, it was uncertain whether they would bring a drizzle or rain.
After lunch was over, Sir Harold excused himself, citing duties with the cavalry. Lansius, too, was about to leave when Servius'' cautious voice halted them. "Master, a word."
Sir Harold threw a sharp, questioning glance. Servius responded, "Please, it involves you too."
The use of "master" piqued Lansius'' interest. "What is it, Servius?"
"The Nicopola province is now in chaos, and I see no one with the capability to pacify it. It might sound greedy, but you''re the only one I see who has the ability to save Nicopola."
Lansius wasn''t entirely surprised but still found it provoking. "Servius, that''s a dangerous idea."
"My Lord, can''t it be done for the good of many?" Servius asked.
"The good of many," Lansius echoed. "What is goodness, anyway?" His tone suggested that this was not a casual question. "Is it good because of the nature of the deeds themselves, or because of the results and their ability to stand the test of time?"
Sir Harold and Servius glanced at each other, unsure how to react.
Gazing at his retinue, Lansius explained, "If we somehow rescued Nicopola and were able to feed the hungry, it''s obviously a good deed." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "But what about afterward?"
He allowed the silence to linger for a while before continuing, "What if this action results in hatred from the locals and nobility? What if in three or five years, we are branded as land thieves or oppressors? Gentlemen, make no mistake, without even a pretext to hold Nicopola, I think this will lead to wars."
Sir Harold quipped to Servius, "They''re going to say a Lowlandian lord occupied Nicopola. Would your people bend their knees to a foreign lord?"
"Indeed," Lansius said, exhaling deeply. "What started as a good intention might result in even greater tragedy."
Servius did not answer but looked to the side seemingly pondering.
"Even if I wanted to, I can''t act alone. I at least need an ally," Lansius muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
His words caught Servius'' attention, who looked hopeful saying, "I know a lord. He''s in southern Nicopola, near the coast. He''s old and stubborn but capable. His House should survive this turmoil."
"Avery Dawn?" Sir Harold ventured.
"You''ve heard of him?" Servius asked the knight.
Sir Harold nodded. "I''ve never met him, but the Nicopolans often mention regretting coming here, feeling they should have gone south to raid the land of the Dawns."
"They won¡¯t make it. The Dawns are not to be underestimated," Servius stated confidently. "This is why the condottieri chose to cross into Lowlandia."
Listening to them, Lansius urged, "Tell me about him."
Servius gestured towards Sir Harold, but the knight shook his head. Servius then prepared himself. "He''s a baron. His name is Avery Dawn or the Lord of Dawn."
Lansius stroked his chin. "Dawn? A family name?"
"Their ancestors aren''t native to this land. I heard they were originally from the Mercantile Kingdoms. The Imperium granted them virgin land, and they made the most of it. Despite having capable men, they refused to expand unless sanctioned by the Imperium."
"Interesting story..." Lansius mused. "How do you know they have good men?"
"The Imperium used to call for their services, and when they did, they showed just how a small contingent could become a thorn on the battlefield, stubbornly holding their ground against the odds."
Lansius nodded, satisfied with the small chance of allying with a powerful lord. However, his excitement was short-lived. Sterling arrived, his haste indicating he carried an urgent report. "No need for formalities, give me your report," Lansius instructed.
"My Lord, one of our forward scout parties has been butchered," Sterling reported.
"Butchered?" Servius asked, concerned.
Sterling motioned to the guard at the entrance, and then a man clad in dark fur cloth entered. With reddened eyes, he knelt before Lansius, his voice trembling as if pleading, "My Lord," then he saw Servius and cried out, "Servius, a fell beast killed my uncle. It even devoured my cousin''s body!"
Lansius gestured for his guards to stop in their tracks. He allowed the man to weep his heart out, and when it was over, he poured him a drink and said, "I don''t want you to relive the horrors. But I need someone who can tell me exactly what you found. I want every detail."
....
The same scout reported on the carnage in great detail. He described seeing the scouts'' bodies mutilated, strewn about with bite marks too large for any wolf, but with footprints different from those of bears. Worse still, one body was impaled, likely after death. The victim''s torso and arms were facing north toward Umberland, while his head and legs were grotesquely bent at the neck and hips, facing south toward the city of Three Hills.
"It looks like a message," Sir Harold said after the distressed scout was escorted out by Sterling and the guards for some much-needed rest.
"It''s definitely not the work of a bear, but could it be man-made?" Servius asked, skeptical.
Noticing the lord had no immediate opinion, Sir Harold suggested, "The proper course would be to call for a Hunter or Mage, but securing one on such short notice, especially in Lowlandia, is unlikely."
Servius nodded. "Indeed, Nicopola has a Mage Guild, but given the current situation... What about Midlandia?"
Sir Harold shrugged. "The Hunter Guild in Midlandia is smaller than in Elandia. I''m not sure if they would take the job, and even if they did, it would take weeks to reach here."
Lansius hesitated to mention that he had Ingrid at his disposal, but she was a tutor now, no longer a fighter. He exhaled deeply, supporting his chin with his right hand, feeling troubled by the new unexpected threat.
Is there even a mention of fighting monsters in the art of war? He wondered.
Still, he prioritized his men''s condition. He knew he needed to respond appropriately; otherwise, morale could plummet.
But what is the right approach? Should I impose a gag order and keep this tightly sealed?
Lansius vividly recalled the report detailing the grotesque manner in which the men were butchered. This made him aware that even his veterans may not be able to resist fear from fell beasts. Despite their training, men of this era were easily frightened, as society remained deeply superstitious.
***
Chapter 130 : Eyes in the Dark
Chapter 130
Eyes in the Dark
The weather changed rapidly from gently cloudy skies to dark clouds that gathered at the foot of the mountain. As if heralding the onset of foul weather, a chill wind blew strongly, carrying the scent of pine. The men working on construction hurried their efforts as thunder began to crack in the distance.
Meanwhile, in the command tent, Lansius was pondering his decision, and the booming thunder outside pressured him to decide. "The issue of morale is a sensitive one," he began, drawing Sir Harold and Servius'' attention. "We can prevent fear with a gag order, but once a leak happens, it would be much harder to control."
"A leak can be prevented," Servius suggested.
Lansius shook his head. "It''s too risky. While there are things I must keep secret, this is not one of them. I need the men''s trust."
"There will be fear, My Lord," Sir Harold warned.
"I know, that''s why I''m aiming to soften the blow," Lansius muttered, recalling how modern media managed such situations.
Servius was attempting to formulate an idea when Sir Harold suddenly blurted out, "Bury them with honors."
Lansius nodded. It was a more straightforward approach than his idea of selling their sacrifice story as a heroic deed. "Have the men make stretchers from wood and spare clothes. Then form a team of brave men with strong stomachs who will not be deterred by the sight," he instructed.
"At once," Servius responded, then, as if feeling the pressure of the looming bad weather, asked, "What are your orders for them?"
"To evacuate the victims. All of them," Lansius clarified. "Arrange their limbs so it doesn¡¯t look gruesome and cover their bodies with clean cloth. Have the camp physicians assist. Stitch their limbs," he paused, adding carefully, "Do everything we can to make them presentable to their nearest of kin."
"We can do that. But, My Lord, what about the escort?" Servius inquired.
"Bring enough to kill the fell beast. We''ll recon in force. Take five hundred of your best," Lansius instructed. Then, turning to Sir Harold, he added, "Can I entrust you to command two hundred Dragoons as a reserve?"
"May I have Dietrich as my second in command?"
"Granted." Lansius knew if the chance presented itself, the knight wanted free rein to fight the monster. Not even a fell beast deterred him.
The knight then turned to Servius. "You manage the stretchers; I''ll arrange for the spare clothes for burial."
"And gambesons," Lansius interjected, capturing his two officers'' attention. Looking back at them, he explained, "I''d rather bury a few gambesons than gamble with the men''s morale."
"Their brethren would indeed feel honored," Servius agreed. It need not be said that a gambeson would also make it easier to conceal the grotesque wounds on the body.
Lansius nodded solemnly. "Then let''s bring our boys home."
***
Thunder and lightning roared in the darkened skies, but it didn''t stop five hundred brave Nicopolans, a specialized group led by Servius, elite scouts, and local guides on a mission. It would be a four-day return trip, and there were high risks, but they were confident that their numbers could deal with the threat.
Sir Harold, Dietrich, and their Dragoons would serve as reserves in case the marauding Nicopolans somehow appeared in their vicinity.
Lord Lansius himself would hold the fort along with the rest of the troops. The camp was in shock from the revelation of the attack. Rumors of fell beasts spread like wildfire. However, the fact that the Lord reacted strongly by sending five hundred vanguards to address the issue was seen as a decisive solution.
Fell beast or not, the image of a five-hundred-strong hunting party marching in full gear was a powerful response to the threat at hand. Many cheered as the vanguards and other elements attached to them marched out from the encampment, equipped with waxed leather coats, hats, or cloaks to weather the impending storm.
While they faced grain issues, Lowlandia was a notable producer of leather and fur. Taking advantage of this, Lord Lansius had equipped his veterans with such attire, one that he hoped would also benefit them in the upcoming winter.
After the vanguard had left, bright banners and horsemen were spotted from the direction of the foothills. The camp buzzed with activity as riders from both sides confirmed them as Lord Jorge''s column, along with the rest of the supply carts.
The arrival of reinforcements soon put smiles back on everyone''s faces. Lord Lansius readily sent more men to assist, as the hill terrain could prove difficult to traverse, especially after last night''s drizzle. He himself prepared his remaining staff to greet Lord Jorge and his men, wanting to demonstrate that even in the face of threats, normalcy and order prevailed in the camp.
...
Lansius greeted Lord Jorge and his Black Knights. As they conversed over drinks and snacks, their staff went to inspect and store the remaining supplies. Noticing Lord Jorge looked exhausted and eager to reunite with his family, Lansius concluded the meetings shortly.
Returning to his tent, Lansius quickly shed his fur cloak. The sound of loud thunder prompted him to glance at the entrance.
"It could be a thunderstorm tonight," Audrey said, approaching from inside, dressed in black.
A sigh escaped him. "I''m worried about the men."
Audrey poured him a drink and brought it over.
Lansius took the goblet and confided in her, "I preached to Lord Jorge that the best kind of leader stays with his men, rain or snow. Yet, here I am."
"Hush, o dear husband. Such worries are not worthy of your attention," Audrey reassured him with striking elegance. "Not even a good shepherd sleeps in the sheep pen at night, but yearns to return to his wife''s sweet embrace."
Her choice of words and her smirk made Lansius chuckle. "I take it your studies are going well?"
Instead of answering directly, Audrey, returning to her normal voice, offered her expertise, "If it''s only a two-day journey in and out, it shouldn''t be too difficult. They could even sleep rough on the forest floor with minimal danger. Contrary to what you might expect, the wind and rain in the forest are less harsh than on the open plains. With five hundred men, they could build enough bonfires to ward off even the most astute of predators."
Lansius nodded, feeling reassured. After drinking from his goblet, he changed the topic. "So, how was your day?"
"Not bad. How''s Lord Jorge?"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"Not bad," he replied with a small grin. "He''s tired, but... there''s a new purpose in his eyes. Or maybe he''s just dehydrated."
Audrey chuckled at his jest.
The drizzle reached the encampment, bringing the earthy scent indoors. From outside, shouts and commands could be heard, directing the troops to take shelter or store their equipment. Although the gates remained unfinished, they were secured with a barricade of cheval de frise.
"I guess the day is over," Audrey remarked, eyeing the tent''s entrance now dampened by the drizzle.
"I guess so," Lansius echoed.
Carla entered, her coat slightly damp. She bowed and slipped into her section, likely to prepare the lanterns as the command tent darkened.
Lansius set his goblet on the table, prompting Audrey to inquire, "What''s the construction plan for tomorrow?"
"For the encampment, first is the wall, which we''ll complete tomorrow. Then, water wells, hoping we don''t need to dig too deep here, or we''ll resort to the foothills. Third, the latrine and wastewater system. I don''t want a strong fort besieged by diseases."
"Good point," she agreed quickly.
Despite her agreement, Lansius appeared contemplative.
After a moment, she probed, "You''re thinking about something?"
"Mm, it''s probably nothing, but I can''t shake it off..."
"What''s it about?" She pressed gently.
"The way they murdered the scouts," he paused. "It feels like terror tactics."
Audrey''s eyes sharpened. "You mean this isn''t a beast''s doing?"
Lansius met her gaze squarely. "You''ve hunted fell beasts before. Do they ever show a warning? And to what purpose?"
She pondered, her eyes wandering, then shook her head. "Isolte mentioned werewolves do all sorts of nasty things, but not like this. They''re not territorial and rely on subterfuge."
"So, issuing warnings would be out of character," Lansius concluded.
Audrey''s nod confirmed his thoughts.
Outside, the drizzle turned into pouring rain, and Lansius couldn''t help but empathize with his men.
***
Ingrid
The night evolved into a foggy veil as Ingrid concluded her night training. Despite the lanterns glowing on the towers serving as guides, losing one''s bearings was easy. Fortunately, the Lady had provided her with escorts, though she was more than capable of enhancing her eyesight to see better in the dark on her own.
This ability was one of the many perks of being a mage. Even under a starless sky, she could see enough to discern faces, pebbles, or puddles on the road.
Upon entering her tent and bidding farewell to her escorts, she noticed patrols passing by, accompanied by massive, friendly dogs that barked joyfully at the prospect of treats.
Ingrid smiled, looking at them but quickly felt the need to wind down. She took the herbal leaves from an envelope, placed them inside a goblet, and then poured hot water from the clay jug over them. Inside the tent, she still maintained a lantern despite not needing it. A skilled mage could maintain night vision even in combat, a task as natural to her as breathing.
Settling down on the thick rug while waiting for her concoction to be ready, she quietly reflected on her charge. After a week of training, Ingrid was convinced of Lady Audrey''s potential. Despite Sir Morton''s realistic assessment, the Baroness showed promise¡ªa considerable surprise, given her lack of proper training.
In the realm of magic, the gift typically blooms in childhood, making it easier for the guild to identify gifted youngsters. Without training, the gift of magic usually fades before reaching adulthood.
Yet, even among those trained, magic tended to diminish with age. Proper instruction was essential not only for wielding it but also for preserving the gift. While some mages managed to maintain their magic into retirement as if still in their prime, most saw their abilities wane to the point of being forced into retirement.
Hence, the guild insists on requiring their employers to grant knight status to their members. This way, the guild can ensure its members'' pensions and avoid worrying about funding their lavish retirements. The only condition under which the guild accepts a member back is if they choose to return as mentors or monks.
Ingrid contemplated her own wish to retire in a villa with a good vineyard. Unlike other members of the Mage Guild, she chose not to serve a master but to work within the halls of the guild. While she often participated in errands as a fighter, she was primarily a researcher and, because of her vast knowledge, served as a guest mentor for VIPs.
This time, the VIP was giving her much to ponder.
Initially, Ingrid had only expected Lady Audrey to learn about gemstones and how to maintain them. If she was talented, perhaps even to manipulate air to cool her surroundings. Nobody anticipated her becoming a full-fledged mage. Yet, during training, Ingrid sensed how the Lady, albeit crudely, channeled innate magic into her limbs with ease.
Without her source opened, the Lady wouldn''t feel any changes, yet she had definitely learned the art. This meant there was no doubt she could master strengthening magic, the bread and butter of the Mage Knight. It was the skill that defined and distinguished them from the Hunter Guild.
This raised a question: how was this possible?
Ingrid suspected that much of this could be attributed to the Baroness''s old master, the mysterious Knight Hunter who was also an unofficial mage, known as Isolte. Given that the Baroness still retained her magic, it was evident that Isolte had prepared her to become a mage. However, Ingrid couldn''t be certain of Isolte''s methods. Lady Audrey informed Ingrid that all she had learned was new to her, suggesting Isolte had introduced her to something radically different.
Ingrid exhaled, feeling the cold wind blowing inward, and rose to tie a knot on her tent. People in her station usually brought a servant, but the secretive nature of her work made it risky, as a youngster''s mouth couldn''t be trusted. With her tent secured, she snuffed out the lantern before cleaning herself for the night in pitch darkness, using a basin of clean water and a bucket.
Afterward, she took the herbal drink and sipped it while resting on her fur bedroll spread across two layers of thick carpets.
The air warmed by the metallic pan filled with hot stones provided some comfort.
She was about to sleep, but her mind returned to her charge once again. "I wonder what her sources were," she muttered as she pulled up her blanket, keeping her dagger nearby.
What differentiated mages from non-mages was not talent, but whether they were born with a connection to a source. That was what they referred to as the gift. Despite superstitions linking magic to elven blood, magic appeared randomly, like the throw of dice. It wasn''t inherited, nor was it commonly found in any specific group.
Magic was all about connection to a source. Thus, it became a great equalizer, beyond anyone''s ability to manipulate. This allowed Ingrid, a lowborn from Centuria, to gain status, secure a high-paying job, and earn respect.
She breathed deeply, then emptied her cup and put it to the side.
Barking outside the tent was heard again, along with the sounds of patrols making their rounds. However, this time the sound was much different.
***
Fog enveloped the encampment on a cold but serene night. The intermittent drizzle made the men, weary from a day''s hard labor, fall asleep easily. Even the guards struggled to stay awake, thus, nobody noticed when two shadowy figures, one by one, leaped over the unfinished gate and jumped over the cheval de frise barricade.
Even with puddles of water and soft soil, the beasts moved soundlessly, their feet and claws padded, their fur muffling their movements. With sharp, murderous eyes and the calm breath of predators, the pair advanced silently across the camp.
Despite being larger than humans, they remained concealed by the fog. The darkness posed no challenge, as their night vision rivaled that of their daytime sight. The fog also posed little challenge, as their keen sense of smell provided a clear picture of their surroundings¡ªtents, humans, and animals all emitted distinct scents.
As they had sensed them from afar, so too had the dog sensed them and started barking. Despite traveling upwind, as was their nature, they had ventured too close to remain undetected.
Ignoring the noise and guided by their instinct, the pair located the command tent. They sensed six guards outside. Rather than launching an attack, they opted to wait. Suddenly, the barking ceased. The noisy mutt had been silenced.
Another pair of beastly figures emerged from the fog, confident in their stride, with bloodied claws. The largest bared his fangs, dripping with fresh blood.
Without needing further instruction, the monstrous beasts charged and leaped.
The guards noticed nothing but a disturbance in the fog before a monstrous shape leaped out, claws drawn. Before the men could react, their bodies crashed to the ground¡ªsome killed instantly, others rendered unconscious. The last two, in shock, drew their weapons, shouting "Intrud-"
Two furry hands smashed one into the ground. The second man thrust his halberd, found it blocked, and desperately launched a quick horizontal swipe that wounded the beast''s forearms. Unfortunately, another beast flanked him and slammed him down. As one of the survivors tried to limp away and shout, a crushing stomp to the head silenced him.
The other beasts burst into the tent, encountering three fighters with their weapons drawn. But the beast moved too fast for the inexperienced humans to react properly. The fighters were clearly surprised by the monstrous assailant, and their delayed reaction sealed their fate.
One fighter parried the right swipe before being stabbed by a left claw, and his head was pushed into the carpet to silence any noise. There was another thump as the female fighter was brought down, but her swift sword thrust and slash found its mark. The second beast recoiled, held back from roaring as its waist gushing blackened blood.
The largest beast paid no heed and rushed inside as the last fighter fought with his large sword against two who just entered. His cry of "Werewolves! Werewolv¡ª" was silenced as he was tackled to the ground and his neck was pulverized by a lethal bite.
The lone intruder paused, his furry chest heaving heavily as he ripped the canvas door cover open with his claw, sliding it along the gap. The beast found two silhouettes sleeping and charged ahead when metallic strings and chimes of bells startled him. This moment of recklessness and incompetence angered him, who bared his large fangs in the dark as he ripped the metallic wires apart. However, something stopped the beast dead in its tracks.
From inside, a pair of golden eyes shone.
***
Chapter 131 : Werewolves
Chapter 131
Werewolves
The large predator with a dark mane roared inside the tent. Yet, its roar was hollow; its movements betrayed its pain after catching sight of the golden eyes. It dropped to all fours, its powerful leg muscles tensing, bloodied claws at the ready. However, defiant, mocking laughter caused it to hesitate.
"You''re not a fell beast! You''re just a fatherless bastard," a cold womanly voice rang.
The beast sensed an unknown aura, yet its pride refused to allow retreat. The muscles in its massive legs tensed, then exploded into motion as it launched into a murderous charge, its maw snapping open to bare fangs wet with saliva.
Yet, those murderous golden eyes pierced through the beast''s soul, forcing it to blink as it trusted its monstrous body to pulverize the one who dared insult it. The beast crashed into the left side of the bed, overturning a chest, a small table, and a wooden seat.
The beast groaned in rage as it failed to capture her, also feeling pain from a fresh cut on its shoulder. Blood seeped from its mane as it lashed out with its claws in rage, only to find its attack parried by a sword. But it had found her and unleashed a flurry of strikes.
Against all odds, the woman with the golden eyes fought with tenacity worthy of a skilled swordsman. Moreover, the beast couldn''t lock eyes with her, as doing so inflicted endless stings and jolts that resonated through its skull.
However, after several attacks, it was clear that raw power and beast-like reactions would win the day. The woman, brave as she was, couldn''t keep up, especially since the beast had all the reach due to the gap in their size.
...
Lansius
The Lord of Korelia was in a dreamless sleep when suddenly the world around him turned upside down. He awoke on the carpeted floor, pained, likely having been kicked by Audrey. The chiming of bells snapped him awake instantly. A nearby howl sent a shiver down his spine, but Audrey''s taunts reassured him she had some control.
Barely conscious, Lansius scrambled across the floor, his hands searching desperately for a weapon. Blinded by the darkness, he stumbled upon his crossbow, recognizing its familiar shape. A monstrous crash erupted nearby, showering him with splintered wood and flying clay. Audrey and the beast were fighting seemingly nearby.
How could she fight in this darkness! Wait, did something happen to my eyes?
Straining, he managed to load a bolt. However, in total darkness, he had nothing to guide his aim, so he continued searching amid the sounds of fighting and howling.
His hands found bread, then a goblet, until he felt a candle handle-shaped object. Swiping his hand along its length, he found a gemstone secured by a bronze frame, which emitted a feeble glow.
Holding his breath, he covered the gem with one hand to increase its brightness while keeping it concealed. Then, guided by instinct, he stood and released his palm, sending a full blaze of light into the tent.
The chamber lit up as if touched by the morning sun. Caught off guard, Audrey didn''t panic, while the beast, driven by instinct, howled at this new threat. Yet, the powerful howl turned into a mad groan as a bolt violently struck the beast''s chest, narrowly missing its neck.
Lansius drew his sword, only to hear another howl behind him. The gemstone was knocked from his hand as another beast forced its way through two layers of thick canvas, clawing frenziedly to tear it open. However, it failed to create a wide enough opening and instead brought the entire section of the canvas wall down.
"Lansius!" Audrey shouted as she parried an attack, narrowly evading the first beast''s renewed assault. The iron stench of blood permeated the air as the beast''s claws swept desperately close to her nose.
The second beast trapped Lansius beneath the canvas. He had no escape as the monstrous figure began to slash viciously at the canvas.
...
Audrey watched in horror as the second monstrous figure began to slash viciously at the canvas that had trapped Lansius underneath. However, the first beast, unbothered by its wounds and the bolt in its shoulder, attacked her relentlessly, leaving no room for her to intervene.
Audrey persisted despite her hands and grip being pained by the sheer difference in their size and strength. In fact, she surprised herself that she could fight the monster to this degree. Then, an opportunity arose. The beast momentarily lost footing over a loose carpet. Mustering all her strength, Audrey dashed towards the second beast, sword drawn. A shrill cry froze everyone in their tracks.
From beneath the canvas, a sword plunged repeatedly into the second beast''s belly. Each movement was powerful and violent, charged with pure hatred.
The victimized beast took a step back, whining in agony and fear. It clutched its wounded belly, which gushed blood from several new holes.
Audrey launched herself toward it, her eyes glowing gold. The wounded beast instinctively stared at the newcomer and was blinded, shielding its eyes, which left it defenseless.
Unconsciously channeling her magic, she aimed to decapitate the beast. The sword drew blood, but Audrey miscalculated; the beast''s arm obstructed her attack. It wasn''t the clean-cut she intended, and in the process, she lost her sword due to the beast''s reaction.
She had no time to react as the first beast was already on her back. Reacting on instinct, she spun around, dagger drawn, to face the beast. "Eryyah!" Audrey shouted as the beast leaped into her.
The beast wreaked havoc on what remained of their tent, but it didn''t get her. Instead of taking the beast''s strike head-on, Audrey had used her footwork to dodge the beast''s charge diagonally. Her eyes glanced toward where Lansius had last been spotted. Then, what she saw brought a grin to her face. Lansius had crawled out, bloodied and battered but alive.
With the gemstone of light still shining brightly on the floor, Lansius advanced toward the monstrous presence that was nearest to him, sword drawn. From his gait, Audrey knew the magic from the necklace had activated.
Lansius attacked the beast that had pinned him with unprecedented, almost animalistic ferocity. His eyes filled with rage, and his movements displayed unbridled violence. The beast fell, crashing down, and voiced its final howl as Lansius plunged his sword toward its throat.
The first beast stood, seemingly recognizing the bigger threat.
Lansius pulled his sword, glanced at Audrey, and walked toward the first beast. Acknowledging this, the beast, unfazed by the demise of its kin nearby, greeted him with bared fangs.
Suddenly, Lansius slowed his approach and assumed a sword stance. He moved with small steps, maintaining a perfect form. The beast interpreted this as hesitation and charged with a murderous howl.
Lansius had waited for this. He countered the beast¡¯s right arm and claws as if they were a polearm, with a swift, forceful slash, leveraging his entire weight. His Midlandian steel bit deep. The gamble had paid off. Yet, the beast, hardly human, doubled down on its assault, hammering Lansius with its left arm. He tumbled to the ground.
The beast attempted to follow up, but a bolt struck its mane, halting its advance as it recoiled, spitting out blood. Shocked and terrified, it saw Audrey had found her crossbow and was now reloading it, drawing the string as if a bow.
The beast could only manage a few hurried steps before another bolt struck its chest. It gritted its fangs and cried out in pain. Using its large right forearms to shield its body, it saw a significant chunk of flesh dangling, with bone exposed.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Lansius'' cut had caused more damage than expected.
Then, from out of nowhere, a halberd struck the beast''s back.
"Carla!" Audrey shouted as she left her loaded crossbows and dashed forward toward a spear on the ground, trusting her instinct that a spear would be a better weapon.
"My Lady!" Carla replied, panting, struggling with all her strength despite bloodied and bruised face, to not let go of the shaft as the beast fought back in rage and pain.
As they moved, a lantern fell, brightly igniting a carpet and revealing the shambled condition of the tent¡¯s entrance. Outside, veiled by fog, were sounds of fighting and shouts. It was clear that someone must have rallied the men, as they were now fighting against what were likely other beasts.
Yet, the chaos outside had little effect to the beast inside. It cunningly feigned being distracted before launching a fierce swipe at Audrey. She ducked, narrowly evading the sharp claws. Meanwhile, Carla gripped the halberd shaft firmly and yelled as she drove it deeper into the beast, causing it to emit a terrifying groan.
Seizing the moment, Audrey boldly thrust her spear forward. Just as the beast was on the verge of breaking free, Audrey''s attack halted its movement. In defense, the beast managed a counter, resulting in the spear striking only its left arm.
"Tch," Audrey spat, thinking it was a failure, but in reality, the two had cornered the beast, which now gasped in pain.
Carla maintained her grip on her halberd. It was now too deeply embedded to dislodge, and the beast''s breathing grew labored.
Then, from inside the ruined tent, Lansius appeared with a loaded crossbow in one hand. He picked up Audrey''s loaded crossbow from the floor and approached the beast, now armed with two. His brown eyes stared at the beast, declaring, "If you have intellect, then let it be known that I come in peace and have no quarrel with your kin."
The beast cackled and in a hoarse but human language, replied mockingly, "You certainly don''t smell like Nicopolans. But your men reek of them."
Lansius maintained his composure. "I saved them," he stated firmly. "Rescued them from the jaws of famine. I also came here to rescue the people of Umberland."
"Rescue...?" It burst into ominous laughter, blood dripping from its maw, causing Audrey and Carla to tighten their grips on their spear and halberd, respectively. Surprisingly, it didn''t counter; instead, it offered another reply, "Then perhaps I was mistaken."
The admission led everyone to exchange glances. Before anyone could respond, the beast continued, "Seek my sister. Tell her she was right... As for this... mess, I shall take the blame."
Its two large furry hands grabbed its head, and with a loud crack and groan, twisted sharply, surprising everyone. Despite its neck now broken and twisted, the beast stumbled, locking eyes with Lansius once more. "Farewell, whoever... or whatever you are..."
With a loud crash, the beast collapsed backward. In a final act of defiance and insult, the dark-maned beast urinated, drenching everything in a horrific, putrid stench. Only then its breathing ceased.
Outside, the remaining beast unleashed one final howl before being cut down by the Black Knights.
Even in their nightclothes, armed only with swords and shields, the knights proved formidable. Now, the combined relief force, led by none other than Lord Jorge, appeared at the ruined command tent, lanterns, and torches alight.
They saw Lansius in a bloodied tunic, still standing with a loaded crossbow in each hand. Carla stood nearby, still clutching her halberd connected to the werewolf''s body. Audrey, her golden eyes glowing, locked eyes with them. And behind her, another lifeless werewolf along with several fallen fighters. What they witnessed would spark a legend.
***
After securing the camp and finding no other threats, a team of knights rushed Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey to a makeshift field tent, protected by carts on three sides. There they received treatment. Guards with halberds now patrolled the interior, commanded by Sterling alongside several select knights and squires in full gear.
Hastily erected, the tent boasted three partitioned areas separated by canvas walls. Inside the central section, physicians tended to the wounds of several men. Meanwhile, in the innermost sanctum, Ingrid treated Carla while Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey rested their weary bodies.
It wasn''t that a mage-healer was superior, but Carla''s injuries demanded special care. The squire likely had a head concussion. Lansius had asked Ingrid to ensure Carla''s recovery, vouching for her ability to keep it a secret.
Despite the ferocity of the fight, Lansius and Audrey managed to survive, though not without cost. Lansius, his chest and arms bearing lacerations and deep bruises from the beast that pinned him down, attributed his survival to luck and the gemstone he wore.
The double canvas walls turned out to be thick enough to stop the claws, protecting him from deeper cuts. Meanwhile, the gemstones might also have enhanced his bones, muscles, and skin to a mage''s level.
"Drey," he called softly, now lying in the makeshift bed with fresh clothes and bandaged lacerations. "Earlier, how did you manage to fight so well in the dark?"
Audrey gazed at him from her bed with a tired look. "At the start? Well, it wasn¡¯t that dark. I could still make out some silhouettes."
"But it was pitch black," he argued.
She turned curious. "You mean, you couldn¡¯t see anything at all?"
Lansius nodded. "We were inside, and there wasn¡¯t even starlight."
Overhearing them, Ingrid called out, "My Lady, a moment."
Audrey turned to her. "What is it, Ingrid?"
Ingrid put her fingers to where the shadows fell as the lantern was kept at minimum to help with resting. "My Lady, can you tell what''s on my hand?"
"You¡¯re holding up four fingers. Why?" Audrey furrowed her brows.
"My Lady, that''s either the mage''s night vision or a hunter''s skill," Ingrid explained.
"No way," Audrey muttered.
Lansius was breathing easily. He had been concerned about his eyesight, but it turned out to be just normal.
Ingrid followed up, "There are things I need to check to make sure, but not in this condition."
"I understand. We can always do that later when we have the time," Audrey reassured her.
Ingrid bowed her head slightly and returned to Carla''s side.
Their part of the tent returned to quiet.
"So, how''d you recognize them as beastmen and not werewolves?" Lansius whispered.
"A fell beast wouldn''t flinch at my gaze," she replied. "The opposite, in fact. Their mere presence, their stares, could shatter a man''s sanity."
Lansius released a deep breath. "And what about the things it said?"
Audrey didn''t reply outright but took her time before saying, "I''m not sure, Lans. But if there are more of them, then it could be a problem."
"It said it was wrong and for us to meet its sister..." he implored.
She closed her eyes momentarily. "I''m not prepared to trust a half-beast."
"Half-beast?"
"That''s what the Hunter and other people call them. They are the offspring of captured beastmen, slaves..."
Noticing her hesitation, Lansius stopped her. "Alright, I sort of understand. No need to explain."
Audrey''s lips turned into a smile. "I know your head is full of things, but trust me, the thing you need the most is some rest."
Lansius heeded her advice and, despite the situation, finally drifted to sleep.
***
In the aftermath of the surprise night attack, Maester Ingrid, on behalf of the Lord and Lady, made several announcements. The first clarified that the attackers weren''t werewolves but half-beasts, descendants of beastmen who had mated with humans. After several generations, these half-beasts developed human-like intellect.
Many had heard tales from a bygone era about how the ancient human Imperium fought against beastmen incursion in Nicopola and how the battle raged for centuries until the last beastman was either killed or captured. It was also the era that sparked an interest in enslaved beastmen, a practice that continued until several centuries ago.
However, that era was long gone. No one had ever heard of half-beasts, especially not in Lowlandia.
Along with that revelation, there was information about the said half-beasts, their abilities, their method of fighting, and their longevity, which is only half that of humans.
As morning came, people hurriedly worked on the walls, gates, and towers. Now understanding the threat, they worked earnestly to complete their defenses. Lord Jorge and his most capable aides were supervising the construction site, carefully offering their insight and encouragement.
That noon, after midday, the Lord and Lady appeared in the open; they looked worse than usual, but everybody cheered for them. Accompanied by heavy escorts, the Lord and Lady, along with their staff, gathered to pay respects to the dead. The mentor, Ingrid, was seen among them.
The situation would have been far worse if Ingrid hadn''t trusted her instincts and searched for the patrol, whose dogs had been barking loudly before being suddenly silenced. She was the one who alerted the Black Knights, many of whom knew her to be a colleague of Sir Morton, their Captain.
While the Lord and Lady wanted to openly honor her, Ingrid refused, preferring the reward in cash. The Lord and Lady readily consented.
The ceremony was brief but solemn. Buried among the dead were the patrol and their heroic dog, whose timely barking had ultimately saved the Lord and Lady.
It was deemed fortunate that the beastmen attack did not cause any further damage. Aside from the victims, the troops'' precious baggage and supply carts remained unmolested.
Despite some suggestions to put the fallen beastmen on pikes outside as a deterrent, the Lord instructed his men to drag them to the outskirts of the forest. There, he ordered his men to cover the bodies and faces of the fallen beastmen with canvas.
He also instructed his men to place a wooden board with text explaining how the beasts had met their doom and how it was an unprovoked attack. Lansius also conveyed the beast''s final words, expressing a wish to talk rather than prolong a fight he didn''t understand.
"Is there any reason why you do this?" Sterling asked the Lord as they rode back.
"They have intellect, and I believe they would want to bury their dead," Lansius replied.
Audrey, who rode beside him, chimed in, "It''s best to show respect. Skinning them or putting them on pikes will not do us any good."
Sterling thought for a moment before venturing, "Does My Lady think it will provoke them to attack?"
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who answered, "We can''t be sure, but I''d rather have a chance to talk than face the certainty of an all-out war. I mean, I don''t even know their stance. What is their business with us? What part or role do they have in Umberland?"
"It certainly dislikes the Nicopolans," Audrey commented as they rode back to their campsite, feeling uncertain about the campaign.
***
Chapter 132 : The Gates of Umberland
Chapter 132
The Gates of Umberland
Umberland Mountain Path
The vanguard column under Servius was a day away from the camp when they received news from Lord Lansius about a new threat. While his staff was surprised to hear about beastmen so far from their territory, this did not deter them. They continued their mission to retrieve the fallen scouts.
In retrospect, the demise of the scouts was likely caused by the same beastmen that had attacked the Lord''s tent. Moreover, the Lord himself had confided in Servius through his missive, suspecting that the grotesque warning in the forest could be a strategy employed by the beastmen.
It was possible that the beastmen used this grotesque warning to draw the troops away from the camp, thus enabling them to infiltrate it easily on a foggy night and attempt the assassination. After all, the beastmen, or more correctly, half-breeds or half-beasts, possessed intellect akin to humans.
While Servius contemplated the new threat with his staff, there was little he could do other than maintain his men''s discipline and march in full readiness.
On the second day of the march, the column found what they were looking for. Guided by the same group that found it, Servius personally inspected the site.
Due to the grotesque nature and deteriorating condition of the bodies after several days in the open, only a special group was allowed to approach. There, Servius made the decision to bury them at the nearest suitable location.
Lord Lansius'' missive had informed him that the situation had changed after the beastmen''s attack. As formidable as they were, beastmen were not fell-beasts.
The running sentiment was that men could kill beastmen, but not fell-beasts.
Thus, with the situation altered, the missive also gave Servius the option to bury the victims in place, which he did because the bodies were in a worse condition than expected.
Witnessed by their fellow scouts and men-at-arms, the fallen scouts were dressed in clean clothes and gambesons before being laid in their graves. Earthen mounds were made, and stone markers were placed.
The column camped for the night, and Servius met with Sir Harold, who had just returned from surveying the mountain road.
"We found no threat at all and I''m considering proceeding further to Umberland City," Sir Harold told Servius after their supper.
Servius nodded. "Indeed, we have yet to find any suspicious activity or movements."
Sir Harold sipped at his warm posca¡ªa sweet, vinegary wine and water¡ªand said, "With a small group of horsemen, I could reach Umberland Castle in a day or two, riding like nomads with spare horses."
Servius gazed at him squarely. "I''m not sure what to say. But the Lord wants you to lead the entire Dragoons."
"If it''s for recon, I''ll move faster with fewer men. Say forty? I''ll turn around if I encounter strong opposition."
Servius thought about the new plan. "I must admit, learning about Umberland Castle''s current situation would be a big boon."
"Then will you agree?" the knight asked.
The Nicopolan condottiere chuckled. "I''m not your superior, Sir."
"Well, the Lord taught me to always coordinate; otherwise, we''ll get destroyed piecemeal style."
"That is true..." Servius mulled before deciding, "Then, Sir, feel free to scout ahead. The rest of the dragoons can return with me."
"Gratitude. And what about you?"
Rubbing his shoulder that had marks from flogging, Servius said, "The scouts have found a suitable place to build a small fortified post. I reckon it''s the same spot that the Nicopolans used when we traveled from Umberland to Korimor."
Sir Harold nodded, realizing that Servius had traveled the area once.
"It''ll be easily converted for trade or other uses later," the older gentleman continued.
"Like the Lord''s market post?" Sir Harold ventured.
"Indeed." Servius grinned. "I''ve heard of them and realize their potential."
The knight laughed. "The Lord would be pleased. Just make sure it''s well-defended against both men and beasts."
"I will. It should accommodate 20-30 fighters with good wooden construction to withstand the biggest bear attack."
Sir Harold stroked his chin. "Hastily made from uncured wood would bend in summer, but let''s worry about the long term later."
"I agree. Lord Lansius will certainly have a say in this," Servius concluded their plan.
Afterward, they had a relaxed chat by a small fire underneath the tent. Both still wore gambesons in case of a beastmen attack, and their weapons were nearby. Gradually, the discussion shifted to the subject of Lord Lansius and the Nicopola region.
"The way I see it, we''re caught between a rock and a hard place," Servius explained. "We need enough men to defend Umberland and deter more armed refugees from Nicopola. That requires a lot of men. And a lot of men is hard to sustain."
Sir Harold nodded, aware that Umberland had little fertile land and had most likely fallen into ruin after the Nicopolan raids. "So, what do you propose?"
As they sat on the carpets, Servius leaned forward. "We could go down to Nicopola and claim the nearest farmland."
The knight sighed but didn''t shake his head. "Is that even feasible...? First, we need to secure Umberland. Then, somehow, we must find the marauding Nicopolans, drive them out, follow them to Nicopola, battling our way, and conquer the farmland there?"
Servius exhaled deeply, acknowledging the plan''s ambitious nature.
Adding more wood to the waning fire, Sir Harold asked, "What drives you, Servius? Why go to such lengths?"
Servius watched the fire consume the slightly damp branch, listening to it snap and crackle. Then, he turned to the knight. "Two reasons."
The younger man remained silent, giving Servius his full attention.
"First, I want to save the province and its people from further harm. Without intervention, the whole province could be in ruins for years."
"That''s a noble goal," Sir Harold remarked.
Servius nodded. "Secondly," he said with a smirk.
Catching the smirk, Sir Harold chuckled. The second reason didn''t even need to be said.
"Nicopola is a vast region with large cities, towns, and villages. I don''t know about you, Sir, but for a man like me, I''m looking for a good place to retire. At least as a lower noble so my family can have a better life."
...
The next morning, after sending a fast messenger to their Lord, Sir Harold led forty Dragoons, each with two spare horses, to ride to Umberland Castle.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He explained to Lord Lansius that, given the circumstances, he had a better chance for reconnaissance in strength compared to risking another party of long-range scouts. He also mentioned his reluctance to bring a large cavalry detachment due to the mountain path''s nature, which could complicate a retreat if necessary.
As Sir Harold and his selected forty riders ascended the hill, accompanied by a Nicopolan and a local familiar with the area, the Vanguard encampment buzzed with activity, preparing for their return. However, before they could break camp, a messenger arrived.
Servius greeted the messenger, who was none other than Sterling, the Lord''s personal squire. "What a coincidence, Sir Harold just sent a messenger."
"Yes, I met him on the road," Sterling replied, after taking a drink offered by a pageboy.
"So, what news do you bring?" Servius inquired, inviting the younger man into his tent, which was still being packed.
Seeing the tent, Sterling remarked, "There¡¯s no need to pack your belongings." He added, "The Lord and Lady are on the march. They will be here soon."
Servius smiled. He knew Lord Lansius wasn''t one to remain idle when presented with an opportunity. "But what about the main camp on the hill?"
"The Lord of Three Hills has assumed command of the encampment."
"Excellent. Then, am I to assume I have free rein to build a post?"
"A post?" Sterling asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, the scouts have found an excellent spot along the mountain route." Servius led Sterling outside and pointed to where the mountain recessed inward. "It''s likely the same spot travelers and Nicopolans like me used as a resting spot."
"I see, it¡¯s a sizable area," the squire commented.
"Indeed. We plan to build a fortified post there."
Sterling surveyed the forested area. The mountain road to Umberland Castle was bordered by forest on one side and a cliff on the other. "It could serve well as an observation tower."
"Indeed. As a warning post, and to deter bandits, animals, and beasts if necessary," Servius elaborated. "What do you think, will the Lord approve?"
Sterling pondered briefly. "The Lord merely instructed me to prevent your return if the situation was clear of problems. But he specified that his orders shouldn¡¯t hinder military maneuvers or activities."
"Then it''s decided," Servius said, his mind already racing with plans not only to construct the post but also to secure and fortify the surrounding area.
...
Despite suggestions of beastmen activity, Servius was confident in the vanguard''s readiness and instructed his men to begin the construction process. The Lord''s insistence on bringing additional construction tools and materials proved to be a blessing.
Before midday, a sizeable area of the forest had been cut down, revealing a descending slope. Servius cleared the trees not only for raw materials but also to improve visibility and make it easier to detect intruders from the forest.
Ideally, he wanted to erect palisade walls along the roadside to enhance defensibility. However, realizing the significant time and effort required, he decided to leave the final decision to Lord Lansius. It was also possible to enlarge the post into a compound with stone gateways and even a small tower.
Such an upgrade would be advantageous in every aspect and would offer better protection for wayfarers, but it would require skilled guildsmen, not untrained masons like them.
With men-at-arms positioned defensively and dragoons armed with crossbows guarding the work site, the work steadily advanced. Day turned to night, and night to morning again. Despite a foggy morning, no attack occurred, and no scout was missing.
Encouraged by the calm, Servius maintained his position and continued the work.
Around midday, the blue and bronze banner was spotted in the distance, marching solemnly toward their position. Soon the Lord and Lady arrived. They brought additional men and supplies, along with a team of engineers from Three Hills to construct siege engines.
***
The horses were neighing, clearly showing their displeasure. Sir Harold recognized that the Lowlandian horses were not accustomed to the mountainous region. The grass tasted different here, the air felt different, and even the smells were unfamiliar. To calm their mounts, the knight expedited the rotational change.
Following his instructions, his riders dismounted, and fresh horses were brought forward. They took a quick break for a drink and then continued their journey. It was their second day, and they had yet to encounter anything suspicious.
His men had warned him about the unsettling quiet, and Sir Harold knew this assessment was accurate. Although forty riders might not seem like many, before the chaos swept through the Imperium, it was common for castles to be guarded by only a dozen men or so.
"This is where we bypassed the castle," the Nicopolan pointed out, indicating another larger trail that cut through the woods to Sir Harold. "There are several villages there with good streams from the mountains," he added with a hint of bitterness.
Those who heard him understood without needing to ask that the Nicopolan had witnessed these villages being raided.
"Should we split up?" the lieutenant asked.
Sir Harold thought for a moment. He could see the merit in checking whether Nicopolan armed refugees were hiding there¡ªif so, they could risk a surprise attack from behind. However, the fighter in him refused to give in to baseless fear. Thus, he shook his head. "Just place two riders here as lookouts. Tell them to blend in."
The knight then took his helmet from his squire and reiterated their mission to his men, "Our goal is Umberland Castle."
Thus, the dragoons pressed on until they caught sight of Umberland Castle, its silhouette guarded by a mossy stone bulwark connecting two mountains. As the clouds darkened, Sir Harold, after ensuring their horses were well-rested for any potential encounter with a larger cavalry force, urged his riders forward.
What they encountered next surprised them.
***
Umberland Region
Aside from a castle for defense, Umberland boasted two separate bulwark walls and gates blocking access to the city. One was named the Lowlandia Gate because it led to the Great Lowlandia Plains, which then branched off towards either Korimor or Three Hills City.
The second separate wall, known as the Nicopola Gate, was situated further at a mountain pass leading to Nicopola. The Nicopola bulwark stood alone at a natural choke point where the road was flanked by a mountain on one side and a cliff on the other. The absence of a forested area made this mountain pass an effective guard against an out of province attack.
Different than the Nicopola Gate, the Lowlandia Gate served as Umberland City''s wall. Its walls and gatehouse were integral to protecting the city and formed part of the castle''s outer defense.
It could be said that the Nicopola Gate controlled access to and from Nicopola, whereas the Lowlandia Gate was specifically designed to protect the city and its castle.
Of the two, the Nicopola Gate was much older, nearly ancient, constructed during the early Imperium to counter threats that no longer exist. This bulwark predates the castle and Umberland City by at least a millennium.
However, due to its lesser importance to the local lord, the treacherous nature of the mountain road to Nicopola, and minimal trade, the pass received only minimal attention and maintenance.
Men assigned there were those who could not offer bribes, led by a noble out of favor at court.
Last summer, when the Nicopolans came, despite the mighty stone bulwark, the defenders could only hold for twenty short days before abandoning it due to multiple scaling attempts.
Servius and the Nicopolans who traveled with Sir Harold knew this firsthand. They had even taken part in the assault. At that time, it was considered an easy victory that bolstered everyone''s spirits. They marched confidently into Umberland City, which was protected by another bulwark. However, this time, no matter how fierce their assaults, they were defeated.
Umberland''s uniqueness lay in its castle and bulwark, designed to protect fertile land with mineral-rich water flowing from the mountain. A small river cascaded down into the city and castle, providing ample resources for defense.
The only vulnerability was the multitude of goat paths which, if diligently searched for by an invader, could pose a threat. Additionally, due to its remoteness, Umberland was relatively sparsely populated. Despite their formidable bulwarks, their troops numbered only two hundred.
Against the many thousands of Nicopolans who tried their luck at conquering the land, it seemed there was little hope for survival. While they indeed survived the first wave, which also brought Servius and his men, they knew at least another wave was trailing behind.
That was why, when Sir Harold and his dragoons arrived, they were amazed to see the banners of the Umberland House still flying proudly on the bulwark. The unique sound of brass horns blew, echoing through the mountains and adding a unique depth. Suddenly, men with crossbows and swords were ready at the bulwark, staring down at the invaders.
Sir Harold instructed one of his riders to fly the Blue and Bronze banner high. A man in full armor in the gatehouse noticed they were not armed refugees and immediately issued a challenge: "Halt, you are within the domains of the Lord of Umberland."
"Greetings. I have come from Three Hills, bringing the host of Korelia, Korimor, and South Hill, to aid Umberland and strengthen its defenses."
The answer shocked everyone atop the bulwark, who quickly turned abuzz with speculations.
"Good Sir, whose banner do you fly?" asked the knight on the wall.
Sir Harold smiled. "You must not be familiar with this. It is the Lord of Korelia''s banner."
"Korelia? Then your lord is far from home. Where is the rest of your mighty host?"
"The Lord of Korelia is also the Protector of Korimor, the Lord of South Hill, and the leader of the Grand Alliance."
The announcement caused the Umberland troops to murmur.
"Please wait," came the expected response as the knight needed to consult with his superiors.
Sir Harold dismounted, sat on a boulder, and waited patiently. His men spread around, drinking and resting their weary bodies.
After a lengthy period, the knight returned accompanied by another person, more distinguished in appearance, wearing a colorful doublet. This individual, in his early fifties, looked red-faced, obviously panting after ascending a flight of stairs. He surveyed Sir Harold below and declared, "My good Sir, Umberland is safe and sound. Please return to your Lord and inform him we honor his goodwill, but Umberland does not require reinforcements."
The response was anticipated. Despite the waiting being in vain, Sir Harold responded with a smile. "I''ll relay your words to my lord. Then, how about we discuss some trade and cooperation? It would be a missed opportunity for both Houses if the two Lords failed to meet and discuss potential cooperation."
The man in the colorful doublet exchanged glances with his knight, both appearing flustered, likely contemplating the necessity of another climb to consult their Lord on this unexpected proposal.
Meanwhile, two days'' journey from there, the Lord and Lady were leading the main army toward Umberland.
***
Chapter 133 : The Lord of Umberland
Chapter 133
The Lord of Umberland
Outside the mighty bulwark and gatehouse protecting Umberland City, tens of riders sat, content with waiting. Some tended to the numerous horses they brought, while others kept sentry, ready with crossbows.
One even started a fire to brew water for drinking. The lieutenant in the bulwark roped down an earthen jar of ale as a gift, and this present was received with excitement.
Sir Harold allowed his men to indulge in the drinks. Certainly, it could be poisoned, but he knew only the bold and the naive would attempt such a thing. Most of his select riders were the stoic and alert types who likely just shrugged at drinking anything from a potential enemy.
After another period of time, the same pair reappeared atop the castle, their faces reddened and seemingly breathless.
"Must be a long flight of stairs," commented the Nicopolan beside him.
Sir Harold chuckled.
The man, whom they learned from the troops above was the steward, moved closer to the battlements'' wall. One could see his fatherly features, complete with a receding hairline. "Honored guests," he called Sir Harold to attention.
The knight from Midlandia acknowledged this by bowing his head slightly.
"Our Lord has decided that a meeting would be beneficial. However, until your Lord arrives, we cannot let you enter. The meeting will also take place outside the city gate."
Sir Harold simply smiled. "I don''t mind waiting, and yes, the terms are agreeable. But could you spare us some food and blankets? It''s been days since we had proper hot food."
The knight''s lucid and favorable reply made the steward respond confidently, "Of course, we''ll provide what we can."
Sir Harold promptly instructed his squire to fetch the ink and parchment box they always kept at the bottom of their saddlebag. He quickly dictated a letter to his squire. Although he could have relied on a verbal message, he wanted to ensure that none of the full context would be lost.
As four riders returned to the mountain path, Sir Harold selected a suitable place to make camp. He chose a spot at a safe distance from the city gate, in case the host''s welcome was insincere.
After some time, two tents, along with amenities and a basket of bread, were lowered from the wall.
Several hours later, the sun finally set. The dragoons remained alert in their small camp. Sir Harold had his night watch in full armor, ready with loaded crossbows. He and his squire themselves slept in their doublets, clutching their scabbards underneath the blankets.
There was a drizzle that night, and morning arrived veiled in fog. The men were alert, but no attack came. Instead, the people on the wall lowered some gruel and pickled goods, which they gratefully received.
***
It was on the second day after Sir Harold dispatched his messenger that the Lord of Korelia and his army finally appeared on the mountain path leading to Umberland City. Sir Harold and his group greeted the columns as they crested the path''s final rise.
Ever cautious, Lord Lansius had his men march in separate columns, avoiding a formation along the mountain path that would resemble a vulnerable serpent. He also ensured a good distance between them, providing ample space to react to sudden threats such as ambushes or landslides.
After five columns had arrived and secured the area, the Lord and Lady made their appearance under heavy escort. Sir Harold and his group warmly welcomed them, relieved their mission had been a success. A herald was promptly sent to announce their arrival.
Unexpectedly, the city gates opened, and several groups of men and servants began erecting a large tent, presumably for the imminent negotiations.
In the meantime, Lansius met with Sir Harold and his retinue. He had received the knight''s letter two days before, relieved to learn that Umberland City and its farming lands were still intact. Although it was good news, it didn''t significantly alter the situation. The marauding Nicopolans were still missing from the picture, along with beastmen that, somehow, existed in Umberland.
Even Lady Audrey and Servius shared his skepticism. The survival of Umberland, given its limited forces against the onslaught of thousands of Nicopolans, seemed hard to believe.
"So, what are your thoughts about our host?" Lansius asked, seated beneath a large umbrella, with Audrey at his side and Sterling standing behind them.
Sir Harold, standing next to Servius, replied, "Well, ''suspicious'' is the word I would use. But I doubt worrying about it will help us build a relationship."
Lansius nodded, while Audrey asked, "Have you encountered beastmen or anything suspicious?"
"Nothing, My Lady. Not even a beast, only curious foxes and squirrels," Sir Harold answered.
Audrey exchanged glances with Lansius, who stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"What about the Nicopolans?" Servius added.
"Just my men and you, my good comrade," Sir Harold jested.
Their banter lightened the tension.
Servius then suggested, "Perhaps the beastmen''s attack on our camp was merely an isolated incident."
Lansius wasn''t convinced it was a mere accident. He remembered the beastman''s words before he snapped its neck. However, without further sightings of beastmen, there was little he could do. Thus, instead of worrying about it, he simply readied himself. "Servius, be prepared for a surprise attack."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Sir Harold, ensure the Dragoons are prepared for any trouble."
"I will ensure that, my Lord."
Then Lansius pondered the various scenarios Umberland might present. Even if the negotiations seemed genuine, he planned not to rush his offers and decisions until he had a fuller understanding of the situation. The absence of any sightings of the marauding Nicopolans by his scouts was a haunting concern on his mind.
Could there be a collusion between Umberland and the beastmen?
Unlike fell beasts, which were mythical monsters like werewolves, beastmen were a race native to the southern continent. They had a long history of conflict with humans, especially in neighboring Nicopola and other southern provinces.
Although he considered the possibility, given his understanding of the cultural differences and historical animosity between the two groups, it seemed an unlikely scenario.
...
The meeting between the Lord of Korelia and the representatives of Umberland didn''t commence until well after midday. Under a spacious tent, divided by long tables and flanked by select honorary guards on either side, the Lord of Korelia and his entourage were the first to arrive.
Given the unfamiliarity between the two parties, they adhered to tradition. Sir Harold served as the intermediary, discussing today''s meeting with Umberland''s Steward.
Lansius observed the extensive precautions taken by the other side. Even the Lord of Umberland wasn''t present, and there was a lot of tension in the air. This atmosphere made Audrey equally cautious, reverting to her instincts as a squire.
The negotiations could only begin in earnest after Sir Harold and the Steward had agreed on an agenda.
"They seek a simple meet and greet. Just an introduction, nothing more," Sir Harold informed them.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Lansius nodded. This was fortunately aligned with his strategy to delay any decision before gaining the full picture of the situation in Umberland.
"One more thing, My Lord, My Lady. The Steward cautioned me about the Lord''s appearance," Sir Harold mentioned, his expression clouded with uncertainty.
At this, Lansius and Audrey exchanged a look.
***
The Lord of Umberland
Lord Beatrix, the Baron of Umberland, entered the large negotiation tent. Quickly, all eyes from the other side were on her. Some even gasped, and there were low murmurs. She paid no heed; it was only to be expected.
It wasn¡¯t because of her mismatched title. It was entirely common for a noblewoman to style herself as a Lord if she wished, and it wasn¡¯t a problem since she indeed ruled the region.
Nor was it because she looked wrong. In fact, she was praised for her intellect and beauty. The reason they gasped was that Beatrix wasn¡¯t human.
The half-breed Lord had wolf-like features, yet walked gracefully and behaved nobly, adorned in neat kimono-like clothing. She gazed upon the guests as she walked closer, surrounded by her human escort.
She had learned of the guests who came to Umberland, bearing grand promises of help, assistance, and trade. Yet, for her, dealings and discussions were secondary. They were merely formalities. As a half-breed, she trusted her instincts more than words. Thus, this part of the meeting was the most crucial to her.
A few steps after entering, Beatrix was already assessing whether the guests could be trusted or needed to be dealt with. She could feel the guests'' eyes on her, and she returned their glances. Unlike humans, her eyes captured facial muscles in much higher detail.
She observed several guests displaying discomfort, hinting at considerable restraint and effort to remain calm. Naturally, it was difficult for humans to conceal their disgust, especially towards a predator. The usual frowns and disturbed looks, which humans believed were concealed, were visible to a half-breed like her.
Not one to judge hastily, Beatrix consulted her keen sense of smell, which confirmed the scent of fear and alertness emanating from their fresh sweat, further reinforcing her thoughts. She knew that getting closer would allow her to hear the pounding in the guests'' chests.
She exhaled deeply, realizing that these newcomers weren''t much different from the Nicopolans. Less rowdy, more polite, more disciplined, but essentially the same. A threat to her kin and possibly to the people of Umberland.
Thus, the make-or-break moment would be decided by the Lord of Korelia¡¯s reaction.
Beatrix stood in front of the long table as her steward gave a formal introduction. And something struck Beatrix. The Lord of Korelia showed none of the reactions of his men.
Suppressing her frown, she glanced to his side, where a woman in armor simply nodded her head, her expression not betraying fear or mistrust, merely guarded. Something about her was peculiar, yet Beatrix couldn''t pinpoint what.
Were they briefed and aware of me?
However, the reaction of their men indicated otherwise. That was when she realized his scent was notably different. She had been too focused on discerning whether he was afraid or alert, but she had failed to notice the subtle difference.
He''s not... human? A half-human?
She couldn''t recognize the scent, having never encountered it before. And instead of learning more about the man''s origins, Beatrix noticed an increase in a different scent.
This scent... he even considered mating.
Beatrix covered her smiling maw with a cloth, feigning a cough.
In the beastmen or half-breed world, there was no higher praise than being considered as a potential mate by powerful individuals. With this, Beatrix refrained from making a rash decision, as the Lord of Korelia proved to be different than she had expected.
***
Lansius
The Lord of Korelia listened patiently as the old Steward from the Umberland side gave brief explanations about what had happened and why Beatrix''s claim was considered legitimate. The steward carefully avoided any mention of her being a half-breed or half-beast.
While her entrance made everyone from Lansius'' group uncomfortable, he felt no big surprise. In fact, he was somewhat relieved.
Five years in this world, and I finally see a fantasy race.
Lansius'' long-dormant, game-obsessive mind, with hundreds of hours spent playing RPGs, had already prepared him for shocking plot twists and reveals. He had expected to see a necromancer with a powerful curse controlling Umberland, a powerful blood mage, undead skeleton kings, or other monsters in general.
He had no idea how to beat them, but a half-beast was definitely more tolerable. They were descendants of beastmen and humans.
Even Beatrix''s backstory seemed no more complex than a Cinderella story with a twist.
Moreover, this situation allowed his brain, which stored memories of space exploration sims, to glow hot. The hundreds of hours of sleepless nights perfecting the tech tree speed run and diplomatic know-how against different races were ready to assist him in this interspecies diplomacy.
How could it not? He had dealt with even the nastiest races that space sims could imagine¡ªfrom power hungry floating octopuses and indifferent sentient rocks to backstabbing, narcissistic lizards. Thus, a beast-like person hardly could evoke revulsion or disgust.
"The previous Lord fell in battle last summer against the second wave of Nicopolan attacks. The whole Umberland City was raided and taken hostage," the steward recounted in response to Sir Harold''s inquiry.
"Then how did you regain control?" Sir Harold asked.
The old steward glanced at his Lord, and the half-beast opened her maw. "Greetings. My Lord, are you familiar with the story of Kae''s ancient monastery?"
***
Far in the mountains, so secluded that only mountain goats lived, lies a monastery complex. It was built following the Second Imperium''s reconquest of the beastmen in Nicopola. The stories recount that the battles were fought bitterly and at great cost.
In the bitter wars that eventually led to the downfall of the first Imperium, which was born to unite the human race against the beastmen threat. Its failure fortunately paved the way for a more robust Second Imperium. Despite facing similar initial setbacks, with few victories and many defeats, the Second Imperium proved more resilient.
However, even the minor victories yielded little, as the beastmen produced no food, crafts, or anything of value. Thus, captured female beastmen were seen as the only valuable spoils.
While male beastmen were large, brutal, and animalistic, female beastmen were only slightly taller than the average human and more docile. Though stronger than the average commoner, they were easily conditioned to obey with food, clothing, and shelter.
Initially treated as nothing more than exotic animals for menageries, their owners quickly realized these creatures were attentive, obedient, and loyal. This made them a stark contrast to the noblewomen of the time, who, left behind by their husbands on campaigns, engaged in debauchery.
While the knights and men-at-arms fought on the front lines, their wives took young lovers and caused sensational gossip that was hard to conceal from the public eye. The situation got so out of hand that bards and poets of the day championed the loyalty of captured female beastmen over the noblewomen''s debauched lives.
Thus was born a story between a knight and his captured female beastman. In the story, the knight returned home to find his betrothed making love to another knight. Enraged, he killed the man in a fair duel but was chastised by the kingdom. The knight lost his title, fief, and everything. Yet, the captured beastman stayed by his side. They fell in love and escaped the wars by going into the mountains.
That mountain was an allegory for Umberland.
While the story was largely fiction, it had a certain truth to it. At the height of the Nicopola reconquest, thousands of female beastmen were captured each year and integrated into noble or wealthy communities. They were trained as horse masters, gardeners, and house servants, while the most loyal became either hunters or concubines.
Despite being able to sire children, the union wasn''t meant to last.
When the father died, the human family rarely accepted their half-breed relatives. Worse, their mother likely had already died since beastmen''s life expectancy was only half that of humans. Without their parents, the half-breed child became a burden. Worse, they couldn''t inherit the estate.
Thus, many were sold to the highest bidder, often ending up in the Eastern Kingdom, where they were displayed as part of exotic menageries.
However, not all were heartless, and some feared for their family''s reputation since, half-breed or not, they were still relatives. Thus, many sent them to the mountains. They promised the half-breeds that they could live there with their kin, raising goats and making delicious cheese.
Despite the lie, the mountains of Umberland became the de facto refuge for unwanted half-breeds. However, this decision would eventually come back to haunt them.
As the vast Nicopola land was finally freed from the beastmen threat and enjoyed newfound prosperity, peace was shattered by attacks from the mountains. The thousands of half-breeds had multiplied uncontrollably in a region with little resources. Lacking enough food, they resorted to attacking human settlements.
As their numbers grew, they often bred closer to full beastmen, having lost their human traits. Surprisingly, they were led by third or fourth-generation half-breeds who possessed intellect closer to that of an adult human. Their intellect, combined with the strength of their beastmen-like brethren, was enough to launch coordinated raids deep into the Nicopola heartland.
The issue became so dire that two baronies fell to this new threat. The local lords quickly banded together and launched punitive attacks, but they were always outclassed in the mountains.
Despite multiple punitive attacks, half-beast raids still occurred frequently enough that the Imperium decided to build a permanent bulwark to seal off access. This was the origin of the ancient bulwark, not constructed to protect Umberland¡ªwhich had yet to be founded¡ªbut to shield the newly liberated Nicopola from the half-beast threat.
While the wall prevented massive beastmen raids from occurring, it didn''t stop them completely.
"A fascinating story," Lansius interrupted the Steward as the two lords met informally at a scenic hunting lodge on the outskirts of the forest, not far from the gate. "So what stopped the raids, if not the bulwark?"
Beatrix and the Steward exchanged glances, appearing unprepared for the question. Meanwhile, Lansius maintained his composure, feeling that he might uncover something significant. After all, history often repeats itself.
There was also another issue that Lansius fought hard to dismiss from his mind. Yet, no matter how much he tried to deny it, he couldn''t ignore the fact that Umberland was under relative control. Although details were still muddy and scarce, it was clear that the situation wasn''t as dire as he had expected. Yes, villages and farmland had been ravaged, even the city itself was raided, but they managed to recover.
Furthermore, the threat from the marauding Nicopolans was not as it seemed. If the intelligence shared by the Steward was accurate, then there were only three large groups who scattered in the forest after being raided by beastmen.
Half-beast or human, it mattered little to the grand picture. What remained clear was that with Umberland secured, the road to Nicopola lay open. And this troubled him deeply.
***
Hey everyone,
I know you may hear this a lot from me because I''m always thanking and expressing my gratitude, but it''s so overwhelming and humbling to receive such tremendous support for Horizon of War.
Book I could never have been published without your help and support. I am immensely grateful for how you''ve changed my life, so once again, please allow me to say thank you for all the support, comments, and reviews!
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Chapter 134 : Forgotten People
Chapter 134
Forgotten People
Deserted Hunting Lodge
Servants were quietly cleaning the place while guards from both sides secured the scenic area, filled with lush woodlands and a valley in the distance. The Lord and Lady of Korelia sat on the wooden porch, with Sir Harold standing by their side. Facing them were the Lord of Umberland and her Steward, also seated on the porch.
There were signs of looting, but the two Lords and Lady of Korimor didn¡¯t mind. In fact, it helped set the mood as both wanted an informal meeting to align their agendas. They had been formally introduced previously. Now, it was time to establish a relationship between the Houses.
The meeting started with the Steward recounting what he knew about the history of the bulwark tied to the half-breed''s history. When it was mentioned that the Second Imperium built the ancient bulwark to seal off the half-breeds from raiding Nicopola, but couldn¡¯t stop it completely, Lansius asked what stopped them.
The Steward felt reluctance to answer, so Beatrix decided to answer, "Well, it''s not really a secret. The problem lies in my kinsmen''s numbers."
Lansius didn''t give any response but listened intently.
Beatrix continued, "When the bulwark was completed, my ancestors were already declining."
"Declining...?" Lansius wasn''t sure he had heard correctly.
"Yes, life in the mountains was harsh even for half-beasts. Worse, our half-human constitution made us unable to live in the wild like true beastmen." She sipped her goblet of cold spring water. "While we had an explosion of numbers before, eventually sickness, untreated wounds, infighting, and old age decimated the tribes."
Lansius nodded. "Then what about the Kae monastery?"
"Ah, yes. I did ask you about the monastery in our meetings," Beatrix chuckled happily. Although perfectly capable, like most half-breeds, she rarely hid her feelings, especially towards people her instinct told her she could trust.
"Kae or Kaen," she began, "was a diligent old man who came to the mountain with his friends. Many said he was a veteran of the beastmen wars, but frankly, the age didn''t match." Beatrix shrugged. "I mean, it was already several hundred years after the last beastmen were eradicated from Nicopola. But whoever he was, Kae and his friends had deep compassion for my kin."
"So he built a monastery to help?"
"Quite the contrary, he built the monastery to capture my kin," Beatrix guffawed. "He and his friends were exceptionally skilled and knew how to fight half-breeds. He captured many and forced them to attend his lectures."
Lansius was amused. "What an interesting man."
Beatrix, sitting on the wooden porch, swung her feet freely. "Old Kae taught my great-great-grandma how to properly raise mountain goats and wild hogs, why killing baby goats would be detrimental, and how to find other food sources like yam. He even taught my kin to preserve meat by building a smokehouse at the monastery."
With her guests listening attentively, she continued, "The old man taught several generations before he got diarrhea from bad summer yam and died," Beatrix guffawed again briefly. She then stared at Lansius "Why do you even bother to listen to such stories? I only asked about the monastery so I could tell you about my origin and my claim to the barony."
"I''m just curious. That''s all," Lansius reassured her. Then, to nobody in particular, he added, "Still, I find it hard to believe that the people of Umberland can keep the half-breed story a secret."
Sir Harold added, "Indeed. I asked the Lowlandians, and they never heard about them."
Beatrix''s maw formed a smile. "That''s because old Kae forced us to live beyond the monastery. His monastery is already so remote in the mountains, and men rarely visited. He also taught us not to show ourselves to humans to avoid conflict. Thus, we made our villages far away and only came to the monastery for annual trade."
Lansius was unconvinced. "I still think that traveling minstrels would dig stories about this easily and spread them."
"Oh, you haven''t noticed?" Beatrix countered. "The people of Umberland are good at keeping their secrets. It''s one of the traits of the mountain people. They rarely talk, only grumble." Beatrix eyed her steward, who could only chuckle politely.
Lansius smiled and exchanged glances with Audrey, who asked, "Do they still have members in this monastery?"
"Yes. Kae is a local hero," the Steward explained. "Because of his reports of exploration that detailed hidden fertile grounds and a river between the mountains, there was a migration that eventually founded Umberland City. Because of this, some followed Kae''s footsteps to become hermits, believing that as long as the monastery was maintained and offerings were made, there would be peace."
Then, resisting a laugh, Beatrix continued, "Of course, it wasn''t true, but we sort of need that salt, ale, linen, and spices. And since this isn''t trade anymore but offerings, it''s free. So, we hardly bother with what they think of us." She laughed hard and slapped her thigh.
Lansius chuckled along with Sir Harold. Only Audrey and the old steward remained composed.
After the laughter died down, Beatrix exhaled deeply and continued, "Despite my kin''s connection with the region, the monastery, and the ancient bulwark, after several centuries, my kin were forgotten. Even the people of Umberland think of us as werewolves."
"I apologize if this is a touchy subject, but what do you know about werewolves?" Lansius asked.
Beatrix stroked her furry chin. "Not much aside from several old stories. They seem to be real but existed far from here."
Lansius nodded, and as he glanced to his side, he saw Audrey''s tension finally drop a notch.
Beatrix seemed to notice too and let out a pleasant smile.
"Another thing," Lansius said to the host. "I''ve heard about you sharing the Lord of Umberland''s lineage. But what''s the story? You said your kin is forgotten, then how could someone from the Baron''s family have a relationship with your kin?"
"Well, we blame humans'' curiosity," Beatrix said, her eyes wandering afar as if lost in recollection. "From time to time, eager youths came looking for us for different reasons. It was easy to hide from them, but when they got into accidents, got lost, or almost starved to death in the forest, we ended up helping them. And sometimes, such fateful meetings happened between destined couples." She then motioned at her steward to continue.
The Steward nodded and took over, "The late Lord, following his father and grandfather''s footsteps, tried to establish contact with the lost tribes. Their intention was a defense pact since the situation was troubling. Like them, he also ended up having offspring which from time to time he secretly brought into the castle."
"So, imagine our shock when we learned that the Nicopolans came and killed everyone," Beatrix said, her voice cracking, filled with hatred. "The late Lord''s half-bred sons, along with their brethren, took revenge upon the Nicopolans who held the castle. They took down enough that the Nicopolans fled. However, they were too rash..."
Lansius exhaled, knowing what that implied. "They were lost in the conflict, and then you had a succession crisis."
"Indeed," the Steward responded. "We lost the entire bloodline. No uncle, no nephew. With the Nicopolans still outside our gates, Umberland would be doomed without a rallying figure. That was when we learned that another bloodline still lived in the mountains."
Beatrix added, "I''m only related to the late Lord''s grandfather. But I''m also the leader of a powerful tribe. That was why the Steward wanted me as the temporary Lord."
Lansius'' gaze sharpened. "Why temporary?"
Beatrix raised a brow. "I''m not stupid. I have no illusions that a half-breed could rule a barony." She stared at Lansius, who did not cower or give any reaction. "Humans fear my kin. So, this arrangement was never meant to be. Besides, the conflict has given us nothing substantial in return."Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"So, you''re saying you don''t get anything from being in power?"
"Access to more ale and mead is good. Also, salt, spices, and linens. But nothing substantial. We half-breeds aren''t greedy like humans." Beatrix closed her maw with her furry hand, grinning a little. "I apologize if I''ve offended you."
"None taken," Lansius replied without losing a beat.
Audrey exhaled sharply and chimed in, "If this is only temporary, then who''ll be the next Lord of Umberland?"
Beatrix laughed, while the Steward looked uncomfortable. Afterward, the Lord replied, "We still don''t know. Neither of us wants it. We who live in the mountains only want good food, good drinks, and plenty of kids. Nothing else matters."
Lansius and Sir Harold chuckled at the answer, while Audrey nodded her head.
Crossing his arms, Lansius commented, "Still, you successfully drove out the Nicopolans. I will say that the title is earned."
The statement drew everyone''s attention. Noticing them, Lansius continued, "One measure of a leader is he who can protect his people. And I doubt anyone would disagree with your capabilities."
"So the Lord of Korelia, the leader of the Great Alliance, will support My Lord''s claim?" the Steward asked for confirmation.
Lansius turned to Audrey, who nodded firmly.
"The Baroness of Korimor has consented," Lansius remarked. "I don''t want to sell promises, but you have our support. If Three Hills and White Lake agree, then we could accept you into our alliance."
The declaration was greeted by happy noises from Beatrix.
"But what about the temporary status?" the Steward asked cautiously.
Lansius raised his palm. "Old man, you started this, so it''s time to play it to the end. The alliance will protect, but Umberland''s domestic issue is for you to solve."
"That means...?" Beatrix asked in anticipation.
"That means only you can decide who''ll rule Umberland. As long as he or she isn''t a criminal, or having character defects, or questionable reputations, the alliance will support the nomination."
Beatrix was pleased and motioned for her servants to bring ales while waggling her tail freely.
"However," Lansius added, drawing their attention back to him. "I''ll only give our support after we ascertain the fate of the population inside Umberland City."
The two hosts nodded solemnly.
"Despite your stories, I''ll need concrete proof that Umberland City isn''t under beastmen¡ª"
"Half-bred," Beatrix corrected without hesitation.
"Under half-breed''s terror rules," Lansius repeated. "You must open the city gates for a select column to investigate."
"We cannot agree to an investigation as there''s no crime involved," Beatrix replied wittily. "However, if you wish to let a score of men to enter the city, we could agree on that. They should, however, be prepared to encounter my brethren from time to time."
Lansius nodded, and with that, the two sides came to an understanding.
...
After watching the two Lords and Lady finish speaking, Sir Harold cleared his throat, having more pressing issues to address. "My Lord and Steward, we need to know about the marauding Nicopolans. Where are they now?"
"My brethren have hunted their leaders at night, making them flee to Nicopola. Some stubborn ones barricaded themselves in the bulwark. Now, seeing their allies survive, many more have returned," Beatrix replied with a hint of annoyance.
"Is it hard to dislodge them?" Sir Harold asked.
"Too hard for us. After all, it was designed with beastmen in mind¡ªclosed battlements with small windows, stone constructions with narrow doors."
The Steward added, "There''s also another group hiding or possibly lost in the forest. I imagine they''re desperate for food and might attack if they regain their bearings."
Lansius looked at the ceiling and muttered, "One by one. We''ll solve them, one by one."
Hearing that, Beatrix''s stare sharpened, "There''s one issue we haven''t solved between us."
Lansius caught her tone and returned the stare. No stare could compare to his wife''s. "May I venture a guess?" he responded calmly.
"You may."
"Is this about the four half-breeds who attacked my camp at night several days ago, attempting to assassinate me and my wife in our sleep?" Lansius asked as plainly as he could. Yet, the air turned heavy.
The Steward tried to intervene, but Beatrix raised her hand. Still locking gazes with Lansius, she said, "One of them is a brother to me."
"One did say something to that effect," Lansius confirmed.
Her back tensed. "I learned about the board your men wrote. But I wanted to hear it from you directly. What did he say?"
Despite the hair-raising stare, Lansius calmly responded, "He said: Seek my sister and tell her that she''s right. As for me, I shall take the blame."
"And then, he snapped his own neck," Audrey added from the side.
"So you were also there?" Beatrix turned her gaze to Audrey.
"I am the one who fought your brother," Audrey stated, her voice firm.
"He attacked us in our sleep," Lansius hurriedly added.
Beatrix drew a deep breath and sighed. "Tell me, did he fight well?"
"He did. We were lucky to be alive," Audrey said truthfully.
Beatrix nodded and said without hesitation, "I apologize for my brethren. They act on their own, not under my command."
The unexpected apology was a breakthrough. When they saw Beatrix for the first time, Lansius'' camp had been frightened of an impassable rift between them. Many expected her to demand blood or seek revenge.
Lansius exhaled deeply while keeping his composure and said, "We''ll need a formal apology to appease both sides, a guarantee that this will never happen again, and then we should discuss fair compensation for the fallen."
"My brethren died trying to protect the city¡ª" Beatrix''s voice rose.
"And he and his men will be respected," Lansius interjected. "No one is truly in the wrong here. It''s just the fog of war. I''m asking for a formal apology, and you should know that I will also write an apology so both sides can bury this matter and move forward."
Beatrix calmed down, seemingly accepting the explanation. "Your suggestion is reasonable."
"When this is over, I''m considering commissioning stone statues for the fallen, so anyone who passes can honor them."
The half-breed Lord nodded and returned to her graceful self. "An interesting approach. I guess humans do like to build things to commemorate their deeds."
"I just don''t want to give the impression that they died for nothing. Both sides were doing their duty and paid the ultimate price."
Beatrix went into contemplation momentarily. "You''ll have my apology, and the Steward will make the necessary arrangements. But I will not take part in making statues. It is not our way to honor our dead. However," she looked at Lansius and bowed her head slightly, "gratitude for not skinning the fallen."
Lansius kept a solemn look, saying, "It''s only honorable to do so."
"Honorable... perhaps," Beatrix muttered. "My kin are guided only by the old man''s scripture and superstition. In any case, intact bodies are always preferable to mutilated carcasses."
***
Lansius
After another round of discussion, Lansius and the Lord of Umberland reached several agreements. The most crucial part was that Umberland would loan its western and northern areas to the Grand Alliance in exchange for military support. The Alliance was allowed to build an additional fortification, repopulate the villages, and open the forest area if needed.
Lansius had also secured permission to maintain the hill fortress and the fortified post along the mountain road.
With this success, he quickly marched his troops to set up camp in one of the abandoned villages near the forest outskirts. His scouts had deemed the village a suitable place to camp, and the buildings could serve as temporary shelter. It also had an ample supply of clean water from a small river.
Currently, Sir Harold and Servius conducted reconnaissance to ensure the area was easily defensible.
Lansius and Audrey, along with their entourage, rode through the small river and inspected the villages while their troops were busy erecting tents for the night.
He saw a large empty farm and dismounted. Bees were flying lazily in the air as Lansius walked to the open patch of land where young grass sprouted here and there. He observed the scenery, noting the parallel deep grooves that indicated the land was ploughed. The air was mixed with the scent of manure, the faint aroma of wildflowers, and a heavy earthen scent from fallen leaves.
Noticing the presence of a scout nearby, he asked, "What do they grow in these lands?"
"Barley and rye, also beans and peas, My Lord. We''ve also found a villa surrounded by grapevines," the old man with tanned skin replied.
"Is the land fertile around here?"
"I cannot be sure of that, My Lord," he answered lightly.
Lansius smiled. He had treated his scouts well enough that they gave honest answers, even a ''no'' without feeling pressured. "There must be some survivors hiding in the forest. If you find them, bring them to me."
"Aye, My Lord."
Audrey approached them and asked, "It seems you''ll be busy. Mind if I visit Carla and Ingrid before supper?"
"Sure, but keep escorts," he advised.
Audrey nodded and left with her entourage and guards.
Lansius continued to inspect the surrounding meadows. Only after feeling satisfied did he head to his new command tent. He spotted Sterling at the entrance. "My Lord," the squire greeted.
"Any news?" Lansius asked as he entered.
"Plenty, My Lord. The messengers bringing letters from your domains have arrived."
"Domains..." Lansius mulled over the word as he removed his coat, handing it to Sterling. He then walked to the long table and took a seat.
Sterling arranged the letters one by one, saying, "From Korimor, Korelia, South Hill, and Three Hills."
"Three Hills," Lansius mulled, taking two sealed letters. He had heard about the failed coup from a fast messenger, but reports from them usually lacked depth.
Recognizing Dame Daniella''s heraldry, he broke the wax and read the long letters, which explained the aftermath of the coup and how the situation quickly returned to normal. The Dame also informed that she had secured the assets of the moneylender house along with the bookkeepers.
Moneylender?!
Lansius was pleased with this newfound boon. Not only did it mean extra wealth, but the moneylender had power over those who owed them. If there were nobles among them, Lansius could have leverage over them. Lastly, Daniella reported that Sir Morton and Farkas were leading a supply convoy as planned, along with a small reinforcement to Umberland.
Satisfied, Lansius opened another letter, which bore the symbol of Three Hills City. It was full of gratitude from an old knight who served as the Steward, mostly formalities. Yet, not wanting to miss anything, he instructed, "Sterling, read this and let me know if I''m missing anything important."
Sterling complied and read carefully. Meanwhile, Lansius reviewed the letter from Korimor.
It''s from... Sir Michael? He''s in Korimor?
Sir Michael''s unexpected presence in Korimor was clarified in the letter, which mentioned he had been tasked by Sir Justin. Lansius harbored no concerns over this. He had been away for so long that some personnel movement was expected, especially for someone without an official post like Sir Michael.
The letter detailed Korimor''s current situation under Sir Hugo''s leadership and the pressing need for additional personnel. Sir Michael further requested Lansius to draft policies, while outlining the city''s strengths and weaknesses in his letter.
Lansius turned to Sterling. "Have you finished with the letter?"
"Yes, My lord. But I didn''t find anything important."
"Good. Now, get me some ink and parchment. I need to draft some policies," Lansius said with a smile. Even while he was away on campaign, his realm needed his guidance. And he planned to tackle them quickly so he could refocus his efforts against the marauding Nicopolans.
***
Chapter 135 : Echoes of Power
Chapter 135
Echoes of Power
Beatrix
The Lord and Steward rode in the carriage after concluding the meeting. Beatrix had to sit uncomfortably as she was taller than a regular human and also had her tail to consider.
"This is really uncomfortable," she complained again.
"Yes, My Lord. Please bear it just a little longer," replied the Steward, who sat across from her, facing her direction.
"I wish I could ride horses like humans," she muttered, feeling helpless.
The old Steward could only hide his grin. As they approached the bulwark gate, he said, "My Lord, earlier you surprised me."
"One of my statements?" she asked.
"Your action, I mean," he clarified and added, "I''m surprised you didn''t threaten or ask them for compensation."
Beatrix sharpened her stare. "Don''t get me wrong, old man. I love my brother. I still remember the days he playfully suckled my tits, thinking it was mother''s. But now he''s dead, and it''s no one''s fault." She then turned to the glass window, looking at the rocky mountains. "I know my position. I''ll not endanger the whole town you tried so hard to protect just because of a brother."
"I''m honored... The whole city is honored."
"Hmph, praises won''t get you anywhere with me." She shifted in her seat again.
Following her gaze, the Steward caught the blue and bronze banner of a patrol that rode to the forest area. This led him to ask, "What do you think about Lord Lansius?"
"Hard to guess. He''s different..." her words trailed off.
"Well, he''s a foreigner. Black hair and all."
After a moment of thought, Beatrix exclaimed, "Ah! I should have asked if he''s ever met another half-breed before."
The Steward was piqued. "Why?"
"Because his reaction is not normal."
The Steward nodded. "Indeed, he showed a lot of restraint--"
"Not restraint," Beatrix disagreed. "No disgust, scowl, fear, or combativeness. He simply treated me like... an ordinary human."
The Steward broke into a smile and quipped, "See, a lot of humans aren''t bad."
"I admit there are exceptions like him and you, also half of the Umberland people, but I doubt it''s the case everywhere or with everyone."
Seizing the opportunity, the Steward asked, "Is this why you accepted Lord Lansius'' military support?"
"Did you forget that your council has briefed me on that?" she replied rather snarkily.
"My Lord, I recommended this because using Lowlandians against the Nicopolans is a great opportunity. Secondly, the area we loaned is just empty villages that we can''t even protect. Lastly, since it''s a loan, when they return it, we can probably even reap what they sow."
Beatrix grumbled. "I bet you''re thinking you''ll be safe behind the bulwark if the Lowlandians betray us."
The Steward smiled innocently and asked, "Is that wrong?"
"My kin can fight in the dark and climb where humans can''t. But you shouldn''t treat us as expendable."
"I wouldn''t dare," he reassured her. "But then, what is your reasoning for trusting him? His offer for recognition or alliance is vague."
"I trust not the man, but his mate," she revealed.
"The Baroness of Korimor...?"
She nodded. "The man is elusive. But the woman, she''s a fighter. And I trust her words. And by proxy, I also trust her mate."
Another bump in the road rocked the carriage, and the Lord grumbled loudly at her discomfort. The Steward chuckled, and she stared at him in protest. To distract her, the old man asked another question, "What about the Nicopolans?"
"What about them?" she responded, disinterested.
"Lord Lansius didn''t ask, but I need to know, do you have a blood feud with the Nicopolans?"
"It''s over." She snorted. "Nobody who killed the late Lord''s family is alive now."
The Steward looked pleased but needed to confirm, "So the feud didn''t extend to the rest of the Nicopolans?"
Beatrix furrowed her brow. "You think too lowly of me. We don''t kill an entire tribe for what their fighters did."
"You are wise, Beatrix," the old man praised.
"No. I''m just old," Beatrix countered. "I''m already surpassing my prime. At best, I only have fifteen, if not twenty, years left."
The Steward ran his fingers through his hair. "I probably have less."
Beatrix laughed. "You jest. Humans live to over 100."
"That''s for a healthy man. Not drunkard like me," he said, his face reddening as he joined her laughter.
After their laughter subsided, she said, "Don''t die first. I''d hate to have to find another capable Steward."
The old man grinned at the praise and reciprocated, "You too, My Lord. I doubt I can find another wise leader from the bloodline."
Beatrix let out a sigh. "Too bad I have a wound. Still, you should try to accompany me for some nights. Who knows, I might conceive if it''s with a human." She then added her reasoning, "The child would be groomed as a human lord anyway, not as a mountain tribesman."
The Steward cleared his throat. "I''m deeply uncomfortable with the fact that Kae''s scripture didn''t teach your kin to marry."
"I already told you we have marriage, but it''s mostly temporary. Since we¡¯re trading fighters between tribes to maintain peace and the fact that good fighters often have good sons, it''s only logical to want them to father many offspring."
He crossed his arms, saying, "Now that you''ve explained it that way, it sort of makes sense. Is this the Je Ne¡ª?"
"Yes, the Je Ne Tik scripture. Old Kae taught our ancestors that strong traits carry over to the offspring. It''s also the same reason for my kin''s downfall. He called it inbreeding."
The steward nodded. "It¡¯s ironic that half-breeds need men to keep the tribes alive."
"Well, at this rate, my kin will have more humans than we''ll ever need for mating in the foreseeable future."
"And you¡¯ll have more suitors. When the nobles of Lowlandia hear of you, they¡¯ll send marriage proposals," the Steward said with a chuckle.
Beatrix rubbed her temples, commenting, "I guess the legend is true. Humans will fuck with just about anything."
"Especially for power and wealth," the Steward added, seamlessly, as their carriage entered the massive gate of the city''s bulwark. There, at least a hundred half-breeds awaited with great anticipation.
***
Lansius
Beneath the command tent, while the sun was still high, Lansius, after drafting and careful consideration, finalized his policy for Korimor. The policy focused on two main areas: food production and defense. He decreed that the city should allow people to farm freely and that every piece of fertile land should be utilized.
He also encouraged his officers to promote the planting of winter crops as a precaution. Yet, he made clear that these directives should not be compulsory. Instead, the city should offer tax leniency as an incentive, a similar strategy he had previously applied in South Hill.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Lansius also pushed his officers to seek alternative food sources, recognizing fishing as an untapped potential. He was convinced that Korimor might discover resources beyond traditional agriculture and animal husbandry.
In terms of defense, Lansius wanted the city to invest in training and better armaments, favoring quality over quantity due to uncertainties about food surpluses to sustain a larger army.
Despite this emphasis on quality, he prohibited Korimor from expanding their crossbow production. He directed Sir Michael and Sir Hugo to secure crossbows from Korelia through a city-to-city trade agreement.
Lansius also ruled out the development of a large cavalry force in Korimor, deeming it costly and not a priority, especially since Korelia had a better chance of breeding horses.
As for personnel, Lansius instructed them to employ talent from other fiefs to guarantee loyalty.
Talents from Korelia should work in Korimor. Meanwhile, talents from Korimor should work in Korelia, and South Hill should employ talents from Korelia or distant allies like White Lake. As for the talents, recruit anyone with skills and ability, without regard for their background.
Having done with Korimor, Lansius quietly passed the document to Sterling for a legibility check. He planned to review it later with his council and, upon their approval, have a trusted scribe prepare an official copy for dispatch.
While Sterling was examining the letter, Lansius turned his attention to a letter from South Hill. He learned that Sigmund had reported no immediate issues, yet suspicions were rife. The nobles were holding secret meetings, seemingly in collusion with wealthy landlords. For this reason, Sigmund sought permission to respond with adequate force before the situation spiraled out of control.
In his letter, Lansius wrote: The situation in South Hill has escalated beyond mere threats and warnings. If you are certain and have conducted investigations, capture those responsible and send them to Korelia. Should others attempt to incite trouble, respond with the full might of your army.
As always, extend leniency to their wives and children. Protect the innocent and avoid property damage. Lastly, maintain popular support as best as you can.
Interestingly, Sigmund also reported on Corinthia. This city, located along the Middle Sea coast, produced only a small amount of salt, as the Middle Sea wasn''t as salty as the waters along the shores of the Eastern Kingdoms.
Previously, Sigmund had operated under the assumption of a large scheme involving the House that controlled the salt mining industry, yet this proved unfounded. The road to Corinthia was poorly maintained, primarily because there was little need for trade between the two cities, given that the salt from Corinthia was as expensive as mined rock salt.
The wandering minstrel''s reports from Corinthia described the city as mostly a fishing village with a modest boat industry. Even the Lord Baron lived modestly, his residence no more than a keep. However, the city benefits from a deep ravine serving as a natural barrier from South Hill.
Upon reading this, Lansius pondered investing there, considering paying for roads and bridges in exchange for land to build a warehouse and a manor. He was particularly interested in shipbuilding, believing the construction of larger flat-top riverine boats to be within reach. This venture could open trade routes to neighboring provinces along the Middle Sea.
Yet, with the ongoing conflict in Umberland against the Nicopolans, these plans remained distant aspirations.
Having nothing more to add, Lansius placed his finished draft for South Hill to his left to dry, waiting for Sterling to review the letter. He then turned his attention to letters from Korelia.
They were several pages long but written in a pleasant manner. Recognizing Cecile''s handwriting, Lansius found himself missing her counsel. "I feel a bit guilty for missing Cecile and Calub¡¯s wedding."
Sterling, turning to Lansius, responded warmly, "But you are so busy, My Lord."
"I know, but is there anything I can do for them?"
"How about a gift? Something their nascent House would appreciate," suggested Sterling.
"Right... I should have thought of this while we were in Three Hills City. I doubt we''ll find anything worthwhile in Umberland," Lansius remarked with a hint of regret.
"Should I join the group entering Umberland City?"
"No need. With Carla injured, I¡¯m short-staffed here," Lansius answered candidly.
Sterling smiled at the indirect praise and returned to his work.
Lansius then turned his attention to Sir Justin¡¯s report on the city wall and the bathhouse report.
So, a bathhouse actually drives the economy.
He recalled a poorly written story about Attila the Hun, who, in this version, grew up as a hostage in Rome. Even after returning to his tribe, he never got over the Roman baths, much to his tribe''s derision. Despite not having the correct infrastructure, he stubbornly ordered the construction of one, believing that bathing was a civilized activity.
It was an ahistorical story, yet it seemed fitting for the situation in Korelia. Lansius knew that despite some myths about bathing, medieval people loved to bathe. And a large pool of clean water with marble tiles, without the threat of river snakes, frogs, or insects, was definitely a luxury.
Lansius chalked this up as a happy accident but made a mental note that he would sternly instruct the guild running them not to turn the place into a brothel, mainly due to concerns about sanitation and the fear of plague from the high humidity. He didn''t want to return to Korelia only to find the city plagued by venereal disease.
Next, Lansius reviewed a separate letter about mud housing. As planned before Lansius left Korelia, there had been several proposals, but apparently, Sir Justin and Calub were most comfortable with mud housing. The housing for the captured labor was half buried in the ground to cut costs and also to provide better insulation.
For its walls and roof, the mud house used a mixture of gravel and clay, enhanced with straw, animal hair, and a bit of ash for better durability and water resistance. Ash from firewood made the mud less prone to cracking and shrinkage. Wood beams were used sparingly, as good wood was hard to find in Korelia.
The end result was a humble hovel-like longhouse that could accommodate tens of men, featuring a place for a fire that doubled as a cooking area, complete with basic ventilation. While it wasn''t ideal, surviving winter in the steppe environment was always a tall order.
The report also stated that the nomads were unable to meet the demand for more yurts. As Lansius had anticipated, the nomads had limited production capabilities and were unlikely to meet the scale he needed. Yet, the number of yurts they had provided was already helpful, especially for future military campaigns if needed.
Lansius had nothing to comment on, so he moved on to the next report. This separate letter was from Calub. The alchemist reported on the eastern agriculture project. The windbreak trees needed time to grow, but they had transplanted several older ones from the forest or people''s backyards to provide shelter for the smaller ones.
Calub ensured the trees were growing, as they are a vital part of this project to protect against soil erosion from the harsh steppe winds. He also thanked the botanist Lansius had sent from South Hill. The botanist suggested a variety of fruit trees that could serve as an additional row to protect future crops from the wind. More importantly, the botanist knew where to find and how to source these plants.
There was another separate letter specifying the types of plants, their maturity, their traits or the special properties of their fruits, and then their price.
It seems plant trade is something I overlooked.
Calub treated the botanist as his right-hand man, a status Lansius felt was well-earned. He had never expected a fruit grower from South Hill to be so well-connected in this niche trade.
As for the land itself, Calub reported he had used horse manure, which was aplenty, as compost for the soil. To protect it from wind erosion, they experimented by using the heavy iron plough the guild had acquired from Midlandia to turn the soil. They also allowed the goats to graze, trampling across the land to compact the soil and also to let their manure further enrich it.
Additionally, Calub had stockpiled a large amount of fertilizer made from ash, crushed eggshells, and bones, to be used once the windbreaks and walls were ready. He also mentioned that one of the newly constructed waterwheels was dedicated to elevating water for irrigating the eastern farm when needed.
Currently, he was preparing the land to absorb as much snow as possible, creating a form of water trap so the land would be benefited once the snow thawed.
Lansius was satisfied with the reports and couldn''t think of anything to add, at least for this moment. He put it aside, trusting that his council could offer more insight. "Sterling, may I trouble you with something?"
"Of course, My Lord. What''s on your mind?" he asked with his hand still holding a parchment.
"Before I forget, please inform the camp that we are guests on this land. So ensure they do not speak ill of our host or the half-breeds. Even inside the forest. Tell them to imagine as if the forest had ears."
"Certainly, My Lord. But, may I ask a question?"
Lansius gestured for him to continue.
"Is this precaution really necessary?"
"Why would you think it''s not?" Lansius furrowed his brow.
"Well, some have speculated that there are probably only tens of half-breeds in Umberland. Otherwise, it''s unlikely they would settle for peace. So, many think they''re not much of a threat."
"That''s just baseless speculation," Lansius sighed before adding, "Tribes don''t survive 1500 years with just a handful of people. It''s simply not possible. So, for them to have survived and thrived means their numbers are similar to those of our towns or villages."
Sterling was taken aback. "My Lord, are you suggesting they number in the thousands?"
"They must be at least 2,000 strong. And mind you, unlike humans, who only have a limited number of fighters in a community, all of these half-breeds could probably fight as well as the one we encountered that night."
The squire shuddered at the thought, a mixture of guilt and fear welling up within him.
Lansius had heard from Carla that Sterling blamed himself for missing the fight, yet he also admitted that he probably wouldn''t have made a difference. The experience was a humbling one for the squire, akin to his encounter with the mage knight in the forest of Korelia that had nearly crippled him for life.
"Sterling," Lansius called warmly. "This is why war is never the correct answer."
The Lord''s words struck a chord.
"What we do to our enemy, they can do to us. And losing a war gives the other side plenty of reason and motivation to retaliate."
"But My Lord, you''ve managed to end the last three wars on favorable terms, even with Lord Robert and Lord Jorge."
"Tell that to the mounds of people who died for our survival," Lansius retorted.
Sterling felt the shock of the blunt truth.
"It''s easy to be swept away by the euphoria of victory and glory. But we must always remember the rows of mounds where the bravest lie," Lansius advised gently.
Sterling nodded, his face softening into understanding.
Lansius continued, "This is why I need you to spread the word. Let it be known clearly to everyone that we are not an occupying force. I have no intention of overstaying our welcome. It may be years, but when peace returns, this land will return to its rightful owners."
...
Having finished his work, Sterling exited the tent to relay the Lord''s message to the Captains, who would then brief their lieutenants. Meanwhile, Audrey entered to find Lansius still perusing his letters. Without a glance at his work, she blurted out, "I fucked up!"
Lansius'' brow arched as he met her gaze. "Come again?"
Averting her gaze to hide her reddened eyes, she muttered, "The magic. I don''t have it."
"That can''t be. I saw how you fought," he countered, rising to approach her.
Ingrid burst in at that moment, her face flushed, "My Lady, please--"
"No," Audrey cut her off. "If I have no talents, there''s no need for false comfort."
Lansius turned to Ingrid. "What exactly happened?"
"My Lord, there''s still hope," Ingrid implored.
"I understand, but first, tell me what the problem is," he urged with reassurance.
Ingrid looked downcast and hesitated. "I helped My Lady to tap into her source, but... we found nothing."
***
Chapter 136 : Betrayal of Conscience
Chapter 136
Betrayal of Conscience
Ingrid
Unknown to many, there was a reason for Lady Audrey''s recent silence. Apart from the Baroness herself, only Ingrid was privy to her training setbacks. Despite the initial promise shown in mastering skills like night vision and basic strengthening magic, it ultimately turned out to be false hope.
"Three nights ago, I assisted My Lady in trying to tap into her source, but we were unsuccessful. Since then, I''ve tried several methods, but..." Ingrid explained to Lord Lansius.
The Lord exhaled deeply, his posture straight, his face marked with a hint of worry. His slightly unkempt black hair lent him a somewhat brash appearance, belying his thoughtful demeanor. Turning to Lady Audrey, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Audrey, no matter what, mage or not, you''re still you¡ªthe same woman I fell in love with."
Ingrid blinked in surprise and looked away. Such a show of affection was uncommon. But she realized that it was probably a calculated move, as the Baroness, though still sulking, was no longer angry. Instead, the two shared an embrace.
Pouting, the Lady muttered, "You made me a Baroness, and I can''t even become your mage."
"You''re already more than a mage to me," he said with a smile.
"Liar," she responded softly. "Isolte trained me as a hunter, and I couldn''t even fend off a half-breed. I''m a failure."
"Hey, don''t say that." Lansius'' gentle gaze then caught Ingrid''s. He smiled and nodded at her, motioning that it was okay to leave Audrey to him. Ingrid quickly bowed her head and excused herself.
Upon leaving the tent, Ingrid felt an echo of her student''s frustration in her heart. The predicament was unheard of, yet not impossible. Back in her own tent, she left the second set of carpets untouched on the floor, in case the Lady wished to talk or attempt another session.
Sighing, Ingrid sat down, lost in thought.
Lady Audrey had demonstrated basic strengthening and night vision in combat, clear indicators of her gift of magic. Yet, it was now discovered that her source was empty, devoid of any mana flow. The revelation was devastating. Without the source, her mastery of the strengthening skill would be as useless as a fireplace without firewood.
That revelation was the one that turned the Lady emotional as Ingrid confirmed her fears: her magical potential had vanished.
Despite numerous attempts, Ingrid could detect only the normal amount of magic within the Lady¡¯s body.
Whatever magic potential Sir Morton and Ingrid had once seen was now gone. And without the source, it couldn''t be replenished.
Ingrid leaned against a wooden pole that supported the tent, feeling a pang of guilt. She had praised the Lady, assuring her she was one of her talented students, but it had turned out to be misleading.
After some time, Ingrid retrieved a silken pouch from her waist, revealing the gemstone of strength that the Lord had used on that fateful night.
Moved by his generosity as the host and her guilt towards the Lady, Ingrid began channeling magic into the gemstone. An expert like her required no incantation, but a mental command. The mana then flowed from her source into the stone.
She could feel the stone was ancient and dwarven-made. Unlike the gemstone of light which was younger and less intricate, this ancient gem was reluctant to accept her magic. Like a picky eater toddler, the gemstone would only occasionally take a nibble or two before refusing more. It was the mage''s duty to harmonize her magic, coaxing the gem to accept more.
The process was mentally exhausting, akin to nurturing a plant. Slowly, the monotony overwhelmed her, and her thoughts drifted.
Could it be that the Lady had so little source that she had used it all in that fight without realizing it?
Ingrid had yet to shake off that train of thought when a sharp sting disrupted her concentration. The gemstone, which had just begun to nibble at her mana, now fell silent.
She groaned in frustration. Her thoughts had been so focused on the Lady that she overlooked her own burgeoning issue. For several days, she had noticed that using magic had become difficult and sometimes painful. Initially, she thought it was just fatigue from continuous travel by carriage, as they were on the march. Yet now, she felt suspicious that there might be another cause.
Have I reached my limit...?
In regards to the magic source, there were two schools of thought. One maintained that the source was finite, and thus one could only use what was available. The adherents of this belief discouraged unnecessary, constant, or frequent usage of magic, fearing it would deplete the source.
While they agreed that the source could replenish, they viewed it as too small to be relied upon. This perspective was widely accepted, as it accounted for why older mages lost their ability to use magic, suggesting they had exhausted their finite source.
Interestingly, though not widely known, a mage could tap into an alternative source. However, this path was rarely taken due to the intricate and obscure art of identifying the perfect location for a new source and executing the process. Not just any ancient forest or cave qualified as a source, and suitability possibly varied from one individual to another.
This knowledge was a nearly forgotten art, likely retained only by the grand progenitors or elves who had honed their magical skills long before humans. With that in mind, Ingrid decided not to pursue this path, fearing she might give the Lady another false hope. She had never heard of anyone, not even the wise mages who taught her, ever performed a source transfer. Reflecting on her mentors made Ingrid think about her own journey.
She had been in the east of Lowlandia for several years on a personal errand, traveling from towns to villages in search of affordable land for her retirement, as well as looking for talented children with gifts. Fortune had led her to be assigned as Lady Audrey''s tutor, but now, her own gift had begun to wane.
As she allowed her mind to wander, her thoughts unexpectedly drifted to the Lady''s golden eyes. The sight, both mesmerizing and unnerving, still sent shivers down her spine. To Ingrid, it was a breathtaking display of raw magic, one she feared she might never witness again.
***
Lansius
The results of Audrey''s mage training were still a shock. Although she had come to accept the results, a lingering sense of disappointment shadowed her. Becoming a mage meant growing closer to her master, Isolte¡ªa dream of hers. Yet now, that dream had turned into a tangled mess. She even suspected that Isolte might have taught her incorrectly, which could explain why her subsequent training with Ingrid was fruitless.
As of now, Audrey could only use whatever remained of her magical potential, which she believed to be small and stagnant.
"A laughable situation," she openly mocked herself as they sat in their private quarters, sharing salty snacks while waiting for supper. "A mage without a source. A wick without a candle."
Lansius chuckled. Their relationship had changed since their marriage. Audrey now was more comfortable showing her vulnerable side, trusting that Lansius wouldn''t be offended or treat her wrongly. Thus, she could act this way when they were alone.
"Why the laughter?" she looked at him, judging.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"Because you look cute," he said gently.
"Hmph, flattery."
Lansius smiled. "So, what did Ingrid say about this?"
"Well, she tried to convince me that as long as one was born with a source, there should be a way."
"So, there''s another method?" he asked, eating some dried fruits that tasted like raisins.
"There''s one, but it''s expensive."
The answer surprised him. "What method?"
"To use a gemstone like yours as an alternate source. But it''ll be costly and last only for a fraction of the time," she explained.
"How about if you use mine?" Lansius offered without hesitation.
"No." Audrey shook her head, then gazed at him seriously. "You''ll need it. You almost didn''t make it," she said, her voice nearly choked with emotion.
Lansius chose not to argue; he, too, understood that he had almost not made it. Even now, his bruises had yet to heal completely. Without the magic in the gemstone, which had amplified his strength and likely toughened his bones and muscles, he would surely have perished.
Feeling the thirst in his throat, he poured water into two silver goblets and offered one to her.
Audrey accepted the goblet and drank from it. Afterward, she changed the subject, "Since I have no source, I can only wait for my body to somehow accumulate enough potential. It''s probably going to take a lot of time, if it''s even possible."
Lansius nodded and suggested, "Drey, think of it this way. Becoming a mage is just a bonus. You''re already a Baroness, and you can employ a mage if you wish."
"We should get a mage," she replied without hesitation. "I can''t imagine summer in the castle without one."
"How come my warrior wife became so spoiled?" he teased.
Audrey pouted, rose from her seat to approach him, and then sat on his lap. "My Lord, you''re the one responsible for turning this squire into a spoiled damsel."
"No regrets," Lansius declared, picking a wild berry from a platter and bringing it to her lips. She took it, munched on the berry, and unexpectedly kissed him.
"That tasted different," he commented afterward, while Audrey rose, giggling and reaching for her goblet.
"You know what?" Lansius mused aloud. "I think you should give it more chance. A mentor is hard to come by and perhaps she could try something." He paused before adding, "Don''t set expectations lest you be hurt, but do make an effort. No reason not to anyway."
Audrey nodded at his advice but responded with a challenge, "I''ll do it if you snap out of your worries."
Lansius met her gaze. "My worries...?"
She shook her head in disbelief. "Oh husband, I''m your wife. I see it clearly, like watching a fine horse among ponies."
"Hang on. What am I worried about?" he asked, curious.
"Nicopola," she declared. "You''re troubled that the right way is to venture into the province, liberate the land, and rush to make it grow food before famine kills what remains of the people in there."
Lansius was taken aback, scratched his head, and asked, "Who told you that? Servius?"
Audrey crossed her arms and looked smug. "Did I guess it right?"
He stared at the small table, adorned with plates of dried fruit and wildberries, softened biscuits, and goblets of water. "Sometimes I forget how keen and sharp your intuition is."
"Of course, it''s sharp. I''ve won several battles with it," she retorted proudly.
Lansius recalled how her column had won against Sergio in Korimor and how her cavalry always exceeded expectations.
"Lans," she called him softly. "Even if you don''t trust yourself, there''s me and others whose counsel you can trust."
He nodded at her advice.
She continued, "We''ve come far. Our army is intact. Our supplies are intact. And Umberland, while being shady, probably can be trusted, or at least our goals are aligned."
Lansius still refrained from giving a response.
Audrey knelt, gently grasped his hands, and gazed into his eyes, saying, "Nicopola is ripe for the taking."
Lansius looked to the side, mulling, "Drey, all I hear is greed."
"It may be. Blame it on me. But this is not about chance. It''s bigger than greed."
Her words piqued his interest. "What do you mean?"
"It''s not about seizing an opportunity; it''s about doing good."
"Even a well-intentioned act can be damaging in the long run for both parties. If we move to Nicopola and occupy the region, they might welcome us for a year or two, but after that, they''ll want their land back. We don''t have--"
"That bald Gottfried took Arvena without any pretext," she argued passionately.
"Rumored to be bald, Gottfried, and he has a pretext... that is to..." Lansius fell into deep contemplation.
Audrey watched with anticipation, giving him the time he needed to think.
"I don''t remember exactly, but isn''t it something along the lines of intervening to stop conflict?"
"A bogus and lousy one if you ask me," she quipped.
Lansius chuckled but remarked, "If I use the same lousy pretext to invade Nicopola, then what''s the difference between me and Gottfried?"
Audrey sighed and quoted, "In times of great moral crisis, neutrality is a betrayal of conscience."
Hearing that, Lansius was stunned. He had heard a similar adage before. "Did Ingrid teach you this?"
Instead of answering, she grinned and replied proudly, "No, I read it in a book. So, indeed, the way to conquer you lies within the pages." Her expression turned smug.
Lansius chuckled and exhaled deeply before confiding in her, "I refuse to become an enabler of greed, but I''ll listen to counsel. Let''s reconvene tomorrow morning."
***
The next day, as the sun rose above the mountains in the east, the guards who kept watch on the shallow river crossing spotted silhouettes approaching. He immediately sent a man to alert the camp. As the silhouettes grew nearer, the guards paled; it was clear that groups of half-beasts were marching toward them.
Suddenly, their cheval de frise barricade seemed grossly inadequate. The guardsmen found a sliver of consolation in the presence of a small column of armed men and officers on horseback, alongside the half-beasts. Their presence made the approaching group look less dangerous.
The groups of half-breeds and humans marched in an orderly manner, their banner clearly marking the heraldry of Umberland.
"Halt, this is the encampment of the Lord of Korelia," one of the captains shouted, as a hundred more allies poured in from their camp, weapons in hand.
"Salut! We are here under orders from the Lord of Umberland to escort a guest and deliver a letter," one of the half-breeds, clad in ringmail and wielding a glaive, responded with dignity.
...
Against the Lord''s expectations, in the morning he was greeted by an envoy escorted by half-breeds and humans who patiently waited a distance away from the command tent. Despite recent developments and the alliance, many were still nervous about being near half-breeds.
As the Lord and Lady were preparing themselves, the lone guest waited, standing tall and comfortably as if a sentry. She was among the younger of the half-breed bloodline in Umberland. Her ancestors were third-generation half-breeds who remained as slaves in Nicopola long after the rest of their kind had disappeared from the region.
Even when owning half-beasts became unacceptable and was seen as perversion, many in power still kept them as exotic mates. Humans in this world, blessed with mutated genes passed down from the ancients, could produce offspring with another race. Unfortunately, this ability was seen as a sign of their virility, thus the practice remained popular among certain groups.
However, being a noble was not always a rose garden. Even before the era of hardship that began a century ago, many houses had fallen into financial trouble and thus needed to sell the poor creatures away.
The guest''s ancestors were among the lucky ones who did not wear the eastern kingdoms'' collars. Their human brothers and sisters learned about the Kae monastery, and the half-breeds were quietly smuggled into Umberland.
Her ancestors were of the third generation, who could speak as fluently as humans, but the guest belonged to the sixth generation. This generational count was determined only by the number of human lineages she possessed. After four or five generations of human parents, the half-breeds developed an intellect almost indistinguishable from that of humans, while retaining some of the beastmen''s physical features.
At a glance, to humans, the guest appeared indistinguishable from Lord Beatrix, sharing a similarly wolfish face. However, her eyes radiated a certain youthfulness.
A squire came out and without a fanfare escorted the guest into the command tent, where she spotted the Lord and Lady along with their command staff.
The half-breed politely offered a sealed letter, which Sterling took and delivered to Lansius, who then read:
The Lord instructed me to write this introduction letter. The half-breed in your presence does not have a human name, and her native name cannot be transcribed using common words. She is interested in one of your gallant knights, Sir Harold, and would be honored to serve as a fighter, scout, cook, or even, in her own word, as a warm blanket.
The Lord deemed this arrangement fitting and has agreed to her request. Please do not misinterpret our intentions. We simply wish to offer a warrior who desires to serve under your command. May her prowess be a valuable asset in your endeavors, and may the experience enrich her tribe upon her return.
May you always enjoy good health and favorable weather. And may the friendship between our Houses remain strong and truthful.
Lansius handed the letter to his wife, who immediately perused it. She looked calmer upon seeing Sir Harold mentioned in the letter.
"It''s said that you wish to serve as Sir Harold''s fighter companion," Lansius asked the guest.
"Indeed, My Lord," the half-breed answered firmly.
Every eye turned to Sir Harold, who cleared his throat but remained stoic as he responded, "I don¡¯t recall granting the Lord of Umberland any favors."
"To be given such a lavish gift so shortly after a discussion smells of treason, my good sir," Sterling jested.
"And you must be my chief enabler, boy. I''ll be sure to drag you down with me, just in case," the tall knight retorted.
Everyone chuckled at their banter, even the half-breed.
Observing her, Sir Harold commented, "I don¡¯t remember seeing you among the attendees. How do you know me?"
"I saw you from atop the battlements," her maw formed what appeared to be a smile.
Sir Harold''s gaze met Lord Lansius'', who then gestured for him to continue. Turning back to the guest, Sir Harold asked, "Do you have issues with humans or Nicopolans?"
"Only if they have problems with me," she said forthrightly.
Most people in the room nodded, deeming the answer somewhat fair.
Servius, who had been silent, stepped forward and asked boldly, "Do you see me as a threat?"
The half-breed locked gaze with the old condottiere. "You have a distinct smell, just like the rest of this army, but as far as I''m aware, I have no issue with anyone here."
"And what about the Nicopolans at the ancient bulwark?" Servius pressed on.
Instead of answering, she challenged nonchalantly, "What about them? They shouldn¡¯t pose a threat."
Her answer drew everyone''s attention, so she clarified, "The plague. They fell victim to a plague."
***
Chapter 137 : Shifting Fronts
Chapter 137
Shifting Fronts
Acting upon the guest''s latest information, Lord Lansius sent Dietrich with his fastest riders as scouts to the bulwark. Guided by an Umberland rider, they quickly departed. Meanwhile, the discussion in the tent continued.
"Tell me, why are there half-beasts that look like you and Lord Beatrix, but also some who appear larger and more beast-like?" Sir Harold asked.
The guest answered cheerfully, "Indeed, half-breeds like us vary in appearance depending on our human parentage. My Lord Beatrix and I have at least six human ancestors, thus we''re more akin to humans. Meanwhile, those with fewer than three human ancestors display more pronounced beastmen features."
Sir Harold nodded, while Lansius and Audrey merely observed without reaction.
The guest elaborated, "We usually don''t keep many of them around. We cull them when necessary."
"Cull?" Sir Harold echoed, voicing the room''s surprise.
"Yes," she answered clearly. "It might sound cruel to humans, as you never harm your offspring, but we mate much earlier than humans do, and in greater numbers per birth. Thus, if we''re not careful with the larger males, there could be unfortunate tensions and conflict among the tribes."
There were hesitant nods among Lord Lansius'' staff. The Lord himself began to understand Lord Beatrix''s motive in agreeing to send the guest to him. Though they named her a warrior, her speech revealed her capability as an ambassador for her kin.
Mistaking his gaze, the guest ventured, "My Lord, contrary to popular belief, we don''t hate humans more than we hate beastmen or other half-breeds."
Lord Lansius offered a stiff smile and decided to entertain her words, "And what''s the reason for that?"
"Our ancestors learned from captured beastmen about the situation within the confederacy. It''s cruel and savage, ruled solely by the strongest. Everyone is a slave to the chieftain."
"The rule of the strongest..." Lord Lansius mused. "But it''s the same everywhere. We humans have our nobility. Also, in the past, humans did enslave your kin. Is there no resentment?"
The guest replied without hesitation, "My grandmother and mother were born free. Our ancestors didn''t speak badly of all humans, just those who mistreated our kin. We also have old Kae''s words for guidance."
Sir Harold, intrigued, decided to ask, "The Steward claimed that there''s very little crime involving half-breeds among humans. Is this true?"
"It appears so. Rest assured, we don''t attack unless someone we hold dear is harmed, or we are in deep hunger," she added the last part as a jest, chuckling despite the others'' unsure reactions.
"Interesting," Lord Lansius commented. "Is there anything else we should know about your kin?"
"Not that I can recall. Oh, we do have a concept of marriage, but it''s seasonal," she said, locking eyes with Sir Harold with a taunting grin. "But I don''t mind human marriage. Some have found happiness in it."
Sterling swallowed, while Servius grinned. But the knight remained calm, "The Lord of Umberland offered me a warrior, and I intend to accept a warrior, nothing more. That is, if my Lord and Lady give their permission," Sir Harold replied diplomatically.
The guest then turned to Lord Lansius, who answered, "We need time to think. It''s best if you and your escorts take some rest. Is there anything else you wish to say?"
"Just one thing." She bowed her head slightly. "I don''t have a human name, so you must name me."
"That will come if we accept your service," Lord Lansius countered, buying time to avoid any unnecessary issues.
***
Lansius
Dietrich returned to the Lord¡¯s encampment after midday. He found the Lord and Lady with their staff, but the half-breed guest was absent. Without delay, he greeted them, "My Lord, My Lady¡ª"
Observing the sweat and dust on Dietrich''s face, Lansius offered him a goblet of water, which he eagerly accepted and drank in one gulp. "Gratitude, My Lord."
Lansius nodded and said calmly, "Give your report when you''re ready."
"The Nicopolans at the bulwark have indeed contracted a severe plague. Hundreds are weakened, lying on the battlements and near the gates. They even begged us for help upon seeing us."
Lansius exchanged glances with Audrey and their command staff.
Servius was lost in thought, while Sir Harold couldn''t help but smile at the report. Before anyone could voice their thoughts, Dietrich added, "After a brief discussion, they agreed to surrender."
Lansius was shocked and stared at Dietrich. "You speak the truth?"
"Only the truth, My Lord," Dietrich replied confidently, with a mirthful smile on his lips.
Sir Harold chuckled, while Audrey appeared skeptical. Meanwhile, Servius cautioned, "My Lord, it could be a trap."
"Come now, Servius. Can¡¯t you show a bit of trust in these Nicopolans?" Sir Harold teased.
Yet, the Nicopolan condottiere remained unmoved, and Lansius shared his caution. "Dietrich, what convinced you that the plague is real?"
"The smells," the expert rider explained, "even from afar, the air reeked badly. There¡¯s a putrid stench from vomit and... other waste."
Lansius stroked his chin, realizing the Nicopolans had been holding out in the bulwark for possibly weeks. Due to fear of beastmen, they had literally barricaded themselves inside. "Why don''t they retreat if the situation is that bad?" he wondered.
"They said they also saw beastmen prowling on the other side, coming from the mountains."
Lansius turned to Audrey for her opinion, and she said, "The half-breed must''ve found another route to bypass the bulwark, or the bulwark is in such bad shape that it could be easily bypassed."
Looking at Dietrich, Lansius asked, "What about the Umberland men with you? What''s their take on the Nicopolans'' surrender?"
"Well," he pondered briefly, "much of the bulwark''s interior is in disrepair and couldn''t comfortably accommodate a large number of people."
"Meaning it''s probably poorly cleaned and also using unclean drinking water." Lansius then looked at Sterling and said, "Go to our guest and politely ask for someone who had been posted at the bulwark."
"At once." Sterling promptly left the tent.
Audrey looked at Sir Harold and quipped, "So, what will you call her?"
The knight scratched his head. "I''m at a loss, My Lady. We''d be honored if you could choose a name for her."
She shook her head. "I don''t want to cause a political issue if I pick the wrong name."
Sir Harold grinned, then looked at Servius. "Any suggestions?"
"You''re jesting, right? I doubt she''ll want a Nicopolan name," he replied in disbelief.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Good point," the knight conceded.
Audrey looked at Lansius, who only shrugged before commenting, "We might be overthinking this. Yes, she could be a spy, and yes, she may be looking for a way to assassinate us. But it''s also possible she''s merely an ambassador for her kin."
Audrey nodded but didn''t comment, hinting that she was unsure.
"Servius, give me counsel," Lansius asked.
"Well," the older gentleman thought briefly and said, "If it were someone else, I''d be worried, but since it''s Sir Harold, it should be fine."
Sir Harold shook his head. "You think too highly of me. She could definitely kill me in my sleep."
Servius¡¯ expression was a mix of jest and earnestness. "Just make sure to put up a fight, and make it loud. That way, we¡¯ll know if you¡¯re in trouble."
"Judging from her claw and her fangs, help might come too late," the knight concluded with a sigh.
"It might be too late for you, but at least I can save our Lord and Lady," Servius quipped.
Sir Harold laughed and slapped his comrade''s arm, prompting laughter in return.
Once the laughter had subsided, Lansius asked, "So, how should we proceed with this offer?"
¡°From a knight¡¯s standpoint, declining a host¡¯s offer is a delicate matter, particularly when it¡¯s as thoughtfully presented as this one. When an important host offered a warrior, it would be unbecoming of me to refuse. Moreover, she even requested a name,¡± Sir Harold explained.
Servius added, "Rejecting the offer might dishonor them, or worse, provide a pretext for betrayal."
Audrey unexpectedly offered a different perspective. ¡°Even men displayed certain tendencies when thinking of betrayal. For a half-beast, such signs should be even more apparent. Their animalistic nature could betray them.¡±
"How can you be so sure?" Lansius asked.
"I observed that their claws come out by instinct, as do their fangs. They also seem to speak openly and trust more readily."
Lansius exchanged glances with his staff, and Servius, with a hint of bitterness, conceded, "True. Humans are likely better liars. I trusted a man like Sergio once, so I¡¯m in no position to judge a man, much less a half-human."
Eying Sir Harold, Lansius said, "Sir, ultimately it''s your decision. A refusal might have implications, but I''m willing to shoulder them rather than risk your life."
The knight grinned. "My Lord, all this worrying is merely a mental exercise. As for me, I plan to use her as a sparring partner. Regardless of their motives, it¡¯s always beneficial to be adept at fighting them."
Hearing such a confident answer, Audrey nodded at Lansius, who also agreed and declared, "Then it''s settled. We''ll accept her into our ranks. As for the name..."
"I''ll decide in a day or two. I''ll consult with the Umberland men so I can have someone to blame from their side," the knight made a sly grin.
Lansius gave a thumbs-up to show his approval.
...
Shortly after, Sterling returned with an old man who had a thin grey beard, wore a matching grey doublet, and had a scar across his chin.
"My Lord, this man has served at the bulwark for several years," Sterling introduced the man from Umberland.
"My Lord," the man greeted, "I¡¯ve served at the bulwark intermittently for over ten years."
"Tell me, where does the garrison usually find clean water when stationed at the bulwark?" Lansius asked, leaning forward in his seat.
"There are wells inside the bulwark, but we prefer to find a creek outside to refill our waterskins."
"Is the well water not good?"
"It appears clean, but it always has a suspicious smell, especially in the summer. Hence, we use it only for cleaning our gear, not for drinking."
Lansius nodded. "What about the latrine? Does it have adequate facilities inside?"
"My Lord, there is indeed a fancy stone latrine, but it''s older than Umberland and never seems to work. No noble ever thought to fix it since the problem was buried deep within the heavy stone flooring. So, we resort to using buckets. It works, too, since we don''t need to clean the place as often."
"Is there ever any case of plague spreading?"
The man seemed to mull over something. "Rashes, mites, and lice, but nothing too serious."
Lansius didn''t expect such an answer. "How many men are usually in a garrison?"
"Small, My Lord. It should be fifty, but only around twenty actually sleep in the bulwark. The rest are cavalry patrols who come at intervals."
Lansius was surprised, turning to Dietrich. "Isn''t the bulwark quite lengthy?"
"It is, My Lord," Dietrich confirmed.
"Then how come you only have so few men as a garrison?" Lansius returned to the Umberland man.
"My Lord, nobody cares about the mountain pass. I believe smugglers use their own secret route from Nicopola directly to Three Hills. That''s what makes money. Meanwhile, Umberland is a small city in the mountains. Nobody likes to venture here, and we like it that way," he answered honestly with a smile.
Lansius made a mental note to investigate these smugglers. He had heard about them, but since they only smuggled exotic goods and not people, he had put them low on his risk scale. He considered them unlikely to smuggle an army. "Do you have a weapon arsenal inside?"
"Old, rusted weapons that we''ve tried in vain to maintain. Most are older than my grandfather."
"How about crossbows?"
"We have five crossbowmen, but they didn''t keep any in the bulwark."
Lansius began to see just how deserted this outpost, the bulwark, was. "Tell me, what do you think will happen if several hundred people stayed inside the bulwark for months without being able to venture out?"
The man took his time to ponder. "Feeding them would be the biggest issue. But I pity those who drink or use that well water for cooking. Worse, I doubt there''s enough sleeping space since the rest of the bulwark that penetrates the mountain is sealed by stone doors, and the key has long been lost or kept by the Lord."
Lansius exhaled. Now, he was certain that the Nicopolans likely fell victim to waterborne pathogens from contaminated wells, cholera, or dysentery from poor hygiene. With no dedicated facilities for clean and dirty water, contamination was likely. And it only took one person to spread disease to the rest since soap and handwashing weren''t common practices, especially for war refugees.
He recalled that the number one killer on the battlefield was not from weapons, but poor sanitation. The primary cause was water contamination; as camps were packed tightly to provide security, they tended to overwhelm the clean water source with waste. Not to mention the issues with unsterilized knives used for bloodletting and operations.
While Lansius took some time to ponder, Audrey took the reins. "Dietrich, are they well-armed?"
"Helmets, gambesons, ringmails, likely stolen, as well as poleaxes," Dietrich recalled.
"How about crossbowmen on the battlements?"
"We have no sightings of them, My Lady."
"Another question," Audrey said. "Is their condition really that bad?"
"Not many could move around freely," Dietrich replied. "They look weak and seem to struggle to even appear threatening."
His words prompted the staff to nod. Audrey continued, "Do we know their numbers?"
"Unfortunately, they refused to disclose their number, but we estimate at least two hundred."
She peeked at Lansius, who merely observed. Then she asked the most crucial question, "What about the terms? Did they ask for anything?"
"They asked for medicine and food in exchange for the bulwark."
"So, not a total surrender," Audrey muttered.
"Such is the case," Dietrich confirmed.
Lansius rose, gathering everyone''s attention, and declared, "Get the dragoons ready. We''ll march today. And prepare for a night battle."
***
While his dragoons were preparing for departure, Lansius summoned his corps of scribes and bookkeepers, then gathered the Nicopolans and camp followers. Despite having no preparation for a speech, recent developments forced him to accelerate his plans.
Without using a herald, Lansius appeared before the assembled crowd of a few hundred people in the village square, who greeted him in unison, "My Lord."
With an array of grinning and smiling faces before him, Lansius addressed them casually, "Gentlemen. Many of you might be thinking about our current situation, pondering the war and famine, where to winter, and whether you''ll be fighting another battle in Nicopola. Well, fear not, for you have arrived at your destination."
A murmur of disbelief swept through the crowd, but Lansius pressed forward, "Five hundred of you, along with your families, may start living in this village. Food will be provided until you can harvest your first winter crops."
The crowd''s reaction slowly turned to ecstatic cheers upon realizing they were essentially being offered houses and lands.
"A similar number may settle in the two adjacent villages. However, this offer of house and land isn''t free," Lansius continued, prompting laughter at the notion.
"You have traveled with me to South Hill and toiled in Umberland, but that''s hardly comparable to what my veterans have endured. Thus, I wanted two things from you: First, to farm both winter and summer crops. Your battle will be against famine, and many lives, including your family, will depend on your labor."
The crowd nodded in agreement, many taking the order to heart.
"Secondly, help protect this borrowed land. You might not know this, but the Lord of Umberland has offered a deal: if any of you wish to continue living here, she''ll accept you as her people. So, when the time comes, kindly pay the Lord of Umberland her due and her taxes. But for now, pay it to me¡ªin white grains or brown grains."
Lansius noted the good reactions and gratitude on the crowd''s faces. Without wasting time, he continued as the horses were arrayed and Audrey had reappeared in ringmail. "The details of which house or land you''ll be assigned will be determined by my staff. Mind the word, ''assigned.'' I''ll entertain no complaints about the land or housing. If it doesn¡¯t meet your expectations, feel free to join me on the next campaign."
This elicited chuckles from the crowd.
"Lastly, my staff will have the authority to maintain order, call for training, rotate guard duty, and maintain a military presence in the area. So, it might resemble more of a military camp than a normal rural village, but remember, we''re still on the verge of a crisis, so complacency is not an option."
The people who surrounded him eagerly offered nods of understanding, signaling their readiness to comply.
Lansius gave another look toward the Nicopolans he had fought and shown mercy to on the plains of Korimor. Unlike then, their eyes now showed hope and even a sparkle of admiration. These were the same people who had toiled hard on the farms of South Hill. "Men," he called in a warmer tone, "it just occurred to me that this might be the last time I gather you all again like this. Let it be known that I''m grateful for all your work and your trust in me."
His tone and words changed the atmosphere. Many were moved by the appreciative words. He continued, "It''s an honor to have you as part of my House. Now, I entrust this land to you. Make it grow, make it serve a purpose."
The Nicopolans, upon hearing these unexpected words, felt touched, and many had tears in their eyes. "Gratitude, My Lord, for your leadership," one shouted.
"Hail, the Lord of Korelia!" another reacted, and many more echoed.
Lansius allowed them a moment to show their appreciation before ending with, "Brothers in arms, you''re dismissed. May we meet again in better times."
With everything settled and tears dried, Lansius hastened with the dragoons toward the gate of Nicopola. Sir Harold would serve as his rear guard, alongside the vanguard and the ever crucial baggage train.
***
Chapter 138 : Clear Clouds, Lurking Shadows
Chapter 138
Clear Clouds, Lurking Shadows
Umberland Mountain Pass
After an hour of riding along a rather expansive mountain path, Lansius found himself greeted by a peak where Dietrich paused, turning to the Lord and Lady with a proposal. "My Lord, Lady, would you care to take a moment for a view from above?" he asked.
It was a minor detour from their intended route, yet Lansius, recognizing the strategic value of a bird''s eye view, agreed without hesitation.
The Lord and Lady, along with a small entourage, veered off the main path. Due to the boulders, they dismounted and proceeded on foot. The guards went ahead to secure the area, while Audrey initiated a conversation, "You sure treat those men well. A house and land."
"Well, somebody needs to grow crops. And according to the records, they''re the best we''ve got," Lansius explained, holding her hands firmly since the rocky path could be slippery with moss.
"Is that why the scribes have been so busy?"
"Yes, they''ve been poring over the records, compiling a list."
She reflected, "Five hundred names is quite the list."
"Indeed. And there are several hundred more for the other two villages."
"How are they selected?" she asked as a strong wind buffeted them.
"It''s based on their farming knowledge, their work in South Hill, and whether they have families following as camp followers."
Audrey nodded. "And for the rest of the men? What will you offer them?"
Lansius smiled. "What do you think?"
"Money?" she ventured.
"That or a bit of land, though not in Umberland, as it''s not mine to give."
They descended steps into an opening that provided a clear view of the land below.
Ahead, Dietrich''s pace quickened until he reached a prime vantage point. "We''re fortunate," he exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. "This morning, clouds obscured the view, but now, the skies have graced us with clarity."
Before them, the landscape unfolded like a vast tapestry. To the east was Elandia, its lands a vibrant mix of lush green and dark olives.
"It looks serene and beautiful," Audrey remarked, her hazelnut eyes shining with radiance.
"No conflict, no hunger, no wars," Lansius added.
One Umberland man drew their attention by pointing his hand toward the west and declared, "My Lord and Lady, Nicopola."
The horizon to the west was a complex mosaic of squares¡ªpatches of farmland, clusters of villages, and the distant silhouette of towns and, perhaps, cities. There were rivers that sparkled against the sunlight. The cold mountain wind breezing past them completed the picture.
Lansius, with a strategic eye, surveyed the expanse, noting the key positions, the lay of the land, and how it could potentially influence military decisions.
"It''s even more beautiful," Audrey observed from beside him.
"Have you ever visited there?" Lansius asked.
"Unfortunately, no. My master and I frequented Elandia, but never Nicopola."
Lansius took a moment to appreciate the sheer majesty of the surroundings. From this height, there were no markings of troubled years and chaos.
As the moment passed, he turned back, signaling it was time to continue their march.
...
They returned to the mountain path. Carla, insisting on joining, was ready with Audrey''s ringmail. As agreed, she would wear it instead of the plate armor that was deemed too constrictive. Meanwhile, the ringmail was easily adjusted for comfort.
The entourage''s return was unexpectedly greeted by Servius and a crowd of men, the Dragoons from Nicopola, who had unintentionally blocked the way.
Seeing this, the men from Lowlandia under Dietrich quickly formed a human barricade, anticipating trouble. However, the crowd greeted them, "My Lord, My Lady," and then knelt to show they meant no harm.
Servius, with one knee on the rocky ground, pleaded passionately, "My Lord, you''ve seen Nicopola, my birthplace, the cradle of my ancestors. Won''t you guide the province and save its people?"
"Servius, this issue again?" Lansius sighed. He wanted to rebuke the man but noticed even Audrey gave him a look.
"So, you also subscribe to this idea?" he muttered, hinting at his disappointment.
"Lans, call me a naive squire, but I know this is bigger than mere greed," she argued.
"Does nobody here feel that we''re becoming reckless?" Lansius raised his voice, posing the question to his men and entourage. "We just united Lowlandia, and now we''re going to risk it all for some adventurous ideas."
Audrey didn''t respond, prompting Servius to voice his concern, "My Lord, if we remain idle, more people will die. Yet, you have the power to turn the situation around."
"Servius, you''re aware of my limitations. I cannot take on two provinces and expect to govern both. My staff is stretched thin, lacking adequate provisions and talent."
"We could ration until the next harvest," pleaded one of the Nicopolans.
Another stepped forward. "We have good talents in Nicopola, My Lord. You need only to save them."
"They''ll be loyal, My Lord," a third one spoke up, followed by a chorus of agreement.
"If My Lord is still troubled by the lack of an ally, then allow me to ride now. I''ll go west and won''t return until I can secure an alliance with the Lord of Dawn," Servius suggested.
"Are you out of your mind? We have yet to see if the bulwark truly surrenders, and nobody knows the latest situation in Nicopola," he tried to talk sense but looked around and saw the people remained hopeful. Everyone seemed to support this movement. Not even the Lowlandians were against it.
Aghast at the reaction, Lansius asked Servius, "What makes you think I''m capable of saving Nicopola?"
"Your capability is beyond doubt, My Lord. Korimor, South Hill, and we''re even now learning about how you thwarted a coup in Three Hills. Your acumen alone is proof enough and your generosity is well known."
"I gave the houses and farms so they could provide food for the bulwark. My intent was only to seal the mountain pass, not to venture beyond that," Lansius clarified. "If I venture there, then many more will die, and there''s no guarantee I''ll be able to help."
Servius'' response was to open his arms wide, saying, "Most of my men have lost so much. What difference do more deaths among us make? What bothers us is losing our birthplace forever."
Hearing him, the men eagerly nodded.
"You can always return in better times," Lansius calmly argued.
"But by then, different warlords will occupy the land. Another Sergio or even worse could emerge. Now is the time, My Lord. Conquer it. Take part of the province, and we''ll be loyal to you."
At that notion, the men cried in unison, begging the Lord to consent to their wishes and demands. So much so that Lansius was overwhelmed. He never expected to witness such unwavering commitment from his men.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
While he knew it was fueled by material reasons, he understood there were other motives, something beyond glory or gold.
Land is more than just a place to live; it''s also the heart of a culture and a way of life. He recalled, realizing that for these men, the land was worth more than he could possibly imagine.
Audrey came into view, her expression serious. "I pity them, but I''ll obey your decision." Her hand rested on her hilt. "We''re on the march, and time is fleeting. Say the word, and I''ll bring them to order."
Dietrich''s men moved forward, attempting to disperse the crowd, but the Nicopolans unexpectedly drew their swords.
Tension hung thick in the air as Dietrich''s men also reached for their blades in response.
"Everyone, hold! Calm down!" Servius warned.
"Enough!" Lansius echoed. The standoff paused, all eyes on him as he walked past Dietrich and his men toward Servius. "Brothers against brothers," he openly rebuked them before pulling Servius to his feet.
"My Lord," Servius rose with anxiety and regret, knowing they had almost clashed.
"Servius, let''s make our decision after we secure the mountain pass. We also need the latest information on Nicopola. I refuse to commit to anything blindly."
Lansius spoke with conviction, yet internally, he was in turmoil. He had unwittingly walked into a possible mutiny without any prior suspicion. This failure made him question his judgment. He realized he had significantly miscalculated and even probably misplaced his trust.
As he stood there, supervising his men to return to their marches, Lansius continued to grapple with an internal crisis. He saw that the motivations of the Nicopolans had shifted. Initially content with food and surviving the winter, they now, in Lansius'' eyes, appeared greedy, desiring to retake a portion of their home province.
Lansius had thought he could trust them, especially the men under Servius, whom he had better armed as a precaution against the more numerous Nicopolans from other factions. But now, they were the ones pushing to return.
He just couldn¡¯t believe it. Instead of valuing the safety in Lowlandia, these people were willing to risk everything to return to Nicopola. This was certainly a serious issue since the sheer number of Nicopolans in his army could overpower his loyal Lowlandians. Even a portion of his Dragoons were of Nicopolan origin.
Only now was Lansius acutely aware of the precariousness of his position. In the event of a mutiny, they could take him or Audrey hostage, demanding their support along with the baggage train and supplies for their return to Nicopola. It would be a disaster for his House and a blow to his Grand Alliance.
For now, there was nothing he could do but try to find a solution and maintain control. However, he wasn''t infallible.
The way Servius and his men conducted themselves had made Lansius lose his trust. Distrust began to gnaw at his heart and cloud his judgment.
***
Ancient Bulwark
While the situation with his own troops was still tense, beyond everyone''s wildest expectations, the Nicopolans in the bulwark surrendered without a fight. They saw hundreds of mounted cavalry and the blue and bronze banner, which they had learned to fear from survivors of the battle of Korimor, and lost their resolve.
Some even recognized Servius as a free legion commander, thus there was more trust between the two sides, who had never actually met in battle.
Unfortunately, this situation did not bode well for Lansius, who needed time to devise a solution. He understood that in the absence of a mutual enemy, the differing stances between him and Servius'' men could lead to an internal conflict.
Lansius did not wish for a purge and intended to solve the crisis before it escalated. However, he had yet to formulate a plan regarding their request. Worse, neither Sir Harold nor Sir Justin was here to give him counsel.
While he was deliberating, the troop''s physician went to the bulwark. After some time, he returned to report, "These men suffer from an excess of black bile, manifesting in foul, sometimes bloody, bodily waste. There are also those whose bodies are overrun with cold and damp humors, experiencing violent expulsions and the wasting away of the body''s heat."
Lansius, who knew next to nothing about the four humors and medieval medicine, asked, "Maester, can you confirm that this is a common malady and not something different?"
"Yes, My Lord. It''s a common and known malady, treatable by keeping them warm, consuming hot food, pepper, and if they''re strong enough, warm wine."
"No bloodletting?" Lansius needed to make sure.
"Only when there''s a high fever, My Lord."
Lansius nodded. "Then I entrust them to you."
Soon, he received word that the negotiation, handled mostly by Servius, proceeded smoothly in favor of the Blue and Bronze. The two hundred surrendering Nicopolans traded the bulwark for half rations and safety. Furthermore, they were directed to work as seasonal laborers in the three villages in western Umberland.
Putting his conflicted trust aside, Lansius provided the newly surrendered people with tents and instructed them to sleep outside, as the bulwark was deemed unsanitary. He ordered them to drink and cook using only boiled water and not to pollute the creek with waste. He also instructed them to wash and clean a good distance away from any water source, using buckets.
As promised, Lansius assured them that he had agreements with the beastmen, who, in reality, were half-breeds.
Regarding the bulwark, Lansius barred his men, except for a group he had hastily trained, from entering. This was easy to enforce, as the foul stench was overwhelming. They began their work of cleaning the site slowly but surely.
Based on new verbal reports, he also planned to recruit twenty Nicopolans who seemingly had recovered from the plague as helpers in the bulwark. In exchange for their service, he would give them full rations.
As sundown reached the mountain pass, the Lord returned to his tent, which was pitched some distance away. As a precaution, he had forbidden his troops from drinking raw water and from making contact with the plague-ridden party.
Once inside, Sterling brought in a messenger who informed him that the main army, along with the rear guard, was camped not too far from them. Sir Harold had even formed a contingent that continued to march, and they would join the Lord''s camp before midnight.
What Sir Harold did, without knowing their condition, had put Lansius into a corner. He had to decide soon before Servius and his men became suspicious or reacted poorly. However, he had no idea where to begin.
As Sterling escorted the messenger out, he glanced at the open entrance of the tent, which framed the bulwark against the setting sun in the distance. He grabbed a chair, went outside near the tent entrance, and just sat there, staring at the imposing bulwark.
The noise from the camp, busying themselves for supper, provided a comforting background that helped calm him. Soon, glowing orange lights from lanterns beneath the battlements illuminated the narrow windows, making a section of the wall seem to come alive. It was then that Audrey returned and found Lansius sitting outside.
She briefly questioned the guards, but they only shook their heads.
Lansius paid no mind. Audrey finally walked up to his side to see what had captured his attention.
"Life is funny," he mused, craving something strong to drink. "I thought I was going to spill the blood of hundreds just to secure Umberland and that wall. But as it turns out, I almost got it for free."
"Then you should be happy," she remarked plainly while looking ready to accept a rebuttal.
"On the contrary, I''m not feeling happy." Lansius snorted. "It''s odd¡ªI''ve secured the mountain pass, the very objective I set out to achieve. But why do I feel... undone?"
"It must be because of the Nicopolans," Audrey said without hesitation. There was no doubt in her voice.
Lansius looked at her, admiring her courage and admitting, "I feel stupid."
The wave of subdued chuckles and chatter from the troops beginning their supper quickly masked what he had said. Only Audrey was privy to it and she replied, "You''re not at fault. They must''ve been carried away by the situation and changed their minds."
"Speaking of which, have you changed yours?"
She sighed, then clarified, "I support their cause but not like this. It feels like they''re trying to force-"
"They could take us hostage, trading us for the baggage train and supplies... I trusted the wrong people. I should''ve known; they even betrayed Sergio," he lamented. A strong mountain wind swept through their encampment, causing the blue and bronze banner to flutter, its pole shivering.
"Lans, we''re not staying idle. Your men and I have devised suitable countermeasures."
"Why? Has the situation worsened?" he asked without concealing urgency.
"There''s distrust between the Lowlandians and Nicopolans. They saw what happened and were displeased." She gently grasped his arm, adding, "The Korelians are fiercely loyal. The mere thought of Nicopolans drawing swords against you is unforgivable to them."
Lansius returned his gaze to the bulwark, feeling his plan and his army slowly unraveling. "One misstep could plunge us into a massive purge," he cautioned her in a weary tone.
"The responsibility ultimately lies with them," said Audrey firmly.
"But what about the aftermath? We depend on these Nicopolans for many tasks and roles. Do you think they''ll just stand by if we purge their comrades?"
"We could establish a court and solely punish the instigator," she proposed.
Lansius took a deep breath. "Is there no other way out?"
She met his gaze. "But you said you don''t trust them anymore."
Lansius saw the frightening determination in her. This is her world. She understands it better. Perhaps punishing the ringleader is the right course of action.
Looking at his troubled expression, she asserted, "Yet, you must know that Servius tried to stop them."
"I know. Not all is his fault. The problem lies with the group he commanded. I armed and equipped them better, I even trusted them as a safeguard, but they..." He felt betrayed by their changing goal.
"Then how will you react?"
"I don''t know," he revealed. "I know I don''t want to entertain their idea of going into Nicopola, but I also don''t want it to end in a bloody internal conflict."
Audrey then leaned toward him. "We''ve prepared for the worst, but I think there''s still a chance to reconcile."
Her shift from a firm stance advocating countermeasures to reconciliation struck him as odd before he realized it. Did she just play the devil''s advocate...?
"Are you testing my resolve? Where are your words trying to lead me?"
Audrey offered a stiff smile and reassured him, "I am on your side. I''ve prepared a countermeasure and suitable men to carry it out if you need it. However, I''m also advocating for talks; perhaps we can view their reaction as just a spur of the moment."
Lansius nodded. His judgment had been clouded by distrust, and his lack of experience made it difficult to think clearly. But now he could start to see what options he had. "Perhaps, we could..."
"I''ll rein in the Lowlandians if you can regain full control of the Nicopolans," she suggested. "The problem is whether you can trust them or not."
Lansius struggled to contain his dislike, but he finally agreed, "I had better meet with Servius."
"You have to, otherwise many innocents will suffer," Audrey responded. "But remember, when you need it, do not hesitate. It''s better to lose a hand than the whole arm."
With the conversation ended, Lansius closed his eyes and let his mind drift to Korelia, away from the chronic mess he faced in Umberland. He recalled his plans to transform the city. The waterwheel should be completed by now, and the possibilities for improvement were staggering.
A thin smile formed on his lips as he reminded himself that he had completed his task in Umberland by securing the bulwark and the mountain pass. Objectively, there was nothing left to do but to return home.
***
Chapter 139 : Silentium Noctis
Chapter 139
Silentium Noctis
Lansius
After supper, Servius entered the command tent with Sterling. The old Nicopolan acted as if nothing were amiss and quickly reported what he had learned about the province since his departure. Lansius listened as he outlined his findings, suggesting that, aside from several hungry groups, the region was practically empty for several days'' journey on foot.
"Sir Arius from Three Hills and even the Umberland people previously reported a large group of Nicopolans. Where are they now?" Lansius inquired from his seat, his blue brigandine worn loosely.
"Without food and terrorized by the beastmen in Umberland, they''re leaving the mountain pass and moving south, likely aiming to take their chances at Dawn Barony," Servius said with bitterness in his voice.
"How many are we talking about, and do you think Lord Avery could handle it?"
"Just some guesses, probably five thousand reinforcing a similar number of forces, if not more."
The large number bothered Lansius. "Are they all armed?"
Servius seemed to ponder before answering, "No. Just like what we''ve encountered in the bulwark, from this point on, there will be a lot more noncombatants in the mix."
Lansius unintentionally stared at the canvas wall, noticing the shadows from the lanterns moving as if alive. He had no prior intention to ask but decided to give it a thought. "Tell me, what parties are involved in the fighting in Nicopola?"
"Well," Servius paused, gathering his thoughts. "There are the locals like me and my men. There are also war refugees from West Centuria, and migrants from Sarmatia, each with their own agendas."
Lansius gave no reaction but listened intently.
Servius continued, "The sons of Nicopola have traveled north to raid Elandia. Some fools have tried to go south to confront Dawn''s territory, but they were defeated decisively."
Despite his interest in how the Dawn could repel presumably large forces, Lansius kept his priorities, asking, "How fractured are the sons of Nicopola?"
"There''s infighting, but hungry men will welcome anyone with food," Servius responded lightly. "The bigger issue, though, is how to stand against the Sarmatia migrants and the war refugees from West Centuria. They''re all scrambling for control."
"If someone could unite the sons of Nicopola, couldn''t they try to talk it out with the other parties?"
"They''re out for blood. There''s too much bad blood already," Servius replied bitterly.
Lansius mulled over this. "This sounds like it¡¯s going from bad to worse, Servius. I personally don¡¯t want to get entangled in it."
Servius stood silently, his gaze unfocused.
Assuming Servius had nothing else to report, Lansius praised him, "Good work on the report."
Servius bowed his head a little. "Then, My Lord, what is your answer to my request?" His words were heavy, laden with anticipation.
Lansius shifted a little in his seat and answered, "As I said, I don''t want to get entangled."
Servius seemed about to interject, but Lansius stopped him with a raised palm. "I know you''ll try to convince me, but hear me first. We need to find a compromise."
"A compromise?" the old man squinted.
Lansius used his most persuasive tone, "Let''s put it this way: You and your men wish to return to Nicopola, while I and the Lowlandians are not prepared to embark on another campaign."
Servius found himself conceding the point, allowing Lansius to continue, "You''re aware of how exhausted my men are. They need recuperation. More than that, my tenure in Korelia has been just two short years, and I''m content to hold my domain and maintain peace." He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "The reason I ventured into Korimor was because of the threat posed by Lord Omin. And the reason I forced myself to march to South Hill was the dire need for food faced by your people."
Servius'' expression turned unreadable.
"Meanwhile, as you know, the campaign to Umberland is aimed at protecting Lowlandia and the Grand Alliance. But in doing so, my forces and personnel are stretched thin," Lansius said, leaning forward persuasively. "We need time to consolidate. My House, like trees, needs time for its roots to grow deeper into the land we''ve just acquired."
Servius looked at Lansius and, trying to convince him, said, "My Lord, I apologize for asking, but Nicopola is ripe for the taking by anyone bold enough."
Lansius smiled; he had expected this. "I''m not saying I''m against it."
Servius furrowed his brows. "Does that mean¡ª"
"Don¡¯t jump to conclusions," Lansius cautioned him. "I merely said I¡¯m not against it. That''s why I proposed a compromise. A win-win solution."
"Then, let me hear it, My Lord," Servius urged with anticipation.
Lansius had come prepared with a plan. "You''re a legion commander, aren''t you? Tell me, can you form an effective mercenary group with the men available?"
Surprised, Servius thought hard, his eyes darting. Instead of answering directly, he asked, "Does this mean you¡¯re going to form a free company?"
"No, you will form it for me," Lansius clarified. "I¡¯ll be your patron. I''ll arm and fund your legion accordingly, depending on task completion and the amount of villages or land you secure for me."
Servius began to see the seriousness of this proposal. "My Lord, if I manage to secure the land on my own¡ª"
"Certainly," Lansius interjected before he could finish. Then, in a calculated move, he tempted him, "I too started from the bottom with little noble blood in me. I have no doubt you can do the same."
The old man gazed at Lansius sharply, seemingly trying to gauge his intention. Yet, Lansius remained calm, his anxieties hidden away. The times spent with his wife had fortunately made him impervious to even a half-beast''s stares.
After a while, Servius muttered, "The law will not be on my side."
Lansius poured spiced wine from a silver pitcher into two golden goblets and offered one to Servius, who took it gratefully. Lansius sipped his wine before replying, "The Imperium is crumbling. If you value your House, then this is a golden opportunity. Whoever is left standing in the Capital will likely seek your cooperation."
Hearing that, Servius drank from his goblet, yet the wine seemed unable to affect his courage.
"As long as you''re not too greedy, hoarding land you cannot manage or hold, you should grow a powerful House," Lansius said, observing Servius'' indecision. "As for my reason, it''s all about managing risk."
"Manage risk...?"
"Indeed. I want to protect myself from potential losses. You''d do well to follow my example. Try to lessen your risk if you can. As for me, if I directly lead a campaign to Nicopola and face defeat, I could potentially lose all my standing in Lowlandia and even face mutiny within my ranks. Thus, I prefer to use a proxy."
"A free legion to do the dirty work," Servius mulled.
"I don''t see why mapping the region and saving people from famine is considered dirty," Lansius hinted at the task he had in mind. "But I agree that waging war on someone''s behalf is far from clean. As for me, whether you win or lose, I''ll keep my forces intact."
Servius put the goblet down, his concern evident. "But, My Lord, a free legion is expensive."
"The benefits outweigh the costs. It''s better than risking my entire domain in Lowlandia," Lansius responded without hesitation, his tone suggesting this was all a matter of cold calculation.
Servius'' eyes wandered, lost in thought. After a moment, Lansius continued, "So, what do you say? I''ll provide some funds for recruitment since eventually, you''ll confront large groups. That, and also enough food to sustain three hundred through winter."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The Nicopolan looked to the side and inhaled deeply. "Why offer me this opportunity, My Lord?"
"What else?" Lansius declared as if the answer was obvious. "I need allies, and frankly, I see no better candidate than you in Nicopola."
"My Lord," Servius began, his tone now carrying a mix of respect and resignation, "I am humbled by your grand offer, but I must decline. Such an offer is beyond me, and would certainly be wasted on me."
Lansius smiled, not disappointed by the answer. "Then how about if you select or promote someone else for the role?"
"There''s nobody who could fill such a role."
Taking another sip of his wine, Lansius posed another question, "Then what will you do if I march back to Korelia?"
"I''ll follow your commands," Servius said, but his words rang hollow.
Lansius stared at him intently and asked what was on his mind, "I''m worried about your men''s reception to this."
Servius exhaled deeply, straightened his back, and answered, "I''ll keep them in order. Today''s embarrassment shall be no more."
"Are you sure you and your lieutenants can handle them?" Lansius asked, worry lingering in his voice.
"Some are stubborn, but they''re not without ears," the old man quipped.
Lansius found it amusing and relaxed in his seat. His instinct told him that he could trust Servius. Yet, he still felt it would be better if Servius had accepted his plan and ventured out with his select men, thus erasing all risk of mutiny. This would also allow him to control them indirectly while separating them from the bulk of the other Nicopolans in his army.
With Lansius in direct control of the bulwark, he could seal the mountain pass at a moment''s notice, blocking men and information from reaching unwanted parties. In the event of a catastrophe, he could cleanly cut off Servius and his men.
Ironically, the old condottiere''s loyalty forced Lansius to abandon his plan. With no other options available, he was left to wait passively, preparing as much as he dared without arousing the Nicopolans'' suspicion. Yet, this situation also brought hope, allowing him to finally shift his focus and plan his return home to Korelia.
***
Night came and engulfed the camp in an eerie silence. The wind in the mountain pass blew hard, dry to the skin and chilling to the bone. The horses were restless, making small noises and snorts that indicated their displeasure at being there. Bred at the Great Lowlandia Plains, they disliked the taste of the mountain air and its sparse grass.
They were not the only ones restless. Lansius sighed loudly. While guards stood watch outside, nobody else was awake inside the tent. Audrey had fallen asleep, and Sterling, as a precaution, had joined the night watch. Meanwhile, Carla spent the night in her fellow''s tent, closer to the Nicopolan tents.
Lansius sat alone, holding report scrolls in his hand. He noted that out of the 300 Dragoons he had, about 100 were likely compromised. They were of Nicopolan origin, capable riders, equipped like men-at-arms with crossbows, and thus considered a formidable fighting force.
Currently, he still had the advantage of numbers since he had only brought his cavalry, and his main army was camped separately further away. However, by tomorrow, his main army would arrive, and that would turn the tables against him.
The main army under Sir Harold was almost exclusively Nicopolan. At least 1,200 men, moreover, Servius also had separate command of another 300 attached to the main army.
"Just shy of 1,500 Nicopolans," Lansius muttered to himself uncomfortably. And that was not counting the camp followers who were still following and those who had stayed in the three villages.
Despite Servius'' assurances, Lansius didn''t readily accept them. The risk was far too great to feel comfortable so easily. He realized that human nature was driven not only by logic and honor but also by fear, mistrust, and greed.
If a spark occurred and became an uncontrollable fire, it could easily trigger a bloody conflict¡ªone that his House might not recover from, whether in political standing or militarily, for a long time.
Lansius couldn''t help but stare at the carpet and sigh. His eyes wandered, looking for fresh ideas. However, as expected, none materialized.
Wearily, he returned to what he had, taking a scroll from the table that read:
30 Nomadic horse archers and scouts, led by one of Batu¡¯s sworn brothers.
50 Mounted Crossbowmen, led by Dietrich.
He could also count on Sir Harold''s:
10 South Hill Knights,
40 Cavalry, and
50 South Hill men-at-arms.
"Even with the 200 loyal Dragoons, it''s not even 400... against 1,500 in a tight mountain pass," he groaned softly at the futility of it. He looked at the scroll for the last time and grew sick of it, tossing it onto the table and then shifting in his seat. He glanced at his sword and crossbow to the side and just let the time pass.
Once calmed, he couldn''t resist thinking about his bed in South Hill. Of all the places, that one was the most comfortable.
Perhaps, I could get the carpenters to copy it.
Naturally, Lansius intended to make one for his chamber in Korelia. It was just another item on the long list of things he wanted to do once he returned. The thought alone made him happy. Yet, after another sip of wine, his mind drifted to a different bedroom¡ªnot the grand one in Korelia, but a more humble one in Bellandia. Then, the faces of his family flashed in his mind, overwhelming him with remorse.
Deep down, he realized he had mentally blocked out his family because he knew he probably wouldn''t see them anymore. Preoccupied with all kinds of issues in Lowlandia, his hope that Lord Bengrieve would ever find them gradually dwindled. There was a time when Lansius had expected a letter, yet no such letter ever arrived.
Instead, he had received early reports that the war in Tiberia had begun. He had also heard that Lord Arte had returned to Arvena and waged skirmishes behind Lord Gottfried''s lines.
He looked up and felt his neck muscles tense. As he blinked, his stiff facial muscles let him know, without even needing a mirror, that his eyes would be blackened from lack of sleep. It wasn¡¯t the marching that wearied him, but the half-beast attack. Ever since that night attack, he had trouble falling asleep. Hence, his appetite for wine grew, as it helped him get some much-needed rest.
Unwisely fighting off his drowsiness, Lansius took a wax tablet and its wooden stylus from the table. He felt that writing eased the edginess in his nerves.
He wrote bullet points. First was that he had wasted almost no resources in Umberland. His troops were intact, his allies added, and he had secured a cluster of three large villages that could easily grow into a town with enough manpower, direction, and investment.
Lansius followed up with his to-do list. First was: that he needed all the latest information he could get about Nicopola''s current situation to better safeguard his newly taken mountain pass and bulwark. Unfortunately, his wandering minstrels couldn''t penetrate the hunger-driven situation in Nicopola, so his intelligence would be limited to long-range cavalry scouts and information from captured or converted individuals.
Thus, the reason his most able lieutenants had been spending time interviewing as many people from the bulwark as they could, risking the plague to learn about the latest situation. Lansius also had confided in them to find out how the beastmen had defeated the Nicopolans in Umberland.
As much as he respected Lord Beatrix, Lansius still needed a plan in case the winds suddenly changed direction.
As the old adage goes in the military: be polite and be prepared to kill everyone you meet.
Lansius was still pondering when Audrey appeared from the inner section of the tent. He glanced at her as she approached silently and began massaging his shoulders. He let out a soft moan and asked, "I thought you were sleeping?"
She smiled and whispered, "Hard to sleep without you beside me."
Her words brought a broad smile to his face. To break the silence while he enjoyed the massage, he asked, "Drey, do you know how many villages there are in Nicopola?"
"Villages...?" She raised an eyebrow. "Must be a lot."
"At least five hundred villages, according to the last census two centuries ago."
Audrey echoed in surprise, "Five hundred..."
"And at least dozens of towns and cities," Lansius added, enjoying the touch of her fingers that had now reached his back and neck. "This is not Arvena or Lowlandia. Nicopola is as big as Midlandia and more populous. It''s fractured into several baronies that have fostered growth. Not to mention, it has access to Centuria and also to Tiberia through Elandia."
While Audrey was still grasping the scale, Lansius continued, "The war with the beastmen attracted the most powerful to acquire lands in Nicopola. At that time, the province also offered a lot of opportunities for large farmland and low taxes."
Audrey smiled and asked in jest, "What is this, your secret wish to conquer Nicopola?"
"On the contrary," he replied, "I realized a long time ago that it was nearly impossible, or at least it would require years, if not decades."
Audrey nodded. "Indeed, if Nicopola is that big, then we''ll need Sir Justin and Hugo just to handle the army."
"That is true," he commented, pausing for soft moans, "but we''ll need someone of their caliber to hold our domains. Korelia and Korimor aren''t fully secured."
While pressing hard on his back muscle, she suggested, "If you need talent, consider recruiting Ingrid into your ranks."
"Ingrid? But isn''t she a member of the Mage Guild?"
Audrey sighed. "Husband, your approach is too rigid. Good talents are to be bribed, poached, or even taken hostage to work for you. Besides, she''s going to retire soon, right?"
"Ah, that''s true. Why didn''t I think of that?" he felt dumbfounded.
"She''s an excellent educator. We need more talented people in our ranks. Maybe she could introduce even more talent."
"This is a great idea," he muttered. "Who do you think should do the talking?"
"I''ll do it. You have war plans to take care of. As long as you can promise a villa or a tract of land in one of your baronies."
Lansius approved. "That can be arranged. After all, there''s only going home after this business is finished."
Audrey smiled upon hearing the word ''home.'' Soon, they called it a day and were about to retire when they heard the guards calling out to someone. Stern voices and the sound of movement outside followed.
Alerted by the commotion, Lansius and Audrey quickly armed themselves. Only then did four guards in plate armor, necessary to counter a half-breed attack, enter along with Carla. "My Lord, My Lady," she said breathlessly.
"What happened?" Audrey asked, her expression unworried.
"Fights have broken out in the Nicopolan tent," Carla reported urgently.
"Did Servius just rebel?" Lansius asked, his tone heavy.
"No, it''s near his tent, but the Nicopolans are going against him," Carla responded.
Lansius was puzzled, and Audrey took over, "Who is fighting whom?"
"It''s between the Nicopolans themselves," Carla clarified.
Lansius shook his head; he hadn''t expected this turn of events.
"How bad is the fighting?" Audrey asked.
"I see men on the ground and a burning tent." Carla''s said, her tone grave.
Audrey gazed at Lansius, who commanded, "Get the horses ready."
She nodded; it was their contingency plan. Then, turning to Carla, she said, "Help me with the ringmail."
At that moment, Lansius asked aloud, "Is this related to reinforcements from Sir Harold?"
"No, they have yet to arrive," one of the guards reported.
Lansius, still clad in his brigandine, dashed to his seat to retrieve a shield he had stashed nearby. "We need to quell this quickly," he explained to Audrey and the guards. "Once the unrest spreads, it''ll be impossible to control."
Realizing his intention and urgency, the guards shouted to his aides, "Escorts! Bring long torches and lanterns!"
Lansius then rushed outside, calling to the guards, "Follow me! And where''s the damn night watch?" None could answer. He spotted the youngest among the guards as he walked toward the troubled area and instructed, "Wake the rest! We need all the men we can get."
***
Chapter 140 : Darkening Skies
Chapter 140
Darkening Skies
Under a sky speckled with shimmering stars, Lansius and twenty of his men, four clad in full plate armor, hastened toward the source of the commotion echoing through the camp. Their torches flickered wildly, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground as they moved.
As they approached, they saw chaos¡ªmen running around with swords. At the heart of the conflict, tens of men were locked in a fierce standoff against a smaller group backed into a corner beside a tent.
The fabric of the tent was now ablaze, sending up plumes of smoke and orange flames into the dark sky. The crackle of the fire mingled with the clash of iron and shouts of anger. In the dim light, it was hard to discern faces; figures moved like specters in and out of the shadows.
Roused by the noise, more and more camp members emerged from their tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Upon seeing Lord Lansius and his heavily armored guards, and even without fully understanding the issue, they quickly threw themselves into the ranks, significantly bolstering the numbers.
The impact of the Lord personally leading should not be underestimated. The Lord''s presence alone dispelled any confusion about which side the armed group was rallying for, and as the men confidently followed Lansius¡¯ lead, their numbers had doubled to forty by the time he reached the site.
Facing the area of commotion, his captain shouted at the top of his lungs, "Stop this madness! The Lord of Korelia is here!"
Battle cries from his side lent credence to the claim. From the side, seven riders approached; they turned out to be the night watch under Sterling. "My Lord, a group attacked Servius'' tent. We tried to intervene but were repelled. We''re bringing more horsemen¡ª"
"Not enough time. Go, secure the horses. Don¡¯t let the Nicopolans ride away. The main danger lies not here but within the main army," Lansius instructed Sterling. Hoping he could still control the situation if he acted quickly and decisively, he took steps forward, leading the men. "Form a line!"
"Form a line!" a present captain echoed, organizing the men who readied their arms as they fell into formation.
Lansius raised his sword and pointed toward the tens of men in the distance trying to form a defense. "Advance, quick steps!" he shouted.
"Quick steps!" his captain echoed, and forty men rushed, swords drawn.
They were twenty paces away when Audrey''s distinct voice warned them from afar, "Shields!" There was urgency and fright in her tone.
Lansius and some of his men, who carried shields, immediately drew them to cover themselves. The background noises of the fighting had masked the distinct sound of crossbow strings snapping forward. Bolts sliced through the air, their deadly hiss heralding the lethal projectiles shrouded in darkness.
In the blink of an eye, the air around Lansius filled with the cacophony of terror as bolts thudded into shields, gambesons, or unprotected limbs. The impacts were met with gasps and sharp cries of pain, adding to the chaos.
Lansius grunted from pain and took a step forward to balance himself, but stumbled as his right leg gave out and he fell to the rocky ground. He had raised his shield a bit too much to cover his head and chest, but left his right leg exposed.
He heaved heavily, gritting his teeth as hot blood gushed from his right thigh where a bolt had struck deeply. His men, noticing this, formed around him, swarming like panicked bees defending their queen. One held a shield while two more brandished their spears, shouting to gather more to their side.
More came from behind, and they swarmed. "Don''t let them know!" he repeated to his men, worrying his injury might discourage his men from attacking. Then, gritting his teeth to hold back the pain, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Keep advancing!"
Even without his command, the rest of his men were steadfast and had reformed their line. Their steps were steady as they charged upon the traitors'' line.
...
Audrey
Half of her wanted to check on Lansius, but she knew the situation was a mess and would be a lost cause if she didn''t intervene correctly. Thus, with an authoritative and steady voice, she cut through the turmoil, saying, "Follow me!"
Her command reoriented her Dragoons, channeling their combined wrath into focused action. Dietrich and their trusted riders formed up around her, their movements concealed by the night and mostly guided by the feeble starlight and the glow from the burning tents and torches.
Using her night vision to her advantage, she approached from the rebels'' blind side as they fought with Lansius'' men-at-arms column. Finally, Audrey''s cavalry descended upon the rebels'' weak spot, taking them by complete surprise. Dietrich saw first and galloped ahead, scoring the first hit, followed by the rest of the cavalry attacking their ex-comrades-in-arms.
The rebel group was routed, pressured from both the front and the flanks, dispersing into the night.
"Dietrich!" Audrey pointed in a general direction, and the cavalry captain and his riders veered toward that with conviction.
With a few riders as escorts, Audrey blocked the retreat for some rebels, even using her crossbow in the dead of night to stop them from running. After her forces regained control, she quickly rode to Lansius'' side. Dismounting with ease, her entourage shouted to the crowd, "The Lady is here, make way!"
She found Lansius groaning, clutching his right thigh as two men applied a tourniquet to lessen the bleeding. "Tighten it," he commanded, despite the pain.
His eyes met hers and he said, "I''m fucked."
Watching the amount of blood Audrey instructed, "Carry him back to the tent and ready the physician."
Six men nearest to them carefully carried the Lord by hand as gently as they could. As he was being carried, Lansius asked, "Have you regained control?"
"I broke their column. They''re finished," she said, while looking out for danger.
"Servius?"
"I saw him. His men pulled him out of the tent wreckage. He''s not involved, we didn''t attack him," she reassured him.
The men with good coordination rushed Lansius into the tent and the physician was quick to follow. Inside, she quickly removed his brigandine, allowing him to breathe easily.
The physician washed his hands, quickly examined the wound, and prepared a concoction. "My lord, please drink this for the pain," he said as he administered a dose of poppy milk. Lansius coughed but managed to swallow it. Afterward, he took a small sip of water.
Audrey then firmly grasped Lansius'' hand as the maester checked his freshly boiled tools, now placed on top of a tray beside clean linen. The physician, with bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep, glanced at Audrey. She nodded for him to proceed.
"Wait, wait," Lansius stopped them. "Tell me first, who rebelled and why?"
Audrey didn''t know that, fortunately, Sterling was there and explained, "Some hardline Nicopolans tried to convince Servius but failed. They resorted to fighting."
Sweating hard, he vented out, complaining, "They even dare to use crossbows against us? Have we captured them all?"
"Dietrich is still on them," she reassured him.
"Warn Harold," he added.
"I''ll send messengers to warn Harold. He''ll know what to do." Then she stared at Lansius. "We need to pull it out. Now, are you ready?"
Lansius nodded nervously and the maester gave him a piece of cloth to bite down.
"My Lord, please stay calm and keep your tongue inside," the physician said under the brightest lantern they could find. First, the maester cleaned the area around the wound with warm water and a few dabs of alcohol, that scent lingered in the air. Then, an excruciating pain assaulted Lansius, who gritted his teeth and groaned as the maester began to work on his wound.
Four men had to restrain the Lord while the physician pried into the wound and enlarged it for better access, causing more pain. "If we can get it out in one pull, then it''ll be quick," the maester said.
"Give it your best try," Audrey commanded firmly.
With a steady hand, the physician pulled at the bolt shaft. Lansius screamed in pain, but the head was not retrieved.
Audrey refrained from cursing, while the maester said to the other men, "Hold him tight."
Lansius'' eyes turned red as he gazed at Audrey, who did her best to reassure him. However, it wasn''t a straightforward process. The physician struggled under the yellow glow of the lantern to locate and extract the lodged bolt head using his tools while blood obscured his view.
Lansius'' groans turned to screams as it was beyond anyone''s pain threshold. In sheer pain, he cursed and wrestled the four men who regretfully needed to pin him down. He even begged Audrey to just bash his head.
After half an hour of agonizing procedure, his screams grew weaker and then he lost consciousness from the combination of another dose of poppy milk, severe pain, and blood loss. It took the physician two more attempts and another harrowing half hour to successfully extract the bolt head, clean the area, and stitch up the wound.
The procedure was considered a success, however there was no guarantee the patient would survive despite all the pain he endured.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
***
Farkas
On the other side of Umberland, young Farkas, accompanied by two minstrels and a man-at-arms, rode in an open cart that slowly navigated the mountain path to Umberland City. They basked in the morning light, which was gentle and warm on their skin.
It was a bumpy but peaceful ride, made enjoyable by the plentiful straw and hay they had to sit on.
"Old man, can''t we go any faster?" Farkas quipped, expecting the coachman to retort in kind.
"Bah, you must respect the bends and curves of the mountains! Otherwise, the horses might stray and dump us all off the cliffs below."
"Oh, a good one," one of the minstrels remarked, memorizing the idea for their upcoming ballads, while the rest chuckled.
"Bends and curves of the mountain," Farkas echoed as he scanned the horizon, looking for signs of trouble. Although he had received full information from Lord Jorge himself and also words from his trusted source, he wasn''t going to blindly trust the news that House Umberland was now an ally, especially since they said the new lord was a half-breed.
For a hunter like him, he remained undecided about a half-beast ruling over men. He had never heard of anything like that before. Yet, he vividly remembered Sir Morton''s amused reaction to the news: "At least this one doesn''t hide its fangs."
Currently, the Black Knight''s Captain stayed at the Hill Fort by his lord''s side. As the war in Umberland fortunately did not materialize, their troops had been preparing to return to Three Hills City. However, Lord Jorge had decided to prolong his stay with a small contingent of a few dozen riders and men as personal guards, mentioned he felt responsible for the supplies of House Lansius under his care.
The Hill Fort and the lengthy mountain road were manned by only a hundred men. Farkas'' reinforcements from Three Hills amounted to another hundred skirmishers. Fortunately, Umberland City had opened itself to travelers, visitors, and traders, and had sent their men to help with patrols and security.
This assistance was welcomed, as stragglers from the conflict could still be lurking and might appear at any moment. This is why they had left the supplies at the Hill Fort. It was risky and they had received no specific orders to move them.
Farkas himself had been entrusted with important letters from Dame Daniella and also Calub, whose messenger he had met at Hill Fort. Normally, such tasks would be assigned to a fast messenger, but the letter from Dame Daniella was so crucial that she had insisted he deliver it to the lord personally. It contained details of dealings with powerful smugglers and messages from people beyond the mountains.
Since Farkas couldn''t ride, he opted for the next best thing: renting a cart. He traveled with fifteen others in separate carts, not only as a disguise but also due to availability. Despite months of isolation, only a few merchants wanted to venture to Umberland City. Most were returning because they had family or relatives in the city.
The twin horses snorted as the climb grew steeper as they neared the city. Farkas and his men readily jumped down and even pushed the cart to ease the beasts'' burden.
They had learned that the lord was in the three villages to the west of Umberland, and the journey would take them another two days or more, depending on the horses'' mood or whether they could get a better cart in Umberland City. Little did they know of the calamity that had just occurred in their lord''s encampment.
***
Audrey
Morning dawned on the encampment, revealing the devastation left by last night''s infighting. Burnt tents, discarded spears, and crossbow bolts littered the ground alongside the bodies of Nicopolan men, now lined up for identification and to be stripped of their gear.
The air still carried the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Not only men were lost; precious warhorses also perished in the fight.
Out of a hundred Nicopolans, half had rebelled and attacked Servius, failing to convert him to their cause. From the other half, only a dozen came to Servius'' aid but were quickly overwhelmed; most were slain or trapped in a burning tent. The remaining Nicopolans fled, unable to choose a side.
Lord Lansius'' quick reaction with his men-at-arms had cornered the rebels before they could escape. This allowed Audrey and Dietrich¡¯s cavalry enough time to outflank them. Many rebels were killed or captured, though some managed to escape, with or without their horses.
It took the combined efforts of Audrey''s night vision, Dietrich''s mounted crossbowmen, and nomadic archers to track and hunt them down.
Even now, riders under Dietrich patrolled further, unsure if they had apprehended all the rebels or if some were still at large. With the threat of further rebellion within the main army, complacency was not an option.
Last night, Lady Audrey had officially branded those involved in the attack as traitors, thus ensuring severe punishment. They are now bound in tight ropes, kept in the dark, awaiting their fate while satisfying the interrogators'' questions.
Meanwhile, the Nicopolans who had taken no sides, despite their presumed innocence, were rounded up in the middle of the camp. They are kept under observation without armor or weapons and are tasked with preparing food and maintaining order among themselves.
She also issued a gag order and sent a group of messengers bearing the news to Sir Harold and his columns, instructing him to cancel any movement and to bring the main army back to the three villages. He was specifically tasked with finding and terminating any rebels that might be escaping.
Sir Harold was also to give special attention to the three hundred of Servius'' men who might harbor the same tendencies to rebel or who might suspect something from this unexpected directive. She urged Harold to find a way to separate them from the main army.
Aside from that, Audrey also requested him to rush Ingrid to her camp with an adequate escort. Her scribe wrote it as such without revealing the reason why they needed her.
While openly condemning the traitors, they also praised Servius and the brave souls who came to his rescue. Without their stubbornness, the entire one hundred might have been subverted to the plan to kidnap the Lord and Lady, to be traded for supplies and half the baggage train.
Thus, Servius was given good treatment. Yet, his wounds were gruesome.
During the fighting, Servius had lost consciousness from a sword blow to the head, which, although not fatal, left him unconscious inside a burning tent. They were forced to amputate his entire right hand because all of his fingers and palm had been badly burned.
The man also had serious burn injuries on his legs and right arm that charred his skin. Only luck allowed him to survive with an intact face, save for a gash on top of his head. Still, many feared he wouldn''t make it as the wounds began to fester and infections started to take a toll on his wounded body.
Not all was gloomy. Attracted by his screams, the nomads who had witnessed the surgery gave him a fitting nickname: Iron Skull Servius. The name stuck, even though he wore sturdy coif-like padding that clearly had saved him from the brink of death.
Before dawn, Audrey had visited the man. In his delirium, he wept upon seeing her face. He spoke of his failure to contain his men, his fear of punishment, and begged the Lady not to punish the rest. However, when he heard what had happened to Lord Lansius, Servius turned speechless before he began to curse his nonexistent rebelling comrades, exclaiming, "You doomed us all, you doomed us all!"
With a heavy heart, she left Servius in a worse state than before. The meeting had strained the old condottiere to his breaking point.
This morning, as Audrey returned from her rounds, flanked by her entourage in armor, these heavy thoughts lingered. She approached a guard with an open visor outside her tent and asked, "How''s Servius?"
The guard readily reported, "We have heard no word from them, My Lady."
"Meaning, he''s still drawing breath," she muttered with a sigh of relief.
"Should I ask?" a younger guard offered.
Audrey shook her head. Then she saw the physician moving from one makeshift field tent to another, with volunteers bringing basins of water, medicine boxes, and tools. "I don''t see the assistant," she commented.
"I heard the assistant and the servant fled last night, likely still hiding from fear," the guard regretfully reported.
Audrey couldn''t blame them. Instead, she realized that something must be done to restore the camp. Turning to the guard, she instructed, "Send someone to the nomads and find people who can play music and sing."
"I shall go myself," the guard nodded and went his way with another in tow.
Soon, two tribesmen arrived in their fur coats, walking hurriedly with purpose, showing no fear or burden. One brought a sitar, obviously having been briefed by the guard.
"My Noyan''s wife," they greeted her without hesitation, despite not knowing the correct way to address a baroness.
Their boldness and readiness to help earned them Audrey''s smile. "Gratitude for coming. I need a favor that only you two can provide."
"Name the favor, O My Noyan''s wife."
"Play for me a wonderful melody, one that will bring the wandering people home," she described the song she had heard on her journey to Korimor.
The tribesmen exchanged glances and smiled, knowing exactly which song she wanted to hear. Without any preparation, one began to play the sitar at a slow tempo, while the other sang in a style of throat singing that resonated deeply, as if summoning the spirit of the windswept steppes. The haunting yet warm tones reverberated through the camp. The words were indiscernible, but they seemed to evoke stories of distant mountains and endless skies.
The singing caught everyone by surprise; many gathered to listen. The Lowlandians in House Lansius'' army had become familiar with it as they had spent training, marches, and travels alongside the nomad allies. More than just entertainment in the vast emptiness of the Great Plains, it also evoked a sense of safety and serenity.
Slowly, the song helped to restore normalcy to the camp, soothing nerves and bringing back sanity from the treacherous night. The kind melodies signaled that the threat was over and peace was restored.
As the wind and echoes from the mountains carried the throat singing farther, more people heard it, and those who had been hiding from fear now slowly returned like lost sheep to their flock.
...
At midday, things were looking promising. Order was restored and cohesion in the camp began to recover from last night''s infighting. The remaining Nicopolans openly pledged their support to the Lord and Lady, stating that they had given up on Nicopola for the foreseeable future.
Moreover, while the two hundred Nicopolans from the bulwark had been affected by rumors of infighting, they chose not to take action, confiding to the guards that it wasn¡¯t their fight and they hoped that the Lord would still honor the deal.
As a precaution, Audrey sent Sterling to seal the bulwark, equipping him with crossbows, spare bolts, and supplies to fend off a worsening situation.
However, what worsened wasn¡¯t the situation. Unexpectedly, Lansius failed to awaken from last night¡¯s procedure. Instead, his wound had swollen, causing a high fever. Despite the weary physician and assistant trying their best with several remedies, none showed any results.
Audrey sat by, watching as Lansius turned pale inside their tent. She dutifully changed the wet cloths on his forehead periodically, each soaked in cool water to draw away the fever''s heat.
She said little, appearing strong from the outside, but watching him like this pained her greatly. While other noble wives might worry more about their future and their holdings, Audrey cared only about the person lying before her. To her, he was her raison d''¨ºtre.
She blamed him for his unusual kindness, which had profoundly changed her. Gone was the careless squire, who was driven by suicidal thoughts of vendetta.
And it was more than mere marital love that bound her to him. She knew she would be content even if Lansius chose someone else, happy simply to serve by his side as a squire. His work and ideas had unveiled a vision of a better future, a cause worth living for.
Without him to guide her, she felt like a dulled blade, waiting to rust without a sheath.
"Don''t leave me this soon, not like this," she whispered several times into his ear whenever they were alone, yet there was only silence.
She tried to cheer him up, "Hey, I''ll spoil you when you wake up. So give me a sign, any sign."
She even resorted to threats, "If you don¡¯t wake up, I¡¯ll line up the rebel survivors from last night and turn them into archery targets." Yet he remained unresponsive.
All the while, Carla watched from the side, having accompanied her Lady throughout the ordeal, providing not just drinks and food but also delivering the latest news. As the sun lowered further in the sky, Carla''s concern grew and dared to suggest, "My Lady, you must take rest, lest you fall ill when the Lord recovers."
Audrey didn''t react at first, just staring at Lansius and checking the heat of his body and limbs. However, after Carla repeated herself, she glanced at her, saying, "I heard you the first time."
Then, after ensuring Lansius'' fever wasn''t rising, she rose and headed out. The sunset bathed the mountains in reddened orange. Without her realizing it, the day had turned to sundown. The chill wind was breezing through the camp, and the smell of cooking was in the air.
Guards formed an escort without being asked, and Audrey ventured far from the camp. She wanted to yell her frustrations out but knew it would bring nothing. So, she just stopped at a large boulder and sat, watching the clouds and the sky to unwind.
The cool wind caressed her gently, as if offering pity. She stared at the vast skies, darkening under the setting sun. As she watched, a dark blot appeared on the graying canvas, eerily gliding above the mountains before disappearing behind the clouds.
Others would not have seen the object as darkness descended. Indeed, her escorts had begun to light their lanterns and torches out of failing sunlight. But Audrey caught sight of the dark shape again as it moved past the clouds, its sharp form cutting through them, revealing it was no mere shadow. Then, the object in the distance slowly turned, heading her way.
***
Chapter 141 : The Barons Pride
Chapter 141
The Baron''s Pride
Audrey
Like a leviathan in the skies, the dark object continued to grow larger. What started as a shadowy smudge against the sunset skies now resembled a spear with a bulging shape in the middle. It glided above the mountains and through the clouds, looking both majestic and foreboding.
Audrey was captivated by the mysterious flying object. She strained her eyes and saw that it flapped no wings, yet it flew effortlessly through the air as if held aloft by an invisible sea.
Clutching her fur coat tighter, she finally could discern its hide, which was smooth like the underbelly of a large aquatic monster she had seen on tapestries. Yet, the way its skin fluttered revealed it to be made of lighter materials, like fabric, rather than leather.
She saw a blackened structure underneath the bulging spear and fins at the rear. Then she spotted wire-like rigging that confirmed it to be man-made.
"A vessel," she muttered in disbelief. Then, the instinct to flee or fight kicked in. Turning to her guard, she commanded, "Get thirty men with crossbows, their horses, and the fire bolts."
Her entourage exchanged glances momentarily before springing into action. The mystique cultivated by stories of her deeds¡ªlike fighting a half-beast in a pitch-black tent, her eyes glowing golden on several occasions, and last night''s ride through the dark¡ªwas enough to convince them that she could see in the dark.
"Is there any threat, My Lady?" one dared to ask.
"Best to be prepared," Audrey said as she continued to observe the vessel that began its descent. From such an angle, the object resembled a sleek spear even more, devoid of ornate carvings or metal adornments on its sides.
Although it lacked vast wings, it wasn''t at the mercy of the wind. The vessel turned and moved with intent, adjusting its course once again toward the flatter area not far from where she stood.
***
The Black Vessel
The enormous structure overhead billowed with heated air from a small furnace fueled by volatile oil. The skin was not made of canvas or linen, but of silken fabric impregnated with natural rubber on the inside and coated with shellac lacquer on the outside, giving it a sleek, black appearance without the need for paint.
The interior of the structure was vast yet hollow. It contained no metal, except for a thin sheet of bronze shaped like a small umbrella to protect its delicate skin from the direct heat of the furnace fire. The cavernous balloon was divided into several compartments to protect against catastrophic leaks.
To maintain its shape, instead of using wooden ribs like those found in boats, lacquered rattan was employed. It was further reinforced with a net-like webbing made from silken cords.
The sheer amount of silk used was proof alone that the state-of-the-art vessel was an expensive enterprise and that its owner, Baron Avery, was a wealthy and powerful man.
"Easy. Keep it steady," Lord Avery instructed from his canvas seat.
"Descending steadily," Angelo replied. Positioned in front of Avery in their woven rattan basket¡ªshaped like a long canoe beneath the giant balloon¡ªhe controlled the vessel through metal cords that manipulated the large fins at the rear.
Old Avery grinned in silence, enjoying the flight, reminiscing about the first time he had flown when he was much younger. Now, his eyes were gentler, but his brows and jawline suggested that violence had been a part of his life.
So high up in the air, the chilly night wind from the mountain didn¡¯t bother him as his woolen trench coat kept his old bones warm. From time to time, he peered down, trying to discern their path, but after sundown, darkness had blanketed everything, leaving only the stars to illuminate the world.
This was why he mostly trusted Angelo, who had experience in nighttime flying.
But now, after passing the mountain, Avery could see bonfires and lanterns glowing like orbs in the distance. Soon, he could make out the shapes of tents. Turning to the rear where the third and last passenger sat quietly, covered in a fur coat, he said, "Petra, wake up, it''s time."
The woman yawned before nodding in acknowledgment and shuddering from the cold.
The leviathan of the sky moved gracefully, only slightly shuddering and buffeting from the strong winds coming from the mountain.
Avery had named this marvel of a vehicle an airship. What had started as a curiosity project by his great-grandfather, then forgotten by his grandfather but continued by his father, had turned into a secret weapon.
The airship was now less of an invention and more like a functional military asset. Its black lacquer color, initially intended to airtight the skin and enhance durability, ironically gave the vessel its purpose as a night scout. After sundown, it was practically invisible to the naked eye.
When paired with a mage and equipped with Ekionia Optics, the airship could observe the enemy camp safely. It could easily calculate their opponent''s number of tents, bonfires, possible siege weapons, and the presence of horses and carts. The airship was one of many reasons the barony was capable of holding off a force many times larger than their own.
As its original inventor had died over a century ago, taking his fancy idea of noble travel with him, nobody suspected that any threat could come from the air.
Thus, it was a surprise when Angelo, scanning the horizon through his black-painted Ekionia binocular, noticed a woman on the ground watching his every move. "My Lord, there''s something you must see."
Rising from his rattan seat, Avery took several careful steps forward, mindful not to upset the balance. He approached Angelo and ventured, "Leaks?"
"No. There''s a woman staring at us near the camp''s direction."
It surprised Avery, who quipped, "Well, old or young? Is she pretty?"
"Young and pretty, but with short hair."
"What do you mean by that? I love all hair equally, as long as it¡¯s pretty," he lectured with a grin. "So, a pretty mage. This little adventure of yours looks better and better."
Angelo let out a sigh and warned, "She must be a powerful mage to observe us with just her naked eyes."
Avery recalled a snippet of information. "The smugglers did say they knew of a mage in Three Hills other than the Black Knight''s Captain. Perhaps this is the one."
"What should we do?" Angelo asked. "Abort?"
"As long as she didn''t call her¡ª"
"Two dozen men just came and assumed formation. They got horses and... crossbows," Angelo reported as he peeked through the binoculars.
"Err..." Avery was lost for words before complaining, "Pretty girl should play nice."
"More spears and even guards in plates." Angelo turned to Avery. "We might get stranded and captured."
"Let''s risk it," Avery''s face brimming with confidence. One could tell that he was excited as he adjusted his leather glove and checked his boots. Then turning to Petra, who was still comfortable in her seat at the end of the glorified rattan canoe. "This might get bumpy."The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Petra blinked in surprise and let out a nervous smile. "It sounds dangerous. Mind if we just head back, My Lord?"
"Relax, they need an ally. Besides, we''re here to help, right?" Avery directed the question at Angelo.
The pilot turned to them and said, "I''m merely reporting what I saw last night: infighting. I saw their lord get wounded. But it is you, My Lord, who wanted to help."
Avery chuckled freely, owning that this daring rescue was his idea. "It can¡¯t hurt to have someone owe a big favor. I need allies, and a grateful ally is the best kind you can have."
Petra sighed, but Angelo couldn¡¯t hear it over his warning, "Fast landing."
Angelo pumped more volatile oil into the furnace to set it ablaze. Then, using magic, he enriched the volatile oil mixture with oxygen-rich air through a small brass pipe, turning the furnace glowing red-hot. Instead of adding buoyancy, the hot air was bled to the rear as propulsion.
He then carefully used the airship''s own weight, combined with the reduced buoyancy, to enter a dive.
As they descended rapidly, their ears popped, and Petra frowned from the pain. Meanwhile, Avery grinned as they picked up more speed. "This is no turtle, girl. No turtle," he chuckled, recalling how his grandchild often remarked that the airship moved slowly like her pet land turtle.
While the design was well thought out and the shape had been tried and tested, speed was still far from expectations. Worse yet, it steered like a blind donkey, sometimes becoming erratic or refusing commands. That was why a mage was necessary¡ªto steer it with confidence and for emergencies.
In fact, this venture took a significant leap forward after Avery recruited Angelo nine years ago. Since then, they have thoroughly tested and rebuilt the airship from the ground up. Angelo had also mastered the technique to increase heat to the furnace, enabling it to go faster and even enter a dive and recover.
And now, his piloting skills would be tested as never before.
***
Audrey
The majestic vessel continued to descend, and it was clear that it would land not far from where she stood. Audrey had only seen two people inside, prompting her to signal her guards to refrain from aggression.
"Keep the crossbows and horses away. Stand back. A large vessel is coming from the sky."
Her people acted upon her order. They had seen an unknown object covering the night sky and, from its shape, knew it wasn''t a winged monster from the tales of old. Still, its gargantuan size made them nervous.
"Five with me. The rest, stand back. No drawn swords!" she yelled as the wind blew fiercely.
"Are they friendly, My Lady?" the nearest guard asked, readying his shield in front of her.
"I see no heraldry. I guess we''ll find out soon." Audrey then turned to the youngest of them. "Run to the camp and inform them that we might have a noble guest on our hands."
"A noble?" One of the guards commented in disbelief.
"Who else could ride the sky but the richest in the Imperium?" Audrey replied with a hint of disdain.
There were murmurs amongst her men and one asked, "Is it magical?"
It oozed some magic, but not from the entire vessel. She hadn''t told Ingrid, but her ability to see magic had improved.
The wind blew even fiercer as the object was about to land. Then, a blinding white light emerged from it. Audrey instinctively knew it wasn''t from a candle or oil, but from a gemstone of light.
"Stay calm!" she repeated as the black vessel landed in front of them, skidding several times before finally stopping after its passenger threw out chains connected to a small anchor.
Two individuals emerged, walking confidently as the vessel quickly rose again after securing its anchor.
"A mage," Audrey muttered to the one who steered the vessel as their eyes met.
So there are three inside...
One of the two who approached, a strong-looking old man in a trench coat, carried a pole topped with a polished, upturned metallic bowl and a gemstone of light that illuminated his vicinity.
Audrey liked the practical light and made a mental note to replicate that with her own. "Wave your torches and wait," she ordered, and the smell of burnt tallow filled the air as they signaled their guests.
"Hold your swords. We come in peace!" a female voice called as they drew closer.
"Welcome, guest. To whom do we extend our greetings?" Audrey''s guard challenged.
"You are in the presence of the Lord of Dawn," the female announced.
There were murmurs among her men and the guard glanced at Audrey, who acknowledged with a nod. The guard then replied, "The Lady of Korimor welcomes you."
Then, as the two appeared in front of them, the old man gazed at Audrey warmly, saying, "Avery Dawn, at your service, O Lady of Korimor."
The wind breezed past them as Audrey said, "There are too many questions that breed suspicion, Lord of Dawn. May I humbly seek your wisdom on your arrival?"
The man smiled but said with urgency, "We can trade words as we work. Let us not tarry as the Lord of Korelia is in trouble."
Audrey''s eyes turned sharp, even leaking murderous intentions. "How do you know?"
Instead of answering, the man said, "The woman beside me is a healer. I believe you want her assistance as soon as possible."
***
Lansius
Audrey''s voice echoed ominously through the murky shadows, but Lansius could only squint as he couldn''t understand what she was saying. "I¡¯ll turn them into targets," her voice suddenly became clear. Only then he realized he was in an archery range.
Faceless men lined up, their eyes pleading for mercy, but all they heard was increasingly sinister laughter. Her words then twisted into horrifying commands, and Lansius couldn''t utter a word to intervene. This drove him mad with frustration, and as he struggled to comprehend, the scene abruptly shifted.
He now found himself in a banquet hall. Audrey approached with a playful promise, "I''ll spoil you when you wake up," her voice a sharp contrast to the terror before.
The festive atmosphere slowly transformed into a grotesque circus of food and wine, where the liquid shimmered thicker than wine, resembling blood. Lansius turned to call for a servant, but instead, the physician appeared, his apparel stained with blood and holding bloody tongs in his right hand.
The maester looked confused upon seeing Lansius and turned to the other men, "Hold him tight!"
From behind, guards came and seized Lansius, who tried to protest, but nothing came out of his mouth and his arms were powerless. Meanwhile, Audrey could only stand weeping, saying, "Give me a sign, any sign."
The feverish phantoms continued to play their macabre madness. Each iteration was more desperate and distorted than the last. Lansius felt lost, running in an endless mental maze before it took an unexpected turn. The chaos faded into a serene scene.
He saw a lonely figure covered in a cloak, sitting with his back straight. The figure had a beautiful beard and hummed a soothing melody while he patiently worked with tools Lansius had never seen before. It was peaceful and mesmerizing to watch.
Then the figure rose from his seat, lifting what looked like delicate metal parts. He walked into an area surrounded by steel cables, hoists, ladders, and all kinds of machinery. The bearded man entered a metal basket that lifted him as if by a hydraulic elevator, where he then began to work on a large bipedal mecha, several models and sizes of which were standing side by side.
It awed Lansius, but at the same time, nothing made sense to him, and he realized that he was dreaming.
Lansius gasped and coughed.
His throat felt dry, his tunic sticky with sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted around, recognizing the ceiling of his own tent. Nearby, Carla slept soundly on a chair. Then, memories flooded in, mixed with pulsating pain and pins and needles. Slowly, he regained his faculties.
"Carla," he tried his voice, which sounded parched. The squire remained asleep. "Carla," he tried again, but she didn''t budge, likely exhausted.
Driven by thirst, Lansius moved his body, feeling sluggish. Just then, someone entered unnoticed, like a cat. He turned to look and saw two beautiful hazelnut eyes.
"Lans!" Audrey exclaimed in surprise.
"Water," Lansius said as Audrey carefully helped him back to his resting position. "You''re awake. You''re finally awake," she breathed, relief washing over her face.
Before Audrey could pour him a drink, he asked, "Have you punished anyone?"
"Punished...?" Audrey squinted as she offered him a goblet. As Lansius sipped it, she explained, "No, we''ve kept everyone alive. I''m waiting for your decision."
"Good," he commented wearily. "It''s funny... I just had a nightmare."
"What kind of nightmare?" she asked, wiping his face and limbs with a wet cloth to clean the sticky sweat.
Lansius exhaled weakly. "You lining up the rebels and shooting them with crossbows until they died..." He stared at her, asking, "You would never do that, right?"
"No, never. I''m not a brute." Yet her tone sounded rather suspicious.
Lansius squinted at her, and she let out a long sigh. "I may have threatened you with that, just to see if you''d react."
Her admission made him chuckle, which ended with a groan as his pain returned.
Carla, who had awakened, excused herself, saying, "I''ll be asking for Lady Petra." And quickly left.
Catching her words, he said, "I don''t recognize that name. Where are we? How long since I fainted?"
"Slowly, slowly," Audrey said, kissing him on the forehead.
"Is it that bad?" he remarked, noticing how gentle her behavior was. Then something struck him. "Don''t tell me I''ve lost my leg?" He quickly rubbed his thigh, found it wrapped in linen bandages, and felt relieved.
"It''s there. No physician dared to cut above the knee." She then took a spoonful of honey from a small jar and slathered it on his dry lips.
The sweet taste calmed him. Only then did Audrey explain, "You''ve been asleep for three nights. The wound is healing nicely." She then reported, "Sir Harold has moved the main troops back to three villages safely, Servius is recovering, and the Nicopolans from the bulwark are also recovering from their plague¡ª"
"They don''t join the rebels?" he asked, surprised.
Audrey smiled. "Most Nicopolans respect you. What happened that night was just a case of a bad egg in a basket."
Lansius exhaled deeply, relieved from the guilt and burden.
"Before he left, Sir Harold sent select men as reinforcements and to resupply us. So, the situation is under control."
"How many were killed and injured?"
"Thirty-one were killed. We captured sixteen, but four didn''t make it. More importantly, we lost seventeen men, mostly Nicopolans who jumped to Servius'' defense. And double that number are injured," she replied without hesitation.
He gazed at her, asking for confirmation, "No purge?"
Audrey shook her head. "No purge."
Footsteps were heard before Carla returned with a lady in a light purple doublet and long brown hair.
"You might not know her, but she treated you," Audrey informed him. "She''s Petra, a Saint Candidate."
The title jolted Lansius. He was injured on a secluded mountain pass in Umberland, the last place he would expect a Saint Candidate to appear.
***
Chapter 142 : Iron World
Chapter 142
Iron World
Mountain Pass, Camp
The newly introduced Petra bowed her head gracefully. "Please, there''s no need to introduce me as a Saint Candidate."
Lady Audrey said nothing but moved aside, allowing Petra to check on Lord Lansius.
Despite Petra''s modesty, she appreciated being recognized and treated well. Although young, she understood how nobles could behave, especially when in pain. Due to the propaganda from the Midlandia Earldom, she often encountered patients who expected immediate recovery, which was simply impossible.
Time for work. She cheered herself up, hoping this patient would be kind.
First, Petra visually inspected the bandages for any yellowing or signs of pus. The linen, changed just yesterday, was still largely dry and showed no discoloration.
She then checked for signs of healing or any redness around the wound, looking for persistent swelling or tenderness that could indicate an infection or other complications. "My Lord, could you try to flex your ankle a bit?"
Lansius complied without much trouble.
"Any pain or discomfort?" Petra asked, observing his range of motion and noting that the lord did not exert himself too much.
"Just a bit stiff," he explained.
Petra smiled gently and replied, "That''s enough for now, My Lord."
"Should I try to move my knee?" Lansius inquired.
"Maybe in a few days. The movement in your ankle is sufficient to indicate that your wound is healing properly."
"Does he need ointment?" Audrey asked.
"Once the wound is dry, we can use honey to promote healing. Later, we can apply garlic paste, wine, or vinegar to ensure the stitches do not develop ulcers."
"Pardon me, Lady," Lansius called her attention. "This is just a fool¡¯s curiosity since I¡¯m a foreigner. I''ve seen mages perform their healing, but I¡¯m curious about a Saint Candidate¡¯s methods."
Petra smiled and extended her palm over his wound. She didn''t appear to be concentrating, but Lansius'' surprised expression indicated otherwise.
"How does it feel?" Audrey inquired.
Lansius turned to Audrey and replied, "It''s warm and tingling, more noticeable than I anticipated."
Petra ceased the treatment. "You¡¯ve had more than enough for now, My Lord. Doing more might impede your recovery."
"For curiosity¡¯s sake, may I know why?"
Petra thought for a moment before explaining, "Like mages, our healing boosts regrowth. However, it could lead to overgrowth." She then noticed the lord''s discomfort with his throat. "Is it hard to swallow, My Lord?"
He cleared his throat and responded, "Somewhat sore."
Petra then opened her basket, which Carla had carried. It was packed with pouches and glass vials stacked neatly. She took dried sage leaves from it, their edges curled and brittle with age. Turning to Carla, she instructed, "Take this to your physician. It¡¯s sage leaves; he¡¯ll know what to do. Add some vinegar and honey. It¡¯s best done early so the Lord can eat comfortably. He needs his strength back."
Carla nodded and took the dried leaves with both hands as she left.
"You don¡¯t need to ask the physician¡¯s permission," Lady Audrey suggested.
"I must, My Lady. While I can perform healing magic, the physician knows more about medicine than I do."
Lord Lansius seemed surprised by her words, but it was Lady Audrey who commented, "You seem to have a great deal of respect for our physician. But he¡¯s nobody special, just someone we recruited in South Hill."
Petra smiled. "Contrary to what the Midlandia Earldom wants people to believe, we''re not so different from a trained physician and herbalist. Moreover, your physician certainly has more experience and knows more about your health."
Lady Audrey nodded and asked, "So is that the difference between your healing and that of mages?"
"You could say so, My Lady," Petra responded, aware of Audrey¡¯s subtle magical aura and her rare eyes.
"So, a combination of mage healing and physician care," Lansius mused.
Petra simply nodded. Despite being on the run from the monastery, she felt that outsiders didn¡¯t need to know the depth of their abilities.
***
Lansius
They let him rest and then tried some watered-down gruel for food, followed by a concoction of sage leaves at the end. He thought it would be sour from the vinegar, but the honey mostly covered the taste.
Audrey then convinced him to sleep some more. It wasn¡¯t difficult for Lansius since he was still dizzy and feeling weak. He fell asleep and woke up feeling refreshed after what appeared to be several hours. He noticed the cooler air and the fading light and knew it was close to supper time.
"Ah, you''ve awakened," said Audrey, sitting next to the bed, prompting him to gaze at her. However, the formality of her tone¡ªand now her expression, devoid of sweetness¡ªindicated that someone else was around.
"Are we expecting someone?" Lansius asked.
A gentle snort was heard before a confident voice replied, "Apologies for intruding."
It was a voice Lansius had never heard before, and as he turned, he saw the speaker: an old gentleman in a baroque-looking white shirt. Despite his age, his physique suggested he could probably still match his knights in a sword fight.
Lansius observed the clothing style, the sheen of the fabric, and the demeanor, and asked, "Are you the one I must thank for bringing me the Saint Candidate?"
"Very good," the old man chuckled, pleased with the reaction.
Audrey rose from her seat and stood beside Lansius. "He''s the Lord of Dawn."
"Avery Dawn?" Lansius asked with wide eyes while trying to sit up. He hadn¡¯t expected that name; he thought Avery would be further south, busy dealing with the marauding Nicopolans.
"Please, be at ease," Avery urged with a fatherly yet stern voice that made Lansius aware this was a man accustomed to command. "I''m merely helping. Even without the Saint Candidate''s assistance, your physician would have treated you well," he remarked lightly.
"Still, to come this far when the road lurks with danger¡ªhow can I repay your help?" Lansius asked, as was expected of him.
Avery smiled and sipped his aromatic concoction. "I''m mostly pursuing my own curiosity. And you shouldn''t say something like that to a stranger like me. I might have ulterior motives and plans to use you."
The older gentleman''s candid approach seemed to impact Audrey, who glanced warmly at Lansius.
Avery reassured him, "Don''t look for a deeper meaning beyond survival. I''m merely trying to make friends. With the world getting crazier around us and the Imperium''s inability to enforce order, every wise noble should know that having allies is vital for their house''s survival."
Outwardly, Lansius listened quietly. But inside, he felt that something was amiss. "I''m honored to be considered a friend, but as you can see, I''m thoroughly incompetent."
Avery snorted, but Lansius continued to humble himself, trying to bait the older gentleman into revealing his motives. "My own men betrayed me and I was almost killed. Thus, I''m giving up on the Nicopolans'' business and plan to return home."
"As you should be," Avery said without hesitation, hinting at a different agenda that surprised Lansius. "If you are unable to fully commit to Nicopola, then you should let them sort out their issues."
Lansius could only nod in response.
Leaning forward, Avery said, "Still, while measuring oneself is important, one shouldn''t lose sight of the big picture." He stared warmly at Lansius, adding, "Anyone could see that you currently possess the most successful military in the southeast part of the Imperium. And if the stories are true, you also have the Nomads, the Nicopolans, and even the half-beasts'' support."
"Most are just exaggerations. And the Nicopolans rebelled."
"Only a small portion compared to the host of Nicopolans under you," said Avery as he leaned back in his seat.
Lansius had no immediate response, allowing Avery to continue, "Curiously, do you know why they rebelled?"
The tone indicated that it wasn''t a question, but more of a quiz from a teacher to a student. Pondering for a bit, Lansius sighed and answered, "Greed."
Avery shook his head. "To me, it''s not greed, but hope."
"Hope...?" Lansius squinted.
"Even I, who learned about you from third-party reports, know that you''re a successful warlord, conquering one domain after another," Avery said, his tone almost like a rebuke. "It''s easy to understand how your men think regarding Nicopola. They saw hope when you easily turned the situation around in Korimor, South Hill, and even with the coup in Three Hills. Hope is an incredible intoxicant. They dreamed of what you could do in Nicopola and acted upon it."
Lansius exhaled deeply, realizing his mistake. Audrey put her hand on his shoulder to reassure him.
"Basically, you''re a victim of your own success." Avery''s words lingered for a moment. "But don''t be mournful. Not much has changed. You''re still young, your wound will heal in time, and you''re still a powerful lord, and your alliance could likely unite Lowlandia. That alone is already an incredible feat."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"I''m grateful for your wise words," said Lansius with a faint smile.
Avery nodded, seemingly taking delight that his words were well received. "The young shouldn''t dwell on their mistakes," he muttered.
Feeling it wouldn''t hurt to ask, Lansius tried, "So what do you recommend for me?"
"Ultimately, there''s nothing you can do, especially in the face of winter. Thus, I wholeheartedly support what you said earlier. It''s better to go home and build your power base."
Lansius furrowed his brows. "But you said you wanted an ally?"
"An ally can come in many forms, not just a presence on the battlefield," Avery retorted without missing a beat.
Lansius was at a loss. He wasn¡¯t naive enough to take everything at face value, but at the same time, he couldn¡¯t decipher Avery¡¯s real intentions. He came to realize that uncovering the truth might take time. Thus, he decided to play along. "But what about the Nicopolans? Many are still with me."
Avery shrugged. "I''m not in your position, so I can''t really say. However, I can tell you the best outcome that benefits me the most."
This intrigued Lansius, who watched and listened intently.
"I¡¯ve talked to Servius, with the Lady of Korimor''s permission, of course," Avery reassured Lansius. "The man revealed some of your plan to form a free legion, and I think it might have a decent chance of succeeding."
The older gentleman shifted in his seat and relaxed before continuing, "Moreover, this perfectly aligns with my plan. I say, let the Nicopolans return. With their numbers, armaments, and supplies, they¡¯ll be in a strong position to take control over the local groups. That way, they could direct their efforts not to raid my domain but to guard their area against the other factions."
"Won''t it continue the civil bloodbath?"
"On the contrary, it''ll stabilize the situation. Right now, the other two factions are getting too strong, while the natives are losing in Elandia, Umberland, and also against my domain. Ironically, the best way to restore order was to achieve a stalemate. That way they''ll be forced to abandon their plan to get food from raiding and return to farming or die trying."
Lansius closed his eyes momentarily, pondering. He could see the logic but prickled with doubts. "Why tell me with such honesty?"
"Well... I''m old," Avery replied with a charming smile, "and based on my experience, people trust me better when I''m frank and hide as little as I can. Lies will benefit in the short term but fail to gain lasting interest."
Lansius contemplated a new plan. Yet, after factoring in the men''s abilities and the situation, he only foresaw a disaster in the making. "I only see massive deaths," he muttered. "Even if I let a thousand Nicopolans to return, I only see them wasting their lives with no certainty of winning or helping the populace."
"That''s where you get it wrong," Avery said firmly. "Even if you know the outcome, their lives are not yours to decide. And believe it or not, they would rather die in their homes than on foreign soil."
Lansius felt Audrey''s massage on his shoulder. He glanced at her and she said, "I know you care for them, but their lives are ultimately their choice."
Exhaling deeply, Lansius began to concede, realizing that his natural tendency to save people had ironically earned him the Nicopolans'' antipathy.
"At this stage, it¡¯s best not to get entangled in their bloody struggle. It¡¯s a great famine, and there''s little we can do. You don¡¯t have enough, I don¡¯t have enough. Nobody has enough food to save the populace through the winter. So, don¡¯t play the hero; go home and preserve your sanity," Avery advised in a somber tone as if speaking from personal experience.
Silence filled the room before Lansius said, "I shall take your advice to heart. Then, is there anything else I can do for you?"
Avery''s charming smile returned. "I need to purchase horses and perhaps enlist some Nicopolans for my cause."
Lansius glanced at Audrey who nodded in agreement. He then returned his attention to Avery, stating, "I think we can arrange that."
"Excellent, because despite all the plans, accidents and losses do happen in battles. And besieged, I''m without reliable access to horse trade."
Audrey asked, "How many do you need?"
"It depends on the price, but one hundred horses would be a reasonable number, along with fifty riders." As the noises outside grew, signaling that suppertime had arrived, Avery rose. "I should take my leave. You should eat and recover. We can discuss this further tomorrow."
Lansius, feeling a gnawing suspicion, decided to ask, "Lord of Dawn, is there something else you haven¡¯t revealed to us?"
Avery turned to him, looking amused. "I do have a proposal, but I only do business when I know the other party can manage it."
"Then we''ll try to live up to your expectations," Lansius declared.
Avery chuckled and headed to the exit. "Get well soon, Lord of Korelia. And take care, Lady of Korimor."
...
"So, how many men are with him?" Lansius asked during supper, sitting in his bed propped up by pillows made of blankets and spare clothes.
"Just him and the Saint Candidate," said Audrey, sitting on a chair facing him, holding a large portion of a meal on a plate in one hand.
"Just two?" Lansius was puzzled.
"He came in an airship that flies, piloted by a mage. I doubt he needed an entourage to convince anyone."
"An airship? It flies?" Lansius'' eyes widened. "Why didn''t you tell me sooner?"
"You just woke up." She brought another spoonful of food.
Looking at the full spoon, Lansius said, "I think I can manage to eat on my own."
"No, no, let me enjoy this. I''m going to cherish this moment," she said rather cheerfully, prompting Lansius to open his mouth like a toddler voluntarily.
Lansius tasted the diced salted and ginger-like meat inside the porridge, swallowed, and then took his goblet from the table. He drank and asked, "Why though? Why cherish this moment? I mean, I''m injured."
"You survived," she stared at him. "I thought I lost you, you know?"
"Right..." Lansius said, showing regret, and surrendered himself to take another spoonful of porridge.
Lansius munched slowly and swallowed before commenting, "A Saint Candidate, a mage, and a flying airship. What kind of powerful man are we dealing with?"
"We''re fortunate that he''s decent. With such power, I suspected the worst." Audrey then turned her gaze to the canvas door, just as Carla suddenly appeared from outside.
"My Lady, My Lord. Sir Harold, Dietrich, and Sterling want to see you."
"But we''re eating," said Audrey.
However, without even waiting, the three entered. "Excuse us, My Lady, My Lord," Sir Harold declared.
Audrey sighed while Lansius asked, "Something happened?"
Seeing and hearing Lansius'' voice, the three showed a wide variety of emotions. Sir Harold grinned broadly, Dietrich looked relieved, while Sterling''s eyes turned moist.
"They all are worried about you," Audrey said while glancing at the three.
"Everyone is, My Lord," Sir Harold reassured him.
Lansius smiled at them and said, "Sorry to let you down."
"Don''t be, my lord," Sir Harold replied before adding, "I''m just relieved to see you back. I regret not being there to protect you; I wish I had been at your side."
Meanwhile, Dietrich blurted out emotionally, "Please forgive me, my lord. Despite precautions, it still happened, and I was unable to protect you."
"You weren''t with me because I ordered you to get the cavalry," Lansius said sternly. "Without the cavalry, the rebellion would have spread. Under these circumstances, you''re doing the best you can."
Sterling knelt down, drawing everyone''s attention. "My lord, please punish me. I was leading the night watch when it happened."
Lansius motioned for him to rise. When the squire remained on his knees, he said sternly, "There''s little you or the night watch could have done. Judging by how determined they were, it could have ended far worse."
The men nodded solemnly, and Sterling reluctantly rose as Sir Harold helped him up.
Watching them, Lansius said, "The fact that almost all those involved were killed or captured means that the rebellion was successfully contained."
The three were relieved, despite still bearing guilt on their faces.
Lansius continued, "I say, let¡¯s not focus on the failure. A leader must be impartial, and you men have proven capable in preventing the rebellion from spreading. That is a great feat. I shall reward you all accordingly when we get home." He added, "And since we''re on the topic, you should know that we''re headed home."
The men were surprised, but their expressions clearly showed gladness.
"But what about the campaign to Nicopola?" Dietrich asked.
"There''s no such thing," Lansius revealed. "I''ve only offered Servius to form a free company. Any Nicopolans who want to return will have my blessing."
"But many will leave..." Sterling showed concern.
"As they should. They''re not mine to keep, and they''ve helped us take South Hill, farm there, and some took part in defending Three Hills from the coup."
"Fewer troops also mean fewer mouths to feed," Sir Harold reminded Sterling, who nodded thoughtfully.
"I envision that the Nicopolans should use the three villages as their power base. They should farm and be self-reliant. We shall supply them with weapons, horses, and grains as loans, to be traded later for cash or land if they succeed in retaking parts of the province."
"It sounds like a risky endeavor," Audrey warned.
"It is, but I''m willing to take that risk," he replied. He then turned to the tall knight. "Sir Harold, how do you deal with the fact that we can''t help the commoners in Nicopola from famine and winter?"
"It is what it is," the knight remarked with bitterness but without hesitation. "During a bad harvest, people die. That''s nobody''s fault but the weather."
"The curse of sedentary peoples," Sterling added, prompting Dietrich to nod in agreement.
Lansius looked at the large plate of food and couldn''t help but comment, "I initially thought we could save people, but instead, we''re sending more men to war."
"My Lord, have you thought about what goal you''ve set for the free company?" Sir Harold asked.
The question made Lansius think. "I haven¡¯t given him a specific goal."
"Then, I''ll talk to Servius. I think there¡¯s a chance we can create a safe corridor, allowing commoners who are willing to farm to move to three villages."
"A safe corridor... I like the sound of that," Lansius'' face brightened. "Tell me more about it."
***
Words circulated camp that the Lord of Korelia had recovered and resumed command. While not many had seen him face-to-face after that fateful night, they had no reason to distrust the Lord''s staff. That night, the mood and morale in the camp slowly returned to their original state.
The next morning, Lansius appeared in front of his tent, seated and soaking in the warm glow of the sunlight. He was following the Saint Candidate''s advice to absorb the sun¡¯s rays to speed up his healing process. His wound was still bandaged and his skin looked pale, but otherwise, he appeared normal.
Soon enough, the men crowded around the tent. Many were offering him well wishes, while the rest tried their best to cheer up the Lord.
Lansius chuckled at their jests and felt gratitude for their words of comfort. Finding his chance, he spoke, "Lowlandians, hear me out." The men quickly listened.
"We''ve reached our goals in Umberland. There''s nothing else to do here."
The men''s faces smiled and grew excited. They knew what that meant.
Gazing at them with a smile, Lansius said, "So I say, let''s go home. Korelia awaits."
"Victory!" one shouted, much to the others'' laughter.
Their echoes had not yet subsided when one shouted, "Undefeated army!"
This time they glanced at each other, chuckling and grinning. "Undefeated!" another echoed, followed by many. It became a new rallying cry.
Lansius sat in peace, looking at his men with joy. They had fought battle after battle, and strong bonds had formed between them.
Then someone asked, "But My Lord, what about the Nicopolans?"
All eyes were on Lansius, who explained, "As far as I''m concerned, those who raised swords against us are either dead or captured. Let military law take care of them. As for the rest," he paused, "I''m not the man who blames someone for their brother''s mistake."
His words calmed his men. Lansius continued, "You should also know that I''m going to form a free company for the Nicopolans. They can opt either to join, stay with us, or farm in peace as villagers. The details will be worked out later, but you shouldn''t worry. Just think about home. How many days do you reckon we need to get there?"
The crowd turned lively with numbers being shouted and arguments thrown.
Lansius laughed at their reactions. And then someone he recognized squeezed through the crowd. "My Lord," he greeted.
"Farkas, you''re here. Come, get closer." Lansius motioned for him to approach.
"Letters, My Lord. From Calub and Dame Daniella."
"Calub...?" Lansius felt it was odd. Calub should have posted his report alongside Sir Justin. So, a personal report must mean a warning. "Give me Calub''s first."
Farkas took a sealed letter from a leather cover and offered it to Lansius.
Lansius unsealed the letter and read it twice. His facial expression turned serious.
Audrey returned from her rounds and the crowd parted for her and her guards to approach the tent. She caught Lansius reading a letter and stood next to him, knowing from a glance that it was a serious one.
She looked at the crowd and casually addressed them, "Don''t you have things to do? Or do you need things to do?"
The crowd dispersed with grins like children avoiding their mother. They knew her words could end with arms and armor inspections, which they would fail and then be forced to clean and polish in front of a staff.
Lansius paid the crowd no heed, absorbed in the letter, and then, without glancing up, passed the letter to Audrey.
"What''s it about?"
"Midlandia. A succession war in Midlandia, and the nobles want us as allies."
Audrey laughed mockingly. "But we''re Lord Bengrieve''s henchmen."
"They promised me Lord Bengrieve''s castle and holdings if we could beat him."
Audrey laughed, finding it amusing, and Lansius did too. But behind their laughter, they were worried. They had grown into a force that even Midlandia''s nobles couldn''t ignore. And now, Midlandia wanted them to play an active part in their succession crisis, even going so far as to pit them against Lord Bengrieve.
"Does it say when?" Audrey asked as they basked in the morning sun.
"Calub said it has begun, but the major push will likely happen after winter."
"So, what will you do?"
"Nothing. I''ll cross that bridge when we come to it," Lansius shrugged. "As for today, Sir Harold and Servius should be able to handle the free company and the safe corridor. Dietrich should lead the footmen to march back. We''ll catch up on horseback in..." He looked at his wound and tried to flex it.
"Probably four to five days," Audrey suggested.
Lansius nodded. "Also, I''m planning to stay late and watch an airship," he changed the topic. "You said they''re fast¡ªthat means they have propulsion, and I''m curious about what kind of fuel they use."
Audrey smiled widely. "I want to see it race against a horse."
The two chuckled. In the face of another greater conflict, they knew instinctively that they needed to seize every moment. Because no place was truly safe as the Imperium''s vast domains continued to crumble.
***
Chapter 143 : Veins of the South
Chapter 143
Veins of the South
Mountain Pass
The Lord and Lady retreated into their tent as they had work cut out for them. Lansius wore his tunic, and the shade felt comfortable after building up a sweat from sunbathing. Audrey helped Lansius walk to his seat and fetched a drink for them. Fortunately, his wound still allowed him to sit comfortably.
"What about the letter from Dame Daniella?" he asked Farkas, who was still with them.
Farkas took another letter from a leather sleeve and offered it to Lansius.
Lansius took the letter, broke its seal, then rested his back and began to read. He was immediately struck by the investigation Daniella had conducted. "So, there''s a large smuggling ring operating right under our noses," he muttered, catching Audrey''s attention.
"Three Hills is a big city; I''d say it''s only to be expected," she said without concern. "What are their operations?"
"Letters and small goods. Apparently, they have a direct route through the mountain without needing to detour through Umberland."
"I suspected as much," she turned to Farkas. "Anything to add?"
"I heard from the men in the moneylender''s house that the hidden path was through the mountain, with rope bridges, caves, and tunnels. The route was perilous but reliable enough to transport small items and luxury goods."
"So we can confirm that there exists an alternate land route other than just through Umberland," Lansius said, half mulling.
"I wouldn''t really call it a route since it''s used mostly for goods and letters, not people," Farkas replied.
Lansius nodded, then returned to the letter, which contained more information about the smugglers, their activities, their reach, and whether they posed a threat. "Just when I needed her most to lead the Nicopolans," he muttered.
"You wanted Dame Daniella here?"
"With your permission, of course, My Lady," Lansius quipped sweetly, making Audrey smile.
"I think Servius needed help. But if she''s dealing with smugglers with reach as far as Korimor, I better let her do her work." Then, looking at the hunter-turned-lieutenant, Lansius asked, "What do you think about Dame Daniella¡¯s security in Three Hills?"
"I think she has enough trusted men and a group of skirmishers. Moreover, when Lord Jorge and Sir Morton return, the security will be much stronger."
Lansius'' eyes unconsciously wandered, trying to make a decision. Noticing this, Audrey suggested, "If you''re worried about her, better to recall her."
Lansius exhaled. "Her work is important, and the security is sufficient. Maybe I''m just worrying for nothing."
"You probably have extra fear because of the rebel attempts, but don''t let it cloud your judgment." Audrey reaching out for the letter.
Lansius gave her the letter and quipped, "If only she were as tough as you."
Audrey''s face turned smug. Despite the life-and-death situation just a few nights ago, she showed no stress, as if the coup hadn¡¯t scarred her at all. It was a mental fortitude that Lansius envied.
A far cry from when we were reunited...
He turned to Farkas again, who wore a slightly awkward expression as if he shouldn''t be here. It was to be expected, as the man was a hunter and not a squire who was used to being close to them. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Yes, My Lord. There''s something else. A smuggler sent us a letter from a lord from the other side of the mountains." Farkas took a cylindrical wooden object from his bag and opened it to reveal a small scroll.
"Nicopola, I presume?"
"Indeed. Although, I think it''s a bit too late. It''s from the Lord of Dawn, he''s proposing an alliance."
Audrey snorted, and as Lansius took the letter, he commented, "So he has eyes on us even before we secured Umberland. And an alliance... What does he want with us?"
Her eyes met his. "The same thing he said yesterday?"
"No, that was after we secured Umberland." Lansius took a deep breath, trying to think of something but found none, so he mumbled loudly, "Something we had even before we secured Umberland, and it''s important enough for him to propose an alliance."
Audrey wasn''t convinced by that idea. "What good is an alliance if we can''t even see each other and need a smuggler just to send a letter?"
"Well, as you said, he has an airship."
"I doubt it''s as reliable as carts and horses. Otherwise, he''d bring more men and servants."
"Good point." Lansius agreed that even with the help of magic, an airship with a bulbous shape like the one she had described naturally produced enormous drag and was troublesome to steer. Its lightweight skin would also be a pain to maintain and therefore costly.
Not a workhorse, but a yacht.
***
Lansius
Before midday, Lansius met with Sir Harold, who was accompanied by a half-breed standing a few steps away like a proud squire, wearing a grey gambeson. They were finalizing the details of their plan to march back, including who would lead the vanguard, manage the rear guard, and oversee security in three villages and the bulwark.
"Have you given her a name?" Lansius asked after they had finished with the plan.
Sir Harold glanced at the half-breed and shook his head. "I have not, My Lord. The honor is too great for me."
The half-breed smiled faintly, and Lansius asked, "Out of curiosity, what name do you go by?"
"My tribal name is¡ª" followed by a short, precise burst of deep, resonant grunts with a unique pitch and tone.
Yep, not going to try that...
Lansius changed the subject. "A question, do you find human language difficult?"
"It''s not hard, My Lord. The Old Man''s scripture was written in human language, and every child studied it."
Seeing that the Lord was still curious, she added, "Compared to my tongue, human''s is more complicated. Too many rules and is not direct. Half-breeds can convey similar things with just different sounds of short grunts."
Lansius nodded, finding it interesting. Then, he turned to the knight. "Sir Harold, correct me if I''m wrong, but when I first met you, weren''t you using an axe?"
The knight''s eyes sparkled. "That''s right, My Lord. I lost it when we charged the South Hill column on the plains of Korelia."
Lansius acknowledged the story and asked, "Why don¡¯t you use an axe anymore?"
"It¡¯s hard to find the perfect one. The ones in Korelia and Three Hills are mostly felling axes or splitting axes, modified for war. They''re far from real battle axes."
Lansius smiled at this new knowledge. "I never knew that picking an axe is harder than choosing a sword."
"Midlandia can make good swords, so there are a lot of them around."
Lansius then turned to the half-breed, who was listening patiently like a squire. "Then, I''ll give you a fitting name."
The half-breed wasn''t expecting it, but she readily knelt and said, "Name me, O Lord."
"In my birthplace, there''s a good name for a throwing axe. We call it Francisca."
The half-breed and Sir Harold exchanged glances. "I like it," the half-breed said first.
Sir Harold grinned, "Sounds powerful, it should suit you."
"Let''s have a small ceremony," Lansius suggested with a smile. He then turned to Carla, who was standing by, "Bring the spiced wine; this calls for a cup or two."Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
***
Lunch was served, and Lansius continued his work while Audrey did her rounds around the camp. He took care of the matter of payments for the Umberland campaign, which, due to the lack of hostages or loot, had yielded no direct financial gain. It also failed to gain him any land, as it ultimately belonged to the Umberland barony. His House merely borrowed it for a security pact.
Despite the gravity of the issue, his expression remained light, his thoughts drifting to home. He longed for Korelia, to spend his winters there in peace. The two had been campaigning non-stop this year, and despite having each other, the echo of Korelia¡¯s calm grasslands was a constant whisper in their minds.
The old castle in Korelia, with its woody and hay-like scent, cramped corridors, and the sound of horses from the stable, was the place that gave them familiar comforts. A place they could call home.
He was about to finish when Carla entered and announced, "The Lord of Dawn is here, My Lord."
"Just a moment," Lansius said as he made sure his writings were dry before placing another parchment over them.
Avery entered. "Am I intruding on your work?"
"Not at all, please have a seat."
Avery did so, taking his seat with a slight groan, as was normal for a man of his age.
"I have your letter, just delivered this morning," Lansius began, placing the letter on the table.
"Oh, that," Avery said dismissively, without taking it. "You can safely discard that. Things have progressed faster than I expected."
Lansius smiled. "Well, what can I do? It''s not like I willingly took a bolt to the thigh."
Avery let out a short laugh. Afterward, he commented, "The smugglers need to be faster with urgent mail. I¡¯ll push them harder next time."
"You seem to be familiar with them?"
"They are¡ªhow should I say¡ªa necessary bother. Like dung that fertilizes crops, or that spoiled animal fat that you use to grease a wheel hub," Avery explained.
"I understand that much."
"You still need to control them from time to time. Otherwise, they''ll dabble in dangerous stuff like kidnapping and then slavery."
"I shall take your advice to heart," Lansius said with a slight bow of his head to indicate his seriousness. Then, returning to a relaxed position, he took a scroll his scribe had written yesterday and offered it to Avery. "My offer for the warhorse you asked for."
"Ah, gratitude," Avery said, rising from his seat to take it from him. He then read it while Lansius gave him some quiet time.
"The numbers look reassuring."
"That''s the fair price in Three Hills for a trained warhorse. I normally could offer you an untrained one, but it''s impossible to get them through the mountain path."
"Indeed, it would be suicidal, and I couldn''t waste time training horses."
"I''ll send some crossbows and spare bolts to sweeten the deal," Lansius offered, like a shrewd merchant, calling it a bonus while in truth, he was giving a sample of Korelia''s homegrown products.
Avery chuckled, and Lansius followed suit.
Without saying anything, the older gentleman offered his hand, and the two clasped hands to seal the deal.
"Carla, can you prepare some wax?" Lansius asked, but Avery raised his palm, saying, "It can wait."
Lansius turned his attention back to Avery, and Carla asked a servant instead to prepare the wax and candle.
"I want you to hear my proposal," Avery said with a steady voice.
"But yesterday, you said I''m not ready to hear it?"
A smile played on his lips as he responded, "I changed my mind."
Lansius was amused by the sudden change, albeit without an explanation. "The letter said that you''re offering an alliance. Is that what the proposal is all about?"
Avery sat back, trusting the folded chair to support the weight of a full-grown man. "The alliance is merely a prerequisite."
Lansius was intrigued but maintained his composure. "An alliance surely makes us both stronger. However, I doubt I could assist you militarily, especially if you plan to expand¡ª"
The old gentleman motioned for Lansius to stop. "There are various kinds of alliances. What I seek is different from what Lord Jorge seeks. You can ask anyone on the other side of the mountain. House Dawn is famous for never expanding."
Lansius squinted. "So, merely an alliance of convenience?"
"Every alliance is born out of convenience," Avery retorted. "What differs are the goals and terms."
"And where are your goals located?"
Avery leaned forward, his voice serious. "Are you familiar with the southern part of the Imperium?"
"The two provinces south of Nicopola?" Lansius tried to recall their names.
"Halicia and Ekionia, My Lords," Carla interjected from where she stood.
Avery nodded with a smile, then continued, "With the rest of the Imperium trapped in wars and likely to remain destabilized for years to come, we in the South shouldn''t rot along with them. Several lords in the two provinces are willing to work with me. If you also join, we can move goods from as far as Elearis and Sarmatia, across Nicopola and Lowlandia, and reach into the Navalnia Empire."
Audrey entered just at the right time, commenting, "That¡¯s a huge trade route."
"Indeed, My Lady. It''s essentially a trade route through the entire southern part of the Imperium," Avery explained proudly.
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who motioned for her to take an empty seat next to them. Then, turning to Avery, he said, "I have never considered this trade route before, and for good reason. The route through Umberland is treacherous. It will take a lot of effort and time... Unless you have a ready fleet of commercial airships."
A scoff escaped Avery''s lips, and he waved his hand dismissively. "Airships are unfortunately expensive and can hardly carry anything significant. Fortunately, we don¡¯t need to cross Umberland, and this is where my barony will come in handy. From Dawn to Corinthia, there¡¯s only a small gulf, no larger than a lake. A riverine boat will only take half a day to cross."
Hearing that, Audrey quickly retrieved a scroll of a map from a wooden box and rolled it out on the table.
Avery studied the map before pointing to an area in the southern part of Nicopola. "This is Dawn, and from here to Corinthia..."
"It''s only a small gulf," Lansius muttered.
"We can set it up right here," Avery pointed to an unmarked area south of Three Hills city. "There¡¯s a quiet fishing village in this area. With some construction¡ªbigger piers, warehouses, and roads¡ªit''ll be as viable as Corinthia."
Lansius nodded thoughtfully. Now, he understood why Avery was here. This was an immense business proposal, one that ironically could only happen because the normal route was embroiled in wars. Yet, it also could only happen if Lowlandia was united. "What do they want to trade exactly?"
Avery''s smile widened. "You must see Halicia and Ekionia to believe it. They are the fastest-growing cities in the Imperium. They have sail ships that ventured east of the Middle Sea, hardened iron that could withstand Beastmen''s claws despite being light, and other advancements."
"And Navalnia wants these," he mulled.
"Indeed. They want iron ingots, silver ores, medicine, alchemical products..."
Something bothered Lansius. "What kind of medicine?"
"Whatever the trader wants. But most importantly, poppy milk."
Lansius drew a heavy breath. Narcotics...
"And what do they give in return?" Audrey asked, noting Lansius'' lack of immediate reaction.
"Gold, rubies, silk, red dye... occasionally old continent artifacts."
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who was still thinking about dealing with narcotics. The history of his world clearly showed just how destructive dealing with one could be.
"The southern provinces have been hit hard by the Imperium''s lack of authority. Trade has been difficult. There are heavy taxes and no guarantees of safety. Banditry is active and now the whole central provinces are besieged by wars. Everything has stagnated to a crawl. Without buyers or orders, workshops have closed, guilds are cutting down their branches, and everybody has returned to farming, growing food."
"It''s good then. We''re facing famine," Lansius responded casually.
Avery burst out laughing, tears flowing from his eyes. Only when the laughter receded did he say, "I know it''s not a jest, but still... This fiasco has dragged down everybody. Even before the famine crisis hit, fewer and fewer merchants came to trade, and my revenue from market taxes has been shrinking. Every city is getting poorer. Unless we can secure another trade route."
"Why not just sail from Halicia through the Middle Sea to Corinthia, or even straight to Navalnia?" Audrey asked with some reservations.
"Because it''s dangerous to do so. For centuries, merchants from the Imperium and Navalnia have attempted to venture across the Middle Sea, but the area around the Great Marshes and Lowlandia is treacherous. Ships easily get stranded or go missing with all hands and cargoes."
"Does this also happen with oar-boats?" Lansius asked.
"As far as I know, yes. The currents are strong and hard to read. Moreover, the survivors tell stories of shallow rocks or sharp corals that are hard to evade. Hence, the route I proposed." He then remarked to Audrey, "If this trade could happen, then we''ll be rich."
Audrey looked unfazed. "If the south is rich while the north is in a helpless situation, then it''ll be an invitation to war."
"Indeed," Avery remarked without an ounce of doubt. "This is why we need to get rich fast. Sooner or later, no matter what our situation, the north will come for us. Let us not be naive to think that whoever sits on the throne will have no designs on us. It''s better to have power as bargaining chips."
***
The sun had warmed the encampment, and the horses had been returned from grazing as patches of grass were limited in this area. Against his wishes, Audrey ordered the men to carry Lansius on canvas stretchers. Horses and men-at-arms flanked them as guards, while the Nicopolans crowded around.
They stopped at the edge of the encampment and observed the sky, waiting.
Yesterday, Lord Avery had used differently colored fabrics in a specific arrangement to signal his airship to proceed with the mission hastily, deviating from the usual practice of waiting until sundown.
Audrey offered Lansius a drink from her waterskin as they patiently waited. The area looked calm and peaceful. Due to the Nicopola conflict and the remoteness of the area, there was no traffic at all. Only the laughter of a distant fox and an eagle in the sky searching for its prey could be heard.
Lansius could see Sir Harold and Francisca patrolling the vicinity. Sterling was at the bulwark, while Dietrich had left with scores of riders to take command of the main army. For the first time, he was to experience a commanding role, preparing to lead their march down the mountain path by tomorrow morning.
As the sun''s heat lessened and the wind gained speed, the blue and bronze flag on a high pole waved proudly and beautifully. It was Lansius'' original banner, one that had strands of Felicity''s golden hair embedded in it.
Lansius enjoyed the serenity, content with having no burden but to wait for a spectacle like watching a curtain rise in a play when suddenly, a noticeable blot appeared from behind the mountain.
"It''s a different one," Audrey remarked.
Lansius glanced at her and returned his gaze to the blot in the sky. At this range, he couldn''t see anything. "Is this far sight also a magic skill?" he whispered.
"I''m not sure..." she answered, then turned to her entourage and called, "Ingrid."
The educator, decked in a fur coat, approached, and the two talked in whispers. Meanwhile, Lansius was absorbed by the coming of the airship. It certainly wasn''t as slow as he had expected. The ship gradually came into view, displaying its sharp triangular tip and a sleek, not-so-bulbous body.
As the airship approached the camp, more men gathered, their eyes wide with wonder. "By the Ageless, it really flies!" a young rider exclaimed in awe.
"How can it fly without flapping any wings?" another commented, met with equal curiosity by many in the crowd.
However, the approaching airship wasn''t black but ivory-colored.
Avery approached from the front after asking a man to hold a small but long flag on a pole. He then joined Lansius.
With space between them and the crowd allowing some privacy, Lansius asked, "I heard it was supposed to be black."
"Your mage wife has excellent eyes. Even my mage pilot has some concerns about her abilities," Avery replied.
Lansius let out a soft laugh at the jest.
Avery continued, "Naturally, I want to conceal them all, especially the black one."
"Then why reveal this one now?"
Avery let out a grin. "Because I just learned that you have taken something precious. And I intend to have a share."
Lansius, still seated on a folded canvas chair with his thigh bandaged, mulled over Avery''s words and intentions.
Many had yet to comprehend the significance of the meeting between two of the most powerful lords in the Imperium''s southern hemisphere, figures who were poised to take control of the entire swath of Nicopola and Lowlandia.
***
Chapter 144 : Four Raised Edges Banca
Chapter 144
Four Raised Edges Banca
Mountain Pass
As the flying object approached in the vast blue sky, the men, whether escorts or bystanders from the camp, watched in awe. Their eyes widened with a mixture of wonder, disbelief, and fear.
A seasoned rider, gripping the reins of his horse tightly, couldn''t contain his amazement. "I never imagined I''d see man traverse the skies."
His words were met with chuckles and nods from his comrades.
While the crowd was still absorbed by the strangeness of the massive object, Lords Lansius and Avery were locked in a different matter entirely.
"Considering you''ve chosen now to tell me this, and not earlier, I assume it has nothing to do with the proposal or the warhorse trade," Lansius remarked.
"Let''s cut to the chase," Avery responded briskly. "I need control over the moneylender House of Three Hills."
"The moneylender House of Three Hills...?" Lansius mused, unsure about what the older baron was plotting.
"The educated elites in Halicia and Nicopola had been trying to form a financial operation away from their provinces. More than just a money lending operation, they envisioned a place to safeguard money, and transfer it safely," Avery explained.
Lansius nodded, understanding the gist. "So, it''s essentially to support your proposed southern trade?"
"Exactly. Consider how many merchants will jump in if they don''t have to carry large sums of money through hostile lands like Lowlandia¡ªno offense," Avery added.
"None taken," Lansius replied lightly but soon adopted a serious tone. "Please don''t misunderstand, but I can''t share control over that House."
Avery''s eyes narrowed, but Lansius held his gaze and continued, "Because I have a better plan for it."
"A better plan?" Skepticism tinged the old man''s voice.
"In my birthplace, there''s also a financial organization called Banca or Bank. It''s there for everyone to borrow money, deposit, or transfer funds."
"Then it''s the same idea," Avery said impatiently.
"Similar functions," Lansius agreed, "but with different authority. For example, if I were to borrow an absurd amount of money, could a moneylender''s house in my region refuse?"
Avery appeared stunned by the question.
"The first problem is: if they''re a House, local lords like me can extort them. I could simply take out loans and delay payments, or outright refuse to pay. The House would be forced into bankruptcy due to these losses. Without good safety measures, they''re just a cash cow."
"Certainly there must be rules," Avery argued.
"We both know that against powerful lords like us, a House or even a moneylender Guild can''t enforce the rules. They have little power over us," Lansius explained.
Avery looked around, clearly displeased. "I should have brought those smart people here to discuss this with you."
Lansius chuckled and decided to provide more insight. "A moneylender House is inherently risky. Wealth is power. If they succeed, a powerful House could buy support and influence the province. They could become the shadow power controlling the region, influencing who''ll inherit your land, and who your granddaughter marries. Is that what you want?"
"Not a chance," Avery rejected vehemently. "Now that I think about it, I''d better send those men to Korelia to learn from you."
"Please do, send as many intellectuals as you can. I need them," Lansius welcomed the idea enthusiastically.
"I''ll arrange it. Now, back to this Banca. What makes it immune to regional lords influence?"
"We need to empower them so they can resist the local lords, but at the same time also limit their ability from misusing their wealth. To do so, we need strong laws and regulations and a way to enforce them."
Avery nodded and said, "Give me something concrete to think about."
"Well, my plan for Lowlandia is for the Grand Alliance to adopt the Bank. We''ll call it the Bank of Lowlandia. Everyone who deposits money at the start will have a vote in decision-making. This way, if a lord tries to misuse the bank, he''ll be opposing other lords and the wealthy Houses in his domain."
"I see, this indeed will prevent even a baron from acting foolishly."
"That''s the idea. We need to also add a clause allowing the bank to seize land or assets if anyone fails to repay loans within a reasonable period. Additionally, to minimize risk, the bank should be prohibited from trading or engaging in activities other than dealing with gold and silver."
"I''m sold," Avery chuckled ominously. "This goes so much deeper than what those Halician elites sold me. Rest assured, even if I have to drag them here bound and gagged, you''ll have your experts in Korelia."
Lansius chuckled in return, though a bit nervously. Avery''s usual charming and gentle demeanor had taken on a sinister edge.
Then he began to ponder: A shogunate bank. Really... I''m biting off more than I can chew.
However, he knew he needed to get it right to avoid problems that could later come back to bite him. He could take risks with other issues, but not with banking, as money was everyone¡¯s lifeline.
Avery looked at the sky where his ivory-colored airship was getting closer by the moment, revealing its enormous size and almost majestic bearing in flight. Then he glanced at Lansius. "Question. I understand that you need a majority to decide on an issue, but does every stakeholder have an equal vote?"
"No. It''ll be bad and unfair. The vote is calculated based on the wealth each stakeholder invested in the bank. Of course, we''ll limit the fund from each House to ensure that no one, not even us, can sway the bank."
Avery nodded satisfied, and the airship began to descend.
From the side, Audrey rode up, garnering a wave of greetings from her men. She dismounted, saw the two, and remarked wittily, "Doing business behind my back?"
"We wouldn''t dare," Avery replied with a warm chuckle.
Old sly...
Still, Lansius felt the need to conclude their conversation. "Best to get your allies in Halicia on board, then we''ll prepare it to work next spring or summer. Don''t forget that I''ll need plenty of educated and capable men."
"What''s this about?" Audrey asked inquisitively.
"Oh, I¡¯m merely trying to entice Lord Lansius to sell a moneylender House in Three Hills," Avery said to her.
"Moneylender House? Never mind that. And what is the offer?"
"Just that," Avery nodded toward the flying airship, looking smug.
"Oh," Audrey exclaimed with wide eyes.
"Can I possibly rent it instead?" Lansius quipped nervously. The thought of flying actually excited him.
The Lord of Dawn laughed heartily.
The majestic airship slowly descended and stopped after skidding several times. Two men leaped out from the long, canoe-shaped vessel and secured the small anchor to a boulder. From one glance, Lansius could tell they were well-trained, evident from their athleticism.
One carried a hawk on his leather-padded shoulder, with a cap that kept the bird of prey docile in the dark, while another hawk continued to circle overhead.
"A hunter," Audrey remarked from Lansius'' side.
"Indeed. I have thought this through thoroughly," Avery boasted. "It would be bad if we needed a smuggler just to send words."
Audrey glanced at Lansius, and his smile confirmed that this was indeed a great boon. They had no Hunter''s Guild representative in Lowlandia and had thought that the closest one was in Elandia. They never thought that they could obtain one from Nicopola due to the conflict.
With Avery leading the way, Audrey motioned for the canvas stretcher carrying Lansius to proceed, with escorts flanking them on both sides. Ahead, the airship loomed large, presenting a magnificent sight.
Avery greeted his two men and introduced them, "This rider will be the guide for the riders to my barony, and this man is the representative from the Hunter''s Guild."
The two parties exchanged greetings.
While eyeing the bird, Audrey asked, "Will they be able to send messages to Midlandia?"
"It''ll be a massive effort for the birds to learn the vast Lowlandia topography, but with enough familiarization, I''m sure these two will be up to the task," the well-clothed and well-spoken hunter said warmly, taking pride in his trained hawks.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Audrey glanced at Lansius with a faint smile. Lansius nodded and remarked, "They look mighty capable indeed."
Afterward, Avery motioned for the rest to come closer. "The Pride of Dawn," he introduced his airship.
"What a marvelous creation," Lansius exclaimed as they drew closer. He observed the silken skin, seemingly covered in a layer of hard-shelled rubber, and webbed silk cords that appeared to maintain its shape. He also noted the use of unfamiliar rattan-like plants. However, what intrigued him most was the fiery hot flame in the furnace.
"It''s unthinkable that something this large can fly, and with a classy-looking fireplace to cook food too," Audrey commented. Then she whispered, "Stay close to me. There''s someone inside the ship."
The guards carrying the stretcher became more alert.
"Easy, it''s probably the mage," Lansius calmed his men, who nodded and continued slowly behind Lady Audrey.
Avery walked ahead to the front of the gondola where a man readily stood to greet him. "This is Angelo, my best pilot," he introduced.
Angelo didn''t step out but instead turned and bowed his head. "Lord and Lady of Korimor, I presume," he greeted politely.
Lansius and Audrey nodded their heads to acknowledge him.
Feeling no threat, Lansius gazed freely at the vast balloon overhead and the long gondola made out of rattan-like materials. He then looked at the furnace that was still billowing fire. "What do you call the fuel for the furnace?" he asked the pilot.
"The fuel? We call it violent oil, some call it naphtha," Angelo replied after glancing at his Lord.
"I wish I could board to see it closer," Lansius mused, but the wound on his thigh would prevent it.
"We could even fly you around," Avery offered.
"Wait, wait," Lansius said, waving his hand out of politeness and glanced at Audrey, who looked expectant.
Sir Harold stepped forward. "My Lord, My Lady, it''s not advisable," he warned. Without even needing to verbalize it, everyone knew the risks of assassination, being taken hostage, or an accident were high with an unproven party.
"Well, it''s a shame," the old man remarked with pity.
Lansius looked at Audrey and understood what her slight frown meant, then turned to his knight. "Sir Harold, can you personally escort the Baroness on a short flying trip?"
The knight gazed at the two and chuckled. "I can''t say no to that."
"Excellent!" Avery grinned and then motioned for Angelo to prepare.
...
Audrey and Harold entered the long, canoe-shaped gondola and settled into their seats, the knight in the middle and Audrey at the back. After they retrieved the anchor, the airship began its ascent, floating oddly into the sky beyond anything they could have imagined.
The crowd below erupted in cheers, wowed by the sight and directing their applause to the amazing sight.
Lansius moved to a canvas chair provided by Carla. After sitting for a while, he turned to Avery beside him and asked, "Lord of Dawn, can I get a sample of the fuel?"
"Of course, I''ll have Angelo put some volatile oil into an empty earthen jar."
"Gratitude. May I ask where you get the oil?"
Avery turned to Lansius. "It''s one of the guild''s trade secrets. I''m merely a buyer."
"I see... Is it expensive?"
"If it''s only a jug, not so much. But for a barrel, it''s costly. However, I also take a lot of profit from them, so I guess I''m even with them," he chuckled.
The two, along with others, returned to watch the ivory airship fly in the sky before it circled and entered a steep dive, either on the passenger''s demand or as the pilot''s demonstration. They could faintly hear a man screaming, and the crowd was overjoyed.
"Our strong knight leader has yielded!" one remarked, to the delight and laughter of the others.
Even Francisca, the half-breed, surrounded by her men, couldn''t contain her laughter. She definitely heard it better.
"Just how do you maintain an airship like that?" Lansius asked amid the voices of the crowd around them.
"Tree saps, lacquer, silk, rattan work, and trained men," Avery answered.
"Is it possible to maintain one in faraway places like Korelia?"
The old baron grinned widely. "I don''t see why not. As long as you can pay the money for the workers."
Lansius chuckled but dismissed the idea in his head.
Avery continued, "This one is the old model that just went through repairs and overhaul. It''s for my personal use."
"Then I''d better not take something so sentimental from you."
"It is sentimental, but I''m also making a new one. So, selling this to you would mean more funds," he explained.
"Funds to keep developing them?"
"Indeed. I want it to be sleeker, more rigid, and able to carry more. I plan for them to transport people, so one day my granddaughter could visit the Capital or even Korelia without needing to ride tirelessly."
Lansius chuckled. He naturally wanted to help, but he deemed the cost to be enormous compared to its function. Meanwhile, he still needed the funds to increase food production to ensure his region could better resist famine. Thus, he opted not to ask for the price, believing it to be a wise decision.
***
Beatrix
The Lord of Umberland settled into the padded chair, her servants bringing out a coarse comb for her furs and iron files for her claws. They were all humans, including the guards. Like other half-breeds, she trusted her nose, eyes, and instincts. For her kin, humans were relatively easy to discern whether they intended to harm.
Yet, Beatrix also knew that to trust her instincts fully would be foolish. This was also why she used the great chamber as her office. It had a balcony, and she had placed her select brethren in an adjacent building, ready to rush to the balcony at a moment''s notice.
In a castle environment like this, while some of the smaller doors were inaccessible to her kin, their greatest asset was their powerful legs and high jump. It allowed them to bypass some walls or use the roof as shortcuts.
This morning, Beatrix had received reports about Lord Lansius'' return march. "So, he''s turning back," she commented.
"Indeed," the Steward replied, after taking a sip of water, necessitated from climbing all the flights of stairs to the great chamber where they held a small council.
"How''s his wound?"
"Still recovering, but he must''ve used a carriage or something similar. Our men dared not pry further." He then added, "We do know that he had named your brethren."
The trivia delighted Beatrix. "Tell me her new human name."
"I believe it is Francisca."
"Francisca," she savored it on her tongue and felt rather pleased by the sound of it.
Hearing no further reply, the Steward pointed out, "He passed your test."
If he''s venturing into Nicopola, then the veins of his army will be in the palm of our hands. And if he shows any indication of becoming a threat to our city, then we could crush it. Beatrix recalled her words, and gazed the Steward. "It was never a test to begin with. Just an observation."
"He''s wise despite his youthfulness," the Steward suggested.
Beatrix wasn''t convinced. "It also means that he''s not an opportunist. He would make a poor warrior or general."
"But he has established himself. Also, the fact that he might have also calculated our threat should be factored in," he reminded her.
"That''s what makes them interesting," Beatrix chuckled, opening her maws widely, knowing that her servants wouldn''t mind or be scared.
"Them, My Lord?" the Steward squinted.
"Yes, dear Steward. You shouldn''t discount the female. She''s as dangerous as me. The husband had a scent unlike any man I''ve encountered, while the wife had an eerie and dangerous scent."
"Then we should proceed to maintain the highest level of relations with them."
"That''s not even a question," Beatrix remarked while looking at her neatly filed claws and smiling at the maid-servant, who grinned happily. Then turning to the Steward, who was casually fanning himself with a folding fan, she continued, "We have an agreement and I intend to follow it."
The Steward was about to comment, but she raised a finger to quiet him. "If you think it''s only polite to invite them into the city for a rest, then do so. You have my permission. I''ll pull my brethren out to avoid issues. Also, tell them that I''m out of the city, resting, or visiting a sick tribe member."
"You don''t want to meet them?" the steward asked like a concerned father.
"Unfortunately," Beatrix muttered nonchalantly. "The risk is high. I liked them and I want to converse with them again, but we have a good agreement. Better not to ruin it because of a possible misstep or misspoke."
"Old Kaen''s teaching..." the steward recognized.
Beatrix smiled at him and then patted the other maid servant who had finished her other hand. "As long as the Umberland people and half-breeds stay united. The city will be safe."
***
Sir Morton
It had been two weeks since the Black Knight''s Captain arrived at the hill fort on the mountain path leading to Umberland City. Since then, he had overseen the military and sent hundreds of the Lord''s men to march back to Three Hills City. Fortunately, the situation in Umberland was settled without the feared bloody siege.
With no war, the balance of power situation in Three Hills could be maintained. Now, everyone could see that the Grand Alliance was not just a dreamy concept. Barely a month from its inception, it had met two challenges and succeeded with flying colors.
Lord Lansius'' demonstration of the Alliance''s strength was both frightening and awe-inspiring. The coup in Three Hills was quelled in just one day. Despite some setbacks, the Umberland campaign was also resolved without a bloodbath.
Moreover, the Lord of Korelia refused to enter into a drawn-out conflict in Nicopola, further cementing his status as a keen strategist and not a glory-seeker. This decision boded well with Lord Jorge, other knights, and the commoners alike.
Reports reaching Lord Jorge even suggested that Lord Lansius had secured another potential ally for the Grand Alliance.
A sigh escaped Sir Morton¡¯s lips as he stood on the wooden tower overlooking the vast swath of forested land. "A half-breed," he muttered to himself.
As a Mage Knight, he had been trained to deal with abhorrent creatures. He remembered his studies as a young apprentice, recalling how mage knights were valued warriors in ancient battles against beastmen in Nicopola.
He also remembered the sketches and descriptions of beastmen and half-breeds. He was trained to harbor suspicions against them, yet he also recognized the importance of maintaining peace. More fighting would probably exhaust the Grand Alliance that his lord needed as a guarantor of his rule.
Despite the thwarted coup, the future of the city remained uncertain. Ironically, the coup had just proven that, security-wise, House Jorge would be safer in Korelia.
A breeze swayed his long hair, yet the chill of the upcoming winter didn''t bother him. Unlike other knights, Sir Morton was always clad in plate armor, which never weighed him down.
Then to the south, he noticed a thrilling horse cart race unfold across the wide plateau. Two carts, each drawn by two horses, kicked up clouds of dust as they thundered across the open landscape. The coachmen like the charioteers of old, stood firm in their carts, urging their horses faster with shouts and the crack of reins.
Morton noticed his Lord was present in the crowd, sheltered beneath a large umbrella. He was probably the one who had organized the race to alleviate boredom.
The race itself was fierce, with the lead changing hands multiple times as the carts maneuvered at breakneck speeds. The spectators cheered wildly, and the tension peaked as the carts approached a narrow pass that led up to the hillside.
Only one winner would prevail as the pass was only wide enough for one cart. The second either had to admit defeat or crash into the wild bushes.
In a dramatic finish, one cart managed to edge ahead, its horses straining against the harnesses. With a final burst of speed, it entered the narrow pass and raced up the hill to the roaring approval of the men in the camp.
The victor raised his hands in triumph, basking in the adulation, while the second cart followed behind, its driver grinning widely despite the defeat. They were merely commoners and never expected to be praised for racing.
Despite the thrilling race, Sir Morton thought the result was not surprising. He had seen that unassuming cart during their journey and noticed it was special. While other carts on march required daily lubrication on their iron axles with a disgusting mixture of lard, animal waste fat, and various oils, that one cart rarely needed anything.
Compared to others, its horses were old and rather skinny. Yet, the cart seemed so easy to pull and did not burden the beasts. Aside from Morton, many had inquired, but the coachman, simply said that the cart his father had made was just that good. Unfortunately, his father had passed away and could no longer make another.
The answer satisfied most men, but when Sir Morton asked, out of respect and fear, the coachman told a different story. After Sir Morton promised not to buy his cart, the coachman revealed that his father had won a dwarven artifact in a big gamble, realizing the wagered item looked suspiciously mechanical.
Before his death, his father had crafted a metal housing and integrated the mysterious artifact into the cart''s axle, allowing it to move as if without any friction. This allowed his son to be an entrepreneur in logistics.
Sir Morton rested his hand on the wooden tower, watching the son-turned-entrepreneur in logistics, savoring the victory.
"A magical device," he muttered to the wind, though he saw no trace of magic. He made a mental note to remember this event. Aware of his somewhat cold demeanor, Sir Morton collected odd stories like this as trivia for his lord and other guests ¡ª something to keep them entertained.
"Perhaps the Lord of Korelia would be pleased to hear it," Sir Morton imagined, a stiff smile on his lips.
***
Chapter 145 : Beneath the Lake
Chapter 145
Beneath the Lake
Tiberia
Beneath a serene lake next to the capital lay a vast, enclosed subterranean world. It resembled a cavernous grand dome, similar to the construction of the dwarven citadels in the old Progentia continent. The air within was cooled and circulated, thanks to a hidden array of grand gemstones, each etched with runic inscriptions.
Magically created warm sunlight illuminated the cavern, its light reflecting off the dome''s ceiling¡ªa marvel of technology from an era long gone. The sunlight filtered through the mist, casting an ethereal glow over the grassy plains below.
The dome''s ceiling was partially obscured by mist due to its enormous scale, which maintained a serene, dreamlike atmosphere. A winding river meandered through the plains, nourishing the rustic landscape while reflecting the warm light from above.
Without these artifacts, the subterranean environment would have been oppressively hot. Instead, the air was fresh and filled with the scents of grass and earth. The clouds even generated drizzle and rain in almost natural ways.
The landscape teemed with lush forests and expansive grassy plains, stretching as far as the eye could see. Horses galloped freely across the landscape where birds, bees, goats, and insects lived.
It was daytime, and the sunless sky above shone warmly.
Not far from an ornately crafted wooden house, a daybed sat in an open field beneath an ancient tree with deep brown bark and roots as thick as a goat.
On the daybed, a wrinkled elderly man with silvery hair lay peacefully, enjoying the scenery. Beside the daybed, a young woman of lithe build, with equally startling white hair, sat in a chair, reading from a tome.
"¦²¦Á¦Ã?¦Ñ¦É¦Ï?," he called softly.
"What is it, Father? Do you need a drink?" Sagarius, the daughter, asked without shifting her sight from the tome at hand.
The old man smiled, pleased to hear his daughter''s voice. "Did I ever tell you that you have your mother''s face?"
"I have noticed it in the mirror since a young age. Indeed, I have her nose, lips, and chin, but the eyes are yours, Father," Sagarius answered, as she often had.
The old man looked happy. "You also have my compassion and patience."
Sagarius, who looked no older than twenty, let out a stiff smile but said nothing, knowing that responding would lead to an endless sorrowful discussion about her mother who had left him to return to her kin before she was too old to travel.
"Daughter, allow me to ask," the old man said softly, concern evident on his face. "If you''re not thinking about inheriting all this, then why are you still here?"
"I can''t leave you alone. Someone needed to take care of you, and I''m the oldest."
"You don''t need to waste your precious time for me," he urged softly.
"I enjoy being with you, Father."
Her answer made the old man smile, as was evident in the wrinkles on his face. Then he pressed the issue again, "How about just two hundred years? A transitional government?"
"Oh Father," she lamented, while turning a page. "We''ve discussed this many times, and my answer hasn''t changed," she replied without hesitation or any emotion. She had become accustomed to her father''s words to take them seriously.
However, today Sagarius felt compelled to add, "How could I rule when you didn''t even announce my birth to the world? Please remember that you chose my brother over me."
Instead of being stunned or emotional, her father responded with a smile. "Is this how you exact revenge upon your father?"
"No, Father, the grief was gone. It''s just something on my mind that I unfortunately recalled just moments ago."
The old man sighed. "I always thought that crowning the youngest was the better choice."
Sagarius remained silent, merely concentrating on the page. A gentle breeze whispered through them. Overhead the ancient tree had its small branches swaying slightly with the wind''s caress, leaves rustling softly like the murmurs of the past.
They said no other words for a long period. The father simply enjoyed his day while the daughter read a tome that she knew she would never encounter again.
This subterranean world would be over, as there was no future emperor to succeed it.
While there were plans to dismantle and distribute the vast riches of this place, they eventually scrapped them as the effort was too demanding. Moreover, deep inside, they felt that such gifts would be dangerous to humans.
"What do you want to do after this?" the father asked. "I see that you have your ears modified."
"Just like yours, Father," Sagarius reassured him. Had she chosen another answer, he would have pried for the reason. Despite his failing mind, he was still often keen enough to see through her schemes, and she didn''t want to make him concerned.
"What''s your plan after I breathe my last?"
"As you wished. I''ll seal this place, cross by boat to Arminia, gather my folks, and then head into Kehldin through Caladania."
"The road would be dangerous," he commented with some bitterness.
"I''ve ventured there many times already with my people," she reassured him.
The old man took a deep breath and said, "In case I forget, please give the letter to Mother."
"I will, Father."
"Is she healthy?"
"She''s ailing but she''s still younger than you," Sagarius gave the best answer, one that put her father most at peace.
He nodded, looking gladdened. Then added with a regal tone, "Entomb me between your stepmother and stepsiblings." His eyes moistened, likely recalling his human wives and the many children he had outlived.
Besides his union with an elven consort, Sagarius'' mother, the reigning Emperor had six other wives. Sagarius personally knew all of them. She was there when he brought them, usually after touring his vast domain every two centuries. Yet to Sagarius, their presence, while leaving a lasting mark, was too short.
She imagined the same happened to her father, even perhaps guilt since they withered so quickly compared to them.
After her mother left for Kehldin, for the remainder of his life, her father stopped taking close companions. The conversation led her to ask, "I''m curious why you don''t marry a human anymore?"
The father shook his head dismissively.
Ignoring his father''s reaction, Sagarius continued, "You could appoint your youngest as heir apparent. As half-elves, they could live¡ª"
"I can''t," he said with a tone of finality.
"Why?" she asked, gazing at her elderly father. Unlike many discussions they had, this one was new, and she was eager for an answer.
"The trouble with them, your half-elven brother and sister, is that they grow like elves but only have a part of our longevity."
"Ah," Sagarius exclaimed. "I forgot that brothers and sisters were like that," she said, recalling memories of her half-siblings from four hundred years ago.
"We always assume that they acted like that because they were still young, and then they suddenly got sick and died of old age," he said, his voice lowering, a shadow of sorrow passing over his face.
"None ever surpassed three hundred," she muttered with a hint of regret, closing her tome.
"Young age for elves... To humans, they looked barely twelve or sixteen years old. They were so brave and full of life, then suddenly taken from us." He sighed and coughed dryly.
Sagarius put her tome away, stood with her feet on the grass, and helped her father drink from a wooden cup. He took only a few sips. She also dabbed a mixture of spring water, chrysanthemum oil, and honey on her father''s dry lips.
While she did that, memories flooded her of her many half-siblings who remained immature throughout their lives. Many even did not know the concept of romance. In her experience, the mating between Elves and Humans was not one with a happy ending. Reeling from the wave of emotions, Sagarius whispered to herself, "Memento mori."
Her father chuckled, his prosthetic ear having caught her words, and he said, "You''re still far from a thousand."
"Look at my hair, Father, there''s silver in there. I am nine hundred and five." She then added, "That''s also one of many reasons why it''s futile for me to take the reins. I''ll probably be dead in the next century, throwing the Imperium into another great chaos."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"Nonsense, your mother is from the high-elves clan. You have her blood; you''re going to surpass my age."
"Time will tell, Father," she said as she returned to her seat.
"A century is also a long time. A man can achieve a lot in just a hundred years," her father preached.
"Your fascination with the human race is endearing," she said, picking up her tome again.
"How could I not? You should see them struggle and face a mountain of odds, yet they keep going and achieve the impossible," he said proudly.
"That''s just the nature of all living things. Any creature will struggle to live and occasionally make progress along the way."
The old man couldn''t argue with that as it was his own words. Instead, he rested the back of his head deeper into the soft pillow. Then, he suddenly said, "Don''t forget to also bury the armory and the golems."
She stared at him, having never encountered this subject before. "I will, Father, although I doubt anyone can understand them."
"You shouldn''t underestimate humans."
"But what about hidden ones and all the runes in the Palace?"
"Let them. Perhaps in a thousand years, humans will be wise enough to use it. Also, maybe Teacher is still around," the mention of that name relaxed the old man, whose eyes wandered as if recalling his time with the Grand Progenitor.
"I never met him, Father," Sagarius reminded him gently.
The old man chuckled, with some vigor still left in him. "He''s a bad teacher. He said never to bother with humans, claiming their lifespan is too short for anything great. But I told him that with enough guidance, humans could maintain a government as large as the continent."
"Indeed, Father, under your leadership, humans reached the peak of their civilization."
"They did it themselves. What they achieved was incredible." He struggled to find the words. "They populated vast areas, built cities, castles, farms, bred fine horses, and developed roads and trade networks. Before, it was all villages, but now there are megacities that not even the elves had seen since the old continent."
Sagarius felt warmth from her father''s words. "I must concede that humans have that drive. Despite lacking wisdom or caution, their strive to improve is¡ª"
"Is their strength," her father tried to complete her words.
Their discussion, longer than usual, had drained the old man considerably. Soon he fell asleep with a peaceful smile on his lips.
After examining her father¡¯s multiple prosthetic limbs, which also showed signs of advanced aging, Sagarius returned to her tome. The limbs were one of her father''s creations, based on dwarven technology. No elf could achieve what he had, as they lacked his resources and generally despised anything related to dwarven craftsmanship.
The limbs were lifelike, even the muscles atrophied, though they didn''t mimic how the limbs of a 1300-year-old elf should appear. There used to be thin tubes connected to them, providing his frail body access to blood elixir and enhancement, but he had gotten rid of them. Now, the only tubes connected were to his lower body for bodily fluids, to preserve his dignity.
Clouds overhead slowly passed over them, forming long shadows.
After some time, the sky was no longer as bright, indicating that midday had long passed.
"¦²¦Á¦Ã?¦Ñ¦É¦Ï?," her father called softly, seemingly just awake from his slumber.
"Yes, Father. Are you thirsty?" Sagarius asked without shifting her sight from her tome.
The old man smiled upon hearing his daughter''s voice. "Did I ever tell you that you have your mother''s facial features?"
"Indeed, I have noticed it in the mirror. I have her nose, lips, and chin, but the eyes are yours, Father," Sagarius answered patiently.
The old man broke into a smile. "You also have my compassion and patience," he replied cheerfully as if he had never had this conversation before.
The clouds passed silently above them, and the chirping birds that had found a mouthful of worms returned to their nests. The scenic world continued uninterrupted, seemingly detached from the troubles of their subjects above.
The long, maze-like corridor to the Imperium palace above had been sealed shut for more than a century and left to neglect, as the Emperor was in long decline. And despite his wisdom, he had been unable to secure an heir, blindly believing that only long-lived sapiens were fit to rule.
***
Mountain Pass
As the preparations to leave were underway, Lansius spent considerable time with Servius. Both were wounded; Lansius walked with a crutch, and Servius had lost a hand along with suffering other burns and cuts.
"I am so fortunate to have a good physician tending to me. Also a mage in disguise and even a Saint Candidate," Servius said in amazement during their second discussion.
"Indeed. We were fortunate to find them in such remote places," Lansius replied.
Servius broke into a smile. "Luck follows you wherever you are, My Lord."
Lansius snorted. "I''ll consider worshiping luck if we escape in better condition."
Servius chuckled joyously, his laughter filling the tent like a comforting melody.
Lansius noticed the burn wounds between the bandages. "The burn marks, are they painful at night?"
The old man glanced at Lansius and quipped, "They''re not as bad as your whip."
The unexpected answer made Lansius let out a laugh. "My apologies. It was probably a mistake on my part."
"Don''t worry. We needed to fool Sergio at that time." Servius then sipped his drink awkwardly with his left hand, spilling some, and lamented, "I''m going to miss my sword hand, though. But I''ll use a hook or something."
"Servius," Lansius called with a tone of regret.
"No. Don''t," Servius rejected Lansius'' pity. "I''ve seen and done worse."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"How about assigning someone else to lead the Free Company?" the old man ventured lightly. He had openly hinted in previous discussions that he was thinking of retiring.
Lansius smiled but shook his head. "The staff and I can only trust you, Servius."
Servius let out a deep sigh. "I''m honored, but I''m a failure," he warned while raising his bandaged wrist, which was missing a hand.
"If failure is the measure of men, then I''m no different," Lansius argued.
The condottiere looked down and nodded his bandaged head. Then he looked Lansius in the eye, "But promise me something."
"I can''t be lenient in punishing captured perpetrators," Lansius worded that carefully.
"I know. All I ask is that you give them the same offer you gave the Nicopolans in Korimor."
"And that is?"
"To give them options: to die or to face enslavement in Lowlandia, where they''ll be allowed to return after a dozen years, or so."
Lansius inhaled deeply and pondered. After a few moments, he glanced at Servius. "No leniency to those who took lives that night. However, I can extend the offer to those who participated but did not take lives. But the terms would be twenty years."
Servius exhaled heavily but nodded in the end. "It''s acceptable. This way, the rest of the Nicopolans will see it as just."
Lansius sat relaxed. "Then I''m looking forward to seeing you lead the Free Company and establish your manor."
Servius'' eyes widened. "My Lord, what manor?"
"You''re going to lead thousands of people," Lansius confided. "The scouts told me that the area next to this mountain path is in total ruin. While this might be just an empty title, I''ll knight you before I depart."
"My Lord, I''m not worthy; I''m even without a sword hand," Servius said emotionally.
"You lost your hand and almost your life in my service. At least accept the honor for your family," Lansius insisted.
Servius looked unsure for a moment before puffing out his chest in his seat. With his eyes moist, he said, "If My Lord and My Lady agree to confer such trust in me, then I''ll have no regret."
***
Midlandia
A well-dressed man with a sharp look hurriedly moved across the garden, sweat glistening on his forehead. Though it was noon, the sky was overcast, and a chilly wind whispered through the air. He spotted the person he sought¡ªSir Reginald, who was mentoring a group of young men in a large, unused warehouse beside the garden¡ªand slowed his pace.
The place was a hive of scholarly activity, filled with piles of books, cylindrical glass tubes on a corner table, and a chalkboard covered in geometric drawings. Parchment filled with intricate calculations lay scattered across desks, and a bronze statue depicting a human skull, bones, and organs stood prominently in another corner.
The well-dressed man, a noble''s associate, made his presence known to Sir Reginald with a subtle nod, then stood patiently to wait.
The mentor did not acknowledge the newcomer and continued as usual. His countenance was soft and cheerful, complemented by his clean-shaven appearance. This manor was his residence, which had become one of many new hubs for the educated class in Midlandia.
Lately, it had become the place for the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the burgeoning commoners'' schools that had taken root in the region. Many talents came to share, discuss, and learn. Often, Sir Reginald would sit and just listen to visiting peers who brought new ideas or discoveries.
Not only was he a successful baronet by trade, but Sir Reginald was also a renowned scholar and had published books and manuals on masonry techniques, the history of kingship, and, most recently, a daring treatise on the peasantry.
He had a large following and was well-connected to both the guilds and the nobility. He was so well-liked, well-spoken, and filled with charming ideas, that many began to back him for the seat of power. Thus, he became a dark horse in this succession crisis.
Even without a single drop of shared blood with the ruling House, he was seen as a better candidate. After all, the succession crisis in Midlandia was so severe and unique that anyone could claim the region as long as they could unite the lords and depose House Bengrieve from power.
After posing a question for the students to ponder, Sir Reginald went outside and walked calmly toward the gazebo in the garden.
The associate followed closely behind. "Sir, the wolf has been trapped in Elandia."
"I guess we can''t wait any longer?" Reginald ventured lightly as they walked.
"No, we can''t wait any longer. Many were urging us to strike a month ago when he left Cascasonne undefended."
Unlike his well-dressed associate, Reginald wore only a brown, inconspicuous woolen tunic over his white linen shirt. He stopped to ponder and asked, "Are we sure that Lord Bengrieve has brought the majority of his men?"
"We are sure. They even just sent reinforcements to Elandia."
"Then we have little else to worry about. Our patience has been rewarded," he replied confidently and continued to walk, taking it as his victory.
"Then you''ll agree?" the younger man asked expectantly beneath a gazebo in the middle of the garden.
Reginald turned to him, saying confidently, "Secure Lubina Castle and the surrounding area first. We need to do it before the height of winter, and then in spring, we''ll besiege Cascasonne."
The associate''s face grew excited. "I shall relay this good news to our peers."
"Tell them that I want a bloodless victory in Lubina, or they will have to select another," Reginald threatened firmly.
"We promised. We also need that to convince the rest of the nobles to join our cause."
"Good. I don''t want to stain my name. And what about the Healers Guild?"
"They are clamoring for this."
Reginald sighed deeply. "A bunch of lunatics. We should be careful with them and their idea of worship."
"They have the power of the masses, and we need them to overwhelm the wolf and his cubs."
The older man took a small cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow. "How many cubs are we concerned about?"
"Mostly manor owners concentrated in Cascasonne, Toruna, Ornietia, Brunna, and Korelia."
"Korelia?" Reginald squinted. "Who''s there?"
"Just one of the wolf''s henchmen¡ªa measly poor knight from the Mercantile Kingdom."
"But so far south. I doubt he''ll do anything," the mentor said dismissively.
"Sir, Korelia possesses a strong military and could be a threat," he corrected him.
"Then we should entice him with a share of the wolf''s lair. I believe everyone would agree to offer that much to pit a wolf against his cub."
The associate looked doubtful and revealed, "One of us has sent a letter with a similar message, but we have yet to receive a response."
"Well, if he doesn''t agree to align with us, then we need to act lest he becomes a threat," Reginald said as if it were simply a matter of equation. "Wiser men have advised rulers to be swift and cruel when needed."
Yet, the associate remained doubtful, so the mentor tapped him on the shoulder and confided, "Sooner or later, everyone must choose a side."
"Then what do you want us to do?"
"Send your agents to find this cub''s friends or family here and secure them. Then send another letter to Korelia, stating that his colleagues will unfortunately end up in the torture chamber if he doesn''t align with us. And make sure he knows that if he''s not siding with us, then after we''re done with Lord Bengrieve, we''ll come to Korelia and see how he fares on his own without his benefactor''s support."
The well-dressed man looked at the mentor nervously but said, "We''ll do as you instructed."
Sir Reginald''s face softened, and he explained his stance: "There''s no satisfaction in doing this. Like my decision to accept this candidacy, it''s just realpolitik."
***
Chapter 146 : Threads of Fate
Chapter 146
Threads of Fate
Mountain Pass
So much had happened in the last week that time flew by for Ingrid. It was hard for her to fathom seeing so much when all she had expected was to be a mentor and educator. While she anticipated witnessing a siege, she never expected to face a half-beast attack, observe diplomacy with a half-breed lord, witness an attempted coup, and then see an airship.
But more important to her was the arrival of a Saint Candidate. Unlike the Mage Guilds, which were older and had branches in large cities across the Imperium, the Healers Guilds were new and only had branches in Midlandia and around the Capital.
Thus, finding Petra here as part of Lord Avery''s entourage was a surprise, especially since she had escaped from it.
"So, you''re leaving tomorrow?" Ingrid asked Petra as the two shared a private lunch in Ingrid''s tent.
"Indeed. I can see that Lord Avery has grown fond of Lord Lansius, but the Dawn barony needs its leader," Petra replied. "Angelo believes that a big push will happen before winter."
Ingrid didn''t recognize Angelo, but as a member of the same guild, she was looking forward to sharing what could be shared between them. "Is that why the Lord of Dawn wants horses and horsemen?"
"Likely related, but I don''t know anything about the military," said the Saint Candidate, sipping her ale like a fine lady. "Then again, you''re also about to leave."
"True. The vanguard has marched, and they should be passing Umberland City right now," the older woman ventured. Although Ingrid couldn''t ride a horse, they had prepared a carriage for her, which tied her to the rear guard led by Farkas. "You know, lass, I''m going to miss your company."
Petra reacted with a big smile. The situation was vastly different from when they had first met. Both had been wary, coming from guilds that distrusted each other. However, their shared work in treating Lord Lansius and Servius brought them together. The hours spent caring for them transformed the two from mere acquaintances into trusted allies.
"To safe travels," Ingrid raised her goblet.
Petra followed, "To safe travels." The two sipped their pale ale and proceeded to eat the roast wild bird that Farkas had managed to hunt before it got cold.
After finishing their meal with wild berries and dried fruit, Petra asked, "Excuse me if this is private, but I heard you joined House Audrey?"
Wiping her mouth with a cloth, Ingrid explained, "Truthfully, I''m against it."
Petra''s eyes widened as she asked, "But why? It would secure your future."
"I told the Lady that my magical power has worsened, and certainly I won''t be able to work as a mage anymore," Ingrid said without bitterness. "However, she still wanted me for my counsel and experience."
"That''s wonderful to hear," Petra said warmly. The topic of retirement resonated with both of them. They knew that the gift of magic was not permanent, but something they would lose after their prime.
"Mind if I ask how much you were promised?" Petra asked shyly.
"Why? Want to switch sides?" the older woman teased, prompting a giggle from Petra.
"I''m not asking, but the Lady offered me a vineyard of my choosing."
"Oh my, that''s a great retirement. I''m so envious and look forward to visiting you," Petra said cheerfully.
"I''ll throw a banquet when you come to visit," Ingrid said cordially.
Petra''s eyes sparkled with amusement. "I never thought I''d cross paths with someone from the Mage Guild as friendly as you."
"My guild harbored some suspicions toward some of the Healers Guild''s activities."
"Anyone should be." Petra inhaled deeply, her expression troubled. "What they do is dangerous."
"I''ll be sure to report your concerns anonymously," Ingrid reassured her. In the past few days, Petra had shared several of her concerns about her guild.
Petra nodded and muttered, "A lot of gifted people are being misused."
Ingrid disliked the tense atmosphere and shifted the subject. "So, have you determined anything about Lord Lansius'' condition?"
"In terms of health, it seems there''s no significant difference. But even that I''m not sure of," Petra said, her eyes wandering.
"You can''t be sure?" Ingrid wasn''t expecting that answer.
Their eyes met, and Petra explained, "When I treated the Lord, instead of the magic being absorbed into his bloodstream, it simply vanished. So, I''m unable to probe him. I suspect his body is incompatible with magic."
Ingrid shook her head in disbelief.
Petra shifted in her seat and spoke with concern. "I''ve never seen someone with so little magical presence. It''s as if he''s not a living being."
"Could it be that it''s because he''s a foreigner from afar?" Ingrid ventured.
"Well, we don''t have any other explanation." Petra paused, her eyes roaming the room as she thought. "It''s fascinating to learn that there are people who can live with so little magic¡ªso low that he probably won''t be able to use a magical artifact."
Ingrid leaned back in her seat, keeping the fact that the Lord had managed to activate a gemstone a secret.
"Ingrid," Petra called with an uncertain expression.
"What is it?"
"Promise you won''t be mad?" she began, piquing Ingrid''s curiosity.
The Mage smiled gently. "I promise."
"Out of curiosity, I studied you while you treated the Lord, and I sensed that you''re affected by something."
"Affected?" Ingrid was surprised.
"It feels like your source is scarred and wounded."
"Wounded? What do you mean?" Ingrid asked, trying to understand.
Petra nodded. "It felt exactly like that. It''s as if something is damaging your source, scarring it, and almost blocking it completely. Have you been fighting anything dangerous lately?"
What she said scared and confused Ingrid. "I wasn''t even involved in fighting the half-beast, and I doubt their kin could bestow such a curse."
Petra shrugged. "I have no knowledge of curses or fell beasts."
Ingrid gazed at Petra expectantly. "If it''s a wound, can you do something about it?"
"Perhaps there''s something I could try. No promises, though."
Ingrid rose from her seat.
"Where are you going?"
"Come, I need you to meet my lady."
"The Lady of Korimor? But why?"
"She has also lost her source somehow. If you have a treatment, please try it on her first."
"Ingrid, wait. There''s no need," Petra said, her voice steady but firm, halting Ingrid in her tracks. She looked at Petra, questioning and expectant.
"I''ve peeked into my lady''s source, just a bit. I saw its flow... but rest assured, there are no scars or wounds."
"But the flow is weak for someone of her age."
"Unfortunately, it seems it''s too late for the Lady of Korimor. Her gift probably waned due to her late training," Petra explained with a gentle tone.
Ingrid listened, her eyes cast downward as she felt a pang of regret. Lady Audrey had shown such promise, yet the gift of magic had proven elusive. "If only I had been there to train her when she was younger," she muttered, her tone filled with sorrow.
***
Korimor
Inside the council chamber, Hugo bashed a scroll against the table several times in frustration and exclaimed, "Arghh, why is there no money!"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"No harvest," a man in a green doublet replied coldly, reading from a scroll.
Hugo turned to Omin. "But where''s the income from market and road tolls?"
"Not everyone who frequents the market or uses the roads pays toll tax," Omin explained with indifference. His eyes were reddened from overwork.
"But I was there, and it''s crowded!" Hugo''s tone brimmed with frustration.
Omin remained unbothered. "Must be food transports for the castle or billets. Obviously, you can''t tax your own staff."
"Unbelievable..." Hugo said as he slumped into his seat and looked up at the ceiling.
For a while, there was only silence in the small council chamber, populated by Sir Hugo, Sir Omin, and Roger, the squire.
"Better get back to work, or our overlord will learn about this," Omin said wearily, taking a jab at Roger, who smiled from his post near the door.
"I dare not displease our overlord¡ªnot the Lord, not the Lady. And especially not after Sabina Rustica," Hugo said in a tone close to mockery.
Roger found it funny, and a laugh slipped out.
"What are you laughing at?" Hugo asked, his eyes widening. "You were there, weren''t you?"
"No, sir. I only joined in Toruna," Roger replied, shaking his head.
Their banter must have intrigued Omin, who asked in a disinterested tone, "Is he really that strict?"
"Lord Lansius?" Hugo turned to Omin. "He cut his future wife''s payment in half amid the victory celebration because she failed to capture you. And that was moments before he asked for her hand in marriage."
Omin shook his head but did not comment.
After the brief exchange, Hugo lazily dragged himself back to work. The Nicopolans'' incursion and the war had displaced many settlers and communities. Numerous issues arose regarding the land, the people, the garrison, and the city, and it was now up to them to fix it.
Yet his concentration lasted no longer than a bird''s chirping before he groaned again. "I''m not fit for this."
"Who is?" Omin said with a slightly annoyed tone and threw a finished scroll to the young squire with missing fingers. Roger caught it and stored it in the cabinet.
The former lord of the city continued, "People think ruling a city is all about power, money, and women. But in reality..." He opened both palms, gesturing to the table cluttered with parchment, scrolls, and multiplication tables.
"Why don''t you just kill me in my sleep?" Hugo whined like a spoiled brat.
"I haven''t got the right poison. Besides, you change night partners so often," Omin said flatly.
Hugo glanced at him, surprised. "Wow, a threat. Perhaps I should return you to the dungeon."
"I''m technically under house arrest with a pension, so please return me to my house, unharmed. I''d rather sleep than deal with this mess." He patted a stack of parchment still waiting to be examined.
It was easy to see that the workload and Hugo''s constant whining had taken a toll on Omin''s mind.
Hugo was amused, picked up his goblet, and took a big gulp of ale. Despite Lord Lansius'' wishes for him to learn from Omin, he learned little and simply pushed Omin to do the work. He had certainly faced his limitations but felt genuinely unbothered.
"You should take care of yourself," Omin said, attempting to de-escalate the tension.
"Keeping me on my toes, are you?" Hugo grinned.
Omin sighed deeply and warned, "Don''t drink too much. It''s easy to slip poison into ale, especially wine."
The repeated warning about poison made Hugo shudder.
The man in green then lamented bitterly, "Why is life such a joke? When I was captured, people cheered and threw a party to celebrate. Yet, here I am, taking care of the same people who celebrated my capture¡ªcalculating their pay, meals, lodgings, and even winter clothes."
"Are you seriously complaining about life not being fair?" Hugo teased.
Omin shook his head. "No, but I''m not a hypocrite."
With the tension back to normal and the ale softening his boredom, Hugo returned to his scrolls. He slowly examined the logs, unable to understand why the city made so little despite the crowded market.
He reached the bottom of the record without groaning, then realized, "Wait. You sly bastard! You brought up poison to scare me away from the things I like."
Omin sported a grin at his commander''s slow realization. Even Roger stifled his laughter. It was well known that women and wine were the two favorite pastimes of their commander, which had led to the soft bulge in his belly.
It had gotten so bad that when Sir Michael came for an inspection, he quickly chastised Sir Hugo, knowing he was about to get married in Korelia, presumably next summer. Hugo took the advice but seemed ready to double down when Sir Michael returned to Korelia before winter.
Despite his belly, Hugo remained fit. He often trained hard with his men or against them. Deep down, he secretly wished for another chaos in Lowlandia so he could have another chance to prove himself, either to Lord Lansius or to himself.
A door creaked open, and a handsome man wearing an eyepatch over one eye entered. "Apologies for interrupting."
"Sir Michael," Hugo welcomed.
"I have a letter from Three Hills. It''s from Dame Daniella, and it''s about smugglers," Michael reported.
"Smugglers? What did she find out?" Hugo asked with keen interest.
Instead of answering, Michael added, "And also a failed coup in Three Hills. Our hidden forces were able to retake control of the city."
There were gasps in the chamber, followed by immediate looks of disbelief.
Hugo broke the silence, gloating, "Our overlord is triumphant again."
Ignoring the antics, Omin rose and walked toward Sir Michael, saying, "Please, let me have a look at it."
Michael handed over the letter, allowing Omin to peruse it.
"Well?" Hugo asked, still seated, after a long pause.
"Indeed, it appears we have smuggler problems," Omin replied without turning.
"I told you so," Hugo said with a big sigh of relief and an equal measure of smugness.
"The smuggler played a different game than I expected," Omin admitted wearily. "I always assumed it was bribery, so I swapped personnel often. But it states that they sell fake documents, recruit merchants with legal papers to smuggle their goods for shared profit, and convince people to join a shadow market disguised as a common gathering."
"It''s large and well-connected. They even have a direct channel to Nicopola without going through Umberland," Michael informed.
"And how do we fix this?" Hugo asked the golden question.
Omin turned to him and suggested immediately, "Punish them strongly."
"Lord Lansius would never do that," Hugo flatly rejected.
"I''m not arguing his abilities, but as a lord, his approach is too naive."
Michael patted Omin''s shoulder and reminded him, "We follow his policy."
Omin sighed and nodded twice but warned, "At this rate, we can''t do anything."
"We can investigate," Michael stated.
"It''ll take too much time. The city is bleeding money," Omin said, and the two knew he was right. They exchanged glances but had nothing.
"How about if I shoulder the blame?" Omin suddenly proposed.
The two looked at Omin. "Why go that far?" Michael asked.
"What''s the worst that could happen if we''re mistaken? The people would be mad, and I''d probably be sent to Korelia to answer Sir Justin. Big deal, I''ll just live my life quietly in Korelia! My wife and kid are also there," Omin replied.
Silence permeated the chamber. Michael glanced and gave a nod to Hugo, who rose. "I''ll set up a task force. We can''t let smugglers rob us dry."
***
Lansius
One day before their return march, still without good mobility, the Lord of Korelia spent his days tinkering with the light gemstone. Audrey had told him about Avery''s cane contraption, which sparked some ideas. He wanted to use the gemstone not as a lantern but more like a spotlight.
While focusing it without a lens would be challenging, he managed to create some focused light instead of a floodlight. He instructed a servant to rig a brass bowl with the gemstone mounted inside, using the polished bowl as a reflector. After the initial trials, they hammered the bowl into a better shape before buffing out the scrapes to achieve the desired light reflection.
Lansius felt they were close to getting it right, but patience was required. He knew several more changes were needed, but the shape of light it produced was satisfying to see.
"How''s it going?" Audrey asked as she entered.
"The wound or this device?" Lansius quipped.
Audrey chuckled before asking tensely, "Um, listen. I know my pay is still cut because I disobeyed your order."
"Oh, the Battle of Korelia," he replied. "That feels like a long time ago."
"Yes, but you did say until the end of the year."
"Well, military rules are strict for a reason. But you have a Baroness''s allowance and a share of the spoils, so I doubt you''re lacking anything. So, why bring it up?"
"Umm..." She approached him and whispered into his ear, "I need a loan for horses."
"I doubt you can''t purchase a few horses--"
"A lot of horses," she answered.
His eyes widened. "For what exactly?"
"For... the... baby?" she ventured uncertainly as if making it up as she went along.
"Baby...?" Lansius squinted at her, noting how she stood all flustered, her eyes avoiding his gaze as she shifted nervously. Even her fingers fidgeted, betraying her anxiety. He stroked his chin and said, "Well, get a chair and sit close. I promise to listen, but I''ll only give loans if it''s financially sound."
Despite his words, Lansius felt compelled to grant her wishes as long as they weren''t unreasonable. The way Audrey had fought the half-beast, managed the camp during the Nicopolan crisis, and successfully recruited a mage into their ranks warranted a significant reward.
***
Sir Morton
After several more days of inactivity aside from patrolling, hosting travelers, and finding ways to entertain themselves, they finally received a fast messenger from the Lord of Korelia, announcing his army''s imminent arrival.
"About time," Lord Jorge exclaimed with joy and relief.
"It''ll probably still take them a few more days, and then a few more before we can depart," Morton advised.
"Oh, don''t be such a spoilsport, Morton," the Lord said dismissively.
"I''ve yet to comment on the horse racing," Morton quipped with a deadpan expression.
Lord Jorge chuckled. "And what do you want to say about it?"
"Nothing good, My Lord."
Lord Jorge''s laughter resounded inside the tent, piquing the interest of his little daughter, who peeked through the canvas door.
The father took a lacquered wooden box, opened it, and revealed colorful, sweetened dried fruits to lure her closer, but she was too afraid of Sir Morton.
Noticing this, the captain of the Black Knights said, "I''d better leave."
Lord Jorge closed the wooden box with a smile. "No need for that. Unless you''re needed elsewhere."
"I have a forest landscape to watch over," replied Morton without a hint of irony.
Lord Jorge simply shrugged, allowing Morton to do as he pleased, as was usual. His eyes seemed to wander as he said, "I can''t wait until we''re back at Three Hills. I''m going to throw a huge welcome party for myself."
"Better to commemorate your defenders'' victory over the coup," Sir Morton suggested as he prepared to leave.
"Yes, we''ll do that. That''s a better reason than a welcome party," Lord Jorge decided with a charming smile.
...
The next day, the hill fort sent out more men on patrol. They were expecting Lord Lansius'' army to arrive and didn''t want to be caught off guard by unknown forces in their midst. With Umberland controlled by a half-breed, suspicions were rife about their motives.
As usual, Sir Morton spent his day in the lookout tower after sparring with his knights and a session of riding. Otherwise, they would grow bored and lose the edge they had built and maintained since their losses in the forests of Korelia.
The sky was cloudy, and despite it being midday, the sun was barely warm against the skin. Watching the tapestry in the sky, he hoped that the conclusion of the Umberland campaign would be favorable for them. Although they had secured the bulwark and Umberland, he was still worried about Lord Lansius'' wound.
As a mage, Morton was well-read and familiar with stories where young men who accomplished great deeds died young.
A close-range bolt wound to the thigh...
He could only hope that, in Lord Lansius'' case, the bolt hadn''t broken the femur, which would be very hard to heal. If it had, then the Lord of Korelia would be crippled for life and unable to ride. With so much power yet confined, he could easily succumb to wine or other intoxicants. It would also hinder his chances of having an heir, which could potentially threaten Lord Jorge and the Alliance.
Although they had once been enemies, the fate of the Houses of Lowlandia was now intertwined. Without Lord Lansius at the helm, Lowlandia could easily regress to its old ways.
Sir Morton took a deep breath, trying to dispel this unwelcome concern. The gentle breeze nudged at him as if nature itself was signaling something.
Suddenly, he saw distant figures of horses descending the mountain path. Yet, another sight surprised him even more: an oddly shaped object bursting through the clouds like a flying leviathan, its colossal form dispersing the low-hanging mist above the forested area. Both the cavalry and the flying leviathan moved with surreal grace, steadily making their way toward the hill fort in tandem.
***
Chapter 147 : A New Era
Chapter 147
A New Era
Lansius'' black hair fluttered against the wind and he clutched his cloak tighter as the airship flew south. The scenery below was dazzling¡ªa dark green forest spread to the west, while mountainous terrain stretched to the east.
Angelo piloted the ivory-colored airship from the front. Behind him stood Sir Harold, who remained standing due to the lack of space, as they had also packed several items in case of an emergency. The tall knight looked every bit the Captain of this ship, appearing regal even in a gambeson since plate armor was deemed too heavy.
Lansius and Audrey sat at the back, side by side. They had pillows and a woolen blanket for comfort. Yet, that didn''t dissuade Lansius from groaning in displeasure.
Sitting snugly to his left, Audrey gazed at him and asked innocently, "What is it, dear?"
"I still can''t believe this," Lansius grumbled in protest.
"Flying is smoother than riding. It''s good for your thigh recovery," Audrey grinned.
"But for the price of two hundred trained horses."
"In two years," she countered.
"I agreed to loan you horses¡ª"
"And I used the loan agreement to trade for this," she replied with a sweet smugness.
Lansius wanted to kiss those provoking lips, but he knew that would only let her win the argument. So, he shook his head but couldn¡¯t help admiring his wife''s ingenuity and unpredictable nature. He never thought that Audrey, who was into equestrian pursuits, would be interested in something as unusual as an airship.
She would make a formidable opponent to anyone trying to guess her move.
Still, he was concerned about her spending. "Drey, we need to talk about this. While it''s a loan and it''s your House, you shouldn''t make big purchases without consulting with me."
"Hush, you''re injured," she said, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He immediately felt warmth.
"But we could use a carriage."
"Carts or carriages are so slow and bumpy. Meanwhile, this," she said, opening her palm to showcase the airship, "is a smooth ride but also as fast as riding a horse."
Lansius couldn''t argue with that.
"This is necessary for your recovery," Audrey reassured him. "Besides, you would never have agreed to this, so I had to be a little sneaky."
He squinted at her. "You sounded so certain."
She raised her brow and pouted. "You''re too prudent with money."
"It''s because our fiefs need so many things," he responded.
"If your hip bone doesn¡¯t heal correctly, no amount of horses in Lowlandia could fix it," she retorted.
Lansius let out a long, deep sigh. As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. Ingrid had mentioned that the Saint Candidate treatment was not as effective as they had hoped, likely because he wasn''t originally from this world. Thus, he needed to be extra careful with his injury.
This was the reason why he had more bandages, reinforced with more wooden splints.
"Still, flying is riskier than traveling by carriage," he argued.
"Angelo has flown over fifty times this year alone without a single crash. Lord Avery even takes his granddaughter on joy flights often," she reminded him.
Lansius had heard it before the flight and, despite some reservations, acknowledged that the airship seemed to fly remarkably well and without any mishaps. It felt oddly sturdy and reliable, unlike what he had imagined.
He observed the furnace hanging not far from him, noting its small, controlled blaze produced by two nozzles. At the end of the flame, a silvery mantle that looked both metallic and fabric-like helped disperse the heat effectively.
The fuel system was more complex than any hot air balloon Lansius had imagined. The violent oil was stored in a series of large leather skins, suspended in a separate basket overhead and connected by brass pipes. It was eventually mixed with two other components within a half-sized brass barrel. On top, there was a small jutting metal set against a spring-like contraption, likely a rudimentary gauge to read pressure.
He suspected the mixture did more than just burn fuel and produce hot air; it also possibly generated a lighter-than-air gas. This could explain why the airship could float for extended periods while consuming minimal fuel.
Unfortunately, as someone untrained in this field, Lansius could only guess at the type of gas involved in this process. It could be helium or something else, but it was unlikely to be the highly flammable hydrogen or methane.
One thing was for sure: it was efficient, and Lansius could tell that these systems were quite advanced and had undergone years of iteration and experimentation. He made a mental note to check on Halicia and Ekionia. Those two unknown provinces probably had more advancements in technology than even Midlandia.
Is it because of the constant threat of beastmen on their shores?
He had learned that although beastmen couldn''t build boats, they were skilled enough swimmers. By using a single log, several beastmen could swim at night and conduct raids. They had randomly raided coastal communities with no clear objective other than to intimidate or, as some said, prove themselves to their tribes.
Audrey took a sip from her waterskin, filled with boiled water, and then offered it to him. Lansius took a sip and found it refreshing. She leaned against him, her head resting heavily on his shoulder as if sleepy.
Lansius made sure the warm woolen blanket covered her.
It had been a three-hour flight, and the airship had proven itself an incredible vessel. Two hours ago, they had overtaken the vanguard column that had set out four days earlier. They waved and cheered loudly when Sir Harold unfurled the blue and bronze banner from the gondola.
They had also caught up with dozens of vanguard cavalry that Dietrich likely had sent to secure the way to the hill fort.
Angelo had slowed his descent and speed to tag along with them, as Sir Harold believed it was safer, given that the Lord and Lady needed their entourage and escort, even among allies.
Lansius gave one last look at Umberland, a place that resembled Wallachia. Even from above, the forests and mountains possessed a certain eeriness. Based on what Francisca had told him, Lansius estimated that the number of Nicopolans who had died in these forests numbered in the thousands, including refugees.
Yet no one would learn about their struggle, as the forest ensured that none who entered with ill intent would come out alive. Like Vlad III of Wallachia, Umberland punished any intruders with a severe measure of terror.
Lansius hoped that the region could become peaceful, allowing everyone to sow their winter seeds in peace.
Soon, the hill fort loomed in front of them. "Isn''t it amazing? A five-day journey turned into just four hours," Audrey commented.
"That''s because the land route goes through a hard-to-traverse mountain path," Lansius replied.
"Indeed, it also winds around to navigate the mountains. Still, I never imagined a direct path from the mountain pass to the hill fort could be this close," Audrey muttered.
"We''re also aided by the height difference. Coming from the mountain pass, we''re merely gliding down since we took off."
Audrey nodded, and Lansius looked at the scenery. He saw a flock of birds flying, seemingly unafraid of their vessel.
Angelo suddenly turned toward them and said, "My Lord, My Lady, big clouds ahead."
"Good, I''m a bit thirsty," Sir Harold quipped daringly while opening his mouth wide. This prompted a chuckle from the two passengers in the back.
Suddenly, white clouds like mist enveloped them, and their faces felt cold and wet. If not for their woolen blankets, their clothes would be damp.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"I can''t believe it. We''re inside clouds. This must be how the Ancients felt when they flew," Audrey said in awe.
Lansius couldn¡¯t help but smile. He too enjoyed the sensation. After they cleared the cloud, they could see the lone yellowing hill next to a plateau, its wooden palisade, towers, and hundreds of canvas tents visible inside.
While Audrey was enjoying the last leg of the flight, Lansius once again took more interest in the airship itself. Despite not supporting the purchase, he already had some backup plans.
One plan was to turn this financial debacle into a profitable venture to cover its maintenance costs. He had a rough idea to use it as an attraction for the wealthy. However, he had yet to work out the pricing strategy. It was a rather delicate matter. Charging too high could alienate all but the richest, potentially breeding envy and resentment, and fostering elitism within his ranks. Setting the price too low might overwork the vessel unnecessarily.
If only the Korelia nobility were rich, I could set an absurd price for a ride.
However, Lansius knew that the purchase might be justifiable for a different reason. By next summer, noble families were expected to start relocating to Korelia. This attraction could potentially ease their resentment about the move¡ªa diversion from their new status as glorified hostages for the grand alliance.
And if the novelty wore off and Lord Avery refused to buy it back, Lansius estimated that the silk covering the airship''s skin would be worth quite a sum. If this purchase turned out to be a financial drain, he considered salvaging the rubber-coated silk. Perhaps he could repurpose it into all-weather jackets to be sold, gifted, or distributed to his veterans.
Then it struck him. While two hundred trained horses were a large investment, it paled in comparison to what this airship should have cost. Although it wasn¡¯t new, somehow Lord Avery had sold it to him at a discount.
The price of horses in Nicopola and Halicia must be skyrocketing due to the conflict.
***
Sir Morton
The Lord of Korelia and the Lady of Korimor arrived in a grand procession, riding a spectacle never seen before: a floating vessel. The people were in awe; some were even afraid of such beings appearing in the sky, thinking they were ghosts of the Ancients. However, despite its majestic appearance, the airship also had a unique harmless shape that helped ease the troops from panicking.
The vessel, later known to be an airship, displayed a banner featuring a blue shield with a single bronze chevron, unmistakably identifying the owner. It landed after dozens of cavalry surrounded a plateau and secured the area.
The Black Knight Captain was among the many who greeted the Lord and Lady after they had landed.
Lord Jorge looked enthralled to see Lord Lansius, despite the latter being carried on a litter due to his injury. The magnificent arrival impressed everyone. The two leaders only talked briefly, as many assumed that Lord Lansius needed rest. Thus, the procession quickly ended, leaving everyone to freely gawk at the majestic but otherworldly vessel.
Aside from the thirty horsemen, Lord Lansius was accompanied only by Lady Audrey and Sir Harold.
Sir Morton noticed that a mage, easily identifiable to his eyes, was in control of the airship. The airship spent no time on the ground and quickly departed after unloading some goods.
Furthermore, he noted that despite its gargantuan size, the vessel could only carry so little. It was like a flying paper lantern that his senior once made, following some instructions from a book.
As usual, the Black Knight Captain said little and just followed his lord, keeping watchful eyes on their surroundings. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see some traces of magical work on Lord Lansius'' wound, meaning the lord had somehow acquired a talented mage in Umberland.
He doubted Ingrid''s healing was that capable, and the airship indicated that another powerful lord was behind this.
Earl Fabius, Lord Avery, or Lord Justus?
Sir Morton recalled three powerful lords in Nicopola. Then he was pleasantly distracted by Lady Audrey, whose magical potential made him resist a smile.
***
Lansius
They stayed for five nights at the Hill Fort to allow his vanguard to catch up and rest before their long march back home. Some men and knights would depart for South Hill, and Lansius held a small ceremony to award them coins and goods for their service.
Due to the distance, the rest would follow the Lord and Lady to Korimor and then Korelia. Lansius had sent messengers to Batu, the nomad leader, with some requests.
After ratifying a deal with Three Hills to station thirty men at this fort and rotate them seasonally, Lord Jorge and his men prepared to march back triumphantly. They believed they had met all their objectives and deemed the campaign a success. Although his army hadn''t engaged in battle, they had fought half-beasts and would use this victory to boost morale, which was needed after the coup in his city.
Lansius also discussed the Lord of Dawn¡¯s trade offer, which required him to build a pier, warehouse, and guard post in one of the fishing villages south of his city. Lord Jorge showed keen interest and promised to send Sir Archie to scout the area before winter.
On a fair morning, Lansius bid farewell to the Lord of Three Hills. In exchange, Lord Jorge promised to move with his family to Korelia the following spring. There, they would discuss various matters, most importantly, just how much they could trust the half-beast ruling Umberland and, afterward, the southern trading proposal.
As a parting gift, Sir Morton gave Lansius a letter about an artifact that might interest him. However, due to his dealings with the airship, Lansius had yet to follow up on this recommendation.
While the troops rested, Angelo returned four times to drop off more fuel and personnel. He transported the hunter guildsmen, two assistants for the airship, and some gifts from Lord Avery that included young plants and seeds for their garden in Korelia.
Angelo also gave much-needed flight time to his assistant, who would be the designated pilot. Unfortunately, he couldn''t go to Korelia as he had responsibilities in Dawn. The problem was that the replacement pilot, while experienced in handling the airship and maintaining the complex furnace system, was not a mage.
"There''s some risk of lacking delicate control, but Lord Avery designed the airship to be operated without magic," Angelo reassured Lansius before his last flight home.
They spoke inside a new cabin on the plateau, built for airship usage as both a shelter and temporary storehouse. Sir Harold was sitting in the corner, reading multiple reports, yet his eyes remained vigilant.
Lansius still had doubts. Noticing this, Angelo added, "While a non-mage can''t perform to the airship¡¯s full potential, it should be safer and cause less wear and tear on the vessel."
Lansius nodded thoughtfully. "What about the conditions in Lowlandia? Do you think it''ll be challenging in airship operation?"
"I can''t be sure, my Lord. But I doubt it''s much worse than Dawn''s coastal area: dry wind, hot sun, and generally windy. However, I believe the terrain is mostly flat."
"Indeed, it¡¯s the Great Plains of Lowlandia after all," Lansius confirmed.
"The dangerous part is Umberland''s mountainous area. Meanwhile, from here to Korelia, there''s little risk as far as I know. That''s why Lord Avery dared to offer the airship," said Angelo, whose face reminded Lansius of an Italian sculpture, complete with rather unkempt hair. His voice had the confident swagger of a test pilot.
Judging from the preparedness of House Dawn, including logistics and personnel, Lansius couldn''t help but comment, "It seems that a lot of thought was put into this venture."
"Well, my Lord, you are our first customer," the mage replied with a relaxed smile.
Lansius found it amusing and leaned back in his seat, while Angelo added, "My Lord Avery is heavily invested in the southern trade. This is a token of his seriousness."
"I can see that," Lansius responded while admiring the airship now being maintained by the new pilot and his crew.
"More than that, Lord Avery probably wanted a comrade," Angelo said, drawing Lansius'' attention.
"A comrade...?"
"An equal," the mage clarified. "In his own words, other lords are loud but show little."
Lansius let out a chuckle but wasn''t surprised. "Then how about me? I doubt I''m any better. I have nothing to show."
Angelo smiled. "My Lord Avery used to say that conquest is proof of success."
"It''s ironic, coming from a lord who refuses to expand," Lansius quipped, and the two chuckled.
Afterward, Lansius voiced his remaining concern, "What about fuel supplies? How do you propose we handle it?"
"The easiest way is for My Lord to send a Hawk whenever you need more fuel. I''ll drop it either here or in Three Hills, and then you can transport it via carts as usual to Korelia."
"Is going to Three Hills a shorter trip?"
"Indeed, the city is a shorter trip from Dawn Barony. But there are too many eyes there, and it''s not under your direct control, so Lord Avery told me not to venture there unless it¡¯s an emergency."
Lansius took the advice to heart. "Before you go, I noticed several settings on your fuel burner. Tell me, when we rode from the mountain pass, was that the most efficient setting?"
The shift to technical talk made Angelo''s eyes wander for a moment. "That, I believe, was the third level."
"Is that before or after you slow down after meeting with the cavalry?"
"Before is four, and after is three," explained Angelo.
"Is this because you needed to vent the hot air through the back? And also because you carried more weight than usual?"
Angelo''s eyes lit up. "Indeed. I also felt it''s better to be safe with a full balloon in case of emergency, especially with guests onboard."
"I noticed there are five strips on the fuel settings. If taking off and nose-up is the fifth, the maximum, then what about the first fuel setting?"
"One is for negative lift; it''s only for descending slowly."
"So, essentially the lowest setting without losing the flame?" Lansius ventured, and Angelo nodded.
"How about the second fuel setting?"
"Two is usually enough to maintain a safe float," the mage replied.
Lansius stroked his chin, then decided to test his understanding. "Do you reckon flying at night is more fuel-efficient than during noon?"
Angelo''s expression changed, his eyes growing sharper. "That is correct. But how does my lord know about this?"
"I''m familiar with the basic mechanism: using fire to heat the air inside, which then becomes more buoyant than the colder air outside, thus creating lift."
"Indeed, it relies on heated air," Angelo replied cautiously.
"Is it possible to use the initial fuel setting and achieve a safe float if I travel by night?" Lansius brought up a different subject.
"Possible, but too risky... The ship would fly so low, lack propulsion, and be at the mercy of the wind."
Lansius shifted in his seat, easing some pressure from his injured thigh. He had thought of making propellers, but that would require a primitive steam engine. As he pondered, he became curious about the level of technology they had achieved. "I''m sure there have been a lot of trials and errors. Just how far have you gone in airship making?"
Angelo seemed to ponder, and Lansius added, "What do you see in the future for airships?"
"The future is vast, My Lord. Right now, our limitation is the amount of fuel used to stay afloat. But once, we managed to test a small balloon without lighting any fire."
"A lighter-than-air gas," Lansius blurted out, catching on quickly. "Have you managed to create a completely sealed balloon?"
Angelo shook his head in disbelief. "My Lord, just how did you know about it?"
Lansius leaned back in his seat, feeling equally shocked.
To think that someone with medieval tech can produce what is likely helium gas and an airtight container for it.
"I know this is a Guild or House secret, but what can you tell me about the catalysts you use in the fuel mixture? Are they abundant, raw, rare, or expensive to produce?"
Angelo shook his head. "As far as I can tell, it''s rare and has few uses outside of alchemy."
Lansius drew a deep breath as he realized that this world had the potential to support mass airship travel. The efficiency he had witnessed¡ªthe ability to fly for hours with so little fuel¡ªhad convinced him it was possible.
This wouldn''t be a world where a zeppelin crash would lead to airships being abandoned. The ease of maintaining flight using readily available medieval technology meant airships were too economical and indispensable until the era of heavier-than-air airplanes.
Lansius fell into contemplation. It was ironic that the Imperium, in its death throes, was quietly welcoming the era of airships.
***
Chapter 148 : Golden Darkness
Chapter 148
Golden Darkness
Ingrid had arrived at the Hill Fort along with the rear guard and the supply train. Although she had met Angelo and reacquainted with the mage who was her junior, she declined his offer to board the airship. Ingrid feigned her distrust of the vessel, but in reality, it was because of her new role as the Lady of Korelia''s confidant.
She was no longer solely bound to the mage guild but also to House Korimor, which would support her for the remainder of her life. Thus, Ingrid had a more careful approach to interacting with the mage guild.
In her mind, nobody needed to know anything unusual about the Lord and Lady. She would only admit that the Lord was a foreigner and the Lady was modestly talented in magic.
This was also the reason why Ingrid didn''t board the airship: she feared meeting Sir Morton. Until she could find a better explanation, she preferred to avoid the Black Knight''s Captain.
After two days of rest, the morning of the sixth day brought the Hill Fort alive with the arrival of several dozen nomads. Their arrival was welcomed with warm greetings. No less than the nomads'' war leader himself, a man named Batu, had answered the call, likely piqued by three things: the report of Lord Lansius'' wound; his newest conquest, a flying airship; and lastly, a half-beast in their ranks.
While the leaders visited the Lord and Lady, the rest of the nomads crowded around the airship. They were in awe, asking questions, and praising it. The airship assistants and newly formed guards, led by Sir Harold, kept them from getting too close.
They wanted nobody to poke holes or tinker with the intricate fuel mechanism. Fortunately, Francisca was there to divide the crowd''s attention. The half-breed had no qualms about meeting the nomads and showed curiosity about them. She eagerly conversed with them and even arm-wrestled many of them, turning the situation into a lively spectacle.
Amidst this new wave of onlookers, the craftsmen and carpenters attached to Hill Fort were busy fulfilling the Lord''s request for a wing-like apparatus for some experiment. Made from light balsa wood available in a certain part of the Umberland region, the wing, which was about several shields in length, was made to the Lord''s specifications.
The troops, now well-rested, had also received orders to prepare to march. Tents were packed and loaded into bags, onto mules, or into carts.
Not all were leaving. Twenty light cavalry, 30 South Hill men-at-arms, and a few nomads would remain at the Hill Fort alongside Three Hill''s 30 men-at-arms. The job of leading this fort was left on Captain Dietrich''s shoulders. He was tasked with preparing the fort for wintering and to maintain their hold on the surrounding area.
Interestingly, the Grand Alliance''s decision to build a fort attracted shepherds, peddlers, and others from nearby settlements seeking work or trade. The enclosed walls and military presence made the camp attractive. In their own words, there were mouths to feed, men to entertain, jobs to fill, and coins to be made.
Ingrid noticed that the hill was quite strategic, halfway from Three Hills to Korimor and also to Umberland. While travelers from Three Hills and Korimor could bypass the hill completely, it wasn¡¯t taxing to detour to the hill for the guarantee of safe lodging. Thus, a natural stopping point between three cities was born.
Lord Lansius allowed them to operate their businesses inside the fort tax-free as long as they followed the regulations, kept it clean, and helped with maintenance.
As the Lady''s confidant and mentor, Ingrid also supervised the scribes who were preparing to leave. Without them keeping track of payments and deeds, it would be a nightmare.
Yesterday, ten South Hill Knights returned along with fifty light cavalry and seventy men-at-arms, marking the end of the 4425 campaign.
The House had left the remainder of its Nicopolan camp followers in the three villages with plenty of winter crops to sow and supplies to last through the winter. Over one thousand men were left with Servius and absorbed into the free company, tasked with guarding and possibly expanding into Nicopola.
One of the scribes maintained records of the other Nicopolans who didn''t join Servius:
100 Black Bandits with undisputed loyalty traveled as they pleased, acting as spies.
200 skirmishers led by Farkas as the rear guard.
600 lightly armed levies who chose to follow the Lord and move to Korimor or Korelia.
100 Black Bandits in Three Hills led by Dame Daniella along with her own group.
200 in South Hill who wished to stay under Captain Sigmund.
It was quite a significant number of Nicopolans. But Ingrid noticed it was only a third from their original number and thus much more manageable and less risky. The Lord planned to bring them to Korimor and Korelia for wintering and for possible settlement.
Lord Lansius'' current main force was comprised of:
10 Knights, led by Sir Harold.
30 Light Cavalry.
250 Dragoons, equipped like men-at-arms and with crossbows.
90 Nomadic horse archers and scouts, led by Batu.
Despite not being at full strength, it was still a powerful reaction force. Throughout the day, preparations were made and scouts rode out first to secure the path. However, even Ingrid didn''t know how they would proceed with the march. The details were still held by the Lord, Lady, and Sir Harold.
***
Lansius
It was several hours before departure when Carla and Sterling helped clean the desk and found Sir Morton''s letter. They reminded Lansius, who finally decided to act upon the Mage Knight''s suggestions.
The suggestion itself was quite cryptic, but Lansius, still being carried on a litter, told his men to find the coachman and the cart. The letter stated that the coachman was seeking merchants or nobles to transport goods to Korimor, thinking he could then find another employer to travel back to Three Hills before winter for a nice profit.
When they found the man, the surprised coachman quickly admitted what had piqued Sir Morton''s interest in his cart. His explanation only fueled Lansius'' curiosity further.
A dwarven artifact? That Morton should''ve told me from the start.
"My Lord, why don''t you just summon me? You don''t have to come to the stable," the coachman said nervously while presenting his cart.
"No need to feel nervous. I promise I only wanted to learn. I''ll not take it from you," Lansius reassured him.
With the help of Lansius'' men, they slid a wooden block under the frame to stabilize it. Carefully, they lifted the cart slightly and positioned it securely on the block, then proceeded to use mallets and hammers to dislodge the metal pins.
After tapping the chisel into the gap between the wheel and the axle, they gently pried the linchpin¡ªthe one object that held the wheel securely on the axle¡ªfrom its seat. With the linchpin removed, they carefully held the wheel with both hands and slid it off the axle.
The coachman used a rough cloth to remove the thin coat of smelly grease, revealing a gleaming metal ring with perfectly round metal balls sandwiched between an inner and outer ring. "My Lord, this is the piece that Sir Morton was talking about."
Lansius was soon captivated by the object. He then recognized its shape and function and began to doubt himself.
The coachman spun it, and anyone could see that the axle shaft connected to the inner ring rotated freely despite the outer ring being locked in place to the wheel hub.
The men looked amazed but exchanged glances as their lord maintained his silence.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
He was stunned and paralyzed by this revelation. He wanted to scream that it was impossible, but the uncorroded gleaming object, likely made from stainless steel, was not going anywhere. It was a ball bearing, yet finding it was far more shocking than seeing an airship.
A hot air balloon could be achieved with medieval technology, but a ball bearing was an entirely different game. Lansius pondered that it was named a dwarven artifact meant that the dwarves in this world had achieved industrial revolution.
Hannei, what kind of secret are you holding from me...
He recalled his only Earthling friend, an explorer who dealt with finding dwarven artifacts on the old continent.
Ball bearing production required precision engineering, the hallmark of the industrial revolution. Only now did Lansius realize the stories about their grand citadels under the mountain and their extensive tunnel network on the old continent were not just magical but also industrial.
"My Lord, is there something wrong?" Sterling asked, but Lansius raised his hand; he needed more time to think.
He knew he had wrongly assumed the dwarves to be generic like those in his world''s storybooks. But obviously, they had no business fitting into an earthling''s foolish stereotype.
By seeing this one artifact, Lansius understood that the dwarves in this world had truly achieved the pinnacle of civilization. If all the lore were true, then they had made a working portal to another world, bypassing the need for space exploration, and traveled successfully to a suitable world. And they had done that thousands of years ago.
Ignoring his men and the coachman''s questioning gaze, Lansius pulled out the gemstone of strength that Ingrid had returned to him. He knew there was nothing written on it, but he needed to be sure. For all he knew, it might contain an advanced microchip.
Lansius knew that any sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic. Alas, not even his finger could sense anything but the smooth contour of a gemstone.
Despite still being troubled, he fished two silver coins from his purse and motioned for the coachman to take them. "It''s a fascinating object. It made me think about the possibilities."
"I''m glad My Lord thinks that way," replied the coachman with a gladdened face.
Then, using his crutch, Lansius walked closer to inspect it. There was a bit of black muddy grease remaining, but he noticed a different alloy used and embossed letters that he couldn''t decipher.
Dwarven language.
The letters were sharp, with clean, crisp lines, perfect alignment, and flawless consistency. There was no variation in depth or width, confirming that the item wasn''t handcrafted but was likely produced on an assembly line with precision machines. Moreover, despite several burring marks, likely from a wooden hammer used to fit them into the axle, the object looked almost pristine. The roundness of the bearing rings clearly indicated the use of an advanced lathe machine.
Helped by Sterling, Lansius returned to his litter, his countenance sharp but lost in thought. Only when he was about to be carried away did he turn to the coachman and say, "Join me in my march. You shall carry the airship crew and their goods to Korimor and Korelia."
"Gratitude, My Lord," the coachman replied, happy to have likely won the favor of the most powerful man in Lowlandia.
***
Korimor
Hugo and Michael had apprehended several smugglers and found evidence of forged letters. One capture led to another, and then several shops and even a warehouse were confiscated.
This success was due to multiple suspicions that had been ignored until Daniella''s letter shed light on how the smugglers operated.
At the end of the day, they easily rounded up several heads of families and their top confidants. Michael was leading the investigation, alternating with Hugo. Meanwhile, Omin did the painstaking work of checking captured documents for more damning evidence.
Despite their success, it was a messy affair. They had caught the ire of many wealthy families.
After they had their supper, Omin said ominously to Hugo, "They''re in too deep."
"That''s good, isn''t it?" Hugo voiced without concern. "More people with more faults, then more money we can confiscate."
"It''s not that easy," Omin rejected as they walked the castle''s corridor. "They''ll be afraid¡ª"
"They should be," Hugo interjected carelessly.
"It''s not fear I worry about, but desperation," Omin stated firmly, locking eyes with Hugo.
Hugo stood his ground as Omin elaborated, "If those families are caught too deep in this, they likely will resort to desperate actions."
The knight finally let out a resigned breath. "Fine, I''ll alert my men."
"Make sure everyone is armed and the castle doors are locked," Omin urged. "I don''t want to die because of the guards'' carelessness. Korimor people are not to be trusted. They have betrayed many lords before me, and don''t you dare think it would be any different with Lady Audrey."
Hugo waved his hand dismissively and headed toward the courtyard accompanied by his squire.
As he stepped out, he saw Michael. Hugo was about to greet him when he saw Michael''s expression. "What happened? Any why I didn''t see you at the great hall for supper."
"I just rode out¡ªour barley storage has been set ablaze," Michael reported hastily.
"What!?" Hugo''s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"Worry not. I arrived in time with the guards from the gatehouse. We put the fire out," Michael said, and Hugo sighed in relief.
"We''re fortunate it didn''t burn down everything. But this is getting out of hand. I even heard reports of guards being pelted with stones."
What had started as a crackdown on smuggling was quickly spiraling into something far nastier. "We can''t back down from this," Hugo said firmly.
Michael readily nodded. "We need to be vigilant."
"Go get something to eat and take care of the castle. Make sure it''s secure," Hugo said, turning to the stable.
"Where are you going?"
"I''ll ride with the guards to calm the masses and instill fear in those who go against us," Hugo replied. Upon hearing this, his squire sprang into action.
"Remember, we''re going against smugglers, not the townspeople," Michael advised.
"I know. I''ll be thoughtful in my actions," Hugo reassured his comrade.
That night, he visited the barley storage and the guards posted there. He also patrolled the city, answered some questions from the townsfolk, and went to sleep in the gatehouse to make sure that nothing was amiss.
However, the next day, despite his diligence, things turned worse. The smugglers were not to be underestimated.
***
The Great Plains of Lowlandia
With a gentle touch upon the gemstone, a beam of light emitted from the airship and projected onto the grass in front of them. The nomads and the cavalry cheered loudly. Now they could ride with more confidence through the night.
"Onward," Sir Harold''s voice was heard from below, along with high-pitched rallying cries from Batu.
Lansius'' polished brass contraption had worked as intended. Mounted on the side of the airship, it provided illumination like a spotlight.
"That worked great," Audrey said with similar excitement. Her face was bathed in the soft glow from the furnace above them. Unlike the black airship, this one''s fuel burner wasn''t concealed, allowing good illumination for the pilot and passenger in the gondola.
Lansius smiled. "It took quite a lot of effort. Be sure to tighten the mounting once you manage to keep the light in front of the furthest rider."
Audrey did as she was told. Meanwhile, the pilot, Hans, turned to Lansius, reporting, "My Lord, we''re gaining more speed."
"Then it''s time for the next experiment." Lansius rotated the pole mounted in the middle of their gondola. The pole was connected to a wing apparatus made of lightweight balsa wood.
The canard wing caught the wind, and immediately they saw the line connecting the gondola to the airship slacken. "It''s working," he announced, genuinely surprised and thrilled.
"My Lord, does it react well when you adjust it?" asked Hans, who looked more like a blacksmith than a pilot.
"Certainly," Lansius replied, adjusting the canard wing to give less lift and locking it into place.
Audrey observed the wooden wing spreading to their left and right and gazed at Lansius. "Tell me, does this wing allow us to fly higher?"
"It might, but that''s dangerous," Lansius chuckled. "However, it may let us fly safer and further."
Audrey reached her hand out near the wing and was amazed by the stronger stream of air that flowed around it.
"My Lord, should we proceed as planned?" Hans asked from the front.
Lansius observed the wing before giving a nod. "Let''s do it slowly and steadily."
Hans wiped the sweat from his face and let out a small grin before returning to his control and watching the front. "Descending," he announced.
Immediately, the glow of the fire in the furnace grew weaker, while the metal cables that went to the back of the balloon strained to give the tail wing as much lift as possible. Normally, this would create drag and reduce speed, but right now they were in a unique situation.
"Adjusting the wing," Lansius announced, letting the canard give more lift.
Gradually, the airship drew closer to the ground, but at one point it remained steady and even regained some altitude. Hans turned to Lansius and gave a big grin, "I found the perfect setting, My Lord. A quarter more than the lowest."
"Excellent," Lansius praised. Then to Audrey, "Now we can fly just like this, saving a lot of fuel."
"And running as fast as riding horses," Audrey added.
Lansius nodded with a big smile. This experiment was only successful because they had tied their airship to four long ropes held by the nomads'' best riders on the other end. The riders adjusted the rope slack as needed and maintained a good speed while regularly changing their weary horses without needing to stop.
The light from the airship allowed the operation to proceed even more smoothly.
As Batu had said when he heard of this plan, essentially, they towed the airship. It was a crude but foolproof method. Yet, as he knew, a method wasn''t stupid if it worked. It allowed them, who were without a mage pilot to reach optimal speed without flying high and consuming excessive fuel.
Furthermore, this setup allowed them to travel even further than usual because it did not require accounting for Lansius'' riding endurance. Their Lord could sit back comfortably in the gondola and still match the speed of the fastest rider in Lowlandia.
Audrey carefully pulled a woolen blanket over Lansius. "I know you''re excited, but try to get some sleep."
"But I need to keep an eye on the wing," he argued.
"I sort of understand how to use it. It''s like a boat rudder, but instead of water, it''s against the wind," she reassured him.
Lansius looked doubtful, so Audrey turned to Hans, "Hey, if the wing doesn''t work as expected, can the airship recover?"
"Certainly, My Lady. With that brass light, it''s easy to determine our bearing and altitude. Also, since we don''t rely on hot air for propulsion, I can release high-pressure fuel quickly as needed," said Hans confidently. "Frankly, with this speed, even the ship''s tail wing could lift us away from any risk of crashing."
Audrey turned to Lansius, who shrugged, "I guess we''ll take turns to sleep. Someone needs to help Hans."
"I''ll be sure to wake you up in a few hours," Audrey smiled.
"Liar," Lansius muttered with a sly grin, which only made Audrey''s smile widen.
As Lansius sank his head deeper into the pillow, his gaze wandered from the glow of the furnace to the night sky, twinkling with stars. Above, the mighty balloon, powered by a secret fuel mixture, kept them aloft. Although somewhat mysterious, Lansius considered himself lucky. With the airship, he found himself painlessly traversing the vast expanses of his domain¡ªa feat he had never imagined possible.
Before, he had vomited blood when he rode hard from Korelia to Korimor. Now, he could close his eyes and still cover great distances. As he drifted into sleep, he couldn''t help but wonder what other surprises this world would bring and whether he had it in him to use them to his advantage.
***
Chapter 149 : Korimors Fifteen
Chapter 149
Korimor''s Fifteen
Great Plains of Lowlandia
The airship, cavalry, and nomads continued to ride unopposed across the Great Plains. Without the heat of the sun, it was a pleasant journey for both humans and beasts. More importantly, at night the horseflies were inactive, which was a huge relief as they often became abundant around the height of fall.
For the nomads, the return of their Noyan buoyed their spirits. They had witnessed another glorious testament to his might. Soon, a saying spread among the tribes: The Noyan went to battle on horses and returned soaring in the sky.
Amazingly, the airship wasn¡¯t the only spectacle. By chance, Sir Harold had found a horse unafraid of the half-beast. Although Francisca couldn¡¯t ride, she could certainly sit still. Like a novice rider, her horse was led by a rope attached to Sir Harold¡¯s horse.
When they rotated horses, Francisca, without a spare, simply jogged alongside. Her speed and endurance were sufficient to allow her horse to recover its stamina.
The nomads looked on with respect, having never seen a creature who could match their horses on foot. Many even contemplated the possibility of having children with her, as the nomadic tradition bore no taboos against such unions. They believed that a powerful offspring would greatly benefit their tribes.
Were it not for their respect for Sir Harold, the half-breed''s guardian, they might have tried to woo her. Nevertheless, this did not deter eager youngsters from offering her their water and mare-wine.
Meanwhile, Lansius slept comfortably in his airship while Audrey, with time to spare, quizzed Hans about the airship''s steering mechanisms.
The craftsman-turned-pilot had little else to occupy his time besides watching for trouble on the flat plains, bathed in the glow of the brass spotlight. Moreover, he knew from Angelo that the lady was a mage with keen vision, capable of spotting the black airship from afar, so he was eager to answer her questions.
After an hour, the Lady seemed to grasp the basics and asked, "If we have an emergency, how can a mage assist with the airship?"
Hans pondered, his forehead wrinkling. "My lady, I know little of magic. However, Angelo used to train himself by using the wind to steer the ship. If you could try the same, steering the balloon slightly left or right, it would be excellent practice."
Taking Hans'' advice to heart, Audrey focused inward. Channeling her lackluster amount of magic, she experimented with manipulating the wind, testing her control over the airship¡¯s movement. Although Ingrid had mentioned that her magical source seemed depleted and she felt it was not giving anything significant, Audrey managed to practice with what little she had.
The night was still young, and she practiced until she could no more.
Below, the riders of the plains moved through the night, guided by the trusted spotlight whose soft glow enabled them to see further into the darkness.
***
Korimor
Hugo wore a sour face that unnerved the men around him. He had sat, whined, and farted on the battlements above the city gate. From there, anyone could see the gathering of hundreds of armed men outside the city.
Michael arrived at the battlements fully armored, his face reddening from ascending a flight of stairs. He wasn¡¯t alone; Omin, clad in orange brigandine, trailed behind him.
"You came armored, good," Hugo praised Michael, motioning to the empty seat next to him.
"What are their demands?" Michael asked as he sat.
Hugo gestured to Roger, the squire, to answer. "They claim to be families of the people we unjustly captured, demanding their release to end this peacefully."
"So, it''s an intimidation," Michael surmised.
"And obviously a lie," Omin added, observing the enemy with his reddened eyes. "It''s unlikely those families we captured could muster a hundred armed men from outside the city."
Hugo crossed his arms and stomped impatiently. "This is driving me nuts! How could they appear here after only one day?"
"One of the local knights must be in cohort with them," Michael ventured, then asked Roger, "Do you see any heraldry or banner?"
"None, Sir. We see nothing, and the scouts reported the same," Roger replied with confidence.
The knight with the eye patch inhaled sharply and stroked his chin.
Omin turned to them and warned, "They look quite formidable, obviously used to following commands."
"Mercenaries?" Michael asked.
Hugo frowned. "The remnants of the Nicopolans...? They''re also mercenaries."
Omin approached them, his steps light, seemingly unconcerned about the situation. "Whoever they are, we know the smuggler is behind them. And knowing their motivation is the first step to victory."
Hugo, still seated, stared at Omin. "Then do we have a plan, Sir?"
Instead of answering, Omin quoted, "In times of confidence, attack. In times of doubt, defend."
With his hand, Hugo motioned for Omin to continue, unconcerned about the latter''s status as former Lord. When Omin refused to elaborate further, Hugo''s lips turned into a gleeful grin, mocking Omin''s half-hearted approach.
In return, Omin gave a sharp look and a nose expression as if he had just caught a whiff of rotten feet, then looked away.
Michael intervened, asking, "Gentlemen, then how should we answer?"
Hugo had been sober for several nights in a row and had no wenches, making him miserable and prone to violence. Yet, he was an able military commander. He let out a huge belch and then blurted out with clarity, "It reeks of a bait."
"A bait," Michael repeated and acknowledged with a nod, while Omin said nothing but puckered his pale lips.
Hugo exhaled noisily and gazed at Omin. "And your take on this, Sir Omin?"
Omin gazed at the northern part of the city where wooden walls protected their fertile lands, now fallow for winter. "If it''s true, they''ll try to draw us out. And when we man the outer wall, they''ll launch a strike on the inside."
Hugo said nothing but grinned, as if teasing Omin, which had become his hobby.
Again, Michael intervened, "Sir Omin''s words seem to be true. The smuggler knew we have limited men. Meanwhile, they''ve shown they have men inside."
"Their goal would be to cause chaos. And then either free their people or take the city," Omin added.
"Then I propose to counter them," Hugo suggested, placing a wooden statue of a horseman on the map, just as Lansius used to do. He gazed at Michael. "I''ll go out, while you hide your forces. If they appear, strike them."
Michael wiped the sweat from his forehead. "That will require a lot of men, and we don''t have enough."
"That''s my job. Worry not, I''ll ride out only with a small group," Hugo snickered. "The Lord only trusted me with so few horsemen anyway."
...
"Open the gates!" shouted the Captain of the guard, his voice echoing off Korimor''s old and battered stone walls. These walls, no strangers to conflict, were about to witness another bloodbath. The heavy wooden gates creaked and groaned as they slowly swung outward, revealing the yellowing plains that masked the threat to the city.
Sir Hugo, clad in gleaming armor, sat astride his steed at the head of his small group of horsemen. Only fifteen cavalrymen had mustered under his command, each one concerned and nervous about their mission.
As the sole knight, only Hugo wore a full plate. The rest wore the Lord''s cavalry armor, which provided protection only to their front side, arms, and thighs. Nevertheless, the sun glinted off their helmets and breastplates, creating a dazzling display of military might.
Hugo patted his eager horse and spat to the side before gazing at his men, many of whom had been following him for two years. "We''re going against thieves, so don''t fret. We don''t need to field everyone for this."This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
His men grinned and muttered in agreement.
Hugo then gave the order, "Heavy cavalry, on me! Light cavalry at the rear."
"Let''s teach them a lesson!" his lieutenant rallied the riders.
Hugo lowered his visor, gripped his lance tightly, and spurred his horse forward. Soon, the sound of hooves clattering against the yellowing grass filled the air. His riders followed in tight formation. Meanwhile, their opponents in the distance had noticed them and began to form a defensive line.
Keeping a steady pace to avoid burdening the horses, Hugo led his riders to approach carefully, his eyes fixated on the horizon. In front, approximately a hundred men brandished their spears and held their shields close to their body.
Hugo''s heart sank a little when he saw that the enemy appeared tougher than he had expected. "A spear wall," he muttered.
However, it was within his calculations. Thus, Hugo picked a spot where there were no carts or other obstacles and suddenly steered his horse hard toward it. "Charge!" he shouted, directing the riders to his left and right.
Fifteen riders burst into a gallop. The air was crisp, and the wind breezed through the openings in their armor and helmets, further spurring them on in this gallant display of chivalry.
Now, the outlines of the enemy suddenly became clearer¡ªshields, spears, and gambesons. Hugo tightened his grip on his lance.
The opposing formation, three men deep, looked as if in doubt. Panicked shouts filled the air, and a few men cowered, breaking their ranks.
Inside his helmet, Hugo flashed an ominous grin. He lowered his lance, and his riders followed suit. The cavalry moved as one, their armor clinking softly with each trot. Then, he braced for impact. His muscles tensed, and his horse snorted loudly. At the last moment, the opposing men in front, overwhelmed by the sight, wavered, their iron spears straying.
In a cacophony of screams and shouts, the small band of cavalry burst forward, penetrating the three-man-deep formation. The ground trembled as bodies were impaled and trampled by the fifteen riders. Blood and guts spilled, and the battlefield quickly reeked of iron and urine.
Shrieks and groans pierced the air. Amid the chaos, a handsome man in brigandine rallied his forces, shouting, "They have spent their lances. We have nothing more to fear!"
"Hold your formation or perish together!" another commanded firmly.
Yet, Hugo and his heavy riders turned and proved their mettle once again, mercilessly piercing the opposing formation. Even without their lances, their warhorses and swords were more than enough to inflict terrible punishment.
In the aftermath of the second charge, an uninjured man threw down his shield, facing his comrades, and shouted, "This is suicide! We''re not paid for this!"
His brethren acknowledged and began to drop their shields and spear. Then they started to flee west despite orders and curses from their superior.
Hugo, letting his horse catch some breath, saw this new development with a chuckle.
"Should we give chase?" his lieutenant asked excitedly.
"No. Never!" Hugo replied, recalling his lord''s words to never interrupt the opponent when they were making mistakes.
However, only two dozen or so fled. The rest remained bunched up in their position.
Hugo drank from his waterskin and poured some water on his face to ease the heat. Then he looked at his riders, many of whom were soaked in sweat but appeared more courageous than ever. "Form on me! Let''s bring some more pain to the unwelcome guests."
***
The City of Korimor
Limping and aided by his men, Sir Hugo returned to Korimor. His horse had been wounded, sending him crashing to the ground as they unwittingly charged into a cluster of enemies who had used supply carts as makeshift defensive structures. He had sprained his ankle and narrowly missed breaking his neck.
While being treated in the gatehouse, Hugo learned that the fighting inside the city was still raging. Fortunately, the city''s garrison had learned of an attack on the guardhouse where the prisoners were kept. Like a sprung trap, Sir Michael and forty of his select men rushed to the scene. Soon after, brutal fighting began around the guardhouse.
Blood was spilled as both sides struggled for supremacy. It was a dirty fight, with each side using everything to their advantage. Some were pushed into a well, others were trapped in nets thrown from above, and the townsmen even splashed boiled porridge on the fighters closing in on their homes.
Despite the casualties, the hardened opponents kept on fighting. The fighting only ended after Sir Michael''s men had bested and captured more than thirty, with the rest dispersed.
Sir Michael, injured in the face by a lucky stone throw, organized a house-to-house search. As darkness fell, lanterns illuminated the city, but the skies were burning red.
Some of his men ran to the intersection to learn more, shouting as they asked for information. Meanwhile, the one-eyed knight sheathed his sword and knocked on the door of the nearest building in the vicinity. He calmly excused himself to enter, a weary smile on his lips, and climbed to the top floor of the three-story apartment.
Then, from the window across the bedroom, he saw that fire had engulfed a small part of Korimor city.
"The row of storehouses is burning," the host said nervously.
Michael sighed deeply. Then, turning to the host, he said, "Gratitude for the hospitality."
"Please, have some water if you will," the older gentleman offered, extending a bronze goblet that his son had brought earlier.
The knight gulped the water in one go and fished a bloodied bronze ring from his purse, which he had taken from one of the opponents he had bested. "Apologies for the stains. This is for the trouble."
"We are grateful for your visit, Sir," the older man and his son said, bowing their heads.
Afterward, Michael descended and, with his uninjured men, rushed to the row of storehouses now ablaze. As they drew nearer, they encountered chaos in the street. Some people were salvaging whatever was left, while others attempted to douse the flames with buckets of water from the well.
Sir Michael instructed some of his men to drop their armor and help fight the fire, while he and the rest ensured security. He personally supervised the effort through the intense heat and billowing smoke that lasted until midnight. His most significant contribution was ordering the demolition of a building next to the storehouses to stop the fire''s spread.
Only after a four-hour struggle was the fire finally extinguished. Yet, even after the flames were gone, the tense atmosphere lingered heavily. The people might not have known about the smugglers, but they knew that Korimor had been defeated.
And for those in charge, it was clear that the smuggler had won the day. Even on the plains outside, Sir Hugo''s accident had snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.
***
Plains of Korimor
Four dozen men marched through the night, guided only by lanterns atop the carts. They had been fleeing with little rest since the hostilities outside Korimor ended.
They knew they were lucky to have escaped and didn¡¯t want to risk being chased by resting. However, they had been forced to march yesterday and today, and were close to their limit. Their feet were blistered from worn-out leather insoles, with many wearing mismatched shoe sizes, and some even barefoot.
"Water!" someone demanded, face reddened and breathless, directed at the carts in front.
"Please, a break!" another voiced irritably.
The coachman was about to slacken the reins, but a handsome man in brigandine sitting next to him disagreed, "Don''t slow down."
When the coachman began to slacken the reins anyway, the younger man tapped his hand firmly.
"But we''re going to lose these men," the coachman whispered.
The leader of this doomed expedition simply whispered back with a light, even cheerful tone, "They can die. Their usefulness is over."
The coachman frowned, making the man smile. "We''re close to winter. And food costs a lot, especially in Lowlandia. It''s not coming from my purse, not after losing contact with Three Hills."
"We can drop them at the manor," the coachman argued.
Another shouted angrily from the back, disrupting their conversation. "We can''t march anymore!"
The leader turned to the men behind him, daring a smile as the darkness concealed his face, and feigned encouragement in a soothing voice, "Keep it up! We''re close to a good resting place."
There were grumbles and whines, but the men, fatigued and thirsty, could only groan.
"But my good man, we''re still unable to free our clients. Can we afford to lose these Nicopolans?" the coachman whispered.
Returning to his seat, the leader shrugged and said, "It''s unfortunate, but our client''s men inside have successfully completed their part."
"Success?" the coachman was surprised. "But we haven''t got anyone out, not the clients, nor the money or goods."
A wide smirk formed on the man''s lips as he explained, "From the start, it was a long shot to think that we could free our clients."
"Then why are we attacking Korimor if not to lure them out and take the city?"
"I simply see another possibility to make a profit without relying on our clients'' freedom."
The coachman made a sharp noise to alert his horse to the rougher, bumpier terrain he saw from his trusted reflective lantern. He then glanced at the leader and said, "I don''t understand. How can we make a profit out of this situation?"
The man sat relaxed, unbothered by the bumpy ride. "In Lowlandia, wine and honey come from Three Hills, grain is from White Lake, but Korimor had only barley."
The coachman pulled the reins to the side to avoid a small mound. Then he responded, "So?"
"I suggested to our affiliates inside the city to burn the barley storage to cause chaos. But chaos isn¡¯t the only thing I seek," he hinted.
"T-that''s nasty. But how can we make a profit from the lack of barley?"
The younger man chuckled. "I have befriended a man who had an ample supply of barley. His land is only suited to grow those. Before, they were worth little and he fed his livestock with it. But soon they''ll be worth their weight in silver."
"But every town grows its own barley. Can''t ale makers get barley from somewhere else?"
"They could, but with South Hill still reeling from being occupied, a coup in Three Hills, and the Midlandia succession crisis in full swing, I doubt it."
The coachman nodded deeply in understanding. "And with winter coming up..."
Flashing his teeth, the leader nodded, seemingly satisfied with his plan. "I bet they''ll need something good to drink when the snow forces them indoors."
The leader glanced toward the rear of the cart, where his Midlandian fighters sat alert among the supplies. They were obviously listening, but their eyes passed no judgment. This was how they survived in this harsh world. "You know, I''m not greedy. I only need to recoup my investment."
His fighters merely shrugged or stayed indifferent. Pleased with their reaction, the leader shifted his gaze further back. The lantern''s light reached only so far, yet he could make out the figures of the four dozen men on foot, gradually fading into the distance. "I can''t hear their whines and groans. Maybe it''s time."
His lieutenant then gazed at the rest, ordering, "Be ready. They''re almost at their end."
Out of five carts, three were filled with supplies, and the other two were filled with injured men.
...
"S-stop, stop!" one man shouted angrily from behind, his breath faltering.
"What are you doing? We can''t continue like this," another pleaded.
There was no answer. Suddenly, the guiding lights from the lanterns all went out. Then there were noises of heavy things falling overboard. After that, there were only the fading noises of carts and horses speeding away.
"What is going on?" someone asked in the darkness.
"Nooo!" one screamed after finding something in his path. "They pushed the injured out of the carts. They''re running away!"
"Chase them! They''re getting away with our money!" another voiced what they all feared.
"Bastards! We won''t forgive this treachery!" They cursed their employer. But they were already at their limit. Despite their anger, their limbs gave out after a short sprint. One by one, the men collapsed, their legs and bodies trembling from sheer exhaustion.
It was dark with only the stars in the night sky, filled only with the sounds of gasping, groaning, or vomiting. Some even cried, weeping at their cruel fate that had pushed them away from home and left them abandoned on these harsh, lifeless plains. Once proud Nicopolan mercenaries, they were now reduced to brigands.
The men needed a long time before they began to call out to their comrades and attempted to regroup. After some time, with great effort, some managed to stand and walk again, determined to catch those who had fooled them.
Suddenly, without warning, a white light descended from the sky, bathing their position in a bright glow. Stunned and captivated like insects to a flame, the men shielded their eyes with their hands, forgetting their instinct to flee.
Then, breaking the eerie silence, the sound of thundering hooves began to echo in the distance.
***
Chapter 150 : In the Shadow of Power
Chapter 150
In the Shadow of Power
Korimor
Morning came with a heavy weight on the townsfolk''s minds. With winter only a few short months away, the row of burned storehouses was particularly concerning. Even without understanding economics, they knew the price of goods would rise. Since they had not enjoyed a good harvest, many were sullen about the situation.
Since dawn, the Lord''s men had been poring over the wreckage, searching for anything that could be salvaged. What they found unnerved them: among the losses was their entire barley storage, which was essential for ale production.
In this era, without modern means of preservation, ale was typically consumed fresh since keeping it for more than two weeks would risk it going stale. Thus, it was crucial for a city to maintain a large store of barley all year round.
More than just an alcoholic beverage, ale was nutritious, filling, and a source of enjoyment. It was the favored drink for unwinding after a hard day''s work, and the prospect of it becoming scarce as winter approached was daunting for everyone.
As expected, when the general populace learned about the shortage, the mood in the city soured further. Then, things worsened: those with money began to hoard barrels of barley, knowing they could turn a profit at the peak of winter.
Many whispered that within a week, the city''s brewery would run out of barley, and soon after, the taverns would run dry as well.
The mood in the city was as thick and suffocating as a deluge. Devoid of its usual lively buzz, the air hung heavy with a sense of dread. From the safety of the high castle window, Omin watched over his former city, his sigh blending with the cold breeze. He knew the difficult days ahead. For those in power, the loss of ale threatened their very grip on control, making the task of governing an anxious populace all the more daunting.
"What''s the matter, Sir?" Michael¡¯s voice cut through the silence, pulling Omin back from his troubled thoughts. Seated across from him in the council room bathed in morning sunlight, Michael looked expectant, while Roger stood silently at the ready.
Omin turned to face Michael and lamented, "If only we had a victory to show them."
Michael sat silently, inhaling deeply.
"But Sir, Sir Hugo is victorious," Roger reminded.
"Victorious in the field, yes. But we have nothing to show the populace but dead men. We need a victory parade with captured hostages and their baggage train to pacify the people."
"But is that necessary, Sir?" the squire asked curiously.
"Oh, it''s vital," Omin declared, delighted by the squire''s inquisitive nature. "By parading the hostages, we can effectively shift all the blame to them." He then took an oratory stance. "Here are the thieves and perpetrators who burned the barley, raised the price of goods, and took away your ale. My good people, what should we do with them?"
Roger nodded deeply in understanding.
"Without them to show, we''ll lose face and look incompetent. And soon they''ll blame us," Omin said with regret.
"The commoners will blame us? But why?" Roger raised his eyebrows, questioning the reality of such a claim.
Omin glanced at Michael, who nodded in acknowledgment, "I might learn something valuable from you."
The former lord turned to Roger and explained, "It''s the nature of people to blame someone for their hardships. And when there''s only us, the rulers, and them, the commoners, then they''ll blame us."
"That is preposterous," the squire blurted out.
"Yes, it''s sickening, but people in history have done much worse. Before the era of the Imperiums, when the rains didn''t come and a drought ensued, the commoners often rebelled and dethroned their kings. They never bothered to blame the sky or the Ancients, but always the ones in power."
Roger stood in contemplation.
Michael added, "It''s unfortunate that we are the easiest to blame, and our actions will undoubtedly pit them against us."
Roger turned to the handsome knight with the eye patch. "But Sir, why are we going against the commoners?"
"Because some might want to loot the shops," Michael said with a concerned face.
Roger looked sickened.
Omin approached the shelves and began to peruse some scrolls.
Michael rose and approached. "Thinking of conducting trade before winter?"
"Since we''re under one House, we should be able to ask Korelia to spare some grain and barley," he explained. "The problem is what to offer, because coming empty-handed could ruin everyone''s reputation."
"Let''s find something. I''ll personally ride to report to the Marshal," the knight from White Lake offered.
However, betraying their newfound resolution, shouts and the bustle from the battlements suddenly alerted them.
"Another attack?" Michael asked while Roger rushed out to find more information.
"Don your armor, I''ll go to the gatehouse," Omin urged.
As the leaders made their preparations, a feeling of dread and hopelessness swept over the populace. The townsfolk ran home, shut their doors, and barred them with solid planks of wood. Meanwhile, guardsmen rushed to the battlements. The city gate was sealed shut, and the men-at-arms were donning armor still battered and stained from yesterday¡¯s battle.
Looming in the distance, a mysterious wingless object flanked by hundreds of cavalrymen approached.
...
The wingless ivory giant, majestic and foreboding, flew above the city. Initially, people were fearful, but soon many who peeked recognized two familiar banners beneath it. The upper banner displayed a white shield with a black horse, and beneath it flew a blue shield with a single bronze chevron.
"It''s the Lord and Lady," the people whispered inside their homes.
"If they''re here, that means they''re winning their campaign," was the common reaction, recognizing the banners that had saved them from the Nicopolan invasion just months ago.
Everyone in the city was relieved to find that the object wasn¡¯t a flying monster, but likely a magical vessel unlike anything they had ever seen before. Soon, the cheering and shouting from the guardsmen confirmed their thoughts.
People rushed out from their homes trying to catch a better glimpse of the wingless giant. Its shape was large but sleek, like the head of a spear. Its skin had ethereal properties, unlike anything they had ever seen before. Quickly, the previous sullen mood was replaced by eagerness and hope.
Excitement grew as more and more people flocked to the streets. This was the second time the Lord and Lady had arrived in Korimor unannounced, like a lightning strike. Although their experience had taught them that the Black Lord was unpredictable, nobody could have predicted the arrival of a flying behemoth.
"Is that a vessel?" a gentleman whispered in awe and fear.
"How does it fly without wings?" another commented.
"It¡¯s so massive, does it house an entire army?"
Crowds formed inside the city, fueled by curiosity, following the movement of the massive flying object.
Guards and commoners alike tracked the object until it flew past the city wall. To their surprise, they found the city gate wide open.
Outside, a military procession unfolded with hundreds of horsemen arrayed in formation. Just beyond their sight, on the plains outside Korimor City, a majestic object landed gracefully. Later, they learned that the flying vessel was an airship and it had been given a name: Horsie.
***
Arvena ProvinceStolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A lone man in a cloak walked carelessly as he gently guided a horse down a dirt road after a brief drizzle. The surrounding meadows teemed with insects and butterflies, the last of the season before they migrated south to escape the harsh winter. The sun emerged again, causing the water droplets still clinging to the grass blades to glisten.
Suddenly, the beautiful black horse halted mid-trot, her nostrils flaring. With a loud, explosive sneeze, she shook her head, sending droplets scattering in the sunlight.
The cloaked man, hauling a bag on his back, laughed at the sudden outburst. "Someone must''ve been talking about you," he joked, patting the horse''s neck affectionately. "Perhaps your real master, eh?" he continued, teasing the noble steed.
In response, the horse tossed her mane and neighed loudly.
"Nah... I doubt the one I beat yesterday was your real master. You look every bit an Arvenian horse to me," he argued.
The horse neighed again as if in protest.
"What? Elandian, you say? Okay, excuse me then," the man laughed as he continued walking toward a village.
"Actually, do I know you? You look familiar," he ventured as they went on.
The horse snorted once.
"Ah, you''re also unsure. Oh well..." he said nonchalantly as they arrived on the outskirts of Ceresia village.
The farmers, who were taking care of the winter seeds, saw them and hurriedly went away. But the man paid no heed. He knew the situation was tense and everyone was scared of punishment for entertaining a foreigner on their soil.
He yawned and kept walking. It was peaceful and serene, just the thump of his muddy boots and the horse''s hooves.
Then two guards appeared and hurriedly approached them.
The man patted the horse and said, "Time for some unconventional tactics."
"Halt, the village is off-limits to outsiders," a young guard said fiercely, his voice thick with a northern accent, while the older one brandished his spear.
"I know. Who''s your commander?" the man replied indifferently, smiling.
The guards exchanged glances and were about to answer when the man added, "Never mind that. Just bring me to him. I was issued a bad horse and was late to report. I''d better do it now before the nobles get mad."
The guards exchanged glances again, doubt evident on their faces.
"Come on, man. Be quick about it," he urged the guards.
"Who are you again?" the older guard intervened.
"Can''t you see? I''m a spy from the front line, bringing a message to your commander¡ªand I''m late."
The guards seemed confused, and then the older one shouted, "Your voice doesn¡¯t sound northern."
With a grin, the cloaked man quipped, "What kind of poor spy would I be if I couldn''t speak the local dialects?"
The two guards exchanged uneasy glances. "Wait here while we confirm¡ª" the older guard''s words were abruptly cut off as a heavy bag struck his face, knocking him to the ground with a thud.
Shock overtook the second guard; he hadn''t seen the attack coming. His eyes widened, darting from his fallen comrade to the approaching figure. Drawing his blade came too late¡ªthe cloaked man had already closed the gap. The face underneath the hood flashed a wide grin, and with a swift, powerful swing of his fist, he struck the young guard squarely in the face, sending him tumbling to the muddy ground.
The perpetrator merely coughed dryly, then picked up the bag filled with ringmail that had bounced from the first guard, and continued his stroll as if nothing had happened. The horse neighed.
"Impressed, are you?" he chuckled. "Wait till you see what I have in mind. That bearded Thomas is no match for my brain. Everything is going to be ezzy."
...
Alba Castle, Arvena
In the sunlit dining hall of the expansive Alba Castle, the traditional seat of power in Arvena, a noble couple was having a late lunch. The wife, elegantly dressed, had a plate filled with costard, figs, and a bowl of vegetable stew as she scrutinized a written report.
"I keep hearing about Arvenian bandits operating in the east. What can we do about them?" she gently asked.
Her husband, a large, chubby knight who was the current governor of Arvena, replied with a thick northern accent, "This close to winter, with almost all our forces pulled to fight in the Capital, we can do nothing..."
"You should at least send men to Riverstead," the wife suggested.
Her proposal was met with a puzzled look from the knight. "Riverstead? Why?" he asked, absently sucking the lard from his fingers.
"The last reports indicated troubles, and then we received nothing," she said concerned.
"It must be due to a lack of messengers. You know how every good horse and rider is being funneled to the front line," he said dismissively, allowing the implications of his words to sink in. "Also, I don''t want to create tension with the crown prince. Riverstead is his barony."
"But not like this. First, there¡¯s urgency, and then nothing. They could send someone, even a squire to deliver some message," the wife insisted.
"Alright, if sending men will satisfy you, my dear, then I¡¯ll send a scouting party," he conceded with a smile.
His words delighted the wife, then he quickly added, "But I must warn you. If we end up insulting the crown prince, then our current position might be compromised."
The wife sat straight and put down her fruit knife. "Husband, you are the designated governor of this place, not by connection but by sheer war merit. And I need not remind you that His Majesty''s prestige is paramount."
"I understand that much," he retorted in surprise.
"If I were you, I''d fix the issue as soon as possible. Do not dwell on the promise of winter''s respite. Let no news of setbacks reach the front line. And if the son is found to be incompetent then..." she articulated the last with heavy emphasis.
"Ah, I see where you are going with this," the knight chuckled. "I am blessed to have a wife as bright as you. With your sister married to His Majesty''s second son, we could turn this into an opportunity."
"I am not entirely thrilled to support my nasty sister," she quipped.
"Then?" the knight squinted.
"I merely wish to obtain the first son''s everlasting gratitude."
The knight laughed, his voice echoing in the serene chamber. He wiped his hands clean, rose, and approached his wife, lifting her effortlessly as if she were a toddler. Together, they walked down the corridor, with him crouching every time they passed a doorway, as he was too tall for most doors in any castle.
His wife had chosen wisely in marrying him, for he was one of the most capable men in the north. His placement in the rear was a strategic decision by the new King of the North. While his martial prowess was undoubtedly needed at the front, his role in the rear was even more critical to safeguard the backbone of the extensive campaign against the Capital.
Here, at the most vulnerable point where any disruption could choke the Northern Army, King Gottfried had positioned his best knight, to guard against both external and internal threats.
***
Korimor
"Sir, wake up!" The urgent knocking and a voice from outside invaded the room, relentless and pressing.
"Not so loud!" Hugo groaned, his voice laced with pain. His head throbbed from the previous night''s excesses. He had resisted the urge to drink until yesterday''s wound provided a convenient excuse. Worse yet, the presence of the naked woman sharing his bed was even harder to justify.
The knocking grew fiercer, impossible to ignore. "Sir, you must wake up now!"
"Are we under attack or something?" Hugo''s irritation flared as he shouted back, trying to dismiss the disturbance. "If not, then leave me in peace. Let Sir Michael deal with it."
The woman beside him, sensing the increasing tension, slipped from the bed to dress. Hugo''s hand shot out, pulling her back. "Stay," he muttered, his voice thick with the remnants of drink.
Silence fell suddenly, ominously, replacing the knocking.
Trying to muster some semblance of dignity, Hugo smiled at the woman. "See, there¡¯s no need to¡ª"
"Rise and shine, Sir new knight," a booming voice shattered the brief calm. "It¡¯s Harold. You might want to learn that the Lord and Lady have arrived."
The color drained from Hugo¡¯s face and the woman scrambled from the bed, terror evident in her eyes. "It¡¯s the Black Lord... I mustn¡¯t offend the Black Lord..." she muttered to herself, her hands fumbling as she hastily dressed.
Hugo watched her, panic rising within him. His voice, barely a whisper, carried a desperate edge. "Help me dress, quickly."
Outside, Sir Harold¡¯s voice carried a hint of mockery. "I heard about your wound and your growing appetite. If you need assistance, just let us know. You know we can be discreet."
Struggling to regain his composure, Hugo managed a feeble reply, "No need, Sir. I¡¯ll be right out."
...
Aided by wooden crutches, Hugo was escorted to the front of the castle. From this vantage point, he watched the procession unfold. Hundreds of cavalry, stout in form and proud in their bearing, with genuine smiles on their lips, moved along the cobbled streets.
It was a colorful procession; the troops wore bright clothes and polished armor that gleamed in the sunlight. The excited crowd lining both sides of the street cheered the triumphant return of their troops.
Hugo recognized many riders who passed and saluted him, but what truly shocked him were the scores of men paraded in the middle¡ªdefeated brigands from yesterday. Turning to Harold at his side, he asked, "How could the Lord find out?"
Sir Harold smiled cryptically. "We have eyes that can see in the dark," he said. "And lanterns that flash brighter than the night stars."
Bewilderment spread across Hugo''s face as Harold clarified, "We tracked these brigands for half the night, venturing out of our way, mind you. We would have arrived yesterday had it not been for capturing them."
"What an amazing coincidence..." Hugo was at a loss for words.
Sir Michael and Sir Omin appeared, escorting a carriage drawn by four horses. Upon seeing them, the crowd cheered vigorously, shouting with excitement. The words voiced by the spectators made Hugo''s eyes widen. "Flying ships and beastmen? Am I hearing this right?" he asked.
Sir Harold merely chuckled in response.
Soon, Sir Michael and Sir Omin rode past Hugo, nodding at each other. Their smiles and lighthearted expressions suggested that all was well. Emboldened, Hugo dared to anticipate praises for his accomplishments in yesterday''s fighting.
As the carriage passed by, Hugo glimpsed the Lord and Lady inside, sitting across a wolf-faced creature. He stared at the creature, and by chance, the she-wolf returned his gaze. Their eyes met and held for a moment before both offered a polite nod.
The carriage moved past, and Hugo eagerly used his crutches to follow the staff to the courtyard and then into the castle, keen to catch another glimpse of the she-wolf. He recalled the tales that in ancient times, noblemen used to have a beast-wife, and he was curious about it.
Outside the castle, the high-ranking staff¡ªcomprising Sir Michael, Sir Hugo, Sir Omin, Roger, and followed by other squires, servants, pages, and maids¡ªformed a line to welcome the Lord and Lady.
The rules implied that the host should exit first. Yet, against the rules, the she-wolf exited with unmatched agility. She landed silently, observed the staff, and then moved to the side, allowing the Lady to exit.
While everyone looked unnerved by the appearance of what they thought was a beastman, they were pleased to see Lady Audrey in person. She was the rightful owner of this domain, and the castle staff displayed their utmost respect to her.
Dressed in black attire, the Lady descended the short wooden steps and glanced momentarily at the assembled group. Yet, without a word, she turned to the side and, against all expectations, turned her back to them and vomited facing the cart.
"Huh?" Omin let out an incredulous grunt to his cousin''s action. Hugo, standing next to him, could only exchange puzzled glances with Michael.
No one knew what to do; the protocol offered no guidance for this situation and had left them at a loss. Naturally, many wanted to rush to offer help, but the beastman spread her arm to block them as the Lord had already jumped down from the carriage. He went to the baroness and placed a gentle hand on her back.
The two whispered, and the Lord''s smile spread, gladdening the hearts of many. Turning to the castle staff, he announced, "Please excuse the Lady. Pregnancy has made her easily nauseous."
Instantly, the castle staff erupted into heartfelt cheers, their faces alight with joy as they offered congratulatory wishes. The Lord gestured for the staff and the maids to come closer. They eagerly moved forward, familiar with the Lord''s preference for informality from his short stay earlier this summer.
With great joy and eager anticipation, maids both young and old gathered around the pregnant Lady, tending to her with gentle care. This moment not only brought joy but also secured a bright future for House Audrey and Korimor.
***
Chapter 151 : White Gold
Chapter 151
White Gold
Great Plains of Lowlandia, the Previous Night
The three carts moved slowly through the night; their journey was bumpy as they could only rely on the horses'' instincts and the faint glow of the stars. Without a lantern, it was hard to see, but they continued in darkness to hide from the mercenaries they no longer wished to employ.
"Do you hear anything?" asked the man in brigandine.
"No," replied his lieutenant from the back, "and I doubt they could chase us."
The coachman shifted in his seat and asked, "Can I risk a light?"
"You better, or we might lose the other carts if this goes on much longer."
Hearing this, the coachman lifted the cover of his trusted lantern, casting a gentle glow a few steps in front of the horse. Seeing the light, the two other carts followed suit.
"Why are there only two? Where''s the rest?" the leader asked, squinting into the darkness.
"I see nothing," said the lieutenant.
"Damn it, someone is feeling mercenary," the leader chuckled.
"Must be Old Osric; he hated your guts, and his cart is still laden with grain, wine, and salted meat," the coachman said.
The leader turned to the lieutenant at the back of the cart. The man grumbled, "I''m not blind. I put my brother on that cart to prevent this. I doubt they''ll go rogue on me."
"Right," the leader muttered, "let''s signal them to come closer. We''ll soon find out who betrayed us."
Using their lanterns to signal, they managed to attract the attention of the other two carts. As they drew closer, the Midlandians shouted friendly insults before addressing the important issue: "Who''s not with us?"
"No idea. I can¡¯t see shit," came a distinct raspy voice.
"Is that you, Osric?" the coachman asked urgently.
"Yes. Why the tone? You missed me already?" Osric answered as he pulled his cart alongside the coachman''s.
Laughter erupted, followed by another round of friendly insults.
"It''s not him," the leader said, looking at the lieutenant as all the carts came to a stop.
The man''s expression was sharp. "I find it hard to believe that my own men would betray me¡ª"
Suddenly, the short man known as their scout rose from atop a cart. He surveyed his surroundings before jumping down, almost tumbling, and then knelt to put his ear to the ground.
Everyone fell silent; even the coachman soothed the horse to keep it calm.
The leader leaned out from the cart and whispered, "What do you hear?"
"Horses," he said, turning to face the leader. "A lot of horses."
"Kill the lantern," the leader instructed without hesitation.
The coachman closed the metal cover, but the leader repeated firmly, "Kill the flame."
At the back, the lieutenant jumped down and grabbed his spear; his men and those from the other cart followed suit.
"Do you think this is a good idea?" the leader asked.
"Carts and horses are squeaky," the man answered while flexing his broad shoulders.
"Then we better send one to distract them."
Under the stars, the lieutenant gazed at the leader and could faintly see his grin. "I assume you want to unload the goods first?"
Despite the tension, the leader''s voice was clear. "Certainly. Now make haste."
The lieutenant directed his men, and they began to unload the third cart because Old Osric wouldn''t surrender his.
...
Under the cloak of night, the smugglers huddled together, their calm breaths masking their nervousness. The only sound heard was that of horses pulling an empty cart away, its lightened load quickening its pace into the darkened plains.
A faint glow appeared in the distance, resembling fireflies. As the light multiplied, it became clear that these were approaching torches and lanterns. Soon, the clatter of horse hooves could be heard and felt. Tension surged as each man''s eyes darted through the darkness, bracing for the worst.
"Easy, men, they can''t see us," the lieutenant whispered, attempting to reassure his anxious men.
Nearby, the coachman and the leader had coaxed their horse to lie down to minimize its silhouette, the animal gratefully sinking into its brief respite.
As the sound of hooves intensified, fear rippled through the smugglers, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. But just as the sound reached its peak, it began to fade, the hooves'' clamor diminishing as if moving in another direction.
Relief washed over the smugglers, their tension easing into chuckles of disbelief. "They''re gone," one whispered, hardly believing their luck.
Meanwhile, the scout rose and walked a short distance before kneeling to press his ear against the ground.
The leader followed, whispering urgently, "Where are they headed?"
Pointing, the scout replied, "That direction. Tailing the empty cart."
"Then we should go the other way," the leader decided lightly.
"Wait," the scout interjected sharply. "Something is moving."
Silence fell abruptly across the group. "Footsteps?!" the scout blurted out, his voice tense.
Suddenly, the cart squeaked loudly, burdened with extra weight. Spinning around, the smugglers saw a tall figure shrouded in shadows. "We''ve got you all surrounded, brigands," a distinct voice teased, fearless and mocking.
Before they could react, their horses, spooked by the figure''s scent, reared up, nearly breaking free. The lieutenant and several men, spears in hand, rushed toward the cart, but the shadowy figure leaped away and unexpectedly struck down the lieutenant with a crashing, murderous pounce.
The attack was over in a heartbeat; the lieutenant lay unconscious, bleeding profusely from a severe head wound, as the creature disappeared from sight.
"He got the lieutenant!" one smuggler shouted, his warning quickly drowned out by a sudden beam of light that illuminated the area.
The eerie white light from above revealed the smugglers, their carts and horses, and the mysterious wolf-like creature, along with the tightening circle of footmen who had them surrounded. Then, a tall man in a blue surcoat stepped forward, sword drawn. "On behalf of the Lord of Korelia and the Lady of Korimor, drop your weapons."
The announcement threw the smugglers into a panic.
The man, likely a champion by his bearings, continued, "One way or another, you''re going to drop your weapons. Make your choice now!"
Amid the chaos, the smugglers split into four groups; one group charged at the lone man, two others ran to their left and right, and the remaining simply froze.
With unflinching resolve, the Lord''s champion faced them. He walked slowly to the right, cleverly frustrating the assailant''s approach. Most fighters are trained only to use their dominant hand, and this simple maneuver forced them to either change their approach or risk an awkward angle.
The first one, the bravest of the four, planted his feet firmly, leaned forward, and swung his sword in a wide arc. It was a battle-tested slash, yet the champion had anticipated this and sidestepped with ease before launching a quick riposte that nicked the man''s cheek, sending him reeling to the side, thrown off balance by his own momentum.
The second one adjusted his stance and, from a close middle guard, launched a thrust.
Like a blur, the Lord''s champion parried the thrust. Caught off balance by his hasty attack, the assailant was slow to follow up. The champion didn¡¯t waste time, skillfully diverting their swords before delivering a hard kick that sent him staggering nearly to the ground.
Approaching with good form but filled with dread, the third assailant began his attack. The champion swiftly dodged and delivered a merciless counterstrike to the arm. The victim screamed, rolling on the floor and clutching the stump below his elbow where his wrist had been.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Even amidst the melee, the Lord''s men had swiftly moved to secure the first, second, and then the third assailants. Meanwhile, the Lord''s champion calmly observed the fourth assailant, who approached cautiously.
"I noticed your accent. Your name, Sir?" the approaching man asked.
"Harold, son of Midlandia and Knight of Korelia. And you are?" Harold replied, maintaining a confident middle guard.
"It¡¯s an honor to fight a fellow Midlandian," the man declared under the white light from above. "My name is¡ª" His introduction was cut short as he lunged forward aggressively.
Sir Harold reacted swiftly. His blade met the attacker''s with a sharp clang. The two moved like shadows, trading blows under the white light, their steps and swings honed by years of experience. Feints and misdirection were employed by both sides.
The distance between them closed rapidly, almost as if they were grappling. But the attacker, seeking an advantage, slipped his left hand to his belt and drew out a dagger, attempting to slash at the knight¡¯s limbs. The move was stealthy, yet the man ended up being blown to the side, with a cut across his torso that tore through his ringmail and broke the rivets on impact.
Sir Harold stared at the man, now on the ground clutching his dagger, and shook his head. "You should trust the sword form."
Still fueled by adrenaline, the man replied, "I can''t match you with the sword, thought I could slip one in."
"Your weak block gave me the opening I needed," Sir Harold stated.
The man chuckled breathlessly, "Enough lecture. What will happen to me?"
"A pity that you have shown no honor," Sir Harold said, referring to the man''s failure to give his name. "You still have your dagger," he added grimly. "Or you can wait for the nomads. They might pity you."
From the side, the wolf-like creature dragged two unconscious men, one in each hand, declaring, "We¡¯ve captured everyone."
***
Present Day, Korimor
One day after their arrival, the Lord and Lady held their first council meeting. Almost every high member of the staff attended, sitting in a circle around a heavy oak table. High windows let in the stern morning light, bathing the room in a soft glow and creating a pleasant ambiance.
Outside, music played by the accompanying minstrels, albeit faintly heard, lent the atmosphere a light and cheerful air.
The staff had reported on the recent events in Korimor and the extent of the damage to the city. Seated at the head of the table, Lord Lansius, who had perused the documents, noted the severe depletion of their barley stores. "I''m glad we stocked up on wine in Three Hills," he commented to the baroness, who nodded in agreement.
"The wine was inexpensive in Three Hills and went unused in the Umberland campaign," the Lady explained to the staff.
"Wine can substitute for ale; it will suffice," Sir Omin remarked.
Lansius glanced at his former foe, recalling reports of his diligent work for their cause. He turned to Sir Michael, handsome despite an eye patch, also a former enemy. "Sir Michael," he began, "Have you completed your investigations?"
"I have, My Lord. From the brigands we captured, we''ve identified the Nicopolan brigands, the Midlandian smugglers, and their ringleaders. Someone named Osric has cooperated and testified. Their fate now awaits your decision."
"I''ll deliver the verdict, but first, I heard about their plans to profit from our barley shortage. Did you find anything about that?" the Lord asked.
"Indeed, My Lord. We have learned about a knight unwittingly entangled in their schemes. His land is two days north from Korimor."
The Lord sat back, relaxed, and asked, "Do you believe we can purchase his barley?"
"Absolutely, if the Lord and Lady agree, I''ll set off to make trade arrangements after this meeting," Sir Michael offered readily.
Lord Lansius glanced at the Lady, who nodded, thus concluding the discussion on the barley shortage.
"May I present you with another case," Sir Omin diligently suggested. "The ringleader''s crimes of smuggling, attacking the city, and setting arson to the city''s storage are grievous. Under normal circumstances, his punishment would be painful and public. However, in light of Lady Audrey''s pregnancy, I propose commuting this death sentence to hard labor."
Lord Lansius looked indifferent. "I was thinking of freeing the small folk¡ªpickpockets, poor thieves who stole food, not smugglers."
"Not all hard labor is equal, My Lord," Sir Omin replied.
"Explain," urged the Lord.
"There is a cave in Korimor," Sir Omin began, "a place where bats have lived for centuries, undisturbed. Within it lies the secret to Korimor''s expanding fertile lands¡ª"
"Bat dung," the Lord quipped, earning glances from everyone.
Sir Omin offered a stiff smile. "My Lord, are you aware of guano''s effect on the soil?"
"I''m aware of its properties as a fertilizer. However, I was not aware that Korimor possessed such a cave."
The answer made Sir Omin appear excited. "I have been exploiting it carefully since I came into power, but even with high pay, the workers are reluctant to work there. So what we could gain has been far from enough. However, I am convinced of its effects."
The Lord nodded and turned to the Lady, who commented, "If it''s hard labor, then I guess it''s justifiable to send them to harvest these bat droppings." She then suddenly belched and covered her mouth with her hand.
"Let''s move on from this subject," Sir Omin suggested.
"One thing," the Lord said. "If it''s hard labor, then please recommend a fitting length of service. Not too long, or else they might attempt suicide; not too short either, lest they take us lightly."
"Ten years¡ª"
"I''m against it," Sir Harold spoke up for the first time, addressing the council. "Ten years is too short for such heinous crimes of attacking and arson of the city''s storage."
Gazing at the tall knight, Sir Omin said, "Then how about fifteen years? I assure you, the cave is filled with peril. The air within can turn foul, and the miasma can cause a healthy man to faint. There have been sudden, unexplained deaths among those who have dared its depths for too long."
"Is the situation that bad...?" the knight asked, pausing as he reconsidered his stance.
"The years won¡¯t matter much. Most likely, they''ll die before ten years, except for the few lucky ones. Those who worked there before only lasted three years and then gave up."
Lord Lansius, without showing any reaction, asked, "What about the Nicopolan brigands associated with them?"
"I suggest giving the same sentences. The cave is vast, and we can either have them collect guano in different sections or alternate their schedules for work and rest," Omin explained.
Lord Lansius nodded slowly, his eyes sharp as he surveyed the rest of his staff¡ªSir Hugo, Dietrich, Sterling, Roger, and Carla. Only Farkas and Ingrid were not present, as they were attached to the rear guard, which was still escorting the rest of the supply train. Meanwhile, Francisca and Hans, the airship pilot, were not part of the council.
Finding no one voiced disagreement, Lord Lansius said, "My Lady, I hereby suggest punishing the ringleader with fifteen years of hard labor in the cave. The Midlandians that accompanied them should serve ten years, and the Nicopolans, seven years."
The Lady gazed at their retinue and declared, "I support the ruling."
Sir Omin, once again taking on the role of administrator, said, "Now, with that matter decided, let''s move forward with my petition: a stone bridge to ease the movement of people across the river north of the city."
"What''s wrong with the boats?" Sterling commented.
"Nothing wrong with the boats, but they''re slow and can''t handle heavy loads," Sir Michael answered.
Sir Omin continued, "Despite its cost, we believe this project will open up the fertile lands north of the city. It will allow the city to establish more farms. With sturdy stone bridges, even oxen-pulled carts could move with ease."
"It will allow the city to expand beyond the river," the Lord mused aloud.
"Indeed, My Lord."
"Then please make the estimates for both wooden and stone bridges, whether wide or narrow. I''ll review them. Also," the Lord glanced at Sterling, who was keeping records on this occasion, "remind me to address this issue in Korelia."
Afterward, there was a lull that Sir Hugo used to cough and gather their attention.
"Yes, Sir Hugo. Do you have a petition, or are you asking for your reward?" Lady Audrey motioned.
"The reward can come later, My Lady. I have a request for this council to select a new steward for Korimor. I am injured and would prefer to recuperate in peace."
"I heard you wanted to recuperate in Umberland," Sir Omin quickly retorted, drawing all eyes to them. "Under the soft embrace of a half-breed."
"Well, that can''t hurt," Hugo admitted.
The council room buzzed with lively murmurs, discussing such a turn of events. Dietrich was slapping Hugo''s back in support, while Sterling openly ridiculed the man.
"But you are betrothed. Your future wife is waiting in Korelia," the Lord criticized.
Hugo couldn''t respond, and it was the Lady who tapped the Lord''s hand, saying, "I''ll handle the wife. She''s a valued member of the community, and I can persuade her that there are better knights for suitors."
"Why are you supporting him?" the Lord asked.
"I''m not. It''s just that from the nuanced whispers I''ve heard from the servants, I feel that the marriage isn''t going to work," she explained with a sigh.
"It is as the Lady has said," Hugo admitted, his voice filled with guilt. "She''s probably too good for me. I feel guilty towards Sir Callahan. I''ll take this leave as penance and retreat to the Umberland mountains."
"How preposterous," the Lord said, frowning as he massaged his forehead. "You could cause a diplomatic row if you end up harming one. We''re not even sure about the half-breed''s traditions."
"Then, I''ll be the correct man to learn about the tradition from the inside," Sir Hugo argued.
Lord Lansius chuckled at the absurdity but took a deep breath and gazed at Sir Harold. "You know more about this than I do. So, please advise the council."
"I''ll consult with Francisca. But in truth, it''s the same request that she made of us. I believe we can request the same from them."
"But I doubt Sir Hugo is as benevolent as Francisca," Sir Omin teased.
The Lord exhaled deeply as he sank back into his cushioned chair. He saw the Lady glance at him and said, "Let''s take a break and accompany me for a walk."
...
Lansius
They arrived at the garden adjacent to the courtyard, and their entourage quickly spread out to give them privacy. Only Carla and Sterling followed at a distance.
"Who do you think is best to lead Korimor?" Lansius began as they walked through rows of medicinal herbs and plants, common in such gardens.
"Ideally, it would be Dame Daniella, but since she''s occupied..." Audrey pondered. "Sir Michael seems more than capable."
Lansius mulled over his options. "But Sir Michael also has duties in Korelia, preparing for Lord Robert¡¯s residence. So, he¡¯s out of the picture."
"Then it should be Dietrich, accompanied by Roger," she suggested.
"That''s what I was also thinking," he agreed.
Audrey gazed at him, grabbed his hand, pulled him closer, and whispered, "What''s the matter? I doubt you can''t discuss this inside the council room."
Lansius did not answer immediately but pondered before responding, "Calub¡¯s words in the letter about Midlandia made me think about our situation."
"About what, exactly?" she asked gently.
"Most of our key personnel, including our staff, are Midlandians," he remarked. "The Marshal, Sir Justin, is arguably a mercenary. Moreover, his wife and son are in Midlandia. Sir Harold, the leader of the knights, was originally sent to us by Lord Bengrieve. Meanwhile, Calub... he''s a henchman, just like us."
Audrey couldn''t refute that fact and nodded lightly.
"Now that we''re not at war, we have the opportunity we need to promote non-Midlandians as a safeguard." He continued, "Originally, I had Sir Callahan to rely on, but he''s gone, and now I need someone else."
Audrey¡¯s eyes wandered briefly as she gathered her thoughts. "Dame Daniella is Nicopolan, Farkas is too inexperienced. Your best bet is calling Sigmund."
"No, he''s needed to handle South Hill. It''ll be his proving ground."
The two arrived at a corner underneath a willow tree. After a long pause, Audrey said, "You know, even after what happened at the mountain pass, I believe the rest of our staff are loyal."
Lansius nodded in agreement. "I simply wish to avoid surprises."
Audrey glanced at him and quipped, "And what about me? Have you forgotten that Lord Bengrieve is the one who gave me my name?"
Lansius chuckled, the gentle rustle of the willow¡¯s weeping branches blending with the soft, cool breeze that caressed the space around them. "If you betray me, I have little reason to live."
Audrey''s face turned smug, seemingly enjoying his word. "Do you think a succession crisis will bring Lord Bengrieve down?"
"A calculative man like him? Unlikely..." Lansius mused. "He probably even predicted this crisis."
"Even this is still within my plans," Audrey quipped, recalling how Sir Stan used to mimic their master. This prompted Lansius to let out a smile and say, "When you''re feeling better and the rear guard has arrived, let''s head back to Korelia."
The mention of the city made her eyes glitter. "I can''t wait to see the new buildings. They say there are baths, a new bakery, and¡ª"
"I see your appetite remains unchanged," he quipped. Noticing her raised eyebrow, he added, "Which is certainly good, of course."
That answer earned him a broad, confident smile from her. Her brown hair fluttered gently as the wind picked up speed. The willow''s branches swayed dramatically as if heralding a change in the air.
***
Chapter 152 : The Final Sunrise
Chapter 152
The Final Sunrise
Korimor
Over the following week, Lansius personally inspected the guano cave and commissioned wooden ladders for several sections. He also ordered the construction of several resting spots adjacent to the ladders, each equipped with a water reservoir for easier cleaning.
He also arranged for a supply of working gloves and established a rule to provide them throughout the workers'' tenure. Moreover, he summoned a guildsman with expertise in salt mining, hoping to gain their advice on managing and improving working conditions.
Despite having little compassion for the brigands and smugglers who had burned the city''s storage and cost him dearly, he wanted to provide a fighting chance. He knew some would try to escape and be killed by his sentry, but he aimed to make things as fair as possible for those who stayed. His motives were not solely for pity but for the city''s benefit.
He needed workers to collect guano; if they could demonstrate that working in the cave was not deadly, other men would likely agree to work there. For that, he needed to prove that the work was survivable. It wasn¡¯t a tall order, but it was still uncharted territory.
Not even Lansius could recall what kind of menace he was up against. He didn''t know whether viruses, chemical reactions, or pathogens made medieval guano gathering a dangerous occupation.
Knowing that success hinged not just on the right equipment and conditions but also on mental preparation, he tasked Sir Michael and Dietrich with delivering a rousing speech. He wanted them to emphasize the fair opportunity and assure the workers that food and lodging during the winter would be secured, provided they remained cooperative and avoided any troubles.
Now, Lansius could only hope that it would work well.
It wasn¡¯t without risk, as Sir Michael would soon return home to attend to other tasks in Korelia. As discussed, Dietrich and Roger would be left behind as Steward and vice.
"The two will either rise to this opportunity or remain forever confined to military roles," Lansius muttered, almost to himself, as he sat at the windowsill overlooking the city bathed in warm light, his walking cane resting against the stone wall.
"Did you say something?" Audrey asked from the desk.
"No, not really, just thinking about some small things." He turned to her, who was reading a book and trying hard to memorize by scribbling on a wax tablet.
"Tell me, why have you been extra diligent these past few days?" he asked curiously. "Is it because Ingrid has arrived?"
"Well, yes," she gave a cryptic answer.
"How did she motivate you?"
"Umm... Well, don¡¯t laugh, but she told me that a child inherits his mother''s intellect."
Surprised by her frankness, Lansius tried hard not to laugh, sucking his lips inward while looking out the window. Beyond the city and the city wall, the fields of Korimor stretched out, lying fallow.
Despite the wars, they weren''t used to planting winter crops. Lansius, through Sir Michael, had tried to convince several prominent figures to try planting winter crops, but the process was ongoing.
"Lans," Audrey broke the silence.
"Yes?" He saw her turning in her seat, facing him.
"Have you done all your preparations?"
"Let''s see... I have done all I can for the guano gathering. I also have Sir Michael tutoring Dietrich on how to handle the city and the commoners. We have the rear guard arriving safely as well. So, I guess everything is done, except for the bridge; I have yet to receive the estimates."
"That''s it?" Audrey asked, concerned.
"Did I miss anything?" he furrowed his brow in response.
She smiled and said, "Fairs."
"By fairs, do you mean festivals?" he furrowed his brow.
"Indeed, Lans. It¡¯s important for the people to celebrate and to see you as a generous lord."
Lansius recalled that in the medieval era, it was not only common but expected for a local lord to generously host festivals to maintain peace and strengthen bonds with his subjects. Puzzled, he asked, "If it¡¯s that important, why hasn¡¯t anyone brought it up in council meetings?"
Audrey chuckled. "Your staff has grown too trusting of your abilities. I suppose in their eyes, you can do no wrong."
This made Lansius uneasy. He knew that blind trust and devotion could lead to a leader''s downfall.
"If they weren¡¯t blinded by your triumphs, they¡¯d mention our victories in South Hill, Three Hills, and Umberland. And they''d bring up my pregnancy. Each alone merits a celebration. Now, imagine achieving all these and not hosting a festival. What would people think of us?" she continued.
Lansius nodded and smiled wryly. "Then we must indeed prove ourselves to be benevolent leaders. The real question is, do we have enough supplies for it?"
"Have Omin handle it," she suggested. "I heard from Sir Michael that he''s quite dependable."
Lansius mulled his options. "Are you sure he''s... you know..."
"I haven''t given him my full trust," she reassured him. "In fact, I''m rather guarded when he''s around. Yet, he''s quite capable and not blinded by your achievements. As for guarantees, I have Sir Michael and Ingrid keeping an eye on him."
Lansius nodded. "Then I''ll ask the council to prepare a festival for Korimor, one that would please the Lady of the City."
However, after giving his assurances, Lansius turned his thoughts inward, contemplating how to fund these many unplanned activities. Although he had saved supplies from the Umberland campaign, he preferred to be prudent, especially after committing to the airship purchase. Moreover, the cost of the stone bridge, essential for guaranteeing Korimor¡¯s growth, would not be trivial.
***
Lansius
Five-day festivals were held in Korimor, featuring plenty of competitions. As was customary, food supplies were provided by the master of the city, allowing the commoners to indulge in celebratory feasts.
The usual archery and melee competitions were held, where Lansius introduced several classes from light to heavy armor, enabling more people to compete and win. He also introduced a horseback crossbow archery competition for his troops to showcase their newfound skills.
On the second day, Lady Audrey hosted a medieval football game that involved the entire town of Korimor. Far from the modern game, there were no set players and minimal rules. Anyone who wished to participate could join in the crowded streets, with the entire city serving as the playing field. The objective was simply to move a ball from one part of the city to the other, with players using any means necessary.
It was not only a test of physical prowess but also a chaotic yet refreshing communal event. The game, lasting hours and resulting in hundreds of light injuries, served almost like a militia exercise.
Lansius had his skirmishers, led by Farkas, organize the competitions, believing their crowd control skills would complement those of the regular guardsmen.
The third day featured an obstacle course set on the very battlefield where they had fought the previous season. Participants had to start at the old Nicopolan camp, traverse a grassy field before reaching a muddy field, climb a wooden palisade, run through the fallow fields, and finish at the second palisade gate at the city''s far end.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The crowd thoroughly enjoyed it. The top fifty winners received helmets, gambesons, swords, some silver, and a spot in next year¡¯s military recruitment.
The fourth day was dedicated to poetry, drama, dance, and, as requested by the Lady, a cooking competition.
The final day was mostly ceremonial, with banquets for the military officers and the wealthy. However, Lansius did not abandon his troops and chose to visit them.
"My good Korelians," Lansius addressed his troops in their billets, using a cane as a walking aid, which earned him smiles. "As you are aware, to the north lies a river with a strong current."
The men nodded and murmured in acknowledgment.
"The area has remained undeveloped due to the absence of a bridge. Ideally, it should have a proper stone bridge that could support people and carts."
Everyone appeared to agree.
"Now, you might wonder why I mention this," Lansius said, gazing at his men before revealing, "It''s because I''m offering you an opportunity to own lands north of the river if you help finance the bridge."
Murmurs spread through the crowd; some showed interest and quickly agreed, while others remained skeptical.
"Please don''t misunderstand; I could pay for the bridge myself," Lansius reassured them, eliciting laughter. "I''m simply offering you a chance. Now, listen carefully: If you forfeit half of your pay from this campaign, I''ll grant you fertile land suitable for your family. And..." He raised his voice to prevent interruptions.
"I''ll include a good deal of materials for your house for free if many of you participate. So, what say you?" Lansius asked with a smile.
"How about farming tools?" one soldier shouted.
"And donkeys," another chimed in, prompting a wave of laughter.
"You guys drive a hard bargain," Lansius remarked, joining in their laughter.
...
In the end, farming tools were promised, but donkeys were not included. With this, Lansius secured not only a quarter of the funding for the bridge but also the settlers who would farm and manage the land.
As they rode back to the castle from the festival in a carriage, Audrey looked at Lansius with playful skepticism. "Aren''t you being a bit too generous with the troops? Not only land but also materials for their houses," she commented.
Lansius smiled and explained, "Consider this: a farm managed by military families loyal to us. They''ll help us maintain order, be our eyes and ears, and also be fully invested in defending the land."
"I see, so not only are they farmers, but they also serve as its guardians," Audrey noted, her gaze lingering on the window as the carriage gently rolled along the cobbled road. Sir Harold, Francisca, Sterling, Carl, and several riders were escorting them.
"Moreover, some of their sons could be the backbone of our future army," Lansius added.
Audrey turned to him and giggled. "Their sons? Lans, you''re thinking too far ahead."
Lansius chuckled, his gaze shifting affectionately to her beltless gown.
His gaze was not lost on her. "No way, you''re actually preparing for our son?"
"I don¡¯t dare to think that far ahead," he shook his head. "But it¡¯s a nice bonus. Also, are you sure it¡¯s a son and not a daughter?"
"A son, so I can teach him the Elandian sword style," she said, hopeful.
"What¡¯s wrong with a daughter?" he asked.
"Erm... not optimized."
"I thought you were optimized," Lansius quipped.
"Not really... I lack the strength that my master had," Audrey sighed. As she spoke, the carriage rolled into the castle grounds, where the final night of the festival would be held in the great hall.
***
West Tiberia, Capital, Beneath the Lake
Morning arrived with a gentle breeze and the chirping of birds. Like any other day, Sagarius woke up in a simple wooden cabin. Compared to the castle, it was smaller and basic, requiring no special maintenance. Through her glass window¡ªone of the items salvaged from the castle¡ªshe could see other cabins outside that formed a small commune.
Sagarius slept alone in her cabin house, which served both as an apothecary and the commune''s library. Her bed was simple, and her clothes were comfortable but not luxurious. Apart from her white long hair, little indicated that she was anything other than human.
Her father had lived similarly. Here, they lived as they wished, without the need to act like royalty. This subterranean world, which had no official name, was accessible to only a limited few. In better times, her father ruled from the palace in the capital for decades at a time before returning to rest. He believed in delegating details to the growing bureaucracy through policy and rarely micromanaging.
Sagarius yawned, changed into her daily clothes of comfortable linen, and opened the window to let in the fresh air. Knowing there wouldn¡¯t be rain today, she decided to air her blanket and hang it outside. Despite having maids, she felt odd being pampered by those much younger than herself.
Wearing sandals, as was usual, she headed to the mess hall. There, depending on availability, she could find baked yams, mushroom stir-fries, hearty lentil soup, or freshly baked bread. She would also refill her waterskin with boiled water.
Afterward, she typically checked on her father, who was accompanied by a rotating staff member due to his advanced age. His Highness no longer had a correct sense of time and often rambled in the middle of the night, managing only intermittent bouts of light sleep.
This was why the staff insisted Sagarius sleep in a separate cabin, so she could remain refreshed to accompany the Emperor during the day while others worked in the fields or at the workshops.
As she walked, she noticed that these cabins, though relatively new to her, were beginning to show signs of age. There was rotting wood, moss, and some logs had even become nests for insects.
They were built by the previous generation of her father¡¯s staff when the palace had fallen into disrepair. Centuries ago, hundreds of servants and maids had maintained this little paradise, but after the Emperor fell ill and ceased going outside, the population steadily declined.
Eventually, the palace was abandoned as it neared ruin. The large roots of an elven tree, long untended due to the master¡¯s illness, blocked many corridors, making them impassable, especially for someone with a wheelchair.
Thus, the staff constructed a wooden complex as their retreat.
At that time, Sagarius was absent. As expected of her, she traveled the world incognito, returning only sporadically. Each of her grand journeys could last from sixty years to a century.
When the Emperor¡¯s condition worsened and Sagarius was away, the human staff had to rely on themselves. Generation after generation, they cared for their Emperor. For a long time, everything went smoothly. However, just as their last apex predator, the Elandian Tigers, died young from birth defects due to inbreeding, the staff recognized that their bloodline, too, wouldn¡¯t endure.
Originally born to hundreds of rescued orphans who received good education, they understood the risks of inbreeding, and consequently, most chose not to have offspring. As a result, their numbers dwindled more rapidly than ever before. Yet, no one wished to return outside, deterred both by fears of the golems guarding the passage and by a deep distrust of the outside world itself.
When Sagarius finally returned with her retainers, she found an aging population. She immediately relieved them of their responsibilities. Soon after, one by one, the old generation passed away.
Nearly a century had passed since then. The last lady-in-waiting, the servants, and the maids from her father''s staff had all perished, as had the first generation of orphans that Sagarius brought back. Now, the second generation supported the community.
They too had matured, and some had sons and daughters who, fearful of the stories told about the harsh human world outside, chose to stay. To them, Sagarius was their matriarch, a title she cherished by becoming their teacher and healer.
While Sagarius appeared from the outside like a nerdy lass, engrossed in ancient books and tomes, she took her responsibilities seriously. She often ventured into the forest, armed with knives and vials, to gather herbs that couldn¡¯t be cultivated in her garden.
Herbs, honey, and even some toxins were vital to collect. Although their world seemed like a paradise, anyone who came into contact with nature faced risks from parasitic worms, fungal infections, and insect bites. Thus, she needed to be prepared with salves, antiparasitic medicines, skin ointments, and balms for irritations.
This necessity extended beyond simple healthcare. As the community''s reluctance to have children grew, stocking up on contraceptive medicine became equally important. For humans, living in this secluded world was both a paradise and a curse. Once they set foot there, they rarely desired to return outside. Here, the world was safe, and they maintained a degree of control over nature.
Education played a pivotal role in the community, with tomes passed down by generations of human staff serving as a rich source of knowledge. With such a high level of knowledge, the inhabitants grew wise and grateful for their sanctuary. They recognized the absence of serfdom, raidings, slavery, and oppressive noble landlords as nothing short of miraculous.
Moreover, they also felt blessed to be able to serve the Ageless One, the prime being they still accepted as the last Grand Progenitor.
While most of the staff were engaged in maintaining the colony¡¯s day-to-day functions, a specialized group worked under Sagarius'' watchful eye. For the past forty years, this group had methodically disarmed the items in the armory, and now, no weapons of use remained.
The only remnants of their once formidable arsenal were the golems. Even unarmed, these constructs remained formidable. To neutralize them effectively, Sagarius began dismantling parts of their armor and systematically destroying their power sources, one by one.
This task spanned generations and involved several types of golems, including both spider-shaped and bipedal warriors. Once integral to the construction of the underground world, these machines were now being carefully disarmed.
The morning air was unusually still as Sagarius made her way towards the mess hall. She could smell the aroma of baked yams drifting through the air, a comforting scent that brought a small smile to her face. Before she could enter, she was approached by four people, led by an old woman known to her as Yira, all bearing solemn expressions.
"Yira, what is it?" Sagarius asked.
"Master, we need your presence at His Highness'' cabin," Yira replied, her voice shaky.
Sagarius was alerted. "Did His Highness ask for me?"
The old woman and the others exchanged worried glances.
Without waiting for a further response, Sagarius turned and jogged toward the larger cabin that stood majestic, yet somber, with an ancient tree guarding its entrance. As she passed, the tree¡¯s leaves whispered in the gentle breeze, a familiar sound that now carried a different tone.
The cabin overlooked a sprawling meadow and the gentle flow of the river beyond¡ªscenes her father had cherished. She entered without hesitation and made her way straight to her father¡¯s chamber. Inside, an old staff member stood by the doorway, a walking cane clutched in his hand. He looked up as she entered, his expression sorrowful, and silently stepped aside to let her pass.
"Father," Sagarius called out softly as she approached the bed.
There was no answer. The air in the room was heavy, filled with an unspoken tension. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched his cheek. His skin was cold, his lips pale and stiff.
Only now, as she stood there, did she notice how frail he had become, how the life had quietly slipped away from him. She checked his pulse at his neck, as his prosthetic made it difficult to get a reading. But there was none.
Outside, a crowd of staff had gathered. They removed their hats as a sign of respect. The moment generations of staff had dreaded had finally come.
The Third and Final Emperor of the Third Human Imperium, the Ageless One, had closed his eyes for the last time.
***
Chapter 153 : Una Volta Che Avrai
Chapter 153
Una Volta Che Avrai
West Tiberia, Capital, Beneath the Lake
The funeral of the Ageless One was not a grand event, but a solemn one. It was meticulous, yet far removed from the opulence typically associated with the leaders of the Imperium. There was no intricate burial, yet one could say that the entire underground world served as his mausoleum.
The Third Emperor of the Third Imperium was laid to rest like a village chieftain, with little to indicate his imperial status. It was his belief that nothing should be carried to death. He was placed in a simple wooden coffin made entirely from aromatic wood, a final gift from his daughter and staff.
The Ageless One was dressed only in the silken clothes he wore at the time of his death. The only luxuries buried with him were a few prized rings adorned with inert gemstones and his prostheses that had become one with him.
His coffin was lowered into the deep mounds with the help of the last remaining golems, reserved only for this occasion.
An old man with a walking cane piloted one of the rusted golems and then placed a final wreath of flowers before allowing the daughter and the staff to pay their last respects. After everyone had paid their respects, the golems began filling the mound with their large shovels.
As if to pay their respects, a flock of birds flew overhead in a perfect V formation, offering a poignant spectacle to those mourning below.
"His Highness lived a good life," said the old man as he climbed down from the azure colored golem.
"1414 years old," Sagarius muttered. "Enough time for him to even forget about his regrets."
"Well said, Master," the old man sported a faint smile.
"Do you need time to mourn? If not, let''s seal the armory," Sagarius suggested, her tone steady even in her mourning attire.
The man chuckled. "It''s the other way around, Master. Shouldn''t I be asking you that?"
"I''ll find time to mourn later. My obligations come first," she reassured him.
Under the watchful eyes of the mourning staff, Sagarius and the old man walked toward the armory, accompanied by the three golems. Inside, they observed as the golems entered their maintenance berths for the last time. The armor that had once shielded their power sources had been removed, leaving their vital components exposed.
Sagarius ascended the metal maintenance stairs nimbly, while the old man, hindered by a weak leg, kept pace beside her as best he could. As she began her work, the old man queried, "Master, can''t we spare at least this one?"
"Why?" she asked, turning to him with a puzzled expression.
"Well, we''ve destroyed the factory, and without it, there are no spare parts. There''s little risk of misuse, even in your absence. Besides, this one recognizes only my commands, and I won''t be around much longer."
"I see you''ve grown quite attached," she observed, noting his fondness for the machines.
"Well, I can''t deny that," he admitted, looking at the hulking azure blue golem that he had maintained since youth.
"I wish I could allow this, but His Highness commanded it," Sagarius'' voice was apologetic.
"That''s fair. Well, I always wanted to ask, and now I have said it. This way, I''ll have no regrets," the old man acknowledged.
Only then did Sagarius let out a smile and suggested, "Let''s get back to work." She then proceeded to use a hammer and chisel with special alloy tips, to break part of the rune-imbued gemstone that powered the golem. This action rendered the embedded gemstone inert, transforming the dwarven work of art into worthless pebbles.
After completing her task, the old man instructed the golem to move and flex its arms, allowing it to expend any remaining power. Once its movements ceased, its artificial muscles locked in a state of eternal rigor mortis.
"We don¡¯t need to move these out, right?" he asked as they finished the task.
"Certainly, we can let them stay in their berths," Sagarius confirmed.
"Then that''s it," the old man remarked as the last golem failed to raise its arms, indicating it had no more power in its system.
"Then our work here is over," Sagarius declared, fulfilling her father''s wishes.
As they were about to leave, she asked, "What about the prosthesis? Is all accounted for?"
The old man turned and furrowed his brow. "Hard to tell, His Highness kept his notes in Elvish."
"Some of the prostheses are quite advanced," Sagarius mulled.
"One of the uncles made some small improvements to the design. It was his lifelong passion to help His Highness. However, only he and some of the older folk knew about it. And they have passed away."
Sagarius nodded, memories of past discussions surfacing. "Then, I''ll be heading to the prosthesis workshop."
"But it''s going to be dusty. I can ask someone to clean it up first," the old man offered.
"Nah, that''s okay," she declined and nimbly jumped down, making her way toward the workshop at the far end of the armory, which was not part of the original structure. As she headed there, she passed rows of sealed stone storage units several stories high, filled with various types of dwarven weapons, all deactivated.
Some were truly made by dwarves in the previous era, while some were made by Grand Progenitors, but most of the so-called dwarven weapons were crude copies made in this subterranean world under the Ageless One''s guidance. They never saw actual use before being decommissioned.
As she found the maintenance shaft and entered, Sagarius created an unseen static shield of air around herself, effectively isolating her from any dust or unwanted gases. The place was dark, yet her eyes adjusted with ease.
Inside, prostheses lined a stone rack, displaying significant advancements made by her father and his assistants.
"The homunculus project," she muttered, her gaze tracing the intricate runes her father had inscribed in his younger years. She knew his passion was to remake the lost dwarven technology, and the progress evident in the designs was promising. Some prostheses were even complete bodies, fully equipped with faces and heads. Yet, she saw that it was still far from what the dwarves had achieved.
Coughs were heard from the entrance, and a white light from a gem of light appeared.
"You need not enter," Sagarius called out, her voice muffled by her protective bubble.
"Should I ask anyone for help?" came a reply.
"No, that''s not necessary. We''re about to seal them anyway, along with the armory," Sagarius responded, stepping out while holding a foot prosthesis. "Don¡¯t you need a foot?" she joked, waving it as she walked out.
"H-how? Do you wish to cut off my leg?" the old man responded, his eyes widening.
Sagarius giggled. "So it''s a no?"
The old man sighed. "Gratitude for the offer, but I don''t think I have the magic potential to control it."
"What a shame," she said playfully, tossing the foot prosthesis back into the workshop.
...
It was midday when a group of younger staff descended a flight of stairs into the darkness below. Although Sagarius wanted to do it herself, the younger staff intervened just in time.
Armed with a gem of light on their hard hats, they reached the maintenance shaft that connected to the armory''s foundation. There, they searched for specially marked structures and broke bottles filled with a chemical concoction onto each.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Despite assurances that there was plenty of time, they climbed out desperately, fearful for their lives.
They emerged running, out of breath; one even had foam in his mouth. The onlooking crowd burst into laughter at the sight.
As expected, the armory remained standing, not due to the concoction¡¯s failure but because it required time to take effect.
Nearby, under the shade of an old tree, Sagarius and the old man overseeing the operation sat and watched. "Do they think the shaft will explode?" she asked, bewildered by the youngsters¡¯ reaction.
"Likely something violent. Those kids don''t remember the last time we did this," the old man replied, glancing at Sagarius. "Master, do you think it¡¯ll be dusty like the factory?"
"We¡¯re far enough this time, and the armory isn¡¯t as large as the factory," she replied calmly.
The old man nodded and took a sip from his wooden cup. "It¡¯s been forty years. I still can''t believe the work my mother started when I was little is finally finished."
She glanced at the old man with his graying hair and mustache. "Do you think your mother would be proud of her work?"
"She and Father would be. They¡¯d be happy I was alive to see it. Their greatest fear was that the weapons and golems would be used by nobles to solidify their rule."
Sagarius nodded. Everyone shared that view. With dwarven weapons and golems, the nobles could rule with newfound ruthlessness. Naturally, there were debates and arguments, but despite its use as a force multiplier, the risk outweighed the fear.
"I wish we could do the same with the remaining golems and armory in the palace above," the man remarked.
"There¡¯s no armory left," she reassured him. "Even during the Beastmen War, His Highness never took a dwarven weapon from the armory. As for the golems in the palace, they are sealed and dormant, save for the Great Progenitor."
The man gazed at her. "Human-made golems?"
"Yes, the last few that existed. Not even His Highness dared to bring them here. Those don''t belong to him."
"Why have I never heard of this before?" he mused aloud.
"Why, are you now wanting to go outside? It''s the latest model, you know, an improvement over the dwarven models," she teased.
"Nah," he shook his head weakly. "Even if I survived the trip, you wouldn¡¯t find a way to enter the Imperial Palace. Besides, it would require no less than a Great Progenitor, who was last seen at the beginning of the Third Imperium."
"Fair assessment. Indeed, His Highness'' mentor was last seen at the start of his reign," Sagarius leaned back, noticing the ground beneath the armory beginning to shake. "Ah, it has begun."
The staff watched as one side of the armory sank first, followed by the other. Like a child on a slide, the large building complex collapsed into the earth. As it fell¡ªingeniously designed¡ªthe structure tumbled to one side, allowing its top to hit the pit first and destroying everything as several hundred tonnes of dirt piled in from the side.
The resulting dust and smoke billowed up but stayed far from their observation spot. The old man stood for a better view. "Now it¡¯s over."
"Just one more thing," Sagarius remarked, standing and turning to the crowd of staff. "Break the dike."
A group of younger staff hurried to the dike, loosening it to allow water to flow into the canal connected to the large hole where the armory once stood, slowly filling it.
"Why a pond, though?" the old man asked. "I mean, last time you used magic to move rocks to bury the factory?"
"His Highness always hated how the armory looked. He often said he wanted to turn it into a lake."
The old man nodded in understanding, then noticed the crowd approaching. They all bowed their heads in respect to Sagarius and greeted, "Your Highness¡ª"
"Please, stop. I may be the owner of this place, but the title means nothing to me," Sagarius refused the honor.
The crowd bowed respectfully to her decision. "Then what will happen to us?" a woman asked.
"As I promised your fathers and mothers, I¡¯ll allow you to live here as you please. There¡¯s nothing left here that could endanger the rest of the Imperium." Then, with a softer tone, she added, "Alternatively, you can follow me to see the world outside."
The crowd exchanged glances, but no one spoke.
Sagarius noticed their reluctance. "Enough about me." She spotted Yira and asked, "Tell me about you. What is your plan?"
"I have no plans but to do my usual routine," the old woman revealed. "We¡¯re going to nurture this world to the best of our abilities."
"The youths can still follow me outside," Sagarius offered, her white hair fluttering in the wind.
Yira and her adult sons and daughter smiled. "To us, this is home."
"Will I see you again, My Lady?" Yira¡¯s youngest daughter asked.
"Maybe I¡¯ll return when you¡¯re old enough to marry," Sagarius reassured her.
"Then I¡¯ll marry young," the daughter declared, and the crowd came alive with laughter, pleased by the innocent reply.
***
Korimor
With their business in Korimor resolved, and their troops and horses rested, the Lord and Lady prepared to depart for Korelia. As planned, Dietrich, with Roger at his side, would be trusted to hold the city at least through the winter and spring. Sir Michael had recruited a few talents from the populace as advisors.
Under the morning sun, the cavalry escort waited in formation while the baggage train was loaded and secured.
After months of campaigning, the return home was long overdue and highly anticipated.
The Lord and Lady rode in a carriage and were hailed by the people of Korimor, who looked genuinely happy to see them. Lansius waved his hand to the people outside and quipped to Audrey, "Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s funny?"
"What¡¯s funny?" Audrey asked, still wearing a full smile, happy with the warm reception.
"We don¡¯t solve anything, yet they seemed happy to see us," he said while keeping his drawings of airships neatly tucked inside a sturdy leather scroll case at his side.
She turned to him and furrowed her brow, saying, "That¡¯s how commoners react to a good noble."
Lansius chuckled, knowing that it was hard to grasp the irony. For Audrey and others in this age, this was just natural and even expected. "Are we good nobles?"
She stared at him with a surprised look. "You mean, you don¡¯t know?"
Then it was Lansius¡¯ turn to be surprised. "I don¡¯t know what?"
"Lans, we¡¯ve been doing more than good. Feast and festivals in time of little harvest, not to mention generous donations of wine to the city¡¯s taverns."
"I thought it was only normal for lords and nobility to provide food, drink, or other forms of generosity to their subjects," he recalled things he had learned in Toruna a few years back. "Isn¡¯t the idea that lords are expected to care for and protect their people in exchange for service and loyalty?"
"That¡¯s a formal way to explain things," Audrey giggled. "It¡¯s true to a point, however, you forgot that they¡¯ve only been your subjects for less than a season."
"Ah," Lansius muttered in understanding.
She continued, "These Korimor people have yet to show loyalty after surrendering in war. You¡¯re not bound to show them that much generosity."
Lansius nodded and took what she said to heart. He didn¡¯t want to be seen as overly generous, as that could make the populace expect too much and would easily cause resentment when he was unable to meet their expectations.
...
Outside the city, in a field to the east, the airship waited along with its nomadic escorts. More people than expected showed up, eager to witness the giant vessel flying in the skies.
Audrey was ready, even wearing leather goggles with transparent calcite crystals known for their unique optical properties. Lansius had heard about Iceland spar or sunstone, which allowed Vikings to locate the sun on overcast days or during twilight, aiding their navigation even when the sky was unclear.
As it turned out, one of the pioneers of flight in this world had found a similar object and improved upon it, enhancing the visibility of the sun even through clouds.
The sun was getting warmer, but it remained cloudy, and so far this fall, the weather had been merciful¡ªso much so that they didn''t need to march at night.
In the field, east of the city, surrounded by temporary fences, lay a cluster of tents erected as maintenance depot and security. Nearby, the castle staff had assembled. It was only natural for them to gather to see the masters of the city depart.
The Lord and Lady had thought of nothing but expected to hear the staff say their goodbyes as part of the formality. However, the head castle maid had another idea. After waiting for the rest to speak, the older woman approached Lady Audrey with a note of caution, her expression marked by years of service and the wisdom that comes with it. "My Lady, if I may."
Audrey paused and turned to her. "What is it?" she said, ignoring her obvious plea for a private conversation.
The head maid bowed her head and said with a gentle yet concerned tone, "My lady, for your own good and the baby you carry in your womb, I would strongly advise against taking to the skies in this new and unproven air vessel."
Audrey¡¯s fur leather coat fluttered in the wind, her face a mixture of surprise and indifference. Lansius remained at her side, using a cane to support himself and calmly observing her. The other high-ranking retinue members, including Sir Harold, Sir Omin, Sir Michael, Sir Hugo, the squires, and also Francisca, did the same.
Everyone knew that Audrey held the head maid in high regard and respected her seniority and care. Thus, she didn''t dismiss her outright. The old woman was a figure of importance in House Korimor, and the other servants naturally looked up to her for guidance. Her reaction was also indicative that the Lady had matured in politics. She was no longer just a mere cavalry captain but also a shrewd noble.
The head maid continued, "I have inquired with its coachman, Maester Hans, and I believe the risks are not to be taken lightly."
"And what would you have me do? Riding a carriage to Korelia isn''t an option," Audrey responded lightly, turning this into a lighthearted dialogue.
The maid clasped Audrey¡¯s hands warmly. "Please stay, My Lady. This is your city. And certainly, to stay will be the best for the baby."
"We''ll take good care of you, My Lady," some of the staff eagerly voiced their support.
Audrey smiled but maintained her composure, showing indifference to their pleas.
The head maid took her chance. "The airship is untested and might prove far less hospitable than the confines of this castle or the safety of our land. In the olden days, it was customary¡ªand indeed, wise¡ªfor expectant nobility to refrain from undue exertions. It''s only fitting for pregnant ladies to be sequestered to their quarters to safeguard both mother and child."
Audrey shook her head, still smiling. "I appreciate your concern, but what I carry in my womb is a child of my strength and resilience, not a fragile piece of porcelain."
Her answer struck the staff deeply. Audrey continued, "The child will survive. He needs to, as the world is harsh, and I will raise him to be a fighter and a warrior. The lands demand it. He''ll be a son of Lowlandia."
Even Lansius smiled at her unexpectedly poignant answer. He glanced around and his retinue offered big approving grins and wide smiles. The ones who looked most pleased were Sir Omin, Carla, and certainly Ingrid.
Meanwhile, the head maid, in turmoil and watching the Lady start to advance toward the ship, could only beg, "Please rethink for the good of the House. This House means much not only to the people of Korimor like us but to the entire Lowlandia."
Her last words caught Audrey off guard. She seemed to realize something and turned to Lansius. "Lans..." she called, her face uncertain.
Lansius offered a smile, shifted the strap of his sturdy leather scroll case that contained his drawings, and, without the help of his cane, took Audrey''s hand. "Let''s go. The sky is waiting."
Audrey''s lips formed a gorgeous smile. Meanwhile, the old lady sighed heavily in defeat. To her and the rest of the castle staff, Lansius quoted, "Una volta che avrai spiccato il volo, deciderai."
Everyone gazed at him, surprised at the unknown language. Lansius then translated it as he remembered, "Once you have taken flight, you''ll decide. Gaze towards the sky, and you''ll know: this is where your heart will feel at home."
***
Chapter 154 : Old Walls
Chapter 154
Old Walls
Korimor
Holding on to his wooden crutch, Sir Hugo watched the somewhat formal yet awkward procession as the Lord and Lady departed. A routine had yet to be established for this novel method of transport, and the airship was evidently slow to take off¡ªprobably because its coachman-pilot thought the ceremony would take some time to finish. Yet, the Lord and Lady were not big on ceremonials, taking little delight in long speeches or unnecessary social functions.
After some time, everyone finally saw the airship take flight. It was a sight that burned into their memory. A human invention, made of silk and plant materials, took to the sky. The vessel then oriented itself and headed south to Korelia through the vast plains of the northern corridor.
The escorts had begun their march. Men-at-arms were attached to the baggage train, while cavalry and nomads surrounded the vicinity.
The airship, majestic in the sky, silently sailed into the wind.
As Hugo had expected, he could easily see that the people of Korimor were elated, and the reason was easy to understand.
To fly in the sky was nothing short of miraculous. It was simply unthinkable, beyond what people believed was possible. More importantly, flight had been the realm of legends, as only the Ancients in their dragon form were recorded to soar through the skies. And now, this foreigner from nowhere, who had taken control of many cities in Lowlandia, brought a flying ship and soared on it.
Just like the people of Korimor, Hugo too was spurred by this display of power. This was another one of House Lansius'' grand achievements. He felt proud to be part of it and let out a smirk.
"What''s with the smirk?" asked Dietrich, who was beside him. His hair had grown long, making him look more like a rugged delinquent than a respectable captain and steward.
Hugo chuckled but waved him off. "That''s none of your business."
Dietrich chuckled and breathed deeply, enjoying the scenery. "So, when will you depart?"
"Next week or so. I need it to be fully healed; I don''t want to climb to Umberland with one bad leg," Hugo replied, then added, "Plenty of time to supervise your handling of the city''s many affairs."
"I''m sure Umberland isn''t the only thing you''re thinking of climbing," Dietrich quipped.
Hugo laughed loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "Come, let''s enjoy some mare wine and duck eggs."
"Isn''t it too early for kumis?" Dietrich raised an eyebrow.
"Mare wine and duck eggs aren''t considered a drink but medicine," the knight passionately argued.
"With that kind of approach, no wonder you''ve already got a soft belly," Dietrich countered.
Behind them, Roger stifled a laugh, prompting the two to turn around.
"Oi, oi, don''t report this," Hugo protested.
"To be clear, I''m about to reject the proposal," Dietrich added in jest.
Roger burst out laughing at their reaction and then left the scene. It had become a running joke that the squire was the Lord''s eyes and ears.
"You know?" Hugo said, returning to the previous conversation. "I''ve asked Francisca about kumis, and she said it''s delightful. A bit on the strong side, but also milky like mother''s milk."
Dietrich shook his head while massaging his temple. "Now, what am I supposed to do with that information?"
"She also said, ''I don¡¯t mind messing around, but I promised myself to Sir Harold. If you really like someone like me, you should travel to Umberland; I have sisters and cousins there. Chances are, you won¡¯t be able to tell us apart.''"
Dietrich rolled his eyes at the unsolicited information. The two shared a carriage and headed to the biggest tavern in the city. There, they started a drinking contest to honor the Lord and Lady''s departure. And the people there were only too eager to join them.
***
Korelia, Council Chamber
The sound of whistling echoed through the council chamber. It was Sir Justin¡¯s way of easing the monotony as he sifted through a stack of letters demanding his attention. Surprisingly, he had transitioned well from being part knight, part mercenary, to being the steward of a growing city.
His whistle carried a cheerful yet lonely melody today, reminiscent of a shepherd alone in the field. He practiced it because his daughter, Eleanor, liked it. Whistling was one of the ways for this Arvenian-born knight to connect with his daughter, something he had done since she was a baby.
Sir Justin¡¯s whistling abruptly stopped, startling Calub and Cecile enough that they glanced at him. Sensing their gazes, he explained, "I just read that the Lord and Lady are currently in Korimor and heading to Korelia."
"That¡¯s good news," Cecile remarked with a sigh of relief.
"But you seem troubled," Calub observed.
"Well..." Sir Justin hesitated, then passed the report to Calub, who immediately perused it.
"Have you found the words ''air'' and ''ship''?"
"Indeed, the report mentions an airship," Calub confirmed.
"And what is ''air'' and ''ship'' together? A ship sailing in the wind?" Sir Justin chuckled, his laughter rich with amusement. "Is the scribe writing this in a hurry or something?"
"Must be something like that," Calub stroked his chin thoughtfully, while Cecile offered only a shrug when Sir Justin looked her way.
"Well, anyhow, we''d better prepare for their arrival," Sir Justin concluded.
"How soon, do you think?" Cecile asked.
The knight looked at the date on the document. "It was written ten days ago. If we assume that''s when the Lord arrived in Korimor, then accounting for resting time, social events, policy-making, and the travel time here, I''d say we still have at least two weeks to a month. However..." He glanced at the two. "It¡¯s the Black Lord we''re talking about. He could arrive here tonight. And I have no intention of letting him see me unprepared."
Calub and Cecile smiled, and the three began to make preparations.
...
Seven nights later, in Korelia, rumors swirled about a mysterious white beam of light approaching from the north. Shortly afterward, reports from the city gates indicated that cavalry and nomads were entering the city. Moreover, there were sightings of large objects obscuring the stars in the night sky, as if flying past the city.
As the night progressed, more reports emerged of people seeing the Lord and Lady¡¯s personal banners carried by the cavalry. Rumors of their return spread like wildfire through the taverns and streets, setting all of Korelia abuzz. The Korelians, naturally eager to confirm the truth of these tales, gossiped throughout the night.
By dawn, even without an official announcement, the evidence was visible to all. On the newly developed eastern side of the town, not far from the Eastern Mansion, stood a grand ivory object like none had ever seen. It was taller than a several-story building and almost as long as the market row.
Its upper part was rounded, shaped like a goat in full fur, and somehow kept afloat by unknown powers. Beneath it, a wooden boat was attached by a series of wires.
Despite the guards posted around it, a captivated and curious crowd quickly formed, eager to learn more about the mysterious object and its connection to the rumors of the Lord and Lady¡¯s return.
The guardsmen who confronted them, however, remained tight-lipped. As the crowd swelled with Korelians from all corners of the city, Sir Harold, one of the Lord¡¯s top retainers, stepped forward to address them.
The knight, easily recognized by his height and sharp jawline, began to speak. "I know you''re all curious. But the Lord and Lady are sleeping¡ª"
His words were quickly interrupted by cheers, sighs of relief, and murmurs.
"Order, order!" bellowed one of the senior guardsmen next to him.
Sir Harold smiled and resumed, "As I was saying, the Lord and Lady are resting from their exhausting journey. So please, return to your homes. You will have the opportunity to see them once they are refreshed."If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
"When will we be able to see them?" someone shouted, and the rest murmured in support.
"Soon," he reassured them with a smile and turned around, despite the frantic shouting of more questions.
However, the knight''s words ignited a wave of euphoria among the onlookers. For those who had witnessed the Battle of Korelia and heard of the subsequent, stunning victories at Korimor, South Hill, the coup at Three Hills, and Umberland, Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey had become larger than life.
While they had celebrated with each new victory announced, nothing could match the honor and deep longing to see their heroes in person. After a series of victories, the people viewed them as more than just leaders but figures who had transcended the ordinary.
Thus, the news spread like wildfire, and by breakfast, every Korelian had learned that the Lord and Lady had returned. The city''s atmosphere turned exuberantly cheerful, filled with plenty of anticipation.
***
West Tiberia, Capital, Beneath the Lake
Sagarius had packed several days'' worth of food as usual, along with spare clothes, her gems, a blanket, and a dwarven weapon for a last resort. She donned common traveling attire she had found on her last journey, styled to blend in and avoid drawing unwanted attention¡ªa necessary precaution for a woman traveling alone, which often garnered scrutiny from the locals.
Today, all of the staff gathered to send her off, escorting her through the last remaining path that connected to the world above. The shaft¡¯s entrance was located not far from an unused stone quarry. They didn¡¯t stop at the entrance but continued for a good hour through the dimly lit corridors, armed with gemstones of light.
Suddenly, they found a large junction where the tunnels branched in various directions. There, Sagarius paused and turned to the crowd, many of whom had known her all their lives. ¡°Does anyone wish to come with me?¡±
Their smiles were tinged with sadness as they shook their heads. She noticed the wistful glances of the younger staff members, whose parents likely had forbidden them from venturing out. Sagarius let out a smile and said gently, "Alright, then you should return now. Beyond this point, the air gets really uncomfortable."
The old man stepped forward, his face creased with lines of age and concern. "Please take care, My Lady. My heart will always be with you," he said, his voice heavy, likely from knowing he would never see her again.
Yira added her farewell with tears in her eyes. "Visit us when you have the time. We''ll miss you."
Sagarius nodded, then, realizing that decades might pass before she could return, she said, "Remember well that this place may have been first envisioned by a Grand Progenitor, built using the mighty tools of the dwarves, and made to house an Elvish family. But now, it is maintained by humans. It''s your world, your place, your abode. Be the proud owner of this world, and my only wish is to be greeted as a guest the next time I visit."
Everyone bowed their heads, the senior ones with tears in their eyes. Some muttered, "Long live the Empress."
Sagarius smiled and, with a final look at the faces she had come to cherish, turned and stepped into the shadowy path ahead, the echoes of her boots against the stone the only sound in the quiet goodbye.
...
The woman with the white hair traveled alone through the old stone corridor. She had turned off her gemstone as she needed no light to travel even in complete darkness. Occasionally, a small golem with a mono eye would nod at her when she encountered them at a large junction that branched off to access different parts of the subterranean world.
Long ago, these golems would have followed and escorted her, but now their joints were beyond repair. Increasingly, they relegated themselves to static guardians, ever watchful for intruders.
Unlike the golems in the armory, she didn¡¯t need to disarm these. These smaller ones were developed to secure the dwarven''s gallery roads in the old continent and were eventually deployed en masse to combat the rise of the fell beasts and their ilk at the end of the dwarven age.
They were designed to be autonomous, simpler, less armored, and far less powerful than those in the armory. In exchange, they were highly efficient, could function non-stop, required virtually no maintenance, and could draw energy directly from this service shaft.
The service shaft was the actual name of this corridor. It wasn''t meant as a passageway, unlike the grand archways that her father used, which led straight to the Palace and could accommodate three horse carriages side by side. This shaft existed for maintenance and just happened to have a single access to the world outside.
Because of how it was connected to various functions within the subterranean world, it turned into a labyrinth-like an ant''s nest. Yet, Sagarius always used this path because she disliked being greeted like royalty.
To her, this maze wasn''t a labyrinth but a playground.
An empty playground, to be exact, as the place rarely needed maintenance. Built to mimic a dwarven citadel, albeit with a touch of elven taste, the facility was largely autonomous. Its grand gemstones, a rarity even in the previous era, drew power directly from the world and required little care.
After another hour, the heat and humidity increased so much that Sagarius began to use her barrier to cool off. Despite her lithe body, she proceeded at a steady pace.
Sometimes it was stairs, but it was mostly a continuous steady incline. After half a day of walking in the dark through hot, humid, and stale air, Sagarius reached her usual resting space. It was an unused antechamber with a working well and a golem that stood like a statue. It nodded to her, and she nodded back.
Sagarius decided to rest early and fell asleep easily without touching her food. Elves had a different metabolism, especially for someone highly trained like her.
It was a long and fulfilling sleep as her body needed to adjust to the new conditions. When she awoke, she packed her bag and continued to walk after a costard fruit and several sips of drink. With little rest, she steadily climbed, accompanied only by her singing if she felt bored.
The only thing on her mind was whether her father''s will had been a mistake. At one point, she paused in her tracks, her right hand touching the old stone wall to steady herself. "Wise or not, father''s actions were based on the past era..."
Sagarius recalled her conflict and doubt. While she supported the decision to destroy the armory because of the dangers it posed, she remained conflicted about whether destroying the factory was the right choice. The factory housed remnants of Dwarven-era machinery, precision tooling, and an advanced furnace, all of which were undoubtedly crucial to the Imperium.
While she understood her father''s reluctance due to the risks, she saw it as an act against progress. "It''s ironic," she muttered about her father''s stance at the end of his life.
The Ageless One had been a champion of Human advancement, going so far as to go against his mentor, one of the last Grand Progenitors. Yet, in the end, he barred humans from gaining access to the lost technology.
"Was it a nudge of loyalty to the elves? The people who had forsaken his tribe?" she pondered but found no conclusive answer. All she knew was that she finally had a life of her own.
There was a time when Sagarius yearned for the Imperium, to take the helm, to see just how far she could drive it forward, to achieve even a glimpse of what the Dwarves had achieved. Alas, that wish had died.
Now, it was nothing more than a childish dream. She had grown older and realized that playing God-King over humans was futile. No matter how pure and good her intentions, it would be short-lived and ultimately bring calamity, as the rule would be based on a fragile structure.
This belief was tempered by observing her father''s rule and its impact on human society. She had lived among the many different peoples of the Imperium for hundreds of years under the guise of a healer, herbalist, or apothecary.
Sagarius herself harbored no ambitions. She was just happy to finally be free from the burden of inheriting the Imperium. To her, it was a cold and heavy shackle, especially since her brother was returning to the elven lands with their mother and had vowed never to return.
She stopped and sighed, feeling guilty over a lie she had told her father to comfort him. In truth, she had no intention of returning to the elven lands.
Despite all she had said to him, Sagarius felt more at ease living among humans. She found them to be frank, less insidious, and direct, perhaps due to their short lifespans. In them, she saw the beauty of life.
Deep down, she was willing to assist, but only someone she deemed worthy. On her last journey, one House kept popping up. It wasn¡¯t a great house, but a small one that skillfully controlled the province while remaining in the shadows. And for generations, it had continued to produce good talents.
She had been considering assisting them covertly and was hopeful that the head of the house in this generation was as capable as the previous ones. With that in mind, she continued her pace through the monotonous corridors where the only sound was the echoes of her own footsteps.
***
Korelia, Eastern Mansion
Lansius woke up, his eyes bleary from a deep sleep¡ªthe kind that makes one forget where they are upon waking. It was a different ceiling, but he recognized the place.
"Morning," his wife greeted him softly, sitting on the bed next to him. Then, with the smirk she often employed before doing something crazy, she added, "And welcome back."
Lansius chuckled as he sat up in their wedding bed, thankfully freshly cleaned and maintained by the staff. To his left and right, the old plaster walls embraced him. "We''re truly home," he muttered.
"Indeed. And they won''t bother us at least for today," she replied energetically.
"I''m grateful for that. That airship needed more pillows," he commented, feeling an ache in his back.
"But you had extra," she said, surprised.
"It needed a proper cushioned seat," he argued passionately.
"Then commission one," she advised.
"Certainly," he remarked. Now, he had the full resources of a Lord, even holding the baron''s patent, likely stored somewhere in the castle.
"Oh, I know that look," she sighed, interrupting his train of thought.
Lansius looked at her, asking, "What?"
"Your eyes are full of ideas. So I''ll probably see a busy day tomorrow."
He chuckled, understanding her concern. "Most likely. I need the city to be up and running before winter."
"What''s your plan anyway? Can this humble wife hear of it?" she teased.
Lansius stifled a laugh. "Sure, but there''s a lot to do and I don''t know where to begin or what to end," he revealed, pondering the long list of tasks he wanted to tackle in Korelia.
"You''re not feeling fatigued, are you?" Audrey asked.
The question made him look at her amusingly. "Hey, it''s me who should be asking that. So, how about you, Drey? Are you feeling okay?"
"Well, I have no more nausea," she answered cheerfully. "Just a little, but it''s under control. The old nanny, who''s also a midwife, told me that it''s supposed to be that way."
Lansius nodded. He wasn¡¯t exactly knowledgeable about pregnant women, certainly not the women of this world.
Audrey got up from the bed and took his cane from the bedside.
"No, no need. I won¡¯t be using it," said Lansius, also getting up from the bed. There was no longer any discomfort in his wound, and the skin had healed, leaving just a subtle mark from the operation that removed the embedded bolt head.
Audrey gazed at him, concerned.
"I feel better. I don''t think I need it anymore," he explained.
"It must be because of the duck egg," she declared happily.
Lansius leaned in and whispered, "No, silly. It¡¯s because of you." He hinted at her attempts to heal him with magic while they were flying on the airship.
Audrey was taken aback, unconvinced. "Me? I hardly did anything."
"Didn¡¯t you try to heal me with magic?" he prompted.
Instead of recalling it, Audrey giggled. "That was just a lousy attempt. I¡¯m sure it didn¡¯t do anything; my magic is barely there."
"I''m serious," Lansius said while pulling her into his embrace. "Whatever Ingrid said, you obviously possess the gift. I even saw you correct the airship''s heading."
"That was just the wind and only in ideal situations," she countered, pushing him slightly. "Husband, flattery won''t get you far." Yet despite her words, she pushed him back onto the bed with a grin and then began to crawl over him.
"Isn¡¯t it dangerous for the baby?" he asked as she began to kiss him.
She looked him in the eye, cheeks reddened. "I asked the nanny, and she said while the nobles don''t do it, the commoners do it with no issue."
"Well, since we''re of commoner''s birth, then it should be fine for us," he quipped, eliciting a giggle from her. They spent their time together, resting in a place they now called home.
On the desk lay drawings and plans that Lansius had made for Korelia. Among them was a simple invention that could transform the entire steppe, much like it had transformed the Wild West. He had completed his study, and it was feasible; it just needed a guiding hand. However, the issue was that once released, controlling it would be beyond his grasp.
***
Chapter 155 : Threads and Strands of Power
Chapter 155
Threads and Strands of Power
Lansius
The next day, Lansius, as the Lord of the city, entered his castle after a long while to hold court. The castle staff eagerly and warmly welcomed him and Audrey. Many were known to them, but there were also several new faces.
As they took their seats, the court session naturally commenced.
Sir Michael was the first to step forward, escorting a fair maiden with long hazelnut hair, draped in a flowing, milk-white silk robe adorned with bronze embroidery.
"My Lord, My Lady," he greeted. "Please accept our congratulations on your successful campaigns in Korimor, South Hill, against the coup in allied Three Hills, and your triumphant return from Umberland," the knight with the eyepatch on his left eye eloquently spoke, setting the mood for the court.
Lansius acknowledged the honor with a subtle nod. He then glanced at Audrey, hinting for her to proceed. "Sir Michael, is this the famed Lady Astrid of White Lake?" she asked with a warm smile.
"Indeed, she is Lady Astrid, daughter of Lord Robert," the knight affirmed. Beside him, Lady Astrid curtsied gracefully, her movements elegant and effortless. "My Lord, My Lady, please accept well wishes from the House of Robert and the White Lake nobles. We congratulate you on your victories and on your joyful anticipation of an heir," her voice sweet and gentle.
Audrey turned to Lansius with a smug look as if hinting that she was right about something. Lansius dared not decipher her intention, knowing that Audrey had been living inside a feudal military all her life and had a sense of humor like a soldier.
Not wanting this to turn awkward, Lansius quickly responded, "Lady Astrid, it''s a pleasure to meet you. I must apologize for dispatching Sir Michael to Korimor so soon after your wedding."
Lady Astrid''s smile was gentle, her head shaking slightly. "Please, a knight''s honor lies in the fulfillment of his duties."
Pleased with her answer, Lansius glanced aside to find Audrey leaning back, barely concealing a grin.
Just what is she thinking...
Despite his concerns, Audrey perfectly played her role as a warm and honorable host, showing genuine friendship towards lady Astrid. Her sincerity was evident, and her retinue eagerly informed newcomers that she was someone who rarely hid her feelings.
Next, Sir Justin stepped forward, his countenance and voice ever cheerful and reliable. "My Lord, My Lady, congratulations on your recent victories and forthcoming addition to your House. May the Ancients forever bless you," he said, as a young girl accompanying him curtsied promptly.
Lansius and Audrey smiled warmly at Sir Justin. "Who is this charming girl?"
The marshal turned to the girl, giving her the floor. "My Lord, My Lady, I am Eleanor, Sir Justin¡¯s second-born. In your absence, I''ve joined Lady Astrid and Claire in mentoring the children at your newly established orphanage."
Delighted, Lansius glanced at Audrey, who then offered praise to the child. "You are so talented. I''m sure your father is immensely proud."
Eleanor beamed. "Father is always proud of me. Even his mercenary friends have always been fond of me," she stated, her innocence sparking laughter throughout the chamber. She clearly enjoyed the reaction.
Sir Justin led Eleanor to pay their respects once again before returning to the hall, allowing the next in line to come forward.
Calub, the Tarracan-born, and Cecile, of northern blood with blond hair, presented themselves with a bow and a curtsy. "My Lord, My Lady," they greeted. Then Cecile spoke for both of them, "It is with great delight that we anticipate the arrival of your newest family member; may the child inherit both your wisdom and courage."
Audrey quickly interjected, "Cecile, we feel bad for not being able to attend your wedding."
"I hope the wedding was merry and fine," Lansius immediately added.
"Please, My Lord, My Lady, be at ease," Calub reassured them. "The wedding was fine, and we, along with the city, are happy to see you back in Korelia."
The newlyweds didn''t linger in the limelight for long, leaving much unsaid. As high-ranking retinue and members of the small council, they knew there would be other opportunities to discuss matters privately.
Several more prominent individuals from the city, guilds, and dignitaries also took the chance to greet the lord. They congratulated Lansius and Audrey on their victories, each trying to outdo the other''s well wishes.
While Lansius wanted to get on with the reports, the situation demanded that he be a good host at least for a day.
Soon, the queue ended with one last addition: a young couple, Sterling and Claire, the latter being the only other person with blond hair in the chamber.
Following his instincts, Lansius turned to Cecile, Claire''s sister, and found her rather nervous.
"My Lord, My Lady," the squire greeted, while Claire curtsied and added, "Please accept our well wishes for your return to the city. May you and your expected child be blessed with health, fame, and wealth."
"Gratitude for the well wishes," Lansius replied warmly. Meanwhile, Audrey, looking at the young woman, "How are you, Claire?"
"I''m happy with your return, My Lady. Please accept my gratitude for allowing Sterling to recuperate in Midlandia and for protecting him from harm," Claire responded.
"It''s only natural. He''s the Lord''s squire; how could I not take care of him?" Audrey replied.
Claire nodded politely at her words.
"Is there something you wanted to say, Sterling?" Lansius asked, noticing the squire''s body language.
"Yes, My Lord. If you deem it fit, will you allow us to marry?" Sterling asked confidently.
The grand chamber quickly filled with lively murmurs.
Audrey met Lansius'' eyes, who then stated, "You shall have my blessings if House Cecile agrees to it."
Everyone turned to Cecile. After receiving a reassuring nod from Calub, she took a deep breath before stepping forward. "My Lord, they have my blessings. I''m sure my late father would have agreed."
Lansius sighed with relief, then turned to Audrey, who nodded with a smile. Thus, it was decided. He rose and approached Sterling and Claire, who readily knelt. Although a simple "I give my blessing" would have been sufficient, he wanted to do this properly since both were important to him.
"By the power vested in me by the Imperium, I, Lansius, Lord of Korelia, hereby give my blessing for Sterling, a squire of Korelia, and Claire, the daughter of the late Sir Callahan, to unite in marriage. May your newly united House always find health and happiness."
The crowd clapped and cheered in support. Indeed, it was only fitting for a victory celebration to include the marriage of a young couple¡ªa part of the cycle of life to compensate for lives lost in battles.
...
During the recess, music played as seasonal fruits, wild berries, and an assortment of bread were distributed as light snacks. It was necessary because the first court session after such a long hiatus tended to last much longer than usual.
Lansius leaned toward Audrey and asked privately, "Why did you have such a reaction when Michael introduced Astrid?"
"Oh, I won a bet, that''s why," she answered lightly.
"A bet?" He squinted, not expecting such an answer.
"Yes," she turned toward him with a smile on her lips. "I bet to myself that you would regret marrying me the moment you saw Lady Astrid for the first time."
Lansius almost laughed. "Well, you lost that bet."
"Liar," she whispered merrily.
He let out a chuckle before reassuring her, "I''m being serious. I have no regrets."
Audrey shook her head with a mischievous smile. "But look at her: long flowy hair, gentle eyes, unblemished fair skin, a stylish sense of dress, not to mention a slender waist, full hips, and breasts."
What she said was so absurd that Lansius coughed and shook his head in embarrassment. Only afterward did he whisper, "This is why I love you."
"Hey, don''t change the subject," Audrey protested, while calmly eyeing the crowd to see if anyone was eavesdropping.
"Hear me out first." He gained her attention. "Other noble ladies would grow jealous and cause issues. But you? You just mock me silly."
With a puzzled look, Audrey quipped, "Now, it doesn''t sound like a compliment, but why does it feel like one?"
"Take the win before you lose it," he quipped back, and Audrey stifled a snort.
"One thing you might have missed," she said afterward with a more serious tone. "Lady Astrid is likely also with child."The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Lansius furrowed his brow. "How can you tell?"
"Since we entered, I''ve observed her discomfort and anxiety. A lady of her stature wouldn''t normally be unsettled by a small court like ours¡ªunless she''s experiencing early pregnancy nausea."
He nodded at her deduction. "That''s a sharp observation."
"If it''s true, then this is a good omen. I''ll have a powerful friend, and our children will also have someone their age as a natural friend."
It was Lansius'' turn to smile. "It seems motherhood comes naturally to you."
"No. Just a sense of survival," Audrey replied firmly. "Our son will need an ally, and what better ally than the next heir of White Lake?"
"Let''s just hope they can be good friends. It would be terrible if one of them grows up to be a bully," he said, revealing his thoughts on a topic he wasn''t accustomed to discussing.
"No worries. Nothing a set of armor couldn''t fix," she replied.
"A set of armor..." Lansius grew worried. "What do you plan to do with a set of armor?"
"Small sets for children, obviously for basic training," she smiled ominously, reminding Lansius of past training.
Suddenly, he whispered to her, "You''re right, you won that bet. I''m starting to have regrets on behalf of our child."
Audrey tried hard to stifle her giggles.
Watching her lips turn dry, Lansius grabbed her silver goblet of cooled boiled water. "Drink often," he urged, and Audrey accepted it without complaint.
Afterward, the court session resumed with lunch followed by social events. Although Lansius was eager to proceed with official business and hear reports, he recognized the importance of dedicating the day to fostering camaraderie among his vassals and subjects.
***
East Korelia
Two weeks had passed since the Lord''s arrival, and the entire baggage train along with the rear guard had finally arrived. One significant revelation to the city was the presence of Francisca, a half-breed previously unknown to them. Her sudden popularity, fueled by people''s curiosity, led the Lord and Lady to ask her to lead the customary celebration of their victories and return.
Unlike in Korimor, the celebration in Korelia was more grand, due to the city''s lively market, well-connected guilds, and ample food stores.
The festivities included theatrical plays, feasts, city-wide football, and various competitions in which knights and men-at-arms participated.
Behind the merriment, the council and the guilds worked full-time. Lord Lansius had inspected the newly completed second water wheel. Unlike the first, which served as a flour mill, this second one was connected to an adjacent workshop complex.
In contrast to the bustling western part of Korelia, the eastern part remained largely undeveloped, its land still entirely controlled by the barony. This gave Lansius full authority over its development. To better integrate the eastern part, he commissioned a new stone bridge to connect Korelia''s West and East, anticipating the growing need for transportation.
Next year, he planned to expand the complex with additional workshops and warehouses, but this expansion was dependent on securing enough demand. Lansius didn¡¯t want to be wasteful by constructing an empty complex. Moreover, it would be detrimental to the city''s image. He wanted Korelia to appear enticing and always in demand; an empty complex would tarnish that image.
In between his meetings with the guilds and a stream of guests who paid their respects, Lansius often slipped away from view, traveling incognito with just a few escorts to rendezvous with his staff in the field.
Today was one such day; the sun was barely on the horizon and Lansius was still sleepy, but he knew it was the best way to avoid crowds. It was a new development; the last time in Korelia, his presence rarely attracted followers, but now people of all ages seemed eager to follow him everywhere.
It''s almost like a cult. He recalled of his experience.
Calub had been waiting and, after customary greetings, they began to inspect the agriculture project.
"Do the trees grow healthily?" Lansius asked, taking a deep breath and observing several clusters of young trees, including poplars and several others, as well as some shrubs underneath it.
"For the first time, we can say with some confidence that they''re healthy. The man you sent from South Hill was able to determine whether a tree was growing well or if it needed more care."
"That''s great to hear," Lansius remarked. "Then keep him in your care and give him more aides if he needs it."
"Certainly, My Lord."
"What type of tree is that?" Lansius asked as the two walked between the fallowed fields.
"That is a type of pine. They say it''s known for its toughness and can grow in harsh conditions, including dry, poor soils. They also grow relatively quickly and should serve as excellent windbreaks due to their branch density."
Lansius nodded, quipping, "Let''s just hope they''re tough enough for Korelia."
"Things are progressing nicely, but we won''t be certain until spring and summer arrive."
Interested in the dry soil, Lansius knelt in the field and took a sample of the ground. The dryness was evident.
"As my earlier report stated, the Midlandia heavy iron plow is detrimental. We tried several methods, but they all still ruined the topsoil," Calub reported.
Lansius exhaled deeply. Despite his brush with farm life in Bellandia, his knowledge of farming was limited, and he hadn''t known that heavy plows weren''t suitable for every type of land. "It was a good decision to stop using the heavy plow; otherwise, we could have lost much more," he noted, observing the dry topsoil that turned to dust from wind erosion.
"Then, shall we let this land fallow?" Calub asked.
"Indeed. If the land proves to be fertile next spring, then we''ll try to follow the three-field system used in Midlandia. For now, let''s let it grow grass so the goats can graze and their droppings can fertilize the soil," Lansius decided.
"About that, I have some good news," Calub smiled.
Lansius, intrigued, quipped, "Well, don''t keep the good news to yourself."
Calub chuckled and revealed, "The duck breeder you sent to me has managed to tame the ducks."
"For real?" Lansius exclaimed, lost for words.
"He managed to find a more docile breed. He said those breeds are the true ducks, while the rest should be renamed geese."
Lansius nodded thoughtfully as the two continued to walk between the fields. "Does this mean that these ducks can be controlled?"
"Indeed. He has demonstrated his ability to lead and guide them without harming any of the handlers."
"That''s good news," Lansius chuckled. "With this, we can introduce the ducks after the goats have foraged."
Calub nodded. "He did say that he wanted to protect this breed''s eggs, so he can increase their numbers."
"I''ll support that idea. Let''s make a rule to ban the sale and consumption of duck eggs."
"An internal ban should suffice, My Lord. After all, you didn''t mean to ban the sale of goose eggs. They''re quite profitable as a medicinal food."
Lansius nodded hastily. "That is correct. We don''t want to harm the goose breeders. And we really should share these findings with them."
"We already did so. The demonstration was enough to convince them," Calub explained.
"Excellent," Lansius said excitedly. "Then we keep the forest as a goose breeding ground, and the eastern Korelia and the river as duck breeding grounds."
"The maester said the same thing. He also elaborated, explaining that goose meat is fattier, more fragrant, and more delicious than duck. I believe these qualities have made breeders more interested in raising geese than ducks."
Lansius nodded. Indeed, he knew that while the eggs tasted bad, the meat was excellent. "I''ll welcome any kind of food. A great city can''t just survive on just salted goat meat."
Calub chuckled in agreement. "One thing though, My Lord. Why are you so eager to put ducks on the soil? Do they have fertilizing properties?"
"Ducks are useful for pest control. They eat insects, slugs, and snails that can damage crops," Lansius explained as they continued to walk toward the river. "They also consume small weeds and their seeds. But more importantly, as they forage and walk around, they do wonders for the land, especially when we keep the soil a bit wet."
"Now I know why you specified wanting the water wheel connected to pipes to deliver water to this area," Calub remarked thoughtfully.
Lansius stopped and turned to him. "That''s just a coincidence. I believe that wind and dryness are the main issues we face here. The windbreak plants should solve the wind problem, but dryness will require water. The ducks are just a bonus."
...
After visiting the farming area, Lansius traveled to the river where the new industrial area was located. Previously, Korelia¡¯s blacksmiths operated in a different part of town, but here they could harness the mechanical power from the river. The water-powered wheel provided energy for mundane, repetitive tasks such as milling grains into flour and hammering raw iron.
However, Lansius didn¡¯t head to the noisy blacksmith area but towards a quieter workshop. He gestured to the guards and the foreman not to announce his arrival, to avoid interrupting the work.
He quietly entered and observed the setup. The raw materials, thin iron rods supplied by the blacksmiths, were piled in crates near the work table. These rods were made as thin as possible within a reasonable effort and time.
In this workshop, the craftsmen, clad in sweat-soaked leather, loaded an iron rod into a thick metal slab known as the die, which was firmly secured on a solid wooden bench. The die had several small holes, each progressively smaller than the last.
They inserted the pointed end of the iron rod, then clamped and secured it with tongs. After slathering the rod and die with tallow for lubrication, they manually pulled the tongs, forcing the rod to become thinner and longer.
Traditionally, the wiresmith would perform all tasks manually, drawing each rod by hand. Now, however, they connected a rope from the clamp to a hook and chain linked to the water wheel. Through a clever arrangement of ropes, the water wheel took over the labor-intensive task, consistently pulling and releasing as the rope slackened.
With ease, it slowly but steadily pulled the rest of the iron rod, resulting in a slightly thinner and longer rod. This process was repeated, using progressively smaller holes in the die until the rod was transformed into wire.
A rod about the length of a sword could be transformed into several tables'' lengths of wire, which were then coiled onto wooden spools and slathered in tallow for rust protection.
"At first, the guildsmen assumed we wanted to create a ring workshop for ringmail, not wires," Calub commented as they stepped outside after the inspection.
Lansius was amused. "I can imagine their reaction. After all, wires are usually made for jewelry and made from gold or silver."
"Indeed," Calub said as they moved to inspect the only storehouse in the vicinity. "But I admit that I''m also intrigued. Why do you need so many of them? And I doubt you''re making this for airship needs."
Lansius snorted. "When I left Korelia, I didn''t even know that airships existed." He watched as the guard, recognizing who they were, stood ramrod straight.
The group entered through the large door into the cavernous building where rows of coiled wires were stored on an elevated platform. They were originally made of old and damaged swords, ringmail, or other metal objects from many battles that he had acquired.
Lansius turned to Calub, whose wrinkles and darker brown hair almost matched his when shadows fell on them. "The wire is not the final product," he began, catching his advisor¡¯s attention.
"It¡¯s just the material," he continued. "What I plan to make from it might change this city and Lowlandia, and even the rest of the Imperium."
Calub seemed skeptical of the claims. "I doubt it¡¯s greater than the spinning wheel, and we still have many issues to solve before their debut next spring."
"The spinning wheel will need more time to mature and develop," Lansius explained. "It¡¯s a long-term project. Meanwhile, this wire can be used almost immediately. You¡¯ll be surprised just how powerful it is."
Calub was intrigued. "What can we make from these simple wires, and for what use?"
"It¡¯s simple yet effective," he remarked, still hesitant to reveal its use. "But first, I need to take some precautions."
"Precautions?" Calub raised his brow.
Lansius nodded and confided, "The problem is, I can¡¯t control it. Once it¡¯s out, the guildsmen could steal and replicate it themselves. And that might jeopardize a lot of things."
While the invention was revolutionary, it carried risks that could destabilize the region. It might even alienate his nomadic allies, a consequence Lansius could not afford.
Calub turned around casually before turning back to face him.
"What''s wrong?" Lansius asked.
"Just don¡¯t want anyone to hear this. Whatever this invention is, I respect your careful approach."
Lansius smiled. "Some say that I¡¯m just too timid."
"That is false and shallow observation," Calub stated firmly. "It¡¯s clear to me that you come from a place more advanced than the Imperium. And you understood the danger of the things you wanted to introduce."
Lansius nodded, pleased with his understanding.
Calub continued, "This is also why I¡¯m going to entrust you with this knowledge." The alchemist smiled stiffly. "I could get in trouble for this; the guild might disown me. But I know that you can be trusted with this information."
"As you said, I can keep a secret," Lansius reassured him.
"The airship fuel you gave me," Calub began. "From the moment I smelled it, I knew about it. It¡¯s one of many ingredients to create fire bombs. Moreover, the Midlandia alchemist guild has its own resource. We don¡¯t need to learn about where it is, but it¡¯s dirt cheap. The only cost is transporting."
Lansius'' eyes widened upon hearing the good news.
"I don¡¯t need to tell you this, but the big guilds are heavily interested in the airship. They want it, and they have amassed their gold to have it. But you, My Lord, need to keep silent. Until we can secure enough, best to say nothing about the fuel, or say it¡¯s one of many needed."
"I¡¯ll follow your advice," Lansius said confidently. "Then about the mixture?"
"I can¡¯t possibly improve the mixture alone," Calub chuckled. "We''ll need the entire guild to work on it."
Lansius gazed at him sharply and declared, "Then, I¡¯ll give you the entire guild."
***
Chapter 156 : Weaving the Future
Chapter 156
Weaving the Future
Eastern Mansion
Following the advice of physicians, the old nanny, and maids, Audrey stayed in the Eastern Mansion due to the early stages of her pregnancy. Normally, she would join Lansius at the council meetings, but the castle''s many stairs posed a potential risk.
However, Audrey was not merely resting; she actively embraced her role as the matriarch of her House. Coincidentally, the Eastern Mansion also hosted an informal council. It had no formal name and emerged naturally among those who lived under the same expansive roof but were not part of the official council.
The council convened in the common room of the east wing. Members included Sir Michael and Lady Astrid, who resided there as guests until Lord Robert¡¯s residence in Korelia was completed. Sterling, Farkas, Ingrid, and Francisca also became regular members who gathered to discuss minor matters affecting the function and growth of House Lansius. Together, they exchanged news, shared thoughts, resolved small disputes among the personnel, and made necessary adjustments.
While these issues might not have been related to the Lord''s main plan, they were crucial for maintaining morale. This informal council addressed problems ranging from gambling and drinking addictions among the guards to injuries during training, infighting, and other interpersonal issues. Resolutions were achieved through their own efforts, by seeking intervention from a council member, or by escalating the matter to the Lady or the Lord.
After Lady Audrey assumed leadership of this council, it took on a semi-formal status and began tackling more significant issues than before. It addressed unrecorded merits from past battles, unjust payments, and actively monitored for any resentment brewing between different groups. The Nicopolan rebellion in the mountain pass served as a constant reminder of the dangers of neglect.
The council met almost daily, and during these meetings, inspired by the Lord and Lady¡¯s regimen of consuming pre-boiled water, Lady Astrid introduced serving water flavored with various herbal leaves. This new tradition, initially suggested by Ingrid, led them to procure a selection of herbal leaves and coarsely ground sun-dried beans for testing. The aromatic smell often drew many visitors such as Sir Harold, Sir Justin, Calub, Cecile, and even little Eleanor, who all enjoyed the pleasant atmosphere for a chat and a herbal drink.
Despite her active role, Audrey insisted that the council maintain its informal nature. She emphasized that her presence in the common room should not serve as a signal to convene, reasoning that sometimes she merely sought to find someone to chat with.
Thus, it was settled that the council would only be considered in session if the Lady sat at the head of the long table, and it would continue its meetings even if she was not in attendance.
Today, Audrey sat facing the long table, eager to hear about the issues they were facing. Naturally, with winter closing in, everything needed to be in good order.
"My Lady, the pilot Hans asked to employ more men for airship maintenance, but he didn''t want to bother the Lord with his request," Farkas reported.
"If it''s about the airship, we better find someone we can trust. The guilds are paying a lot for any information about the airship," Ingrid commented, sipping an aromatic but mildly bitter concoction.
Lady Astrid stood and poured more from a silver pot into Ingrid''s ceramic cup. The educator nodded her head slightly as a sign of respect.
"The Lord has plans to address the guild issue, so I expect this to be temporary," Audrey spoke, without revealing any details.
Lady Astrid readily added, "I feel the concern is founded, but it''s not something we should be overly concerned about. The Korelians can be tight-lipped and they know better than to reveal their Lord''s secrets."
Audrey smiled at her words, then turned to Farkas. "I trust you can handle finding more men for airship maintenance?"
"I''ll see what I can do," Farkas replied with honesty, a trait that made him a valuable asset.
As discussions about the airship maintenance concluded, Audrey turned her attention to a different issue. "Can anyone update me on the Lord¡¯s current endeavors?" she asked, scanning the room for input.
Sterling and Farkas exchanged glances before Sterling responded, "Today''s plan is to supervise the walled city and the Great Keep. Sir Justin and Sir Harold will accompany the Lord to tour the building sites."
Audrey nodded; she had heard of that.
Farkas added, "Other guilds are lining up to meet him as well, bringing new proposals and counter proposals. Curiously, it seems the Lord is paying a lot of attention to the new workshop. If I were to guess, he''s preparing some kind of demonstration."
"Interesting..." Audrey mumbled.
After waiting for a while and allowing Sterling to finish his cup, Astrid asked on behalf of the Lady, "Is there any other issue?"
Once more, Farkas, who commanded the Black Bandits, spoke, "During our campaign, one of the guards had an affair with a maid. His wife was complaining, and I think it''s best to relieve him or assign him somewhere else, not in the castle."
"It''s a breach of trust. I''ll talk to the guard captain and see if we can rotate him somewhere else," Sterling offered.
"Don''t send him out of town; chances are he''ll do it again with someone else," Ingrid advised, her voice carrying the weight of her experience. After all, she was almost twenty years their senior.
Audrey examined the room and found no objections. "Then let''s do what Ingrid has suggested."
"Then I''ll inform the guard captain after this meeting," Sterling said conclusively.
Everyone seemed in agreement, allowing Astrid to ask, "Is there anything else to bring up?"
When nobody said anything, she turned to Francisca, who sat quietly. "Is there anything discomforting you, dear honored friend?"
The half-breed shook her head. "Not at all, lady Astrid. I''m still grateful for your help the other day in finding a suitable patch for growing yams."
Her words brought warmth to the discussion.
"Your comfort is important to us," Astrid reassured her.
"Please, I''m just a squire to Sir Harold," she responded politely. "Something I might add: The Hunter guild member that accompanied us has been training his eagle ever since we left the hill fort and Korimor. Yesterday, he was confident enough to let it fly home to Dawn barony."
Audrey gazed at Ingrid, who had yet to be assigned a task. She responded with, "I''ll be sure to inquire him about it."
"Does anyone else wish to add to this meeting?" Lady Astrid looked left and right.
Finding no response, she declared, "Then, today''s council meeting is over."
Audrey took her cup of flower-infused water, and Carla, who was standing guard, readily helped with the chair. Accompanied by the maids, they returned to the west wing where she resided.
As she strolled through the mansion''s corridors, she reflected on what Lansius had said about building a counterweight to their Midlandian retinue. This new council, filled with Lowlandians, might be the perfect candidate.
She knew how loyalty could swing, and with Midlandia''s succession crisis, nobody knew whether the Midlandians among their ranks would continue to serve or not. Worse, they might try to convince Lansius to enter the fray. For this, Audrey vowed to remain vigilant.
...
After the day¡¯s council meeting concluded, everyone dispersed, heading in different directions through the halls of Eastern Mansion.
"Francisca, if I may," Ingrid called out, drawing the attention of the half-breed warrior.
Francisca turned to face her, the intricate patterns on her brigandine armor catching the light. "Yes, what do you wish of me, educator?"
"I''ve noticed you''re wearing an earring now."You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Indeed. The maids suggested it," Francisca answered with frankness.
"You may or may not know this, but your earring isn''t just a showpiece."
Francisca''s eyes sharpened and her maw formed a smile. "How do you know? It''s a heirloom from my great-great-grandmother. Do you sense a special scent?"
Ingrid also responded with a smile. From the day they first met, Francisca had known about her being a mage. "I see faint magical traces on it. I believe I could restore its function if you let me examine it."
"Certainly," the half-breed said without hesitation, readily handing over the lone earring to Ingrid, who took it with care. Then she caught the scent of magic building up in the educator''s palm.
Ingrid, filled with awe and curiosity, observed the earring, which appeared to be made of gold with a small gem embedded in it. "It¡¯s an old artifact, hungry for magic. Right now, I¡¯m feeding it just enough to keep it alive," she explained to Francisca. "But what function does it serve? Do your parents have any stories related to this earring?"
"My grandmother talked about these earrings belonging to Old Kae," Francisca replied excitedly. "He gave it to my ancestor as a toy. It should allow the wearer of one earring to send an image or color to another person wearing the earring."
"Color?" Ingrid asked, captivated by the story.
"Yes, they used it as signals during hunts. Red for ''I found something,'' blue if there''s ''nothing in my place,'' and green for ''let''s rendezvous at home.'' Too bad it doesn''t work anymore. So, do you think you can fix it?"
"I might be able to, but where''s the other one?" Ingrid asked.
"My brother has it; it must be in his wife''s box of jewels," Francisca muttered, unsure, stroking her furry chin.
"Tell you what. If you trust me, I can try to fix this, but it might take weeks," Ingrid proposed.
Francisca turned hesitant and whispered, "Lady Ingrid, I understand that a mage''s services are expensive."
The lady giggled. "You''re my friend, and this is my own curiosity, so I assure you it''s free of charge."
Francisca beamed, taking the educator''s hands as she entrusted her with the heirloom. "Come, I shall treat you to the finest meal this community has to offer."
The Centuria-born mage smiled. "What a coincidence, I''ve yet to find someone to accompany me on a stroll around town."
"I know where the best roast meat is. It''s easy to discern a good meat''s scent," she replied eagerly.
"Then I shall take you up on your offer this evening. Let''s meet at the Great Hall''s entrance," Ingrid suggested.
"I''ll be there," Francisca reassured her, her tail wagging happily.
***
Eastern Korelia, Workshop
In a different workshop, Lansius, seated in front of a sturdy worktable, was carefully examining the wire. He had just heard that the craftsmen were using heat treatment to prevent brittleness whenever they encountered doubtful wire in the production process, due to variations in the quality of the iron used as raw materials.
After heating, the wire was allowed to cool slowly to restore its ductility. Lansius had given the craftsmen two silver coins on the spot for their keen observation, and the man delightedly accepted, promising to buy everyone a drink after work.
Lansius knew that a skilled smith could gauge ductility by observing how the color changed, and he felt fortunate that Korelia now had experienced smiths. Turning to Calub, who stood nearby, he confided, "It would be disastrous if all these wires ended up brittle."
"But it''s only expected," Calub disagreed. "You have good men working under you. This much is within expectations."
Lansius was amused by the reply. He was also pleased that the wire produced was of uniform diameter, flexible, yet strong.
"So, what do you want to use them for?" Calub asked.
The question brought a faint smile to Lansius¡¯ face; he had often pondered it himself. When he first realized it was possible to make wire, he spent some time wondering if something like a telegraph was feasible. Though he didn¡¯t know exactly how to build one, he tried some rough calculations for fun. It didn¡¯t take long to realize the absurdity of the idea¡ªthe cost of the copper cable alone was astronomical.
The distance from Korelia to Three Hills was about 15 days on foot, traditional march speed was 10-14 miles daily, roughly 200 miles. A telegraph would require both a signal and a return cable, meaning 400 miles of copper wire. With current technology, they could only produce cables 3-5 mm thick, which would require hundreds of tonnes of copper. The copper alone would bankrupt all of Midlandia, and that was just for one telegraph line to one city, not to mention the insulation it would need.
On top of that, most smiths could only produce two to four meters of wire per day. At that rate, it would take centuries to manufacture enough for the project. Clearly, a telegraph was a dream far out of reach without an industrial revolution.
Snapping back to the present, Lansius gave a small smile and said, "Do you have the rope smiths ready?"
"I have. They are sightseeing around the complex," he replied, a bit surprised since the question was clearly unrelated.
"Well, bring them here," Lansius said plainly.
"My Lord, they are rope smiths," Calub clarified, seeking confirmation.
"And I intend to use them to work on these wires," Lansius said with a slight smirk.
Calub was unsure but motioned for one of the guards to follow him.
...
The three rope smiths cleaned the wire with linen, following Lansius'' instructions. They twisted two wires together and attached sharp-pointed barbs, made from leftovers, at intervals. The process was straightforward but required precise technique and expertise to ensure each barb was securely fastened.
Each barb needed to be manually wrapped and secured to the carrier wire. Without the smiths'' expertise in knotting, an ordinary man would struggle to make a strong, durable connection.
A too rigid connection could easily snap. The key was to introduce some built-in slack at the connections, allowing the structure to flex under pressure and avert breakage.
Lansius observed their work, comparing it with his drawings on rough paper and the ropes he had used for illustration, nodding in satisfaction. From his early designs, the smiths had perfected the technique several times before achieving a workable design.
This marked the birth of a new type of fencing¡ªbarbed wire. In Lansius'' world, this humble invention had revolutionized and altered the very fabric of society, bringing significant economic impact, while ultimately bringing an end to the Wild West and cowboy culture.
"May I try testing it out?" Calub asked.
"Certainly, just be careful," Lansius warned.
Calub motioned for the guards and smiths to bring the wire outside. They drove two wooden stakes into the ground, and Calub began inspecting the new fence. He pushed against it, noting it was bendy yet strong. Pulling with all his might, he found it remarkably resilient.
The smiths grinned, proud of their craftsmanship.
Finding it firm enough, Calub decided to climb it. It was an unwise move; he initially ascended smoothly but soon his clothing snagged on the barbs, tearing his sleeve. Laughing at this, he abandoned his attempt.
"You go ahead," he gestured to an eager guard next to him.
The athletic guard tried to crawl under it but quickly found his brigandine caught on the barbs. Trapped, he couldn''t move despite several attempts.
"I couldn''t even see the damn thing," he grumbled, eliciting laughter from the others.
"Don¡¯t get up, or it¡¯s gonna be painful," Lansius called out, then motioned for the others to assist.
"They''re stronger than they look," Calub remarked, examining the damage to his clothing.
"New clothes on me," Lansius quipped.
"Not a bad way to visit a tailor," Calub responded cheerfully.
After the demonstration, Lansius ordered the wire brought back to the workshop. There, he commissioned the first batch of barbed wire and, to demonstrate his commitment, offered the smiths a lifetime contract and good accommodations in exchange for their secrecy.
The three rope smiths were thrilled and immediately requested the assistance of carpenters and blacksmiths to develop specific tools for better manufacturing the barbed wire.
Later, Lansius invited Calub to supper at the Great Hall. Despite his residence at the Eastern Mansion due to Audrey''s pregnancy, they chose to host supper at the castle, which Audrey also attended with her entourage.
During the carriage ride, Calub mused, "Still, while I understand its strength, I can''t see it being all that effective in battle."
Lansius appreciated Calub''s honesty but couldn''t stifle his laughter. "The ones we saw are for cattle."
"Cattle? Not for war?" Calub looked puzzled before turning to ponder.
"For war, we can integrate these barbed wires into cheval de frise to wound horses and cause panic. There are better applications..." Lansius paused, not wanting to disclose how barbed wire could be used in trench warfare.
"But, my Lord, you claimed these barbed wires could change this city and Lowlandia, even the rest of the Imperium."
Lansius exhaled, a thin smile on his lips. "At first glance, these humble wire fences for cattle might not seem powerful," he admitted. "Calub, do you know why Korelia is poor despite its abundance of shepherds, grassland, and the high market price for meat?"
Calub thought for a moment before replying, "There are several reasons, but related to the shepherds, I think it¡¯s because it takes a long time for goats to mature."
"I believe it¡¯s because they can''t maintain large herds. With larger herds, we could always have mature goats to slaughter in any season," Lansius offered his perspective.
"But a large herd requires extensive land and many shepherds to protect it as they graze outside the town..." Calub''s expression changed as he grasped Lansius'' intention. "Unlike nomads, they can''t ride horses or use bows to protect the herd from wolves. My Lord, do you plan to allow shepherds to graze outside town?"
Lansius leaned in closer, his voice low. "I plan to make every bit of the grasslands productive. With the new fences, the locals won''t need to learn riding or archery to shepherd further afield. As you are aware, traditionally, expanding meant building expensive stone or wooden fences. Tall stone walls are ridiculously expensive to construct over large swathes of land. Meanwhile, wooden fences... They''re not that durable, and cows or horses can easily break the weak parts of the fence."
"Indeed, I heard from Cecile that maintaining wooden fences on her land requires significant money and effort. And horses love to lean on them to scratch their itchy limbs."
Lansius leaned back as the carriage rocked gently. He recalled Tia, a little girl whose leg had been crippled by a wolf. Had she not met Hannei, she would have been crippled for life. "Any shepherd straying too far would be at the mercy of predators. But with barbed wire, even without a large number of shepherds, the livestock could still graze, day or night, in relative security. It''s far cheaper than other fences and, if installed correctly, is almost completely immune to wolves and strong enough to stop even bulls."
"Bulls?" Calub exclaimed excitedly. "You plan to introduce cattle and cows to Korelia?"
"I heard White Lake has cows. We should try," he said firmly. "Relying solely on goat herding is risky. We need to grow different kinds of livestock. Moreover, these fences are also useful for farmers to protect their crops."
"Why didn¡¯t I think of that?" Calub muttered. "Of course, farmers would benefit. These wires can replace the costly wooden fences."
"They''re better for keeping animals off cultivated farmland and also useful in horse breeding to easily separate quality breeds," Lansius added.
Calub nodded thoughtfully, gazing briefly out the window before turning back to face Lansius. "My Lord, I''m looking forward to seeing this invention of yours in action. In fact, please allow Cecile''s farm to be the first to use it."
Lansius chuckled. "I''ll consider it. But first, we must address the wolf in the sheep''s den," he said, his tone ominous.
"What is it, My Lord?" Calub inquired, his tone sharp.
"These barbed wires. They''re easy to replicate."
"You fear the guild?" Calub asked.
He nodded and explained, "I''m not against progress and would gladly share the secret, but barbed wire could have detrimental effects. I prefer to hold onto it until our allies can prepare themselves." Lansius then added, "Just like the issue with experimenting with airship fuel, we need to bind the guilds before introducing barbed wire. Otherwise, they could ruin us."
***
Chapter 157 : Taming the Great Plains
Chapter 157
Taming the Great Plains
Lansius
Although Lansius had arrived in Korelia two years ago, his mindset was still largely influenced by the perspectives of his own time. There were many things he didn''t bother to question, including the carnivores that prowled outside the city limits.
As an avid reader, he encountered texts that mentioned wolves, wild dogs, and other large carnivores. However, these records depicted them as almost mythical¡ªelusive, fearsome, and associated with dread¡ªas if these creatures were orcs or goblins. Thus, he regarded them as nothing more than medieval superstitions.
After all, if these records were accurate, there would be significant casualties, yet he had never heard of such incidents, which led him to disregard them entirely. This mindset went largely unchallenged until he met Tia in the spring of last year.
The little girl¡¯s story compelled Lansius to peruse the city documents and question city officials about the records. What he found was nothing less than staggering. In Korelia, it was common for a shepherd with 100 sheep to lose two dozen or more each year to wild beasts. These beasts were also unafraid of humans and known to terrorize the surrounding villages and manors during droughts.
His findings was further confirmed when he measured a wolf pelt at the castle, discovering that they were almost as large as tigers. This made him realize his errors.
In his world, wolves had been largely hunted to near extinction. Some countries had even waged century-long campaigns to poison, hunt, and trap wolves until they were virtually extinct, leaving newer generations unaware of the threats these beasts posed.
It was then that Lansius remembered a story he had long forgotten about the man-eating tigers of Nepal and Bengal, which had killed more than 400 victims. Somehow he had forgotten that in past eras, carnivorous beasts were a significant menace.
He delved deeper and discovered several instances in Korelia where villages were abandoned due to persistent wolf attacks, trade routes were disrupted by beast attacks, or shepherds and their flocks went missing¡ªall attributed to these predators. It was clear that for Korelian shepherds, survival was a battle fought in blood.
Lansius even found reports of wolf scares during military marches that had failed to reach his desk because the people of this era treated wolves as a secondary threat.
All this while, he had thought that wolves were just a larger version of a Siberian Husky.
Ever since learning this, Lansius had tried to address the issue by sending patrols of cavalry to help alleviate the people¡¯s plight. However, these predators remained elusive, able to hunt in the dead of night.
Despite some precautions, dozens of recorded cases of deaths and numerous reports of crippling injuries continued to occur, seemingly without any resolution.
However, this situation was about to change with the impending introduction of barbed wire.
The simple barbed wire, was a prime example of a perfect invention and naturally it was also disruptive. It transformed fence making and maintenance from an expensive, material- and labor-intensive process using stone or wood into a much simpler and more affordable one, making it accessible to a broader population.
The new invention was superior in every way and significantly cheaper. With an abundance of leftover, charred, rusted, and mangled armor parts and weapons, Lansius had amassed a massive stockpile of unwanted iron. For the cost of importing cheap charcoal, he transformed these scraps of old, broken armor and swords into an economical investment.
With just five suits of unwanted ringmail and seven bundles of rusty swords and trinkets, he could protect ten acres of land with three strands of barbed wire. For 500 suits of charred ringmail and armor pieces recovered from the last battle''s burnt plains, along with 700 bundles of rusty weapons, Lansius could easily protect 1,000 acres.
Combined with his city walls and the river, Lansius was set to cover the best swath of pastoral land for animal husbandry without requiring much manpower. This setup would net him a significant food surplus, which Korelia sorely needed for growth.
Moreover, after several years, once the windbreak trees had matured, the fenced land would likely yield rich soil, ready for planting crops, enriched by the manure. When that happened, he could even reuse his barbed wire fences and move them to another area.
The only thing barbed wire couldn¡¯t do was fence in ducks. These wild and majestic creatures could fly somewhat. However, there was little need as the ducks in this world weren¡¯t afraid of predators.
For the average landowner and shepherd in Korelia, while they didn¡¯t have suits of old or unwanted ringmail and weapons, barbed wire was still the most economical option. For the cost of wooden fences, they could fence in four times as much land with three strands of barbed wire and far less demand for maintenance.
Lansius believed this would open up numerous opportunities for livestock owners to expand or even start a new one. With just a dozen sheep and barbed wire to cover an acre as a pen, an aspiring shepherd could begin their trade.
The dream of expanding into the wilderness had now become reality. Previously, only nomadic tribesmen could utilize the vast steppe grass of the Great Lowlandia plains as productive ground for growing large herds. Now, any ambitious Lowlandian had the opportunity to tame it.
The new fence would help aspiring livestock owners protect their flocks from wolves, wild dogs, and predatory cats. Designed specifically for sheep rather than cattle, it could be further equipped with loosely woven netting, similar to fishing nets made from flax, hemp, or linen, to protect against steppe wolves and other carnivores.
This barrier offered better defense than merely a club and a spear. Moreover, it allowed them to expand without the need to compete for expensive pastoral land near the city¡ªnot to mention freed them from the costly traditional fencing and maintenance.
In this matter, the barbed wire was a great equalizer.
Lansius hoped the new fence would allow shepherds to protect themselves and give them a chance to thrive. And with their thriving, he would reap benefits from the land permits and increased trade. Similarly, he also hoped to attract the wealthy to buy permits for swaths of land to graze horses or cattle, further enriching Korelia.
While there was a risk of overgrazing that could deprive the land of water and grass, eventually ruining the soil, such a scenario would require millions of cows¡ªan impossible number for medieval herders. Lansius would be happy if Korelia had five hundred cows, just like Lord Robert had in White Lake.
He needed milk and cheese so his lactose-tolerant army and future recruits could grow taller, stronger, and hopefully smarter, which would help address the lack of talent in Korelia.
The new invention would have been perfect if not for one dangerous drawback.
"Tomorrow, I''ll send a summons to Batu to set a barbed wire trial," Lansius announced to Calub as the two were sharing a carriage to the castle.
"A trial for the nomads?" Calub said, his brow furrowing. He quickly added, "I don''t quite understand, My Lord. How does this new fence relate to them?"
"Not involvement, more like a warning," Lansius clarified.
"A warning?" Calub couldn¡¯t help but raise his voice.
Lansius nodded firmly, his expression serious. "I want the nomadic communities to see the new fence and use it first. I hope they''ll understand the benefits of this new invention and embrace it, rather than despising it."
Calub looked doubtful. "My Lord, as I understand it, you¡¯re worried that the nomads will see the wires as a threat, or am I misunderstanding something?"
Lansius let out a smile. "Indeed. I¡¯m concerned that Batu will view the new invention as a threat to their way of life. Not immediately, but eventually the barbed wire will pit our population against the nomadic community. With cheap and reliable fencing, there will be no obstruction for anyone wealthy and ambitious enough to set up acres of fences and let their livestock graze freely wherever the grass is greenest on the Great Plains.
"And all without fear of wolves, wild dogs, or other predators¡" Calub now looked bewildered, as he began to understand the deeper implications of the simple barbed wire.
Lansius continued, "The adoption of barbed wire in a hundred years or so will eventually enclose much of the land and restrict movements on the Great Plains. Worse, it''ll bar people from its resources. Imagine the nomads slowly finding it hard to access water and grassland. It will eventually cause wars."
Calub exhaled deeply and glanced at Lansius. "I can''t help but feel that this is not mere precognition," he speculated. "My Lord, has something bad happened at your birthplace due to the usage of barbed wire?"
"Something like that," Lansius admitted without going into details. After a pause, he added, "I want the nomads as allies, not potential enemies. So, I hope, with them using it first, I could empower them instead of robbing them of their future."
"So this is what you mean by precaution," Calub recalled their past conversation, nodding. "So, what have you planned? I can see that you''ll keep water and other resources open to all."
"Indeed. There''ll be no chaos on my watch," Lansius stated firmly. "And even if I lose against the guild, I''ll still control the land and the legislation."
There was a pause until Calub said, "Still, iron fences are expensive." He gazed at Lansius with newfound doubt. "Right now we got lucky we had plenty of metal scraps from battle, but in the future we''ll need to buy iron, and that would be expensive."
"Wanna bet?" Lansius chuckled and reached into his inside pocket for his coin pouch, from which he fished out several coins. He then picked one and held it up to Calub.
"Iron coins," Calub was pleasantly surprised. "You''ve thought this over, haven''t you?"
Lansius chuckled while playing with the coin in his hand. From a long time ago, Lansius realized that iron was grossly undervalued in this world. A copper coin was worth fourteen iron coins. And a silver worth 168 iron coins, or more depending on the iron coin''s condition.
A medium-sized chest filled with iron coins only had the purchasing power to buy five used ringmails. However, the same amount of iron coin in weight could easily make ten acres of fences with three strands of barbed wire.
"We could hoard iron coins without anyone knowing just by not exchanging the iron coins we collected in daily tolls and market taxes. Nobody wanted to hold iron coins. Some merchants even go so far as to pay in iron coins."
Calub snorted. "Usually, they''re only as good as nails," he said, amused. "Not even blacksmiths used it that much as they got better materials to work with."
"So do I have your support?" Lansius asked.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"You have my confidence," Calub said with a resolute smile as the carriage passed the castle''s gate. "Moreover, the shogunate is not just for show. Soon, a united order will govern Lowlandia," the alchemist added with excitement.
Hearing that, Lansius couldn''t help but feel encouraged.
Indeed, all my past work will finally come to fruition.
...
Another week had passed in Korelia. Today, within the old stone walls of Korelia Castle, a private meeting with the guilds was held.
Sir Justin and Sir Michael represented Lord Lansius, who sat observing the ongoing discussion. This approach was advised by Omin, now part of the retinue, who stood watchfully in the corner.
The air was thick with the scent of wax and woodsmoke as several pressing matters vied for attention. First on the agenda was the report on the progress of the wall-building project. While the Korelians and captured workers provided the labor, the masons'' guild and several others supplied the expertise and know-how.
The two sides struggled to reach a compromise and concluded with a promise of improvements and a series of fixes.
That Omin is truly something...
Lansius admitted mentally. The plan was all the ex-Lord of Korimor''s idea. And while Lansius inspected the construction site personally, he had little experience in masonry or medieval castle construction. Meanwhile, Omin was more than resourceful; no detail escaped his scrutiny.
The guilds learned to fear him, and Lansius appreciated his cousin-in-law''s great help. Their past enmity had reached a turning point. Because of Omin''s usefulness, Lansius even began to consider him as part of his new wave of non-Midlandian allies, alongside Lord Jorge and Lord Robert.
Thanks to Omin, Lansius effortlessly enacted a new law ensuring that the bathhouse regularly changed the water to avoid health hazards. The guild complied without issue, as the bathhouse was connected to the first water wheel and could change the water every few nights when the water wheel was not in use for milling.
The discussion then shifted to another topic. A different guildsman, dressed in velvet orange clothes with gaudy gold trim and a peacock feather on his hat, presented himself and then asked, "My Lord and Sirs, I''ve come from Midlandia to propose a cornerstone building for your yet-to-be-established entertainment district."
His words were suave, and Sir Justin let out a grin, motioning for him to continue.
"It would be a waste if one of the fastest-growing cities in Lowlandia didn''t have enough entertainment to please visitors from afar. I suggest we build more than just a tavern; we should also consider places for culinary delights, a respectable gambling establishment, and a pleasure house for those in need."
Sir Justin let out a tone of whistle as if admiring the man''s boldness, while Lansius merely smirked and observed. Around the room, various guild members exchanged wary glances, some nodding in tentative agreement while others frowned, their skepticism fueled by a fear of how Lansius might react to the proposal of introducing more vice into the city.
"While I admire your words, we are not relaxing gambling rules. Frankly, we have enough gambling addicts in the city. We don''t win wars just to lose it all at the gambling table," Sir Justin commented.
The man in orange wasn''t disheartened and glanced at Lansius before facing Sir Justin again. "Sir, we built the water wheels at a discounted price in hopes of a smooth relationship."
Lansius exhaled noisily, drawing everyone''s attention. He gazed sharply at the man in orange and addressed him, "Guildsman, I hope that''s not a veiled threat. And no, I don''t need a reply to this comment."
The guildsman bowed his head slightly.
While a specific area for gambling would boost income, Lansius realized that its effects were detrimental. The education level in Lowlandia was not sufficient to let gambling run amok. Yet, there was a solution without sacrificing the interests of both sides. "You have our concern, but I also want Korelia to be a fully equipped city. How about this: Let the first bathhouse remain untouched. You can build another in the new district."
As expected, everyone was attracted to the notion of a new district. The man in orange, in particular, looked pleased, his face turning sweet.
"As you know, there will be a row of noble houses, and I''m sure their retinues and visitors will need better inns, feasts, bathhouses, and the rest. I''ll allow gambling and brothels there since the area is only for retinues and visitors with permits, not commoners. However, it''ll be on a rent basis because the city needs to develop the area further."
"My guild is open to the idea. When will we have details to look at?" The man in orange asked directly to Lansius.
"By next week, you shall have something to work on. Sir Michael will have a draft or two to start discussions."
The man in orange then bowed deeply. No one else stepped forward and the guildsmen looked content. Sir Justin gazed at Lansius, saying, "My Lord, I believe it''s time to tell them the good news."
Lansius nodded and calmly rose from his seat. "Gentlemen," he addressed the guildsmen, then casually mentioned, "I have other news from my Umberland campaign. I''ve met with powerful lords and established contacts with the southern provinces of Halicia, Ekionia, and Elearis."
This announcement at the end of their meeting was met with a ripple of murmurs throughout the chamber.
"That is good news, My Lord," replied Caine, a guildsman who had been in Korelia since last year, speaking on behalf of everyone.
"There''s more to it," Lansius teased with a smile. "The lords of those provinces want to establish a southern trade route."
The chamber went quiet, everyone guessing, waiting with anticipation.
Lansius leaned forward in his seat. "A trade route from Ekionia by sea to Lowlandia, and then across to the Navalnia Empire."
The guildsmen came alive with discussion; some murmured excitedly, others were skeptical.
Lansius leaned back, neatly placing his right elbow on the cushioned armchair, and simply enjoyed the guildsmen''s reactions.
Sir Justin and Michael, who knew beforehand about this, remained calm and did not interfere.
Pushing through several debating guildsmen, Caine stepped forward. "My Lord, we humbly think that it''s best if you tell us more about this trade route."
"What more can I say?" Lansius teased with a grin. "Goods will flow from three provinces, making a stop in Nicopola, crossing the narrow gulf to Three Hills, then journeying by caravan through Korelia, and finally heading east towards Navalnia."
Again, the chamber buzzed with murmurs and discussion.
Lansius glanced at his men, who nodded in acknowledgment. The first part was the easy one.
"My Lord," a representative from the miners'' guild spoke, "We''ve heard about these provinces'' growth, but we''re not convinced. I mean, what goods do they have that they want to sell to Navalnia?"
Lansius was about to answer about the products, but the man continued, "Are they even as good as they say? If they only want to sell fleece and cheese, then we''re in trouble."
The chamber erupted in laughter.
Disregarding them, Lansius chuckled heartily as if he found it seriously funny before pointing out, "Guildsman, the airship is literally made there."
His simple words quickly changed the atmosphere. It was a lie, but in Korelia, only Lansius and the airship crew knew about Lord Avery.
Lansius caught Omin¡¯s eager gaze. With a strategic nod, he invited him to take the floor, confident in his intellect and manipulative skills.
"Dear maesters, I understand that Midlandians and other near-capital provinces view the southern provinces as backwaters. As they say, ''Nothing good comes from the south,''" Omin began, and the guildsmen responded receptively. He continued, "The southern men might be a bit uncultured, living on the fringe, constantly fighting beastmen, and dwelling in obscurity, far from the light of the Ageless. However, that also drives their continual progress. In the South, you don''t survive by merely making a profit and living easily."
His words garnered nods from the guildsmen.
"It''s the same in Lowlandia," Omin continued, while Lansius approached Sir Justin and patted his shoulder. "I''ll leave this to you two," he whispered to Justin and Michael.
The two nodded lightly. They understood that it would take time for Omin to soften up the guildsmen and prepare them for Lansius'' grand plan.
With a hand gesture, Lansius signaled that he wished his departure not to be announced and quietly left the chamber. In his second year of rulership, he had become accustomed to delegating even matters of importance to his staff, as he had grown to respect time as a precious commodity.
As a lord, he had many areas to oversee, yet the day offered so little time. If he strolled incognito through the castle, he might discover moldy spots, perhaps the kitchen needed more maintenance, the roofs might be leaky, or the heating inadequate.
Korelia Castle was old, and the city was just beginning to build. There were many areas he could improve, but Lansius couldn''t manage them all as even supervising would consume too much time. Not to mention the personnel issues, which he delegated to Audrey and the staff.
Thus, he chose to focus on the big picture and left the finer details to his staff or the growing educated class in society.
He hoped that his efforts were enough to kindle a spark among them, encouraging entrepreneurs to helm more changes in Korelia. With that in mind, Lansius entered his study where Carla was standing, waiting.
"You can sit down and still be able to draw your sword if anyone intrudes," Lansius said as he sat down.
"Gratitude, My Lord. I''ll sit when needed," came the calm reply, as usual.
As he leaned back, Lansius felt a tightness in his chest, a remnant of the half-beast''s rampage. It led him to ask, "How''s your injury from the half-beast?"
Carla''s expression turned sharp. "Nothing serious," she began. "It won''t affect my performance, and the Lady has tested it herself."
"Test? She actually sparred with you?" Lansius frowned.
Carla licked her lips; she obviously had said too much.
Lansius waved it off, deciding he needn''t dig into this at the moment. Without wasting more time, as he needed to return to the Eastern Mansion before supper, he dove into his records and notes. The smell of ink, coarse paper, and vellum welcomed his nostrils.
Since a week ago, he had been studying notes from the guilds as he wanted to build an underground water pipe to create a fountain in the market that would be useful to his people. It would provide health benefits and, hopefully, also make him more popular.
However, the primary intention for the pipe was to serve the upcoming noble area. He planned to shock the Lord''s families with amenities. Not only for vanity, Lansius also planned for a dedicated firemen service, which was crucial for Korelia, and a wastewater management system to reduce the risk of disease.
Furthermore, he wanted a place to exchange ideas, knowing it would be the foundation of progress. Thus, Lansius began to outline his plan for the future.
***
West Tiberia, Capital, Beneath the Lake
Beneath the outskirts of the Capital, Sagarius, the daughter of the recently deceased Ageless One, continued the monotonous routine of marching and resting, which she repeated for several days. Before leaving, she had used transformation magic to change the color of every strand of her hair. Now, the hair closer to her scalp had turned brunette.
The third day also marked the disappearance of the maze. The maintenance shafts were gone, as this marked the extent of the subterranean world. From there, only a single straight, upward-inclined path stretched before her. Sagarius stood gazing at the path, took a step forward, but couldn''t resist looking back, uncertain of what to expect.
For the past several days, she had been meditating on her purpose in life now that her father was gone. Her mind told her she was truly free, but she felt conflicted. Would she just live out the rest of her life to her heart''s content, shifting from one alter identity to the next until her time came? Or would she actively assist those humans she deemed worthy?
Yet, it also felt wrong. Could her help be justified after she had rejected her father''s pleas to take over the Imperium?
Sagarius sighed, realizing her mistake. "In principle, I don''t want to get involved too deeply," she mumbled to herself. There was nobody near her, not even a golem.
She continued in her mind that she had her own life and was content to live a mundane life while being an observer of human civilization.
Having sorted out her thoughts, she proceeded to ascend, her boots lightly pounding the stone floor.
From that point on, there were no unused chambers or junctions to rest, and she spent her third and fourth nights sleeping on one side of the pathway. The air was the hottest at this point, almost suffocating, as the subterranean world was far behind, while the world above ground was still sealed shut.
Sagarius constantly maintained her bubble of air, drawing magic from her reliable source. She continued her monotonous climb and on the morning of the fifth day, reached the end of the pathway.
A large chamber secured by stone doors greeted her. Once inside, she took her time to observe the series of levers she needed to operate to power the hydraulic pumps. While it could be powered by gemstones, the maker had decided that manual operation was more suitable for this place.
Sagarius noticed a little rust and took out a sealed metal vial. She removed the cork, put several drops of the black liquid on the rusted metal parts, and then tried to operate the lever. After several hard pumps, it began to smoothen out and felt easier to operate.
After a dozen or so back-and-forth motions, the camouflaged door sealing the world above creaked open. A burst of fresh air entered, and the scent immediately changed to that of a rocky cave. Sagarius dropped her bubble of air and felt enveloped by the mossy and earthen smell.
It was a natural cave near Lake Tiber. From there, the Capital was only a short distance away. The area was neither too close to risk being built over nor too far to make travel dangerous. It was located near a main road to the Capital, so traveling in groups wouldn''t seem out of place.
By now, Sagarius'' hair had darkened to a full, rich brunette. Using her heightened senses, she detected no human presence and securely locked the camouflaged door behind her. She navigated the moss-covered cave, following a thin ray of light that guided her toward the exit.
At long last, stepping out from the shadows, she felt the sun¡¯s warmth on her pale skin for the first time. The light didn¡¯t startle her eyes; instead, they soaked in the view of Lake Tiber in its midday splendor. The water shimmered under the sun¡¯s caress, a sight she had seen often yet never failed to make her smile.
After checking her bags and belongings, Sagarius approached the road, expecting the usual bustle of travelers and merchants. Instead, she found silence¡ªan unnerving emptiness that stretched in both directions. "Why is it so deserted?" she whispered.
It dawned on her¡ªthe Capital must be caught in some kind of struggle. "Pestilence, power struggle, or a siege?" she muttered. Driven by a sense of urgency, she returned to the lake''s edge, gazing across the water at the distant silhouette of the Capital. No boats were in sight, yet she needed none.
With determined strides, Sagarius walked into the blue lake. A coat of air completely enveloped her body and limbs, protecting her from the water without causing buoyancy issues. Her boots, worn yet sturdy, made confident contact with the muddy bottom.
Little bubbles periodically floated down from the above, acting like an umbilical cord, replenishing her oxygen and expelling the spent air.
Though she couldn''t explain why¡ªas she knew the Imperium¡¯s fate hung by a thread without her succession¡ªSagarius chose to trust her instincts. With resolute purpose, she surged toward the beleaguered Capital.
***
Chapter 158 : Winter Forge
Chapter 158
Winter Forge
East Tiberia
As the last of autumn cast its vibrant hues of yellow and red over the landscape, the area around the Capital bore the scars of war rather than the beauty of the season. The battle for the Imperium''s survival had raged relentlessly, and an end was nowhere in sight. The front lines shifted almost daily, marked by the changing control of towns and villages in a grim dance of war.
For the defenders, their castles and walled cities offered some protection, yet they were far from sanctuaries. Clearly, they were losing the initiative and could only retreat deeper into the Capital. Their only hope was to hold out until winter, using the time to rest and regroup before their cohesiveness crumbled.
In one beleaguered city, a brief respite from the night¡¯s skirmishes gave way to a tense calm. From the ramparts, the defenders looked out upon the enemy who, equally tired and drained, were still laboriously repairing ladders and organizing their siege engines. The dull thuds of hammers and the metallic clang of armor echoed from the enemy¡¯s camp.
The city¡¯s walls, scarred by the conflict, stood defiant. Its weakness was its limited food supply for the garrison and the populace, which would force them to abandon the town if a relief force with additional supplies was compromised.
The men of the city, their faces etched with fatigue and bodies draped in stained armor, moved slowly along the battlements. Their eyes, red from sleepless nights, scanned the horizon incessantly, knowing the lull was nothing more than a mirage. The attack could happen at any time, day or night, depending on the opponent''s whim.
Inside the city, the streets that were usually teeming with trade and laughter were now quiet and somber. Adults wore faces painted with worry about the looming threat, while children, still unable to comprehend what had happened to their city or why their relatives hadn''t come home, wandered cheerlessly.
The Northern Rebellion, or Gottfried''s Treachery as it was termed, had turned into an all-out war. Men too old or too young had joined the defender ranks. The young looked eager with their new weapons and armor, while the old quietly cleaned and fixed armor from fallen soldiers.
A man in his late forties stood firm on the battlement despite the threat from siege engines. He was the reason the whole front line hadn''t collapsed after their initial fiasco. Assuming leadership in times of crisis, the Bald Eagle, as he was fondly known, had compelled the remnants to stubbornly defend every conceivable strong position, using walled cities like links in a chain to absorb, disrupt, and weaken the attackers'' momentum before they razed the place and fell back.
Although the losses of life and materials were staggering, this strategy prevented a mass rout. It was now unclear to both sides whether the attackers or the defenders were winning. The war had become protracted, with the battle lines extending through as many as five cities, and at one point, even seven.
As the temporary commander, he personally led the defense of a small but strategic city that held the gate to the Capital. He had run out of places to retreat to, except for the Capital itself, whose defense would be nightmarish since it was too vast and had outgrown its initial two sets of city walls. It would require tens of thousands of men just to keep sentry, and feeding a besieged populace would be an impossible ordeal.
Gottfried''s Northern forces had come and laid siege to this small city. They attempted to surround the city, but it was bolstered by sister cities to the north and south, both in strong positions, not to mention the Capital''s garrison at its back. Again, the opponents'' movements were stalled, but nobody knew for how long.
They were now at the last stage of defense. Now, either winter would come, or Gottfried''s men would reach the city. The chill wind gave hope, but the weather remained unpredictable.
Footsteps from behind were heard, and his personal guards gazed sharply as a knight and his squire approached.
"Commander," the knight called, as his squire waited at a distance.
The commander turned to him, his eyebrows sharp like an eagle and his head balding at the top. "Let me guess, more bad news?"
"House Edelhart and Ulfbret are unable to come," the knight named a Baron and a Baronet.
The commander exhaled deeply yet maintained his steely gaze. He turned to his guards, saying, "Leave us."
The four guards readily left them alone, making themselves comfortable a few distances away.
With only them remaining, the Bald Eagle said, "Just say it plainly. They have come over to Gottfried''s side."
The knight, his armor etched with scratches and dents that would not buff out, said nothing in return, his face showing a mix of anger and also resignation.
The commander turned away, his gaze returning to the Northerners'' camp outside. His men had been fighting a losing war for more than fifty days and had seen their numbers dwindle significantly from their original strength. Now, they were a hodgepodge of units still willing to fight, led by local knights who could rally them. The Bald Eagle placed his trust in them, but he knew their overall strength was nothing compared to that of the Northerners. What they had in abundance were untrained men: artisan apprentices, craftsmen, sons of farmers, and market laborers.
"That Gottfried was really something," he suddenly admitted.
The knight''s eyes widened. "Sir, people might hear," he warned, subtly turning right and left to check if anyone was nearby.
The Bald Eagle chuckled defiantly and clenched his fist. "I can''t even discuss the strength of my opponent with my own staff. What kind of ridiculous situation is this?"
The knight felt powerless. The truth was that the force defending the capital was fighting with one hand tied behind its back. The bureaucrats, the true power running the Imperium, had ignored all the generals'' planning and ordered a massive pitched battle to start their counteroffensive, which had failed spectacularly. "If only the Duke wasn''t powerless against the sages," he whispered.
His words made the commander lament, "We lost many good men." His tone was heavy as he recalled many of his old comrades.
"But their lives weren''t lost in vain," the commander continued. "The past blunder will cost the one hundred sages their reputation, if not expose their incompetence and corruption," he named the top bureaucrats that ran the Ageless One''s directive.
The knight looked worried, and it wasn¡¯t out of fear. He was fearless in battle, but the sages could reach far. There were many stories of them inviting people into the palace where unfortunate accidents befell the visitors.
Exhaling sharply, the Bald Eagle said in a fatherly tone without looking directly, "Just forget about all this. Go to sleep; we might see another nighttime action. Even Gottfried is desperate to secure a foothold before the heavy snow falls."
The knight stared into the distance, nodded, and replied, "Let me accompany you for a while."
Delighted by the company, the commander let out a faint smile and quietly accepted. They observed the enemy''s camp for a while until he asked the younger knight, "What do you think? Will we survive the onslaught?"
The knight glanced at the commander. "Your strategy has brought us this far. I''m sure it''ll be crucial for the Capital''s defense no matter what the result."
"My strategy is merely to deny them battles..." The commander then quipped, "Turns out their horses and riders are useless in scaling the walls."
The knight let out a dry chuckle.
The Bald Eagle continued, "Alas, we''re out of walls to hide behind, and I can feel that the opponent is organizing a large assault. I see new banners every day."
"But Sir, we''ve been taking a lot of heavy assaults and have meted out severe punishment to them."
"I''m afraid that''s merely an attempt to tire us before the big one. That''s probably why they only attack at night."
The knight nodded and muttered, "Indeed, that''s unconventional."
The Bald Eagle pointed out, "Do you see that large empty tent over there without a banner?"
Squinting, the knight found it and asked, "What about it?"
"That''s probably intended for Gottfried himself. His men are preparing for his arrival to launch the assault." He smiled ominously and said, "Our days are numbered."
Despite the grim news, the knight snorted. "It''s been like that since the start."
"You should abandon this city and hide with your family," the Bald Eagle urged. "Gottfried will give leniency."
The knight''s jaw tightened and shot a stare. "How could you say such a thing?"
"Make no mistake, Gottfried has a lot of supporters in the Capital. Especially people who believe that the Ageless One is dead. They''ll likely surrender the city after the loyalists have fallen."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"You can''t dissuade me from dying at your side. The Imperium will survive. Help will come," the knight asserted, more to convince himself than his commander. He glanced away briefly, his gaze falling on the worn flags above the ramparts, fluttering defiantly.
The older man laughed, drawing the attention of the guards who kept watch at the ramparts. He gave a fatherly look toward the young knight. "No help will likely come. As I said, Gottfried has friends in high places, who hope to join him with their estates intact. That''s why the Capital Garrison has barely given us any relief."
"The Barons around the Capital?"
"Likely a good portion of the one hundred sages themselves," the Bald Eagle minced no words.
"By the Ageless," the knight spat to the side.
"The Imperium has been nothing but the sages'' playground for hundreds of years. It''s not worth the blood of the young who defended it," the older man lamented.
The words piqued the knight¡¯s curiosity. "But why do you lead this defense?"
"Because if I didn''t, more blood would be spilled," he revealed. "I''m a believer that even a twisted peace accord is better than a full rout and the ensuing bloodshed."
The distant wail of high-pitched trumpets sliced through the air, announcing the imminent arrival of a large force and snapping every head toward the eastern horizon. There, a grand host advanced, their golden banner fluttering like a flame. Below, the enemy camp stirred into a frenzied hive of activity.
The commander''s personal guard quickly returned to his side, both to protect him and to witness the arrival of the enemy''s reinforcements if not their main army, likely in the thousands. To them, the Bald Eagle said, "Well, I guess we''re going to die tonight."
Instead of looking concerned, the guards joked, "Sir, you''ve been saying that to us for fifty days, yet we still draw breath."
The old man snorted and beamed at them proudly. He then patted the knight''s shoulder, saying, "Go to rest. You¡¯re going to need it."
***
Korelia, Eastern mansion
Audrey had returned to the hall next to her chamber after the council session. Usually, Ingrid accompanied her for lessons, but today, she was on leave. Rumor had it that she''d had a crazy night out with the half-breed, and both were absent from the morning meeting, likely due to hangovers.
Despite the old maids'' suggestions, she had secretly maintained her and Lansius'' armor and gear, but that too had already been cleaned and polished thoroughly. What was left was reading, which she usually immersed herself in once she started. Yet, today, she wasn''t in the mood for reading.
She glanced out the window and saw that midday had yet to arrive and sighed. She had rejected the idea of taking a lady-in-waiting to accompany her, as she couldn¡¯t connect with them due to her different background. Thus, she relied on Margo, but the pageboy alone wasn''t enough. "Maybe if it were Cecile..." she muttered to herself.
However, she knew Cecile was essential in the small council to help manage the city. As the domains expanded, the workload increased more than ever. Then she remembered Sir Justin''s daughter and saw an opportunity for the little girl to provide some distraction until her pregnancy progressed further.
She eagerly awaited her return to Lansius'' side to assist him with his various projects. Recently, her husband had been spending a great deal of time in the workshops, juggling several new projects simultaneously. He had been teasing her about making a comfortable bed to sleep in, and knowing him, she was confident it would be a game-changer.
A knock on the door drew her attention away, and Margo, who stood by the entrance, quickly moved to block the door. "Who is it?" he asked.
"It''s the maids," came the reply from the guard standing outside. "They''ve brought gifts from a guest."
"Please wait a moment," Margo said, then turned to Audrey, who nodded and replied, "Let them in."
Two maids entered and placed the gifts, wrapped in leather, on the table. "It''s a gift from the nomads. They instructed us to give it to you, My Lady."
"They didn''t stay to present the gift themselves?" Audrey asked.
"No, it seems their leader was in the city and will join us for supper tonight."
Audrey nodded and motioned for Margo to open the gift. The pageboy unwrapped the package to reveal a beautiful recurve bow, its grip finely covered in fur, along with richly decorated leather gloves, a wrist guard, and an ornamented quiver filled with arrows. The nomad messenger had even strung the bow for her, clearly knowing this was intended not for display.
While the maids and the pageboy exchanged glances, Audrey''s mood suddenly improved. She recalled her time training with the bow and, after traveling with the nomads, now she had a better understanding of how to use it. Not to mention, the bow presented to her was of the correct size and better quality.
She took it, delighted by the weight and balance. It did give off a certain smell due to the use of animal parts, but she was used to it. Audrey looked at the trio and commanded, "No one else is to learn of this gift," her tone firm and carrying a hint of threat.
The trio nodded in unison. "Yes, My Lady."
Audrey leaned back in her seat, pondering the no rules against activities that required little movement¡ªjust arms and upper body exercises. "Get me an old pillow and a basket," she commanded, surveying the length of the hall and finding it inadequate. "And some rope," she added, rising from her seat and heading toward an unused corridor that was cordoned off for renovations.
...
Lansius
In the heart of the bustling Korelian workshop, lit by generous sunlight from a wide window that also ensured good ventilation, Lansius stood entranced. Owing to his policy of welcoming talent, many had come to Korelia from across Lowlandia to showcase their abilities.
During one of the talents'' introductions, it was revealed that he had a knack for making metal that could bend and return to its original shape.
Lansius recognized it as springs. He wasted no time and had challenged the smith to make a set of springs with varying lengths to be installed on a carriage as leaf springs. However, his knowledge of how to make it work was limited, and he was forced to rely on other craftsmen to work out the details. It would require time and trial and error before he could showcase the product. Fortunately, Sir Justin was interested in this new carriage and offered to supervise on his behalf.
With free hands, Lansius had the smith make a different set of springs. Today, the smith, sporting long hair and a mustache, finished crafting what would be the first coil springs. He carefully removed his leather glove and touched the cooled spiral iron.
He tested it by pressing it with his palm against the table and found it bouncy. Everyone there was excited. He repeated the action several times until it slipped and the coil flew across the room, triggering laughter from the weary assistants.
The smith grinned, picked it up from the floor, wiped it clean, and then presented it to Lansius, who observed the object.
Lansius pressed the coiled springs with both hands and found them resistive but not overly so. "This will do," he grinned.
"Then we can begin production," the smith grinned back. "Maintain the heat on the furnace. It''s time to ramp it up," he declared to the assistants, who had been working with him.
The smith then returned to his spot, heating the slightly thicker wire but refrained from making it glow. Using his experience, he determined when it was time and pulled it out before beginning to coil it around a stout rod, each loop snug against the last, creating a perfect spiral. He cut the wire and let the spring take shape by quenching it in a large tub of water.
It wasn''t the end of the process; he took the spiral iron back to the furnace to heat it again before allowing it to cool slowly at room temperature. This tempering process would reduce brittleness and increase the toughness and durability of the spring. He then repeated the process for another spring.
Lansius, edging closer, asked, "Can someone else also do this process so we can make more?"
"The consistency will suffer, My Lord," the smith answered, without taking his attention from his work.
"I''m not looking for perfection, just good enough quality." Lansius then felt the need to explain, "Your work will be deemed high tier and as promised will be paid handsomely. However, I also need a lower tier for the commoners. Acceptable quality for a lower price."
"Frankly, as long as I get paid, I couldn''t care less about who''s going to use it," the smith chuckled.
Lansius nodded but added, "I want these not only to grace the nobles but everyone in the city."
"That''s a novel idea, My Lord," the smith remarked, then added, "By next week, a few others will be able to try making them on their own. I''ll be supervising them so the quality doesn¡¯t suffer too much."
"That''s all I ask," said Lansius, satisfied.
With that, his plan for winter had been shaping up nicely. The barbed wire, the coils, and the leaf springs, not to mention the spinning wheels for yarn, were all part of his vision to make the city a center of new inventions that would attract people from afar.
When the three inventions were completed, he would have enough leverage to go against the guilds, which had been baited with the South Trade agreement. Not to mention, he still had other large tricks up his sleeve.
Leaving the smiths to their work, Lansius and his entourage walked to their carriage. Due to his growing popularity, he had chosen a carriage to conceal his movements. It was becoming troublesome to ride out and be constantly stopped by people who just wanted to see him or hear him speak.
He had always thought that becoming popular was a great thing, until he experienced it firsthand.
At least they don''t hate or fear me like they used to.
"Where to, My Lord?" the coachman asked as Lansius, Sterling, Carla, and one other guard settled inside a different carriage. He had donated his usual carriage for use as a platform in the leaf spring project.
"Just go around the market," Lansius instructed. "I want to see the new Korelia," he said with veiled excitement.
His words were met with smiles from the coachman and his entourage. Thus, the Lord of Korelia visited the bustling market, observing quietly from his carriage that the market had come alive. Once dusty with few peddlers, limited wares, and many pickpockets, it now rivaled South Hill. And probably in a few years, it would come to resemble the bustling market of Three Hills.
His plan to invite other lords to live here had achieved its intended effect. New shops had been built to anticipate the growing demands. Unlike in the modern era, people in this era had to build workshops to produce even the most ordinary goods; rarely were goods transported from outside the city unless they could not be obtained or made locally.
Lansius noticed new pottery shops, furniture stores, and fabric shops. Then he saw a grand building with a marble-floored entrance.
"The bathhouse, My Lord," Sterling reported.
"Have you visited there?" Lansius asked.
"Not yet, maybe after I''m done with my house, My Lord."
Lansius quickly nodded. "Sometimes, I forget that you just got married. You should take the day off."
Carla quickly added, "Do as the Lord told you."
"But Claire wanted me to work as usual," the young man answered proudly.
Lansius was amused. "Carla, tell the coach to head to this newlywed''s new house. I''ll pay a visit."
"B-but My Lord, it''s still messy," Sterling said, wide-eyed.
"I''ve been riding and sleeping rough in the Great Plains of Lowlandia. Anything with a roof is as good as a house to me," Lansius boasted. He would never say it, but there was something about Claire that reminded him of Tanya. It wasn¡¯t her blonde hair, but perhaps her chattiness.
After Carla had informed the coachman, Lansius observed the newly constructed station for the fire nightwatch brigade, named the Fire Wardens. They were the first dedicated firefighter and also served as a night watch against crimes.
The brigade''s inception was well-received, and many Korelians had applied to join. In the past, several buildings had burned due to the dry climate. However, the fires didn¡¯t spread widely as Korelian buildings were constructed sparsely, separated from their neighbors. This spacing had saved them from a colossal fire, but as the city grew, the threat of fire would become too great to ignore.
Lansius wanted to prevent that and he had planned for the second fire station across the river.
As the carriage rolled along, Lansius noted the diggings for the upcoming combination of stone, clay, and bronze pipe where he planned to have a working fountain. The pipe wouldn''t be buried but encased in sand and stones for ease of maintenance in case of burst pipes in the future. Additionally, the fountain was to provide easy access for the Fire Warden.
He then saw a group of women with their children clad in new fur clothes.
"Looks like the city is prepared for winter," Lansius commented.
"Indeed, My Lord. The Korelians have more to spend compared to last year. The work you provided, the trade and commerce, the money from victories, it all trickles down to everyone," said Carla.
Lansius nodded. Finally, he could enjoy the fruits of his labor. The year 4426 was drawing to a close, and he had high hopes for what it would bring. For the first time, even the winter in Korelia didn¡¯t seem so grim. Yet, he understood that with the Imperium in peril, no peace was truly set in stone.
***
Chapter 159 : Window of the World
Chapter 159
Window of the World
Korelia
Lansius'' visit to Sterling''s new house in the established part of the city, and his meeting with Claire, who had just returned from teaching at the orphanage, reminded him of how much he missed his family. He couldn''t help but wonder about Tanya, Mark, and Mother Arryn''s current situation.
Naturally, even as he visited the newlyweds'' house, his mind drifted to the crisis in Arvena and Midlandia. Moreover, he was reminded of the letter that Calub had received while Lansius was still in Umberland. It likely wouldn''t be the only one; he wouldn''t be surprised to receive another, be it another offer or a threat.
For Lansius, it added another layer of complexity. If Bengrieve had rescued his family, then they were likely caught in the turmoil in Midlandia.
Out of the crocodile''s mouth and into the tiger''s.
He sighed softly in the carriage as he headed to the castle with Carla, Sterling, and the guard. Unexpectedly, the carriage''s window offered plenty of sights to distract him.
As they passed an open space, the city wall under construction was clearly visible. There, Lansius saw a recently constructed treadwheel crane and was impressed by its ease of use. The mechanism was similar to a waterwheel, but instead of water, men powered the wheel, winding rope to lift building materials vertically like a crane.
"It''s getting taller every day," Carla commented.
Lansius smiled. "Let''s just hope the guild doesn''t cut corners."
"Our own Mason Guild of Korelia wouldn''t let that happen, My Lord," Sterling assured him.
"Indeed, they''re meant to supervise the building projects, but we must be watchful for bribery and corruption."
"If My Lord is concerned, then you should task Calub to oversee it," Sterling suggested.
Lansius nodded. "When the time is right, I''ll task Calub or Sir Harold."
"I heard Francisca is quite capable of sniffing out lies," Carla said.
"That''ll make Sir Harold''s supervision more impactful." Lansius was pleased that the half-breed was gaining recognition and acceptance from his staff. Before he could be distracted by other things, he said to Carla, "When we reach the castle, remind me to write a letter."
"Understood. To whom, My Lord?" Carla asked. This was typical, as merely writing a letter was not enough to jog his memory.
"To Midlandia, to Lord Bengrieve," Lansius replied with a resolute tone. His words captured the attention of the three who sat with him in the carriage.
"Noted, My Lord," Carla responded.
Sterling leaned slightly forward. "My Lord, a word if I may."
Lansius motioned for him to speak.
"Lord Bengrieve is in Elandia. Given what we know of the situation there, I doubt he''ll return to Midlandia before winter."
"We don''t need to worry about that. A letter is a letter. It''s a sign of intention," Lansius explained. "If he reads it next year, then the action might be late, but the intention will have been delivered," he clarified.
"My Lord, if I may be so bold, what exactly are you asking of him?" Sterling asked.
Lansius gazed at his squire. "I want to know what''s happening in Midlandia..."
Sterling and Carla exchanged glances.
"I have read the letter directed to me from the opposing side in the Midlandian crisis, and I''m sure it won''t be the last," Lansius continued. "I also want to learn the fate of three Arvenians. I owe them a great debt, and I have entrusted their safety to Lord Bengrieve."
Carla nodded, while Sterling offered no comment, and it was the older guard who inquired, "Pardon my curiosity, but I''ve heard rumors about My Lord''s relatives. Is this about them?"
"Relatives...?" Lansius mused, thinking about his official background as a fake knight from the Mercantile Kingdom before confirming, "I suppose you could say that. These three have helped me when I was in trouble. To me, they''re family."
The two squires and the guard nodded in understanding.
Without saying anything else, they enjoyed the remaining ride to the castle. There, before supper, Lansius dictated a letter to his benefactor. He inquired about the Midlandia crisis, his intention to retake Arvena and return it to Lord Arte, and the whereabouts of the Arryn family.
With that completed, with some time still before supper, Lansius decided to review the scribes'' report on a different project he had assigned¡ªa project no less pivotal in turning Korelia into a great city.
***
Two weeks had passed as Korelia braced for winter. The chill wind had arrived, prompting everyone to don fur coats and thick clothing. Activities in the fields were limited, and the barns had been cleaned to prepare for the livestock''s eventual refuge from the snow.
A few of the commoners had finished fixing their roofs to prepare for heavy snowfall. Others were mending fences, repairing tools, sewing their clothes, or starting their winter crafts. Some were learning to read and write, or training in other areas of expertise.
In such times, Lansius had completed the auction of his plots leading to the noble quarter and repurposed one of the buildings he owned to serve as the city''s library.
While his recent series of victories provided a substantial financial cushion, Lansius understood that war was a costly endeavor and that it took money to make money. Thus, he was always on the lookout for new revenue streams.
He had drafted his rough budgeting plan for next year. After two years, it wasn''t hard. But then again, unlike in the modern era, it was common for a medieval baron like him to pay his retainers, lieutenants, and squires partially in goods. These goods, often documented with seals or letters for authentication, would then be exchanged through merchants.
The merchants facilitated the conversion of these goods to coins or other desired goods. Following the tradition of a benevolent lord, Lansius opted to pay half in cash, half in goods which he acquired from from taxes.
In a sense, a medieval barony, while not a cashless society, was far less cash-driven than the modern era. Many even provided their services to him nearly for free, out of respect or fear. It was tempting for Lansius to benefit from this free labor.
While he wasn''t a saint, Lansius would demand contributions if it was necessary and reasonable. But currently, he could simply enact corv¨¦e, a form of tax that included individuals who did not own land, crops, or assets. As the baron, he had the authority to mobilize everyone, including the homeless, or others who did not pay traditional taxes.
This year, under Sir Justin, Korelia had enacted corv¨¦e to task a group of people to move the blacksmiths to a new location across the river. While enacting it would freed the participants from paying tax, in most cases, their yearly tax was much lower in value compared to what their labor would cost.
His budgeting plan had grown to encompass the multiple projects he was working on. Although it appeared that he employed many specialized talents in these projects, in truth, almost all were recruited from conquered cities. In this manner, his invitations were more like orders. When he invited a duck breeder from South Hill, it was as good as an order to move to Korelia and start their business there.
This was part of the victor''s prerogative. Lansius didn''t loot the South Hill populace, and because of this, they were inclined to oblige his demands.
Under this scheme, the duck breeder started a business in Korelia using the allocated land and resources for ''free.'' As a project of the Lord, the breeder received help and assistance from his men. In exchange for the lord''s ''generosity,'' the breeder provided services or goods, likely in the form of several ducks each year as a tax, along with feathers for arrows.
Thus, there was no cost to inviting the duck breeder to open their business in Korelia, aside from some one-time gifts. In this matter, Lansius didn''t employ the duck meister.
A similar situation applied to other talents that Lansius did not invite. The migrants came of their own free will. Many were absorbed as apprentices in shops, guilds, or by the myriad smiths and meisters in the city. This arrangement certainly cost Lansius nothing.
What Lansius paid for were the talents that he employed directly for his projects. The rate was 2-3 copper per day. With 200 effective workdays per year, it would cost him between 500-600 copper, or around 2 gold coins.
With helpers and assistants added, the total would likely be closer to 4 gold coins. Thus, 4 gold coins for a project like the carriage leaf spring suspension, or any other similarly sized small project.
If a project needed extra help, as in the case of a large project like the wire workshop, Lansius used military personnel on rotation. Thus, apart from his standing army, which drained most of his income, Lansius had no other financial concerns.
On the contrary, his cash flow was strong. Just last week, one of his long-running plans had struck gold.
His plan for the noble quarter was more than just a single layer. At a deeper level, it was a real estate strategy. The land he selected was not only suitable but also surrounded by and accessible only through lands still held by his barony. This guaranteed that all sales would go directly to him.
And he didn''t mean the land sale for Lord Robert or Jorge.
The noble quarter plan had single-handedly raised the price of the surrounding land, turning iron into gold. After sending out invitations to wealthy merchants and guilds, through their agents, they competed fiercely for the most strategically located plots along the main road leading to the noble districts.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Given Korelia¡¯s status as the new capital and a hub of regional governance, the established families¡ªold money from generations of trade¡ªreadily invested significant sums. They anticipated good trade or hoped that land prices would continue to rise. Furthermore, many saw this as an opportunity to elevate their status, aiming to join the nobility by marrying off their sons or daughters. Thus, their investments were driven not only by commerce but also by visibility, prestige of living close to the high nobility, and the added security.
In just three days of bidding, Lansius secured over 700 gold coins for 23 modestly sized properties, averaging 31 gold coins per plot¡ªmore cash than he had earned from one of his wars. Some buyers were successful knights or esquires, while others were wealthy grain merchants, cloth merchants, firewood traders, or spice importers.
Lansius still had other plots to sell, which he would offer on a case-by-case basis.
On another front, Lansius had already repurposed one of his buildings to serve as the city¡¯s library. Although literacy in this medieval world was generally limited to the nobility and the wealthy, the public library provided open access to anyone able to read. While the average peasant might not directly benefit from a library full of books, for those who could read, it opened up a world of possibilities.
Lansius believed that education was a ladder of opportunity for those willing to climb it. He hoped that it would spur more people to learn to read and help build the city''s nascent educated population. Without them, Korelia would be hard-pressed to meet its growing need for talent.
By opening a public library, he demonstrated that education was not limited to the nobles and the rich. Additionally, he wanted to show that learning offered benefits beyond securing a job. Books provided another form of entertainment, one that didn''t rely on others to perform, unlike minstrels, theatrical plays, or dancers.
He hoped that enough people would be attracted so that when the school for commoners opened next year, many would sign up. Lansius understood that merely building a school wouldn''t be enough. The normal process would require a lot of patience and time for the populace to embrace the costly nature of education.
Thus, the preliminary work to encourage and entice the population needed to be put in place before the school opened. Lansius wanted the Korelians to be eager to study. Thus, while the newly opened public library might currently seem empty, it had already served its purpose. Moreover, it boosted Korelia''s prestige as the future capital of the Grand Alliance.
Having a public facility was a symbol of prestige, especially in a faraway region like Lowlandia. A library would attract scholars and foster self-study among the populace. It was also a welcoming gesture to the people who would move to Korelia next year, along with the neighboring lords'' households.
Despite the rather ambitious project, Lansius remained grounded. He knew that turning a library into a center of learning would likely be a generational project, not something that would achieve immediate success.
The chosen site for the library building was not far from the market. It was in an area that could be visited by nobles, dignitaries, and commoners alike. It was a sizable two-story building, originally designed as a house that had been confiscated due to the city''s fiery past.
Lansius chose this place instead of the nobles'' quarter because he didn''t want the establishment to be exclusive. Although several offers had been made for the building, he instructed his staff to decline them because he felt it had the right atmosphere.
The large entrance and the cobbled road through the garden were grand and inviting without deterring commoners from entering. The main hall was set further back than usual and featured a lush garden that shielded it from the noise of the busy street. Meanwhile, the interior boasted a grand window where plenty of light could shine in, especially on the second floor, making it easier to read and keeping it well ventilated.
Moreover, the windows allowed people on the road to see others reading on the second floor, which Lansius hoped would further advertise the library. The building had been converted without issue. Its hall was now filled with shelves for books, tables, and chairs.
While preparing the building had been relatively straightforward, the main challenge persisted: books were hard to find. Lansius had donated books he found and acquired during his journey, but it was still a small collection. Thus, his select staff began searching for suitable books in the castle, the city, and the neighboring estates of knights, squires, and the wealthy.
As expected, they only found a small cache of books, which Lansius acquired for a small fortune or as favors. However, most of the Korelians were already familiar with their own tales or the famed stories of the heroes of the old Imperium. So, aside from several maps, tomes, and almanacs about constellations, geography, trade, constructions, and alchemy, the public library lacked appeal to the ordinary folk.
This was where Lansius had an advantage. As a modern person, he knew an immense number of stories from books and films he had consumed since childhood. Thus, he dictated children''s stories to his scribes, easily selecting four that he was familiar with based on their educational value.
He started with "The Boy Who Cried Wolf," a straightforward tale about honesty and trust, similar to a story known locally. Then he added "The Three Little Pigs," a story about three pigs who each built a house out of different materials (straw, sticks, and bricks) to protect themselves from the Big Bad Wolf.
Continuing with the theme of basic moral stories, he included "Pinocchio," focusing on honesty, and concluded with "The Little Mermaid," a tale of personal choice and consequences.
The four scrolls were read by the city''s announcer over several days in the public library''s garden to delighted children and curious adults. Branded as stories from the Lord of Korelia''s birthplace, they had drawn quite a crowd and helped popularize the newly transformed building.
Mesmerized by the tales, the audience craved for more. Having found its audience and momentum, Lansius and his scribes quickly added a fifth story, titled ''Felis in Wonderland.''
It was originally ''Alice in Wonderland,'' but Lansius had changed the name because ''Alice'' did not resonate with the populace. For this one, he had to use his imagination a lot since he couldn''t remember the story correctly, but he knew the general outline.
On the surface, it was a children''s story, but it also offered a deeper theme of identity. In a mad world, Alice remained true to herself and chose to return home instead of residing in that world. Somehow, Lansius found this fitting as the world was thrown into chaos with the decline of the Imperium.
The latest story satisfied the children who were happy to listen to the fantasy world, yet it left the growing number of older audience members unsatisfied. The castle staff even mentioned to Lansius their desire for a longer story with grander narratives than just children''s tales.
Feeling the time was right, Lansius summoned his scribes to the Eastern Mansion. He sat in his chair where he usually received guests and dignitaries, surrounded by scrolls, notes, and scribbles on the small table.
Having found the correct line, he dictated, "This is the story of the Kingdom of Troy. And of Paris, Helen, Achilles, Hector, Agamemnon, and Odysseus."
The youngest scribe, the fastest writer, wrote it on a scroll. The other two checked and assisted with the work in whispers. This was the draft of Lansius'' version of the ''Iliad,'' which, embarrassingly, might be closer to the popular version than the original.
Lansius constantly looked at his note. The "Iliad" was so vast that Lansius had trouble retelling it without missing important details. Yet, he couldn''t help but wonder why this memory was still intact despite the trouble of recalling his own birth name and mother''s face.
With a clear face and steady look, the most senior scribe glanced at Lansius, hinting that they were ready to continue.
"Please, a different note, I just recalled a good quote," Lansius closed his eyes.
Accustomed to the Lansius'' style, the young scribe readily used a different scroll.
"It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death, all things appear fair," Lansius recalled with his eyes still closed. "But when dogs shame the gray head and gray chin and the nakedness of an old man killed, it is the most piteous thing that happens among wretched mortals."
He opened his eyes and saw that two of the oldest scribes had exchanged glances, likely struck by the depth of the quote. This was a huge leap from the five children''s stories.
If only I remembered Homer''s words, so I could give them the original, not my cheap retelling...
However, changing it was necessary since the people of this world didn''t recognize the Pantheon, so Lansius omitted most of the Olympian Gods'' presence in the story.
In the presence of Audrey, who was curious to witness the process, Lansius continued with the story until it was time to retire.
"Lans," Audrey called when they were alone in their personal quarters. "I know these are stories from your birthplace, but I can''t help but feel you''re so enthusiastic about them."
Lansius smiled while changing his clothes. "Listening to a story is a good way to pass the time, isn''t it?"
"I could understand that," Audrey nodded. "Is this another one of your preparations for winter?"
Lansius'' smile turned into a smirk. "You''re getting sharper, you know."
Audrey grinned. "There''s always another layer to your moves."
"How about loving you?" he quipped.
"Now that is still a mystery," she said, knitting her brow.
Lansius laughed.
It was Audrey who returned to the topic. "If the stories are for winter, how about assigning them to the billets and the labor camps? You know they could use more entertainment."
"Certainly. Thanks for reminding me to send copies to them," Lansius said. "I''ve yet to tell Sir Justin to find literate people from the labor camp; we need them to read the stories."
"Obviously," Audrey remarked in agreement. "That''ll keep their minds off their homes this winter. However, I''m not sure this is purely for their entertainment."
Lansius nodded with a thin smile. "Is that question led by instinct or experience?"
Audrey turned smug and bragged, "The Great Noyan of Lowlandia''s mind is like an open book to his humble wife."
"Only the first few pages," Lansius quipped as he approached her for a hug.
"So I''m right, there''s a deeper layer to it?" she asked even as they embraced.
"You are correct," he praised. "There''s also a plan for a shared identity."
Nationalism...
Yet there was no word for it in this world. They continued to embrace, and Lansius said, "I missed you. I still occasionally glance to the right and am momentarily confused as to why I can''t find you there."
"I hope that''s not a man''s honeyed words," she said with a sweet face. "And stop looking at Carla like that; she must be confused."
Lansius stifled a laugh. "How''s the baby?"
"Just like yesterday, there''s barely a noticeable bump, but they told me to eat a lot so the baby can grow faster."
"Oh, you certainly consented to that. I could notice the smell of duck eggs."
"Really?" Audrey looked embarrassed.
Lansius couldn''t stifle his laugh and guffawed. That daring joke earned him a disappointed look from Audrey. She then changed the subject, "I heard you offered the guild a site for a brothel."
"I..." he then realized what it implied. "Hang on, don''t jump to conclusions."
Audrey sat down, clearly for effect. "Well, it''s a whole year of pregnancy, so I could understand. I doubt the Great Noyan can withstand temptation, especially when you admitted to me that you''re bad with it."
He sat down and played along with her game. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad. And that was when I was unmarried, mind you.¡±
She furrowed her brow, looking at him playfully. ¡°And what about Felis?¡± she asked.
¡°Felis? She¡¯s in Wonderland; best not to disturb her,¡± Lansius replied lightly.
Audrey burst into giggles. Once she composed herself, she complained, ¡°Seriously, why not name it something else? Even my name would be better than Felis.¡±
"Huh?" Lansius was taken aback. "Why do you say that?"
"Lans, multiple maids, even Lady Astrid have whispered about it. Some suggest it might reflect your repressed feelings toward Lady Felicity."
Lansius gulped. "I never saw it that way. I better consult with Farkas tomorrow."
"It''s not that important to require Farkas'' assistance. But seriously, I can''t leave you alone. Not with the scribes."
Lansius sighed. "I should''ve used the original name."
Audrey smiled and gently leaned her head against his shoulder to reassure him of her trust. In response, Lansius tenderly wrapped his arm around her, but as he did, a slight grimace crossed her face. He paused, carefully examined her right upper arm, which showed signs of redness. "You''ve been practicing!"
"Just some arm exercises," she reassured him quickly, pulling her arm away gently.
"Drey, you should tell me--"
She kissed him abruptly and whispered, ¡°You know, the maids have taught me a few things¡¡± Then, with a shy smile, she added, ¡°About other ways to keep a husband happy, even during pregnancy.¡±
¡°That sounds ominous,¡± Lansius protested, though he couldn¡¯t help but notice her ears turning red.
Audrey turned at the candle on the table and muttered something before waving her arm. He could hear wind noises before the candle was extinguished. There was no scent of burning as it was an expensive wax candle.
"You can do that?" Lansius asked in surprise.
"I''m trying something here," she protested in the dark.
"I-I''ll be quiet."
"You just killed the mood," she said with a giggle.
"No worries. I can always fix your mood," he said confidently. Even in the dark, he gently made her comfortable on the bed, and the two made the best use of their time without endangering the pregnancy.
...
Morning came, and for the first time in weeks, he felt refreshed. Audrey was already dressed and waiting for him quietly, sitting at the bedside. "Morning," she said.
"Does the Lord of Korelia need to wake up today?" Lansius quipped, still with a parched throat.
Audrey rose to fetch a drink. "I wish I had better news, but there are things that need your attention."
"I don''t like the sound of that. How bad?" he asked from the bed.
"A messenger from Midlandia," she reported.
Lansius drew a deep breath, his mind still hazy.
"And a hawk from Nicopola," she added, offering him a goblet of water.
"Good news and bad news," he quipped, taking the drink and sipping it halfway. "How about flying away today and forgetting about them?" he teased.
"Oh, I like the sound of that," she said with a mischievous smile, daring him to do it.
Lansius chuckled and dragged himself from the bed. "Okay, fine. I''ll face them head-on."
***
Chapter 160 : Frost Against Fire
Chapter 160
Frost Against Fire
Midlandia
A thick scent of incense permeated the chamber, an exotic aroma derived from precious agarwood known for its therapeutic qualities. Without being overwhelming, the rich scent soothed nerves and eased anxiety for both the host and the lone guest. This was a meeting of great importance, where issues that couldn''t be resolved through letters were discussed in person.
Sunlight was allowed to penetrate only a small spot on the wooden floor, providing just enough light to navigate the room yet insufficient to reveal their faces. The atmosphere was thus brooding, but the guest, who arrived last night, deemed it necessary. He preferred the place to be intentionally dark as a precaution, despite being on the second floor of a private manor amidst vast lands.
Sounds of steps from outside alerted them. The host, a charming and well-dressed man, quickly approached the leather-clad door and opened it to a slit. His men whispered from outside.
The lone guest kept waiting on a long bench with a soft seat. His reddened eyes were ever watchful, and his broad shoulders tensed, making him look more like a fighter than a spy.
Silently, the host closed the padded door and turned to face the guest. "It¡¯s been done," he said to allay the guest''s inquisitive gaze. "Tomorrow, forces from eleven baronies will march toward Lubina City to support Sir Reginald''s nomination. They have the backing of thirty-four knights and nearly two hundred cavalry."
"A large show of forces... merely for a distraction," the guest commented dryly.
"It is extravagant," the host concurred as he returned to his seat. "But Sir Reginald insists on no bloodshed, and this is the only way..."
"A complete show of power," the guest mused.
"Do you think it''ll work?" the host asked.
The guest looked at the dark ceiling and inhaled the rich scent of agarwood deeply. "It should paralyze the city and Lubina Castle. Then again, you have little to fear. The Lord of Midlandia seeks only to live as he wishes."
"The problem lies with the guards and close entourage," the host revealed while pouring himself spiced wine.
"They''ll fall. There''s only so much they can do if their lord lacks resolve."
Nodding satisfactorily, the host then asked, "What''s the current Lord''s problem, anyway?"
"Aside from being spoiled?" the guest let out a derisive snort. "The man wants a carefree life in his villa and vineyard. Also, he knows that Bengrieve is using his House as a puppet, and he doesn¡¯t want that. His noble heart desires a clear conscience."
The host listened but reserved his judgment, asking instead, "Do you think we can keep the bloodshed to a minimum?"
"I deal in information, not probabilities," the guest replied, refusing to speculate.
"Fair enough," the host raised his goblet and drank.
The guest turned to the darkened window momentarily before returning to meet the host''s gaze. "Have you really told Sir Reginald what he¡¯s up against by sending threats to Korelia?"
"I have," the host looked troubled by the question. "There¡¯s no point in bringing it up now. The messenger has probably reached Korelia."
The guest slumped his head despite his thick neck. "I had high hopes for Sir Reginald. But this... This is a huge mistake." For the first time since last night, he shot a murderous gaze toward the host. "It''s madness, do you hear me?"
"I-it''s best to focus on Bengrieve¡ª"
"You''re mad to think anyone can manage Lansius after Bengrieve!" the guest''s voice was full of scorn. "Haven¡¯t you read the reports? Don¡¯t you see how impossible and brilliant his victories are?"
Calming himself, the host took another gulp of spiced wine.
The guest wasn''t finished. "For a nobody to dominate Lowlandia, breaking the squabbling lords and uniting them in just one year... Sir Reginald and you; you''re all fools to let this happen. The repercussions will be severe."
Frowning, the host''s face turned sour as he paced in circles. "Surely there''s something we can do. Could his grand tales of victories be mere fabrications?"
The man chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking. "You think the Lion of Lowlandia was conquered by mere rumors?"
"He¡¯s Arvenian, like his wife. Can''t we hold his lord or family hostage?"
"I doubt he has that much loyalty toward Arte of Arvena. As for his family, I know Bengrieve is attempting something to that effect, but I''ve found nothing."
The host shot a questioning gaze.
"The trail''s gone cold," the guest clarified. "Either he got to them, or they''re already dead."
"Then there¡¯s no point in discussing Lansius now," the host said dismissively. "We''ll have a better opportunity for that later. Right now, it¡¯s Lubina and then Cascasonne."
Exhaling noisily, the guest stopped pressing the issue.
The host approached the table, and at this close range, one could appreciate his finely tailored tunic and extravagant silken coat, despite the dimness of the chamber. He poured spiced wine from a silver pewter into a polished goblet. "Even if Sir Reginald started poorly, he can mend his stance later. Midlandia is rich, and we can offer wealth to placate a growing warlord."
After ensuring the color in the silver goblet hadn¡¯t changed¡ªa habit from his profession¡ªthe guest drank deeply and then reluctantly nodded to the host. "I suppose we can buy Lansius."
"Good thinking. It might be a good deal. He can keep those Lowlandian lords from marauding our border." The host regained his confidence. "And if he can¡¯t be bought, we can send assassins."
"The hunter guild might prove hard to convince. However," the guest paused before revealing, "I know that Bengrieve has sleeper agents in Korelia."
"Then poison is all we need to send," the host said, his tone disgustingly cheerful.
Meanwhile, the guest allowed his strong body to slump into his soft seat. He didn¡¯t urge or dissuade and preferred to change the subject. "Earlier, you asked about dealing with Bengrieve?"
"Tell me." The host dragged his chair closer and sat down.
"Our best bet is to proceed with the winter plan."
The host nodded with a thin smile at the corner of his lips. "I shall make it happen."
"Sell your soul to Saint Candidate Nay if you have to," the guest said ominously.
The host stood up. "I''ll sell myself to her if I have to. For equality."
Still slouching, the guest looked at him disinterestedly, his lips parted as if mocking. "As long as ''equal'' means I''ll keep the title and the land you promised."
"You shall have it. Great merit warrants great reward."
The guest''s lips turned firm, his shoulder muscle tensed as he said, "Keep your word. I don¡¯t betray my benefactor for silver and copper."
***
Francisca
This morning, the court of Korelia welcomed messengers from Midlandia. As a squire to Sir Harold, the unofficial Champion of the Lord of Korelia, Francisca was permitted to join the court. However, to avoid drawing attention, she chose to observe from a secluded corner along with other staff members. From there, they listened to the brief exchange of pleasantries, and she noted that the guest spoke of no gift¡ªsignifying questionable intentions.
"It''s a long journey from Midlandia," Lord Lansius spoke, his tone guarded yet nonchalant, as if the matter held little importance to him.
"We bring a message from Sir Reginald, the future Lord of Midlandia."
The claim stirred murmurs among the audience. Francisca met Cecile''s gaze; the two were in the front row of the secluded corner. Next, they heard the messenger''s confident stride, likely as he offered the letter, but the Lord commanded, "Read it."
In front of everyone, the messenger broke the seal and read:
"To the powers in Korelia,
As per our last correspondence, we have extended our courtesies in a noble enterprise to quell dissidents and bring order to the realm. We have set forth considerable expectations and offered a generous sum to secure your intentions. However, we have yet to receive word from Korelia. We find this lack of enthusiasm most alarming, if not a distinctly unwelcoming development. Surely, there must be some misunderstanding.
Unless the rumors are true that the power in Korelia is merely a henchman of Sir Bengrieve? We would not wish to believe so, lest your esteemed achievements in securing the city become the subject of mockery.
We expect a swift response from you.
Be advised that we cannot afford the same generosity in times of crisis. Please convey your honored words before winter. Otherwise, we are compelled to secure your cooperation by any means necessary. Soliciting your allies'' cooperation, as well as a personal visit to the south bearing all the banners of Midlandia, is not beyond our consideration.
With unwavering intent,
Reginald of Midlandia."
The open threat was blatant. Francisca could hear the tone of displeasure and anger swelling among the crowd in the chamber. Even Cecile, slight of build and usually composed, was visibly fuming.
I could understand Ingrid since she''s a mage or Lady Audrey. But her? Humans are indeed bold beyond their physique.
A familiar voice thundered through the hall, "How dare you utter that in this honored hall!"
"At ease," the Lord''s voice boomed. "That includes you, Sirs, as well." His answer was cold and calculated. "There is time for violence, but it is not now. Not yet."
Several men growled in displeasure. It was clear that many were enraged.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The Lord''s composed demeanor seemed to embolden the messenger, who stated, "Midlandia wishes for a speedy response."
"You desire a swift response?" the Lord retorted, his tone subtly vicious. Francisca could almost see the smirk playing on the Lord''s lips.
"Yes, My Lord," the messenger replied boldly.
"Then, I''ll give you one right now. Scribe," Lord Lansius called, signaling for his attendant.
Hurried footsteps were heard. "My Lord," the voice of an old scribe was heard.
"Write for me a reply," the Lord instructed.
"At once."
"To whom it may concern,
The power in Korelia wants you to know:
First, Lowlandia stands indifferent to your petty grievances and desperate pleas.
Second, we extend the same courtesy. We welcome you and your host to Lowlandia at any time.
Third, the next messenger who brings threats shall learn the art of nomadic lanterns. He will illuminate the Great Plains, burning from feet to forehead.
With pride,
Lord Bengrieve''s Most Successful Henchman."
Francisca heard snorts, murmurs of agreement, and even short bursts of chuckles echoing through the hall. She unknowingly smiled, her sharp fangs bared. Glancing at Cecile, she noticed her chest was puffed out¡ªan unmistakable sign of her support for Lord Lansius'' bold response.
The second messenger spoke earnestly, "We beseech your cooperation, please seek wise counsel, O power in Low¡ª"
"My Lord," the old scribe raised his voice, interrupting. "The letter and the wax," he announced, his tone brimming with an unexpected glee.
The hall erupted in subdued chatter. The old scribe''s bold interruption of a noble messenger over something as mundane as a letter and wax seal delighted the crowd.
"My esteemed guest," Sir Justin, the Marshal, declared with a jovial air, "perchance you are unaware that the Lord of Korelia was born endowed with wisdom? As such, this renders further counsel superfluous," he added, subtly dismissing their plea while exerting pressure.
Sir Harold quickly added with a mocking tone, "Well, well, it appears you shall be on the road again. We must not keep your new master awaiting that swift reply." A dry chuckle punctuated his words.
Before the messenger could utter a reply, another voice sprang to life. It was likely Sir Michael''s, who offered warmly, "Come, let me escort you to the gate."
"You''ll regret this," the messenger warned, his voice heavy with foreboding. "Midlandia will not forget."
"Leave," came another voice, commanding and authoritative. "Or you''ll spend the night with the ducks, as is customary for the bringer of threats in Korelia," Sir Omin warned grimly.
The guests made a lot of noise as they stormed out of the Great Hall. Behind them, the halls erupted in laughter.
"I didn''t know there''s a custom like that?" Francisca mused aloud to Cecile.
"There isn''t. Sir Omin is just making stuff up."
"Ah!" the half-breed exclaimed, and then the two giggled.
...
Cecile
Francisca and Cecile left the hall after the messenger had left. The Lord was slated to meet one of Batu''s confidants in the field for a demonstration of his newest creation. Only a few were privy to it, and Cecile only knew because the Lord and Calub kept her informed.
Cecile was now a full-fledged chamberlain in charge of the day-to-day operations of Korelia Castle and House Lansius. She had become indispensable in Korelia''s growing bureaucracy.
"I''m curious," Francisca remarked as they walked down the corridor. "Isn''t Midlandia a powerful province?"
"They are powerful," Cecile answered. "But the people of Lowlandia will not bow to Midlandian threats."
"But your hair¡ªI believe you originated from the far north."
"Oh, my family has been in Lowlandia for four generations, so we don¡¯t think of ourselves as Northerners anymore."
"I see," Francisca nodded.
Cecile smiled, enjoying the tall, fluffy, and friendly company. "So, what do you think about the messenger?"
"An uneducated man," the half-breed said, stifling a laugh. "Hasn¡¯t he ever heard the proverb: Wise is the wanderer who lets the beastman lie?"
"''For rousing him from slumber will surely bring tragedy upon his own head,''" Cecile completed the quote.
Francisca gave a smile of approval.
"So, what do you think of Lord Lansius?" Cecile asked.
The fluffy squire grinned before whispering, "Don¡¯t tell anyone, but he¡¯s a far worse threat than a beastman."
Her eyes widened. "How so?"
The half-breed pondered momentarily before saying, "For example, My Lord Beatrix isn¡¯t afraid of any Nicopolans, but she is guarded toward Lord Lansius."
Cecile''s eyes sharpened as she asked, "Is this why Umberland allowed the free company to operate in the mountain pass?"
"You''re well-informed," Francisca said and softly wagged her tail. "Indeed, that was probably the case. Without Lord Lansius at the helm, Lord Beatrix felt the threat was manageable. Unless someone like Lord Avery decided that Umberland is worth the trouble."
Knowing that even Francisca held Avery in high regard piqued Cecile''s interest. "Is the Lord of Dawn a threat?"
"Certainly. He''s capable and powerful. But right now, he needs us."
Cecile nodded. Indeed, just today there was a hawk message from Lord Avery along with reports from Nicopola. She recalled there had never been a representative of the Hunter''s Guild in Korelia, but now, because Lord Avery wished it, one was stationed here. It was the mark of a highly influential house. Thus, she made a mental note to consult with Farkas, who had received more funding and instructions to train the Lord''s eyes and ears.
"Of all the Lords in this land, it¡¯s humbling to hear that it was Lord Beatrix who truly understood how capable Lord Lansius is," Cecile said as they arrived at the side door leading to the castle''s surrounding area. They needed to part ways there, as both had different obligations.
"Our tribes have good ears for listening," Francisca quipped. Then, tinged with pity, she added, "Humans should put in more effort too. Don¡¯t be like that Midlandia messenger. Threatening a warlord this capable is asking for a short life¡ªand this is coming from us, who live half your age."
"You¡¯re still young," Cecile assured her firmly.
"When your son is old enough to marry, I''ll probably be as old as a grandmother."
"Then you''ll become my child¡¯s other grandmother," Cecile said warmly.
Unexpectedly, Francisca''s face lit up with happiness. "Looking forward to that," she replied tenderly.
***
Omin
Two nights after the event with the messenger, Sir Omin found respite as he returned to his land and manor, awarded to him in exchange for his surrender and service.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, he worked hard and diligently, observing details that only someone with experience in leading a realm could discern. Moreover, as the newest retainer to the Lady of Korimor, Omin felt a pressing need to prove himself. With competent talents so scarce in Korelia, he believed he stood a fair chance of securing a high office.
After perusing documents from Korimor, Omin was now focused on a different task: addressing the weekly needs of Korelia. This task clearly came not from the Lady but from the Lord.
So he wanted me to give a second opinion?
Bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, Omin pondered over the myriad records spread before him in his chamber. Even at a glance, he could tell that along with wheat, charcoal and firewood would need to be imported from neighboring regions.
Anticipating that the Lord might quiz him on potential sources, Omin scrutinized the records before murmuring to himself, "To whoever can supply it the cheapest."
However, he also suspected that if Lord Lansius'' project to plant windbreaker trees succeeded, it might eventually allow them to produce more firewood locally.
"Ominus," Hilda called softly.
"Yes, dear?" Omin paused his work, turning to her. Despite her steely gaze, his wife had a soft-hearted nature that she often concealed as it would have been seen as unbecoming of her stature.
"I''m really happy that you decided to stay in Korelia," she said, sitting close to his chair at the corner of the bed.
Grasping her hand, Omin felt a reassuring warmth flow between them. "I believe that¡¯s what the Lord and Lady expect of me," he began, pausing to look deeply into her eyes. "Despite their clear need for my expertise in Korimor, they still haven¡¯t placed their full trust in me." He sighed softly, choosing not to mention how overworked he was in Korimor or that it was his own decision to follow the Lord and Lady to Korelia.
"Trust is earned, dear. It''s not something you just ask for," she reminded him gently.
Omin responded with a smile, though tiredness was evident on his face. Looking at Hilda, whose long brown hair was covered with a simple black linen veil¡ªthe color of the new House Korimor¡ªhe asked, "Have the manor staff treated you well?"
"Yes, Lady Audrey might seem scary on the outside, but she''s quite caring. Several times, she has sent her retainer to inquire about the manor and whether the boy or I lack anything."
Omin nodded, his expression one of relief. He remembered his first visit to the manor, nestled between Korelia and White Lake, a place both scenic and orderly. "She''s good-hearted," he reflected aloud, his voice tinged with regret, "just wronged and has endured a hard life."
Hilda looked at him with an understanding smile. "Every time you speak of her, you seem ashamed or embarrassed."
He looked at her. "It''s because of my father. What he did to her family was utterly sickening."
Hilda rose and wrapped her arms around Omin''s shoulders to comfort him. "I heard the lord of the city once said when he was in the mountains of Umberland, that: He''s not a man who blames someone for their brother''s mistakes."
Omin was amused. "He should be," he commented. "Anything less, and I''ll be disappointed in him."
Hilda giggled. "Oh, Ominus. I''m so glad you''re with us tonight. Can you stay for long?"
"Just for two nights, I''m afraid. I don''t want our new masters to grow suspicious." He then added, "If you want, I could find a house in town."
Hilda shook her head. "That''s not necessary. The money is better off for our son''s future."
He recalled something and said, "I read there''s a plan for officer''s housing in the city, perhaps if you don''t mind living in a smaller house¡ª"
"I do," she replied without hesitation. "I''ll shoulder my part, but promise me that you''ll also do what you can to tie ourselves to the Lady''s House. Do it for our son."
Omin smiled. He felt fortunate to have someone like Hilda at his side. "I''ll do it for you, our son, and myself," he reassured her. "Retirement doesn''t suit me at all. I want to achieve something grand for our House, so people will remember me for my deeds, not my failure."
***
East Tiberia
In the utter darkness before dawn, the commander of this city, endearingly nicknamed the Bald Eagle, sat alone on a wooden chair atop the ramparts. His vigilant gaze sweeping the horizon, while many of his exhausted sentries had succumbed to sleep. Even his selected personal guards were sprawled across the stone floor, asleep.
The situation had become so desperate that the old and wounded were now used as night watch¡ªand the Bald Eagle was both. Despite his meticulous full plate armor, he was battered and had broken his ankle, barely surviving thanks to his men''s valiant rescue during a rush on the battlement he defended.
Since Lord Gottfried''s arrival, they had withstood eleven grueling days of siege. Marking a shift from their earlier tactics of night attacks, the Northerners now launched their assaults at the break of first light. The fighting was relentless, with desperation evident on both sides.
This small city boasted no riches, but it was the gate to the Capital. Without securing it, the Northerners already stretched and taxed supply line in Tiberia would be compromised.
Yet, the defenders'' situation was equally desperate. Promises of relief had never materialized; only a small patrol had shown up from the sister cities, but they were too few to challenge or harass the overwhelming Northerner army.
Worse, against all odds, the weather had turned for the better. There was no chill wind as before, and the air had a certain dryness. Tonight, he even wore his fur coat loosely. Despite his skepticism, he couldn¡¯t help but recall rumors he had once heard from his knight master, that a group of powerful mages could temper the weather.
Against the odds, the commander smirked in the dark. "At least we don¡¯t have a food problem anymore," he muttered to himself. The casualty rate was high enough that they had no more than ninety able fighters left, down from six hundred.
He wasn''t disillusioned; he didn¡¯t expect his men to be slaughtered to the last man. Once there were too few defenders, the people would push them to surrender. There were influential people in the city¡ªwealthy merchants and landowners¡ªwho would gladly shift sides to Gottfried if they could maintain their assets. And word was that Gottfried was generous toward them.
The old man sighed, realizing he could only hold out for eleven days, far from the month he had envisioned.
He had to admit that his opponent was more than just a puppet of the Northerners, unlike the portrayal by the Imperium letters. Gottfried was highly capable, having effectively utilized men from other provinces to conduct the siege. Meanwhile, his superb Northerner cavalry kept everyone at bay. His logistical prowess was also clearly evident, keeping this large army well-fed.
Despite the failing situation, the Bald Eagle wasn''t angry with anyone, not even with the one hundred sages who likely held back the relief force. He was wise enough to understand that political support was also a part of the fortunes of war.
His only regrets were the deaths of his many comrades, men he had rallied and encouraged to join the city''s defense. They had all lost their lives. Even the young knight, whose company he had greatly enjoyed, had been slain, fighting to his last breath as his section was overrun¡ªnot once, but twelve times in the last four days.
The old man looked to the stars in the night sky and lamented, "If only I had more men to spare."
"Nobody can bring back the dead," came a soothing answer from behind.
The Bald Eagle turned but did not raise the alarm. He saw a slender young woman with long brown hair approaching the rampart''s wall in front of them. He didn''t recognize her and found it odd, as she had a unique charm that could make his troops fall in love with her easily. Yet, his instincts told him she was not ordinary. There was an unnerving calmness in her eyes, the kind one only gains through experience.
Following his instincts, the commander said, "I apologize for my ramblings. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
"I''m just a wandering hat-maker," she replied, quietly observing the darkness beyond the ramparts. Normally, one might think she was watching the opponent''s campfires, but no, based on her focused gaze, he was sure she could see in the dark.
"Duly noted," he said before adding, "Please excuse my rambling again, but am I facing a Royal Mage?"
"Aren''t you the commander?" she asked in return humorlessly without clarifying, her eyes still fixed on the enemy camp shrouded in darkness.
"Perhaps the Ancients blessed me today?" he wondered aloud, trying to coax a response from her.
"Perhaps," she gave a tepid reply.
"Will this city survive?" he asked plainly, as a dry wind blew across his face.
"I''m sure the people are rooting for your victory." She turned toward him, her eyes unnervingly calm for someone her age. "Please entertain a foolish youngster like me, what do you need to stop this war?"
Her tone was overly confident, almost as if she was a peddler with goods ready to be sold. "Winter, heavy snowfall," the Bald Eagle answered, unembarrassed.
"I see," she nodded, turning toward the sky.
The old man followed her gaze, but another dry wind blew into his face as if to instill some sense into him.
"There''s still time before dawn. Best if you get some rest, commander." The woman approached him and adjusted his fur coat, whispering. "Also, best to have a woolen blanket ready. Can''t have the defender of the Imperium get cold."
***
Chapter 161 : Shroud of Monarch
Chapter 161
Shroud of Monarch
Tiberia
As night settled over the large encampment, the rich glow of lanterns illuminated the inside of a large tent. There, the usual sternness of military life was all but dispelled. Every evening, the soldiers gathered around a makeshift stage where two young squires performed an exaggerated reenactment of their king''s first, famously unsuccessful attempt at horseback archery. The crowd roared with laughter, even as His Majesty sat among them on the same dirty carpet.
More absurdly, he stood up, jokingly defending himself, and even threw ale at the performers, who jumped and mockingly bickered like toddlers, much to the men''s amusement.
There was no hatred, only the fluidity of the scene as His Majesty sat down again, feigning fury while the men around him struggled to contain their laughter.
Someone brought him a simple wooden stool, and the king happily used it, making him stand out amongst the crowd. But it was a brutal setup for the next performance, where the squires depicted how the lord was balding, and every hairstyle he tried only made him look more comical.
The crowd roared and gasped for breath. The king made it worse by standing, frowning, and humorously caressing his receding hairline.
Many in the crowd could withstand this no longer and escaped, crawling out from the tent as their bellies hurt from laughing. It was a challenge, as many crowded around the tent to catch a glimpse of this cheap and crude entertainment.
Suddenly, the king burst out from the tent, saw the crowd, and put on a serious face. Turning to his escort, he exclaimed, "Make sure they all paid. I don''t get mocked for nothing!"
The crowd burst into laughter as the King of Brigantes was escorted back to his tent.
Despite all the open mockery, the men respected him. They knew it was all just an act to relieve the men from their boredom and fatigue. Because of this, he was well-loved. For the Northerners, this man was every bit fit for kingship. He had freed the Northern people and conquered his way to the very heart of the Imperium.
...
Gottfried
A wrinkled old man with a straight back and good posture walked into a lavish yet sensible tent. Many eyes from knights and squires followed him. He merely squinted to keep his monocle in place.
"Good morning, old man!" Gottfried greeted the old mage from his seat. "Care to share breakfast?" he offered, as his squire and servant quickly pulled up a chair and brought out a silver plate.
"Your Majesty, that''s not necessary. Forgive my intrusion, but your presence is required," the old man insisted.
Gottfried was puzzled, but the old man continued cryptically, "The weather is changing."
"Can''t be that bad, can it?" Gottfried expressed doubt but noticed the old mage''s anxiety. Without further questions, he wiped his hands on a cloth, slapped his simple hat over his baldness, and said to his guests, "Please continue without me."
A few of them rose, about to follow. "You don''t need to. It might be nothing," he added lightly while tossing his empty cup to his servant, who caught it easily.
In heavy escort, Gottfried and his entourage headed toward a cluster of bigger tents. His own tent was not the biggest, as he preferred not to make it easy for assassins to target him, having survived several attempts on his life.
While walking, Gottfried remarked to the old man, "Of all the things that could happen, yours is the one I least expected."
"Something absurd is happening," the old man blurted out. "Something totally unexpected."
"It can¡¯t be that bad," Gottfried tried to reassure him, but a chill wind blew past them, stunning everyone.
"It''s chilling," said the leading knight, a Northerner with long blond braided hair, to the old mage, who nodded back. "That''s why I''m urging Your Majesty to come."
"Are your men slacking?" another knight asked with distrust.
"On the contrary, we''re doing everything we can, but it''s not effective."
"Calm down. Let me be the judge of that," Gottfried waved them off and picked up his pace, smiling easily. While alarmed by the unexpected weather, he took it like a bad joke and maintained a carefree attitude. To him, nothing really mattered much¡ªnot the conquest, not his kingship, not even the Imperium.
From his youth, Gottfried had found great satisfaction in becoming the people''s enabler, starting with his siblings, then his parents, his House, and finally the Northerners. He saw the will of the people as the universal goal, something that required no external validation.
His stance was noble, held with such conviction that the reasoning behind actions and even the outcomes themselves mattered little to him. To Gottfried, results were merely the culmination of efforts. Failure, loss, or defeat were simply byproducts, not endpoints. He firmly believed that if one wanted to ride a horse, then one should ride properly and ride well. Whether he arrived late or not at all was beside the point.
He even believed that just as the death of his close supporter held as a hostage did not diminish the value of his victories, his triumphs similarly did not validate his cause.
As they arrived at a grand looking tent, Gottfried¡¯s entourage quickly formed a perimeter, bolstering the guards already there. Inside, the tent was uniquely designed with a wide ceiling opening at the center, beneath which nestled a massive colorful crystal on a sturdy cart.
Around this great gemstone, a dozen mages were positioned, some standing, others sitting. Typically, only a few chanted at a time, but now, almost all of them were chanting, seemingly in desperation.
Gottfried called lightheartedly to one of the mages, whose sister he had taken as a concubine, "What happened?"
"Your Majesty, something is happening. Without reason, the weather is changing," the younger mage reported with great concern.
"Not only that, the change is too fast and this is impossible," the older mage added, his monocle almost slipping if not for his quick reflex.
"Mm, what could cause such a thing?" Gottfried asked, stroking his chin.
"Something that cannot be challenged even by tens of mages working together..." the younger mage muttered.
"There is none that could," the old man stated firmly, yet his tone was filled with doubt and fear.
Gottfried was piqued. "Then this is more than an abnormality, a freak weather?"
The older mage answered, "From the start, we expected some unpredictable issues due to the scale of this operation, but something like this¡ª"
One of the mages who was chanting suddenly lost his footing, and three apprentices immediately rushed to tend to the man.
Gottfried and the rest noticed how pale the fainted mage was. He counted five mages being tended to at the corner on makeshift beds.
"What happened to him?" a knight asked.
"He''s overtaxing himself," the young mage answered, while the older one urged, "Your Majesty, we''re holding the weather as best as we could, but you must understand that winter is coming."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Gottfried said nothing, more curious about what caused this than the consequences.
"But there are more than thirty mages in here, not to mention the apprentices," the knight said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Surely you can alter the weather like last time?"
"You know, it''s possible that the Capital finally decided to send their Royal Mages," Gottfried mused, drawing everyone''s attention.
At his assertion, his cup-bearer, a childhood friend and confidant, pointed out, "I doubt the Capital would march the Royal Mages, especially when over a quarter of the bureaucrats wanted to switch sides."
"Indeed, not to mention an equal number were taking bribes." Gottfried nodded at his charming yet modest friend. "But if it''s not them, then who?"
The two mages exchanged glances uneasily.
"Your Majesty, I''m afraid there''s no point in that line of reasoning," his cup-bearer suggested.
"He''s right," the knight spoke, then gazed toward the mages. "How long will the good weather last?"
The older mage replied, "I''m afraid four days is the best we can do. Maybe even less."
The knight glanced at Gottfried, who then instructed the old mage, "Do your best. Perhaps I need to remind you that this campaign was solely enabled by your suggestion that you could delay winter long enough for us to achieve a breakthrough. I even paid handsomely to acquire that great gemstone."
The two bowed their heads in embarrassment.
Gottfried gazed at the old mage with a smirk on his lips. "Make sure to give it your best; otherwise, I might just approve the Countess''s wishes."
The old mage''s expression turned sour, his monocle digging into his cheek as he muttered, "Anyone but her."
"You too," Gottfried warned the younger mage. "There are many Northerners who would want a mage as a husband or son-in-law. I can always match you with the highest bidder."
"We''ll do our best," the younger mage pleaded, sweating profusely, as Gottfried and his entourage left the tent.
As he stepped outside, the cup-bearer asked, "Do you think you can conquer that city in just four days?"
Gottfried shrugged. "The Military Manual says that taking a small, well-defended city will cost more than a thousand lives for a paltry result. It advises leaders to avoid attacking such cities. Even starving them out isn''t an option due to their naturally small population. However, we''ve proceeded with this approach because we had no other options."
The cup-bearer nodded and stopped asking, not wanting to seem influential.
Despite that, Gottfried continued, musing, "We''re going to lose a lot of Inglesians and Arvenians, but it''s not like we plan to keep many of them."
The knight beside them looked uneasy and spoke, "Shouldn''t we prepare to leave? We only have four days."
"Why? Would their deaths bother the Great Brigandia Chief?" Gottfried asked.
The knight exhaled noisily. "At first, they meant nothing to me. But some have become like brothers in battle."
"Then save those you want," Gottfried suggested. "March them out today; you have my permission." He then teased, "You know it would be easier if you just became my minister, or took the formal position as an Earl."
"Bah, what use is the Imperium''s title to me? I''m the chief of minor Brigandia, and that''s enough," the knight said.
"Then, my Sir chief of minor Brigandia, what are you planning to do now? Preparing for retreat?" Gottfried quipped, prompting a stifled chuckle from his cup-bearer.
Turning to the cup-bearer, the knight remarked, "You''ll see that the Northerner troops are well-equipped and well-suited to march in the snow." Then, to Gottfried, "We''ll be with you until your eventual retreat."
Gottfried chuckled, then looked up to set his eyes on the besieged city. "Nothing is set in stone. We shall see if the Inglesians and Arvenians can winter in this city, or perish in the coming winter, along with my hopes for a quick victory." And then, despite the precarious situation, he couldn''t resist quipping, "Do you know what they named the commander in that city?"
"Bald Eagle?" the knight furrowed.
"This will be the fight of the balds!" Gottfried remarked enthusiastically.
The solemnness and seriousness of his entourage shattered as they stifled their laughter while marching.
***
East Tiberia, Besieged City, Commander Bald Eagle
As the odd young woman had told him, the weather indeed turned colder. Despite his certainty that magic was involved, Bald Eagle said nothing and told no one. Instead, he simply introduced her as his latest caregiver, citing his injured ankle.
With that excuse, he shared his office with the person who introduced herself as Sagaria, a hat maker''s daughter from Centuria.
But the commander wasn''t merely trusting his instinct; he harbored some fear that Sagaria might be a fell beast due to her unnatural abilities. Thus, while she was resting in the guest chamber, the old man, limping, moved toward his chest, the only belonging he was able to keep with him during this botched campaign.
Inside, he found an inconspicuous silver necklace encrusted with a small milk-white gem. It was a gift from his uncle, and the rare gem was supposed to change color when near a mage. Moreover, it was believed to turn ochre in the presence of a fell beast.
It had proven its effectiveness once with a female Hunter, who revealed she had the gift of magic. Bald Eagle clutched the necklace and limped toward Sagaria¡¯s quarters; however, there was no reaction even as he touched it to the door. After a while, he sighed with relief.
He limped back to his chair only to hear a knock at the door, and his squire, with his left arm and wrist bandaged, entered. "Sir, the enemies are preparing for their assault," his voice was shaky with mixed emotion.
"Then help me with my armor," Bald Eagle said while watching his guard enter.
The personal guard, his stern face scarred and clad in battered full plate armor, said, "Sir, with your injuries, it''s best to leave the fighting to us."
"You can lead us from here. We''ll relay the news to you," the squire suggested.
"I can sit somewhere safe, don''t be dramatic," Bald Eagle insisted. "What kind of commander leads a defense from the safety of his chamber?"
His guard and squire were about to respond when the guest door opened. A fair-skinned young lady with a beautiful face walked in. "I apologize for interrupting, but the commander''s injury is no longer a concern."
Her statement piqued their curiosity, and they immediately looked at the commander''s ankle. Bald Eagle tried to flex it and discovered it was no longer painful. He had been limping to avoid pain, not realizing it had somehow healed. Glancing at Sagaria, he said, "I just realized it hasn¡¯t hurt like it used to."
"Are you a physician?" the guardsman asked urgently.
"Hold on, she¡¯s resting and¡ª"
"I¡¯m not a physician, but I can mend wounds since I''m good with needles," Sagaria said, despite the commander''s attempt to protect her.
The young squire beamed at her, while the guard added, "Please visit the infirmary; a lot of people need you," he repeated, his voice growing more earnest, "a lot of my dear friends need you."
The commander asked, "Are you sure? The situation in there is not for the faint-hearted. There''s a lot of blood and gruesome wounds."
Sagaria nodded without hesitation. The commander then said, "Then I''ll accompany you there myself before heading to the ramparts. Bless the Ancients for your skill set."
...
Sagarius
The commander and his men escorted Sagarius, who claimed to be Sagaria, to the infirmary. She was surprised to find the entire corridor transformed into a makeshift hospice. Injuries of all kinds surrounded her: many men were losing limbs, others had deep wounds, and some suffered from blood diseases.
"Are you okay?" the squire asked her gently.
"I''m fine," Sagarius responded, then turning to the commander, "You can leave me here."
"Are you sure?" Bald Eagle asked.
She nodded. Watching her, Bald Eagle instructed the squire, "If she''s not feeling well, escort her to her chamber."
The squire seemed reluctant, clearly wishing to be at the ramparts fighting, but Bald Eagle''s stern look silenced any complaints. "That is an order."
He nodded, and the commander turned to leave. Just before departing with the commander, the guardsman pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Sagarius. "Please, they''re all friends of mine. Help them," he said. With that, they left, leaving Sagarius and the squire with the wounded.
In her palm, Sagarius found four gold coins, a golden ring, and a gemstone. She nodded and bowed deeply, maintaining the demeanor expected of a hat-maker''s daughter.
"Best if we get started," Sagarius said to the squire, who replied, "Let me get you to the physician or his assistants, they must be resting. Mind you, they work late every day."
They walked down the corridor, which was lined on one side with wounded men lying on canvas or straw mattresses to protect them from the cold stone floor. Morning light barely penetrated the area, and the air was heavy with the smell of iron and a thin layer of incense, which did little to mask the putrid stench of urine and other wastes. The corridor was filled with the sounds of heavy, laborious breathing, muffled groans, and occasional cries.
As they walked, Sagarius began to softly chant, needing to focus all her faculties to perform a mass healing rite.
She sang the song taught by Mother, revered as the wisest Ancients. Though inaudible to those around her, everyone in the corridor gasped as an inexplicable feeling washed over them. Even the squire paused in his tracks, overwhelmed, and fell to his knees. The grunting and crying around them ceased as if everyone was experiencing a profound change.
The song itself had no magical properties; it was merely a lullaby. Yet, Sagarius used it to tap into her psyche and unlock her source of power. For the first time in ages, one of the last high elves in this world fully embraced her gift of magic.
Yesterday, when she manipulated the weather, she did not even tap into her source. She simply exchanged the fertility of the surrounding forest to restore the weather. But to rapidly heal and mend so many required a vast amount of magical energy. An equal trade for such a feat might turn the entire area slowly into a desert.
Soon, the wounded began to shed tears of joy, no longer bound by pain and feeling revitalized. Dozens stood, discarding their bandages as their lacerations and deep wounds healed. Bones and joints were mended, and here and there, people tested their newly healed limbs. Those who had lost limbs felt no pain, and individuals suffering from blood diseases found themselves completely cured.
No one could pinpoint what had spurred this miraculous healing, but the squire, hearing an ancient melody from her, crawled toward Sagarius'' feet, clutching them gently. Soon, realization dawned on everyone: she was the likely source. In awe and gratitude, they knelt before her.
Sagarius sighed, yet a smile was on her lips. "Do not show gratitude to me," she warned. "For I will order you to die for the Imperium."
"Then, we will die many times for the Imperium," said a dashing young knight who had been in a coma, but declared dead due to limited medical knowledge.
The people who saw the knight shed tears of relief; the knight''s body had been washed and was waiting for burial. Yet, he was now standing with them, in the full vigor of his youth.
***
Chapter 162 : Fading Lights
Chapter 162
Fading Lights
East Tiberia, Besieged City, The Aggressor''s Side
As the morning sun climbed higher, it bore silent witness to the brutal scene unfolding below. At the behest of King Gottfried, hundreds of hardened Inglesians, leading reluctant but coerced Arvenians, launched their assault on the besieged city. The air quickly thickened with the stench of blood and guts.
The clamor of metal against stone echoed through the air as ladders clanged against the ancient walls, while a relentless hail of crossbow bolts flew from both the attackers and the desperate defenders above. Loud shouts and screams followed; for many, these were cries of encouragement, but for some, they were the last sounds heard as they fell to their deaths before even reaching the battlements.
Hundreds from the attacker''s side had lost their lives in the opening hour. It was a high cost of life for such a small city. But the stubborn assault was not without reason; they had run out of time. With a sudden change in weather, the winter''s chill could be felt to the bone, and without wintering quarters, the large army would suffer.
And among those were numerous Arvenians from Bellandia, including Marc, Lansius'' brother, and several of his friends.
"Arvenians, follow the Inglesians," the Captain commanded at the foot of the city walls, where they had built a makeshift wooden structure for protection from arrows.
"Trust your training. Don''t slip, and you should be fine. Half the battlements are already ours," one of the lieutenants added, tried to reassure the paled Arvenians.
Despite the words of encouragement, the Arvenians were not convinced. They had camped with the King, enjoying music and agreeable food, yet they had also seen a steady stream of deaths in their ranks. The campaign had left them thin and ragged, aged beyond their years.
Even when the food was plentiful, not all found pleasure in the feast. Some were burdened by the deaths and destruction they had caused and chose to drown their sorrows in wine or other intoxicants. Now, facing a new threat, their faces turned pale; every scream or bolt that flew near them utterly shocked them.
"The Inglesians are using a different ladder; they''re not being pushed from below," one Arvenian muttered beneath his shield, covering his head as they formed their line.
"This is suicide. We should wait for the siege tower to arrive," another raised his voice.
"Hans, keep it down," Marc, now short-haired and thin-looking, tried to calm his friend.
"But, Marc, this is suicide¡ª"
A loud crash happened just beside them, enough to make them cower. Swirling dust clouded the air, and only afterward did they realize a ladder had fallen, bringing down dozens of men in a gruesome display. Their heads were crushed, and limbs broken. One survivor could only cough and groan in pain, while another''s hand reached toward the sky before his body jerked, and the hand collapsed.
"I''m not doing this!" the one named Hans cried, breaking from the group. Another four ran in panic but were quickly caught by the Northerners, who brutally subdued them in front of everyone.
"Who else wants to become an embarrassment?" came a grim challenge from a morning star wielder. Like all Northerners who patrolled the area, he was armored from top to toe. As they glared at the Arvenians, the blood of their latest victim dripping to the ground served as a stark reminder to those harboring second thoughts.
The group shuddered and dared not respond. They knew there was no stepping back; there was only the choice to climb and fight or face certain death as deserters. This was a trap set by the Northerners, as they deemed their vanguard too precious to be wasted in this kind of battle.
But the worst was yet to come. Their assigned leader, an Arvenian too stubborn and too ambitious, returned from the command post and said, "Today is our day. Let''s march!"
There were pained sighs and mutters around them. With ten thousand people waiting and only dozens of ladders, there was a good chance that they wouldn''t need to climb. Yet, they seemed to have lost the lottery.
"What do you want?" the group leader asked Marc who grabbed his arm.
"They got Hans and Darren; can¡¯t you do something about it?" Marc, clad in a helmet and wearing a weathered gambeson, asked.
"That''s their own fault¡ª"
Tightening his grip on the leader''s arm, Marc insisted, "How can you say that? You''re Connor''s friend."
"Look, Marc, everything is amendable after the victory. I didn¡¯t volunteer for nothing," he vented in frustration.
"Volunteered?" one bellowed in surprise, while other men in the group gazed sharply at their leader¡ªsome with suspicion, others with clear bloodlust.
Facing the brewing trouble, the leader stared back at them. "Can''t you all see?" he pointed to the top of the wall. "They''re losing big time. Look, no more bolts," he tried to reassure them. "I tried so hard to convince the Captain to sign us on the eve of victory. I even bribed¡ª"
One man approached, shouting, "This is madness!" He would have started a brawl if not for the others who held him back.
The leader, his temper flaring, began, "You shall see that the reward¡ª"
The commotion had attracted the Northerners who cut it short. "Form a line on your ladder, no more talking! Don''t falter, or else the defenders will regroup," the blond lieutenant, who commanded the ladder, barked.
The Arvenians could only grip their swords tighter as they queued up to the ladder assigned to them. Many were accustomed to wielding spears or poleaxes, but these weapons were useless while scaling the ladder. At the base of the ladder, the earth was muddy and blackened, reeking of piss. The place was filled with constant shouting and screams from above, alongside the clashing of metal.
"Marc, you take the front!" the leader instructed as he shoved him with a circular shield.
"But I don''t¡ª"
"You''re the most able among us. Claim the glory," he insisted.
Marc gazed at the men around him and took the shield. "You''re going to pay for this," he spat to the side as he moved to the front, waiting for the last of the group still in front to climb.
The leader smirked to his group. "After this victory, you can take it out on me over the victory banquet."
But he didn''t get the response he sought; instead, they were suddenly pushed from behind. The Northern men in thick accent shouted at them, "Get on, get on! Climb the ladder!"
The last group before them had climbed the ladder, and Marc finally came face to face with it. Tall and imposing Northern men holding the ladder stared at him; one motioned for him to come forward, his face bored, if not annoyed. To them, it seemed just another boring day job.
Then there were other men who maintained an eerie silence and relaxed faces, seemingly trying to convey that everything was going to be alright. "Strap the shield to your right wrist. Do not draw your sword unless you''re on top," one of the calm men urged.
Marc did as he was told and gripped the ladder, which wobbled under the weight of the men on top and failed to instill confidence. "Will this hold?" he asked.
"A manned ladder will always hold," came the careless reply from the tall Northerner. Another patted his back and motioned for him to climb. As Marc nervously ascended, darkened blood quickly accumulated in his right hand, as if to forewarn him of the dangers above.
"Don''t falter. Our crossbowmen will cover your ascent," other Northern men instructed in clear but high-pitched voices as Marc and his group began their climb.
A chill wind greeted Marc as he climbed higher than he ever had before. He gritted his teeth and followed his instinct to climb faster to close the distance with the group ahead. The rest of the group quickly followed, the ladder rocking and shuddering beneath them.
"For the King of Brigantes!" one shouted from below, only to be answered by four men falling from the very top, screaming as they plummeted to their deaths.
Marc was sweating profusely, his life in Bellandia flashing before his eyes. Yet, there was nothing he could do but follow the men in front. When someone above urinated in fear, it didn''t even anger him.
"Climb faster!" someone from their group yelled. "I have an appointment with the Ancients to ask why this world is so messed up."
"He''s dead!" came a retort from above.
"Oi, that''s the Ageless," another countered.
After a pause, the man above responded, "Forgive me, my mum never told me the stories."This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
This prompted a chuckle from everyone around them. "No offense taken. We''re going to die anyway."
"Don''t jinx us. And why is this wall so damn tall¡ª"
The Arvenians enjoyed their last respite, fortunate that the defenders could no longer attack them with arrows or stones. From their vantage point, they could see that the group above them had entered the fray and was holding their own. To their left, the Inglesian crossbowmen on the ladder provided cover for the assault with bolts.
Against all odds, the group on top had actually secured a foothold on the battlements. Marc rushed the last twenty or thirty rungs as quickly as he could, disregarding his shield as the path opened before him. The man in front even lent him a hand, and he climbed over the small parapet walls in one piece.
He did it¡ªMarc arrived at the battlements, and this achievement emboldened him. Breathless, he caught a faint, nervous smile from a man noticeably younger than himself. "Gratitude," he said to him.
"Good luck," replied the helpful youth, who then rushed to aid his comrade on the left. He almost slipped but quickly regained his footing.
Marc drew his sword and instinctively turned to the right, noting that two of his comrades had followed him up.
The view through his helmet revealed a scene of carnage: the ground was dyed ochre red, dead men were scattered across the narrow area, and the stone floor was slick with blood and guts. Marc fought the urge to vomit and stood firm to allow his group to climb. Then he saw a dozen defenders regroup and advance toward his position with brandished spears and poleaxes.
"Help them, get them up fast!" he urged to his comrades, who were already furiously assisting their allies on the ladder.
"For the King of Brigantes!" the group leader shouted in excitement as he climbed onto the battlements. But his excitement was short-lived as a dozen defenders charged, forming a formidable wall of spears.
...
The Defender''s Side
After many days of siege, the surviving defenders had mastered numerous tricks. Their poleaxe and spear users were adept at surprising attackers, seemingly only offering lightly defended areas before suddenly appearing in force, ready with their killing blows.
Sometimes, they ignored the shield users at the top and attacked the climbers below using their long-reach weapons. Other times, they allowed the attackers to climb before rushing at them with brandished spears, a tactic the attackers found hard to counter.
The defenders'' only issue was their small number: a mere ninety against a host of ten thousand, who swarmed at them like endless waves of ants. However, the Northerners'' command was far from incompetent; they knew they aimed to overwhelm the defenses. By steadily sending more men to the top, despite the apparent lack of success, they were slowly grinding the defenders to the breaking point.
Now, the defenders were on the verge of being overwhelmed at any point in the assault. With just ninety, supported by a group of youngsters and frail but brave old men, they clung to life. Yet, each loss was a heavy blow, with their numbers dwindling and fatigue and injuries piling up.
In contrast, for every attacker that fell, another seemed to take their place; the besiegers, numbering in the tens of thousands, were not about to run out of manpower.
"We''re out of crossbow bolts," one reported, and the commander, Bald Eagle, could only nod grimly. The small stockpile of bolts they had was mostly scavenged or crudely fashioned from whatever materials the beleaguered city could muster.
He gazed at his remaining personal guards who had fought bitterly at every corner, rushing to each new wave of assault as their battlements were besieged. "With me," he commanded the few with him to move to another section that seemingly needed help. There, he bumped into his trusted guardsman, who shouted from his helmet, "Sir, today the bastards are a little different."
"I''ve noticed," said Bald Eagle as he surveyed the immediate area. "They''re getting desperate because of the weather."
"It would be nice for snow to fall now," the guardsman replied before thrusting his poleaxe into the second man scaling the ladder. The faces of the men below were filled with terror. An experienced defender like him never bothered with the first man, who was trained to use a shield; he aimed for the middle of the group.
His swordsmen stalled the advance, the poleaxe wielder counterattacked, and the only threat was the crossbowmen on another ladder who could take out a careless defender.
"South side overrun," one warned, and Bald Eagle, tired as he was, turned his head toward it. There, he witnessed another wave of attackers climbing over the small wall onto the battlements.
"Ten with me," Bald Eagle said, preparing his poleaxe since they had run out of personnel.
"Let''s move out, spears in front!" the guardsman commanded.
On the near southern ramparts, the dozen who were holding there gave their best before slowly retreating, allowing Bald Eagle and his group to hit the attackers from the other side.
"Spears out in front," the experienced guardsman commanded the small group as they engaged a six-man group, who obviously did not know what they were doing.
"Steady... steady... Charge!" Bald Eagle yelled hoarsely as he launched himself forward with several men.
Panicked screams echoed as they repeatedly and mercilessly drove the six-man group to the bitter end. Someone even tried to scale down the ladder, only to be pushed aside by their own group.
Several more quickly became victims as the defenders rushed the men still on the ladder. For a brief moment, things were under control in their section.
Bald Eagle plunged the end of his poleaxe into the back of one of the fallen men struggling to survive. He knew better than to kneel and use his dagger, conserving strength instead. They also did not bother to throw the dead over, as it would exhaust them. Instead, they let the dead scatter around the ladder to discourage attackers and create a gruesome battlefield.
"More are climbing," a crossbowman, who had resorted to using a poleaxe, pointed out.
"Wait, this one isn''t as sturdy," the guardsman observed.
Several quickly withdrew their poleaxes and placed them against the ladder. Following the guardsman''s lead, they pushed with all their might. The ladder wobbled despite the Northern men below holding it with great effort. Then, a joint somewhere in the middle snapped and failed. The men who were on the ladder screamed as they fell to a crushing end in a heap of wooden rubble and gore.
The guardsman lost his poleaxe as it stuck to the ladder, but he and everyone else were satisfied with the result. That moment of carelessness almost cost him his life as a bolt narrowly missed him. Bald Eagle grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to duck low before passing him his poleaxe.
"I''m not paid enough for this," the guardsman quipped as he unlatched his visor to release heat and catch his breath.
"No, you''re enjoying the thrill," Bald Eagle commented as he peeked over the small wall.
"More are coming... They''re different," the crossbowman blurted out.
"It''s the Inglesians; they''re on the move," Bald Eagle confirmed with a stern and sweaty face.
The guardsman and their men stared sharply at Bald Eagle. "They must''ve sensed that we''re slowing down."
"They''re going to end this," someone said nervously.
Bald Eagle was yet to reply when the guardsman urged, "Sir, better get down and lock the door. It''s going to get ugly."
"And do what? Commit suicide?" Bald Eagle quipped while more crossbow bolts tried to deter them from regrouping. The defenders around their vicinity scrambled for shields and cover.
Despite the desperation, the men chuckled. The guardsman sighed, "I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not smart enough to think a few steps ahead."
"Just don''t die," Bald Eagle instructed as he took a shield from a fallen attacker and whose chest was soaked in blood.
The men followed his example, taking waterskins and trinkets from the dead. Intrigued by the handle, the guardsman picked up a knife from a nearby fallen man just as the supposedly dead soldier suddenly coughed. The thin figure, draped in a blood-stained gambeson, lay immobile but stared at him with bloodshot eyes. His face was smeared with blood that had seeped from his short hair.
"You won''t be needing this anymore," the guardsman said indifferently.
The man gave a weak nod. "T-take good care... my brother gave it to me."
"Where''s your brother?" the guardsman asked, eyeing the fine quality of the knife. "If the world finds peace, I might return this."
"He... probably with the Ancients now."
"That''s a shame," the guardsman paused and looked him in the eye. "Should I make it quick for you?"
The man gazed back and said, "I feel no pain, just let me be."
"Suit yourself." The guardsman left to peek over the battlement''s small wall.
Bald Eagle, who had been watchful of the encounter, said to the fallen man, "Where do you come from?"
He weakly gazed back. "Bellandia," he replied, swallowing dryly.
"Where is it?"
"A week''s walk to the south... from Alba Castle," his voice withered away.
"You''re Arvenian, a subject of the Imperium," Bald Eagle remarked.
"I was, before my village was invaded."
"Your end is nigh and the Ancients will judge you fairly. So, tell me, is there anything you can say to help us defend the Imperium?"
"I wish I had," he said with a tone of regret.
Bald Eagle exhaled deeply. Slowly, a chorus of war began to rise from beneath the wall. Boots clanked against wooden rungs in a steady, relentless rhythm, punctuated by the occasional scrape of armor or shield against the ladder''s frame. Unlike the reluctant Arvenians, the Inglesians, eager to prove themselves worthy allies to the new king, were fully invested in this struggle.
Many of them hungered for recognition, prize money, and status. Each man''s ascent was marked by the rhythmic jangle of ringmail the soft thuds of fabric-clad limbs pressing upward. Over it all, the grim determination of the men was audible in their heavy, disciplined breathing and grunts of exertion.
"The Inglesians are coming," warned another group of defenders who chose to join Bald Eagle.
"Time to prepare our welcome," Bald Eagle said.
"It''s an honor to fight alongside you, Sir," said a bearded man from that group.
"Hmph, you''ve said it almost half a dozen times already," the commander quipped.
They all chuckled, but the bearded man sternly said, "I mean it this time."
They had no time for more jokes; their laughter died as the first Inglesian reached the parapet and jumped over into the battlements. The guardsman who had readied his group charged at them.
"Don''t delay, crush them, their crossbowmen wouldn''t dare to shoot!" Bald Eagle commanded.
And the battle for this small walled city began anew.
...
Marc
Lying on his back, the dying man bore witness to this struggle. The Inglesian assault came fast and hard, far surpassing what the Arvenians could ever have dreamed of. Despite the defenders'' stubborn resistance and a great number of casualties on the attacker''s side, the Inglesians managed to establish a strong foothold.
Their attack also occurred simultaneously in several places, achieving similar success. Now, more and more men were coming from below. The fighting turned into a chaotic duel as the Inglesians began to overrun the defenders at every point.
There was a stalemate for a while as both sides traded blows with little ground gained. However, when the Inglesians brought up their crossbowmen, the battle quickly turned into a one-sided massacre. The defenders, including those who had spoken to him and taken his shield and knife, along with many of their comrades, were hit and struggled in vain to defend themselves.
It was a massacre, and Marc, despite his hostilities, couldn''t help but feel pity for them, knowing that if he had been born in Tiberia, he might have fought alongside them. In truth, he didn''t support the new king. He didn''t believe that the Ageless had died, and more importantly, he felt he was every bit an Imperium subject, just like his father before him.
However, it was all a moot point now. His lungs felt heavy and painful; each breath was like choking.
As he closed his eyes, his mind was tormented by the harrowing scenes he had faced over the past several weeks. He had scavenged the battlefield, cleared bodies from captured sites, and buried people in mass graves. The worst came when he was ordered to keep watch and kill anyone attempting to escape while the Northerners plundered the villages.
Then images of his group flashed before him, ending with the youth who had helped climb the wall. The realization that even he had died made him restless. It would have been over just like that, had thoughts of his family not suddenly surfaced.
"Mother," he muttered in pain amidst the loud clashes of iron and steel. "Tanya," he whispered his sister''s name.
A smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he remembered their simple lives together. The loss of blood had finally sent his body into shock; his pulse weakened, and the light of life nearly faded from his eyes. His pupils stared emptily into the sky, seeking the foreigner who, for a brief time, had called him a brother.
Only then did Marc notice the white flakes falling from the sky. One landed on his cheek, making him blink at its coldness.
***
Chapter 163 : Ancients Blood
Chapter 163
Ancients'' Blood
East Tiberia, Besieged City, Knight-Commander, Bald Eagle
The mortal struggle on the battlements raged on with sharp cries and mounting casualties, gradually cornering Bald Eagle and his men in several sections. Despite the relentless punishment from newly arrived crossbow fire, they refused to throw down their weapons.
Defiant as they were, it seemed only a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed. Yet, the old commander''s pride was evident. His men showed unwavering loyalty to him and the Imperium, their armor slick with blood, standing resolute with wills unbroken.
Then, flakes began falling from the sky, capturing everyone''s attention. Almost no one noticed the first few stray flakes as they were caught briefly in the dim light before melting on the heated surfaces. But soon, the snowflakes began to fall in earnest.
The sudden change in weather caused the Inglesians to pause their attack. Both sides halted, their breaths visible in the freezing air, and gazes turned skyward in disbelief. Only then did they fully register the exceptionally chilling wind, explaining why they weren''t sweating despite the heavy fighting.
Refusing to be paralyzed, the Inglesian command pressed on, yelling, "Don''t stop! Put an end to this fight and claim this city!"
"Onward! Better to winter with a roof over our heads than in the field," their captain bellowed at the top of his voice.
Bald Eagle and his men tightened their grip on their weapons. As the Inglesians resumed the fight, a new wave of defenders in good order and respectable armor marched from the stone stairs below.
Their arrival, growing to more than two dozen, unnerved the Inglesian at the front, who paused as more defenders emerged from below. Their stride was light, their bearings proud, and they had a determined glint in their eyes.
Bald Eagle and his men were equally confused. "Who are those men?" one muttered in disbelief.
"I recognize the clothes and the armor¡ª"
"I know," another interjected, "but it¡¯s impossible. These men can¡¯t even walk, let alone march in armor."
"The Ancients will it," Bald Eagle suddenly proclaimed, his voice nearly frenzied. He had recalled the mysterious woman who had claimed to be a simple hat-maker''s daughter. Earlier, he had brought her to the infirmary, but he had never expected her to perform a miracle like this.
As if to answer his faith, a knight in battered but imposing gothic full plate armor led the newly formed column. The snowfall seemed to rally them further, eliciting confident smirks from their faces.
"Crossbowmen, loose!" the Inglesians commanded, and dozens of bolts flew toward them with a deafening sound.
Yet, the column of men resisted without even flinching. Instead, the knight in the lead raised his sword, shouting in a clear voice, "For the Imperium!"
Almost two hundred strong, the column descended upon the Inglesians. The ensuing clash was brutal, but the newcomers, having the advantage of freshness, maintained their pressure. Soon, everyone began to nervously acknowledge the reinforcements'' eerie resilience. There was a fervor in their eyes as they fought fearlessly, seemingly without concern for themselves.
The knight leading them stormed into a wall of defenders; even though a bolt struck his visor, he cleaved and swung his broadsword with astounding effect. His crushed and dismembered victims piled up to his left and right, only to be swiftly finished off by his eager allies advancing behind him.
The opposing crossbowmen kept up the pressure as best as they could with the few bolts they still had on them, but the knight, even with several bolts jutting from his armor, refused to slow down. With his bloodied allies, they charged anew against the increasingly cornered Inglesians. Bald Eagle regained his breath and advanced forward, convinced it was the young knight he once knew. The rest of the defenders needed no instruction to join the fray; the two allied forces combined at the top of the gatehouse, the widest part of the battlement, and began to retake the battlements from the Inglesians.
Around them, the snowfall, thick and relentless, began to layer over the blood-stained stones of the battlements, transforming the besieged city into a surreal landscape.
...
Sagarius
In the infirmary, Sagarius was busy caring for the dying. Healing magic couldn''t save everyone, and even those who recovered sometimes faced complications. This was why magic was usually reserved for life-threatening conditions. It was often better to allow the body to heal naturally without magical intervention.
What concerned her and other practitioners were complications like persistent sores or lumps, unusual tissue growths, or drastic changes in bodily functions. The worst cases involved abnormal masses of tissue growing at wound sites or on unrelated limbs. These masses were not only unsightly but could grow debilitatingly large, and attempts to remove them often led to further complications or death.
Even patients without these growths could die from seemingly trivial causes years after treatment, despite being in their prime. Elven scriptures referred to healing magic as something that could awaken an element in the blood they inherited from the Ancients.
They described these occurrences as mutationem.
Despite the severity, Sagarius viewed the side effects as a necessary trade-off against the benefits of healing. One couldn''t undergo changes instantaneously without sufficient compensation. For example, when she changed her hair color from white to brown, it required a weeks-long process, during which she harnessed subterranean magical energy as the price, similar to the way small golems were powered. Thus, healing magic, which rapidly repairs bones, muscles, and skin in a matter of minutes, could understandably cause greater side effects.
This was why she had been reluctant to treat anyone. She did so today because she witnessed their suffering firsthand and understood that many would likely die if the city were lost.
Ironically, while for elves, who lived for hundreds of years, a major healing spell was as good as a death sentence, for humans it was seen as a blessing. Arguably, their shorter lifespans, lesser magical knowledge, and weaker powers significantly influenced their view of healing magic.
Yet, it was fortunate that healing magic was reactive only to injuries and worked by enhancing the body¡¯s natural recovery processes, so it couldn''t be used like a curse against a healthy person. Otherwise, it could be exploited for malicious purposes.
The window overlooking the city now displayed falling snow, and the men still in the infirmary regarded Sagarius with renewed reverence. However, she wasn¡¯t omnipotent. Despite her efforts, she was compelled to close the eyes of those who had suffered unfortunate side effects. The man¡¯s face remained smiling because Sagarius also knew how to alleviate both pain and fear.
"He has faced the Ancients," she gently said to a deceased battle brother who had lost his sword arm. The man had wept for his loss, yet his expression conveyed gratitude for Sagaria''s care.
Afterward, the elderly physician and his equally aged assistant carefully covered the deceased with linen and moved him to a separate table in the corner.
Sagarius stood and washed her hands in lukewarm water, using white ash as soap. Around her, boys employed due to a shortage of men were now running the infirmary. They had been awakened by the earlier commotion and were now busily boiling water in the corner, serving gruel, and ensuring that she and the patients were well cared for.
With no one else urgently needing her care, Sagarius chose to sit on a wooden stool by the window.
The squire who had clung to her feet had joined the fight. She hoped she wouldn''t need to heal him, as he was too young to gamble with the risks of mutations.
The day had turned cold; her intervention had caused the snow to come faster. She attributed it to luck, as no one could truly control the weather, just influence its timing or intensity. It required great knowledge and power.
Power... The rebels must have acquired a Great Gemstone to even attempt this.
Unlike the underground palace, where the weather was minuscule, in the outside world, the weather was incomparably vast.
What a waste of a Great Gemstone...
Sagarius learned from her father that Great Gemstones were intended to be used as a perpetual source of magic, therefore their output was relatively small despite their large size. Forcing them to produce a large output would just shorten their lifespan or break them. And without the dwarves, there were only a limited number of Great Gemstones left in the world.
She sighed and was mildly surprised when a boy knelt and offered her a woolen coat. "Thank you," she smiled at him, and the boy blushed, bowed his head, then ran off to his grinning friends.
Another boy also knelt and offered her a lit candle as the snowfall brought darkness. Sagarius responded in kind, and the boy''s reaction was similar. She didn''t mind; although not a mother, she was well accustomed to human children, having lived among them for hundreds of years.
Thus, clad in a simple woolen coat, she waited for the battle to cease. Despite her intervention, there was no guarantee the defenders would win, but she knew it would at least delay the attackers for a day. That was all she needed to decide whether to leave the city or stay.
Either way, she had broken her vow by meddling in human affairs. She also had traded the fertility of the surrounding forest to restore the weather, using a high-level spell that was frowned upon.
Her father had never allowed her to perform it, warning her that a nascent kingdom of Great Progenitors and Elves had been destroyed due to the rampant use of such magic. Moreover, the entire old continent had been ruined because the dwarves and elves had unwittingly used it in their quest for knowledge, longevity, and comfort.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
However, Sagarius thought their stance on forbidding such powerful magic was too radical. She believed it was a valuable tool that, in the right hands, remained useful. Nevertheless, she regretted having resorted to that power too hastily. After all, with just some risks, she could have sneaked into the enemy camp and killed the mages. But she didn''t want to dirty her hands and preferred to remain in the shadows.
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried steps approaching the infirmary. The boys peeked and then quickly opened the door. From the corridor, men, grim-faced and bloodied, carried their comrades on makeshift stretchers fashioned from cloaks and spears.
They placed their friends on the nearest treatment tables, and the old physician immediately began working on the wounds, his priority was to stop the bleeding. He and his assistant worked tirelessly, but the wounded kept coming.
Sagarius sprang into action; despite her reluctance to kill the opposing mages, she had no qualms about dirtying her hands with blood. She quickly assessed the severity of the wounds with a practiced eye, directing the less injured to wait in the corridor and focusing on those more critically hurt, her commands cutting sharply through the moans and clatter in the chamber.
Here and there, she sparingly tapped into her magic to keep them from dying, but only for those who definitely couldn''t make it otherwise. She dared not use a mass healing like she had earlier, as it might cause the unthinkable.
As the door swung open repeatedly to admit another wave of pain and despair, Sagarius and the infirmary crew steeled themselves for the long hours ahead.
...
Bald Eagle
The battle raged for another two hours after the defenders had taken the battlements. Despite losing their hardened troops and facing sudden snowfall, the Northerners'' command stubbornly sent a fresh wave to scale the wall. From Bald Eagle''s standpoint, it was a futile attempt, borne out of madness or a moment of insanity.
After another wave ended in disaster, Bald Eagle began to truly understand the person who had pacified the North and rebelled against the Imperium. To Gottfried, the men under him were probably nothing more than resources to be expended.
In cold blood, the Northerners'' command sent the Inglesians to mount another assault, only for them to die in vain. Try as they might, they couldn¡¯t match the tenacity of over two hundred fresh defenders and were slaughtered. Despite the mounting casualties without any apparent gains, the Northerners kept sending fresh batches of troops who were somehow more terrified of failing to make the climb than of dying.
The fighting only ceased when the men began freezing from the snow. Finally, Gottfried and the Northerners abandoned their attempt and retreated to their camps, allowing the defenders to claim their sweet victory.
Bald Eagle and his closest retinue rushed to the infirmary to bring the good news to the mysterious person who had turned today''s certain defeat into a victory. They all understood that they would have been as good as dead if the reinforcements hadn''t arrived. Moreover, the fact that the reinforcements were their heavily injured or presumably dead comrades made this victory nothing short of miraculous.
To them, this moment was as heroic as the legends of old.
Led by Bald Eagle, they presented the news of their victory to Sagaria and began to refer to her as ''Lady.'' Not wanting to cause discomfort, they waited outside in the corridor until she decided to retire. The men treated her like their savior and only ceased their expressions of reverence when she indicated that she did not want the attention.
Sensing a deeper intention, the Knight Commander asked everyone to vow secrecy about her, and they all solemnly did so on the spot. It was at this moment that Sagaria seemed to accept their devotion. The air around her changed, and her demeanor became regal, despite wearing a simple woolen coat.
Lady Sagaria retired to her chamber, and at last, the men began to wind down. Despite the victory, there had been deaths in their ranks, and many more were injured.
As for Bald Eagle, he summoned his top retinue for a meeting. Unfortunately, many were injured, and those who were not had volunteered to keep sentry on the battlements. Thus, only the squire and the young knight, both with fresh bandages on their wounds, were able to join him.
Seeing the young knight without his armor, the raw marks of battle still evident, was a bittersweet moment for Bald Eagle. He approached him, relief and sorrow mingling in his voice as he said, "I thought I had lost you."
"Well, here I am," he said with a pained smirk. One of his eyes was bandaged due to the splinters from a bolt, and his body bore patches from a bolt tip that had penetrated his plate and arming jack, but fortunately only skin deep.
Bald Eagle laughed before stifling his laughter, mindful that Lady Sagaria was resting next door.
The knight, amused yet duty-bound, asked, "May I ask why you summoned us, Sir? Is there another threat?"
"Not for now," Bald Eagle''s eyes wandered momentarily. "However, even with the snow, I still fear another assault is possible."
The knight turned grim, while the squire protested, "Sir, that is unthinkable. I doubt even the Northerners are hardy enough to climb a freezing ladder and fight over slippery stones."
"I sort of agree with his assessment," the knight offered his opinion.
"I know it seems unlikely," Bald Eagle agreed, "but the Northerners likely have numerous mages at their disposal."
"Mages?" the knight''s eyes narrowed sharply.
"But Sir, how can you tell?" the squire asked.
"The weather," he revealed. "It was properly chilly two weeks ago before it suddenly changed."
The two young men exchanged glances before the knight turned to Bald Eagle, saying, "I find it hard to believe that mages can alter the weather, but after today, I must admit that I''m not as knowledgeable about the world as I thought. So, please guide us. What do you want us to do?"
"Nothing long-term for now," the old commander paused. "But let''s maintain a strong reaction force and a solid night watch. Don''t let our men assume that the fighting is over, lest our victory turn into defeat."
"Then, I volunteer for tonight''s night watch and reaction force," the knight offered.
Bald Eagle disagreed, "No, you''ll rest tonight. I''ll¡ª"
"But, Sir," the squire complained loudly, drawing their attention. "You had night watch last night and fought this noon. You can''t possibly stay awake another night."
The knight chuckled at the squire''s reaction, leaving Bald Eagle to exhale deeply. He then drew the squire closer and tapped his shoulder. "Then you will do the night watch on our commander''s behalf."
"Ah, that''ll be perfect," the guardsman, who had just arrived in the chamber, agreed.
The squire smirked, clearly proud of the trust placed in him.
"A little bit of responsibility should be good. And it''s not like we don''t have anyone else to accompany him," the knight added.
"Then it''s settled," Bald Eagle declared. Turning to the late-arriving guardsman, he asked, "Why are you late?"
"I''m bringing more for interrogation," the guardsman replied, closing the door as he shivered from the cold.
"How many did we manage to capture?" Bald Eagle asked while searching for his kettle to make some warm ale. The squire quickly prepared the firewood, as the chamber had a fireplace.
"Just two or three," the guardsman replied as he removed his freezing ringmail.
Meanwhile, the knight took a dirty bandage, wrapped it tightly around a thin log, dipped the wrapped end into a bucket of tallow, and lit it against a candle. The flame caught quickly, hissing and popping as the tallow flared up.
The guardsman eagerly approached the fireplace, warming his hands.
"Why the uncertainty?" the knight asked, curious about the vague number.
"Well, they might not survive," the guardsman answered lightly.
Bald Eagle quietly passed his kettle to the squire as the knight knelt and carefully placed the torch into the fireplace, where the dry firewood was already laid out. When the tallow-drenched bandage touched the kindling, a loud crack echoed through the room, followed by a series of smaller pops. The firewood caught fire, the flames greedily growing and sending a comforting warmth.
The men silently enjoyed their hard-earned respite.
***
Korelia City, Lowlandia
Lansius, seated in the great hall, watched a solemn procession for the new lieutenants who had proven themselves exceptional in the last campaign. They would join his officer corps, demonstrating that rankings in his House were based solely on merit or experience.
While he had wanted to promote them sooner, the recording and cross-checking process proved lengthy and painful. He even needed to task Cecile and Sir Michael to ensure everything was correct.
Nevertheless, Lansius saw this as vital. Nobody wished to appoint someone incapable and undeserving, as it would ruin the troops'' performance, undermine the men''s trust, and might also cost them a battle.
Sir Justin, as the Marshall, promoted them by giving them a sword and a breastplate as symbols of their command. They were also given a silver signet ring engraved with their names.
Traditionally, it should have been the emblem of their house, but since many did not come from esquire families, Lansius decided a name was sufficient, akin to a hanko, a signature stamp from his world.
After the solemn promotion, Lansius decided to give an informal speech. He approached the new officers and sat on an elevated wooden platform while motioning for them to gather around him.
They sat on the floor, as they were accustomed to in the field. Lansius began, "Congratulations, you''re now part of the officer corps. This House deems you fit to lead a group of your comrades into battle."
The new lieutenants nodded, some beaming with pride, others with nervousness, and some with extraordinary calmness and confidence.
Lansius continued, "Surely, I don''t need to tell you that this is an important task with great responsibilities. You''ll learn how to do it from your seniors, and later you shall prove your skills when we conduct annual field training." He paused and then slammed his palm onto the wooden platform, making a loud noise that startled them.
"As you are now officers of my House, I shall give you some advice. First and foremost, all war is based on deception," he paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the new officers. "Many of you will start as scouts command. You''ll march further than the main army, sometimes even days farther, serving as our ears and eyes. Remember, warfare is rife with illusions. Always question, always scrutinize."
The new lieutenants nodded their heads.
Lansius elaborated, "What seems weak may be a trap, what seems straightforward might be a ruse. Think carefully. Do not commit blindly or rush carelessly. Communicate if you have issues¡ªsend word or find me personally if you think it deserves my attention."
Not wanting to overload them with theories, Lansius concluded with, "A wise and brave man once said: Always remember that the greatest weapon you have is located between your ears and under your scalp."
His quip cut through the tension, eliciting a burst of chuckles and a few nervous laughs.
Lansius smiled, stood up, and his men quickly followed suit. He was about to leave when Farkas, his deputy spymaster in training, standing next to Sir Justin and Sir Harold, asked, "My Lord, how about some advice for the captains and knights?"
Lansius gazed around, and Sir Justin nodded approvingly while Sir Harold grinned. "Alright," Lansius said, "let me give you high-level advice on war."
They all listened quietly. Even the castle staff peeked around the corner to listen.
"There are only five possible outcomes for an army," Lansius said to those who looked eager to learn.
"First, if you are stronger, offer battle," his men nodded at his words; this one was only logical.
"Second, if you''re weaker, defend," the men also nodded again as it was easy to understand.
"Third, if you cannot defend, flee." The men were hesitant but a few nodded.
"Fourth, if you cannot flee, then surrender." The men were piqued after Lansius had stated all the possible actions.
Lansius waited, feigning that he had forgotten about the fifth option. It was Sir Harold who tapped Farkas, the one who had asked, prompting him to inquire, "My Lord, then what is the fifth?"
"The fifth?" Lansius leaned forward slightly, his gaze intensifying as he locked eyes with his knights and then several of the newly minted officers. "If your enemy is stronger, and you cannot defend, cannot flee, and surrender is not an option, then you shall die." His voice crescendoed dramatically on the last word, sending a jolt through his audience.
A moment of heavy silence ensued, which Lansius shattered with a laugh. His laughter triggered nervous chuckles from the men. Only his knights dared to laugh openly, finding it hilarious.
Lansius continued, his tone now lighter, "It might sound like a joke, but it''s the truth. When you''re given command, remember this story to avoid indecisiveness." To prevent confusion, he added, "Sometimes action is preferable to inaction, and sometimes it''s prudent to wait. Be flexible. Learn what you can about the enemy, and don¡¯t forget to assess your own troops'' strengths and weaknesses."
His words concluded the event.
"My Lord, a word?" Farkas asked as he joined Lansius'' entourage.
"What is it?" Lansius inquired as they walked down the corridor.
"The prototype you asked to be developed¡ªthe group actually succeeded."
Lansius stopped abruptly. "They really did it, based solely on my drawings and explanations?"
"I have tested it myself. It''s heavy and rough around the edges, but it''s unexpectedly functional. Now, I understand why you wanted utmost secrecy for it," Farkas reported.
Lansius nodded. Even with some limitations, his mind was already considering limited production, as it was a great force multiplier even in its infancy. While he was cautious about gunpowder, fearing long-term repercussions, he saw an advanced crossbow justifiable. He also hoped that the Guilds would merely see it as another arbalest.
"It''s now ready for your evaluation, at your pleasure," Farkas added.
"Today is indeed a good day," Lansius declared and headed out from the castle with a spirited stride.
***
Chapter 164 : Defiance in the Cold
Chapter 164
Defiance in the Cold
Lansius
When developing an object, it was wise to consult those who had extensive experience using it. Following this logic, Lansius had tasked Farkas with gathering information from the crossbowmen in the Nicopolan ranks loyal to House Lansius. Although they had already imported arbalests and cranequins featuring the latest designs from Midlandia, he was still contemplating further improvements to the crossbow design.
Farkas built rapport with the crossbowmen, who proudly boasted about the sophisticated crossbow designs from their homeland. Having grown up as a hunter, Farkas was well-versed in marksmanship and easily gained their trust. His breakthrough came when he was introduced to an experienced crossbowman, once a champion marksman.
Unexpectedly, this individual revealed that a group of refugees, posing as carpenters, actually included a master crossbow smith from Nicopola, along with his family and apprentices. All this time, they had concealed their true identities, opting to work behind the lines to survive.
With this crucial information in hand, Farkas moved quickly. He searched for the master smith, who fortunately had not settled in South Hill, Umberland, or Korimor but had traveled with others to Korelia. Once found, he promptly brought the smith to Lansius, who recognized the value of their skills and provided them with a house near the Eastern Mansion and a warehouse converted into a workshop.
Lansius offered them a work contract and funding to refine their Midlandian designs. He also consulted with them on specific designs and drawings he had in mind.
This encounter, largely being taken care by Farkas, had occurred shortly after their return to Korelia. Now, months later, that trust had borne fruit.
Accompanied by Carla, Sterling, and Farkas, Lansius rode in an old-looking carriage to a particular house near the Eastern Mansion. Around the area, he noted several skirmishers in plain clothes, providing security for the master craftsmen.
They entered the old warehouse turned workshop. The smells of timber, resin, and metal greeted Lansius as he stepped onto the premises. He noticed a young disciple carefully polishing a walnut-finished crossbow that featured an unusual wooden component at the top, where typically only a bolt would be present.
"Is that it?" Lansius asked the short but stout-looking old man with powerful forearms.
"It is, my Lord," the master smith said in a deep voice that hinted he was more accustomed to grunting than engaging in conversation. He motioned to his disciple, who readily handed Lansius the crossbow.
Lansius checked that it had a metal lever on the lower frame at the front, near the grip, connected to the upper frame by metal pins and hinges. With his right hand, he held the pistol grip he had specified in his drawings, pressing the rifle-like buttstock against his shoulder and body. It felt correct, indicating that the smith had truly understood his intentions, not merely followed a rough drawing blindly.
He then used his left hand to try the metal lever. Rough canvas wrapped around the handle aided his grip, and as he did so, he could smell the tallow grease as he fully extended the lever and then returned it to its original position.
The movement was smooth, though he encountered quite a bit of resistance with his left hand but managed it after some initial struggle.
"My lord, we found it''s better to slant it to the left when cocking it so you can use both hands to press it," the master smith advised.
Lansius nodded, understanding that it would function like using a giant scissor. He took another look at the crossbow to appreciate its mechanism. Pumping the lever down moved the upper part forward, engaging the two metal claw-like hooks with the thick crossbow string. Pumping the lever up again forced the string back, where a rotating metal cylinder, called the nut, caught and locked it in place, effectively priming the crossbow.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crossbow resembled his idea of a proper crossbow, including its lightweight stock with holes to reduce weight, and more importantly, a pistol grip and a proper trigger mechanism. "What''s the draw weight on this?"
The master smith pondered. "Probably about half of a full-sized cranequin."
"It''s still powerful," Lansius remarked in amazement.
"Indeed, it will certainly put a hole through gambeson and ringmail, even a cheap breastplate at a shorter range," he nodded to himself. "I still have some ideas for refinement, and I think we can increase the draw weight without making it too hard to use. And more importantly with this mechanism and upper frame like this..." the man smirked widely, his unkempt but glorious mustache unable to hide his grin.
Farkas readily offered Lansius a long bolt, and Lansius loaded one.
"My Lord, you can use the rope target that we''ve set up," offered the master smith.
Lansius did so, took his stance, aimed, and pulled the trigger. He found the trigger pull tricky, but the crossbow shuddered as its powerful metal limb and thick, finger-sized string propelled the heavy bolt toward its target, making a sharp and satisfying ''thock''.
Farkas offered another bolt, and Lansius reloaded the crossbow using the metal lever, slanting it to the left like using giant grass shears, and cocked it easily with both hands. He loaded the bolt, aimed, and fired again. It was fast and effortless.
"No more stepping on the stirrup and pulling," Farkas commented.
"Or cranking the cranequin," Sterling added.
"Cranequins are still more powerful," the master smith argued.
"But they''re heavy, and loading a lot of them would leave a bruise on the thigh and hip," Sterling countered.
Lansius chuckled, recalling that even he disliked reloading a cranequin; while cranking it was fast and fun, setting up the separate metal rail mechanism on top of the crossbow was tedious. The smaller ones used by the Light Dragoons were a bit better, but their penetration and range were far from those of a full-sized one. "Cranequins certainly take a lot of time," he remarked as he handed the new crossbow to Sterling, motioning for him to try it out.
Despite the new design, Sterling handled the weapon effortlessly, cocking and firing, then reloading and firing again. This pleased Lansius and the rest of the men present.
"The birth of speed reload," Farkas commented.
Lansius couldn''t agree more. Interestingly, while he could attempt to replicate the famous Cho-Ko-Nu and achieve an even higher rate of fire, such a design drastically reduced range and penetrating power. Worse yet, due to its operating mechanism, its accuracy was also limited. It was clearly designed with close-quarters combat in mind, meant for use within a defensive structure rather than in open-field battles. Thus, he opted to base his design on a more modern one, which he hoped, once realized, would grant his House a decisive advantage.
"As promised," Lansius said as he fetched his coin purse. He had decided to be a generous patron to such a skilled master craftsman, the likes of whom Lowlandia did not possess. "This is for completing the project." He handed one gold coin, roughly equal to half a year''s wage for a top artisan, into the master smith¡¯s thick, calloused palms.
"And because it was done quickly," Lansius added, placing another gold coin in his hand. The master smith''s face broke into a wide grin, and he let out a hearty, deep chuckle.
"Not yet," Lansius said with a grin. "And this is for maintaining secrecy." He passed another gold coin.
"We''re now your subjects, My Lord. We''ll uphold the oath to serve you before other lords." The master smith took a polite bow, followed by his disciple and assistants.
Lansius was pleased. "Then you can continue to work to improve the design. I''ll assign several trusted smiths to help with the first batch of production."
"First batch?" The smith raised his brow.
"Not to worry about it," Lansius said. "It''s how we make things in Korelia. Here, one person only needs to make specific parts; another person makes another, and then another assembles it all and finishes it."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"Ah, I''ve thought about that too; it''s like my old family shop. My uncle made the prod, I made the body, and then the assistant made the metal mechanism."
"Indeed. I believe assigning a person to do everything from start to finish, while ensuring quality, took a lot of time and caused a lot of burden."
Stroking his mustache, the stout man muttered, "Still, it''s a craftsman''s pride to make a completed one."
"I only have the highest appreciation for those who can do it," Lansius reassured him. "You''ll continue to make crossbows for me and my House. I expect gradual improvements; feel free to try new designs." As he said this, he looked around the workshop and found it inadequate, especially for the upcoming winter. The smell of rotting wood prompted him to turn to Sterling. "Don''t we have an unused building at the Eastern Mansion?"
"We have one. It was built for servant quarters but has never seen any use since our staff fit into the main building," Sterling answered.
"Is it well maintained?"
"I believe Sir Justin renovated it just in case."
"Perfect," Lansius turned to the master smith. "I hope you''re not too comfortable here already. I''m going to invite you to the Eastern Mansion. The projects we''re going to develop will require close cooperation."
And even more secrecy...
***
Sagarius
It was the second day after the snowfall. Sagarius, now Lady Sagaria, attended to a patient in a different chamber since the infirmary was occupied. There, joining her, were the knight commander, a stalwart-looking knight, and the guardsman who had given her gold coins to heal his comrades. "I hope your coins were well worth it?" she said to him.
The guardsman smirked from ear to ear. "One of my best purchases ever," he stated proudly.
The knight commander coughed dryly to gain her attention, saying, "My lady, may we ask what your plans are after this?"
Sagarius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to discuss this in front of a patient?"
"I''m sure the patient doesn''t mind," the guardsman persuaded suavely.
"And he''s also asleep," the knight added with a charming smile.
Sagarius didn¡¯t answer immediately but continued to place a clean folded rectangle of linen on the patient''s chest before securing it by wrapping a long piece of linen around his torso. "I''m heading South or Southeast," she said as she worked.
"To where exactly, my lady?" Bald Eagle dared to ask.
"Midlandia," she revealed.
"Can we ask¡ª"
"Then I''ll also follow," the young knight interrupted with conviction. His two comrades looked at him, their brows furrowed in concern.
Sagarius found this amusing and decided to issue a playful warning. "You''re too trusting of me, Sir Knight¡ª"
"Please, call me Munius," the knight interjected, introducing himself.
"Well, Sir Munius," Sagarius continued, "what if I''m not human but a fell beast in disguise?"
"Then I shall become your hearty meal," Sir Munius quipped, unfazed. "But please, spare the children."
Sagarius just shook her head, amused.
"About your purpose in Midlandia?" the guardsman asked her again.
"I want to meet¡ª No, to see the ruling House. I''m looking for a job there."
"A job?" The three asked at the same time, their eyes widening.
"Sir, I''m a hat-maker; I''m only useful in a peaceful city, inside a hat shop," Sagarius stated. It wasn''t entirely a lie, as she had wanted to make hats both as a hobby and as a disguise.
However, the most startling reaction came from the patient. Amid labored breaths and wracked by a harsh cough, his eyes suddenly snapped open. Gasping for air, he managed to utter in a hoarse whisper, "Don''t... go... to Midlandia."
"Do you know something?" Bald Eagle asked as he leaned closer.
The patient gazed at him, weak and dazed. "I''ll only say this... because this lady is calling me back from death..." His eyes wandered as if he were hallucinating, yet he continued, "Midlandia... is ally to the King of Brigantes."
Everyone¡¯s eyes widened, and their expressions were filled with anger and fear. This was a great betrayal to them.
"An ally, you say?" Bald Eagle asked.
"No wonder Midlandia''s aid never came. Heck, they even took Elandia. Is this all their ruse?" the guardsman blurted out in disbelief. Meanwhile, the knight stood straight with his lips tightly pursed.
"How do you know about this?" Bald Eagle pressed.
The patient, still drawing labored breaths, appeared dazed.
"Please," Sagarius implored the three. "It''s a miracle he survived with this kind of wound. He¡¯s losing so much blood, and there might be black skin disease setting in. If you want him to answer all your questions, it''s best to let me treat him."
The rest nodded as it was a reasonable request. They all knew that the young Arvenians were thought to be dead when the guardsman, who felt guilty for having taken his knife, returned it and found him still warm despite a layer of snow.
Like the guardsman who suggested that it probably led to something significant, Sagarius couldn¡¯t help but recall the words often recited by his father, quoting his Great Progenitor teacher: Sometimes, a small act of kindness can snowball into something great.
***
East Tiberia, Winter 4425
The sudden arrival of winter forced the newly crowned King of Brigantes to retreat. Many areas that the Northerners had conquered were so dilapidated by the fighting that they couldn''t support a shelter for the winter. Thus, their great army suffered as it marched under the snow to their winter camp, and the battle line was immediately contracted.
The King of Brigantes and his royal entourage returned to Arvena to maintain his hold over the tumultuous region. His conquest of the Imperium was now in doubt.
In the Capital, the news of the Northerners'' army withdrawal was widely celebrated. People rejoiced at the news, and the 100 Sages who controlled the Imperium were all too eager to accept the praise. Due to the Knight Commander''s outspokenness and unpopularity with them, they downplayed the true victor. His name and his role were stifled and largely removed from official news.
What the citizens heard was the tale of the brave six hundred who defended their small city against 10,000 barbarous Northerners. Only scant rumors from those who participated in the defense of nearby cities spoke of the commander''s name.
Against this injustice, the High Council fell silent. The majority of the High Nobles had returned to their regions, fearing instability or assassination. They brought with them their families and retinues, not wishing to become hostages.
Instead of fearing the lack of a competent military leader, the 100 Sages actually enjoyed this unprecedented freedom. For the first time since its inception, the bureaucracy ran without a counterbalance. The ministers, now grown to over a hundred, had truly ascended to masters of the Imperium.
And as if the world had congratulated them, another piece of joyful news would soon reach their ears.
With a sense of cold relief, the Sages delighted in the news of the victor''s disappearance. Despite their effective censorship, they were haunted by concerns over Knight Commander Bald Eagle¡¯s rising influence and potential claims to higher authority. Previously, they had clandestinely prepared to orchestrate a ''necessary'' accident, one that could be conveniently attributed to a disgruntled soldier or a treacherous Northerner ambush. But now, the problem had resolved itself.
Only a few questioned his disappearance along with the entire force of more than two hundred hardened troops. They sent an investigator disguised as a reinforcement who braved the heavy snowfall¡ªdistrustful of the Hunter Guild''s hawk mail¡ªbut found little.
The citizens of the newly liberated city only whispered of the troops¡¯ hasty departure; no note, no farewell, just a silent exodus under the cloak of a harsh, unforgiving winter. Their garrison was now a loaned detachment from its sister city.
Despite waiting for a month, there was no further news. Many presumed that the commander and his men had tried to chase the Northerners'' retreat for bounty, yet either perished in the fight or in the snow.
The agent''s report was well received in the palace, and the Sages viewed the commander''s presumed death as a blessing to their rise to power. As always, the Sages censored the news to maintain harmony, especially given the ongoing food shortage as Nicopola and Elandia were locked in a struggle.
Thus, in the winter of 4425, the citizens of the Capital feasted for victory and the return of normalcy, while the city''s vast granaries were nearly emptied.
***
Elandia, Lord Bengrieve
Snow had begun to fall, covering the land with a shimmering white blanket. The air was crisp, and breaths turned to mist as the town prepared for the deep freeze.
A season had passed since Lord Bengrieve''s arrival in Elandia. They had fought bitter wars against the Nicopolan armed refugees who, despite being neither well-trained nor well-armed, had massive numbers on their side. Even with fresh recruits from the Elandian population, they were outnumbered in almost every engagement.
This was to be expected, as South Elandia was predominantly a forested area with a smaller population compared to its northern region, which was closer to the Capital. Meanwhile, Nicopola was a heavily populated province even before the mass migration from the war-torn western provinces.
Only through Lord Bengrieve''s preparedness, strategic decisions, and Sir Stan''s bold leadership had they managed to maintain most of their gains in South Elandia.
But now, winter had come, and the Nicopolans were suing for a truce in exchange for food.
"This is outrageous," an old knight commented inside the command tent as the squire read the truce proposal aloud. A dozen other knights nodded in agreement.
"Could be worse," Sir Stan muttered, wearing a gaudy red-colored coat with thick fur linings.
Lord Bengrieve, the only one seated in his command tent, said nothing but continued to support his chin with his right hand. His men, already familiar with his mannerisms, knew he was deep in thought and waited patiently.
Finally, the lord yawned and surrendered himself to the comfort of his chair. As he slouched, he said, "It could be a ruse to lure us into a false sense of security. However, I''m inclined to think this is just pure insanity on their part."
His knights and squires smiled at Lord Bengrieve''s assessment.
"Then what is your plan?" Sir Stan asked.
"Aside from staying alert, I say stall them," he said disinterestedly. "Promise them honeyed words, and when they begin to doubt, give them a cart or two of grain to show our good intentions. Keep stalling until the cold hand of winter does its work for us."
The Seneschal''s decision concluded the day''s meeting.
Afterward, with only Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan remaining, the squire approached the table and put a letter down, stating, "It arrived just before the meeting."
"A missive from home," Bengrieve muttered. "Did the messenger say anything?" he asked as he began to read.
"Yes, he said that the whole of Midlandia is in great uproar," the squire stopped, unsure whether to continue.
"Well, go on, why are you stopping?" Bengrieve said, more irritated by the unnecessary delay than the news itself.
The squire nervously reported, "I heard they are led by Sir Reginald and are taking control of several of our allies'' towns and castles. They''re also sending large forces, likely to march to Cascasonne."
"Reginald who?" Bengrieve asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.
The squire froze, clearly not in the know.
Yet, against expectations, Bengrieve snorted and burst into laughter that echoed through the empty command tent. "Gratitude to the Ancients, I almost lost hope. I thought they wouldn''t take the bait."
"It''s about time," Sir Stan remarked casually as if discussing a late appointment rather than treason. "I''m getting bored of Elandia."
***
Chapter 165 : The Turn of Time
Chapter 165
The Turn of Time
Elven Calendar 4426 arrived on the wings of change, sweeping across the conflict-torn lands of the Imperium. Amidst the frost and persistent echoes of last year¡¯s conflicts, the life of the Imperium still pulsed¡ªalbeit weakly and strained. Meanwhile, the ruling powers continued to deny the realm''s fragile existence.
In the north, Gottfried, newly crowned King of Brigantes, had been forced to retreat his grand army, yet his forces still held a dagger to the Imperium''s throat. Now, from the frost-covered walls of Albina Castle, he was consolidating his realm, which had expanded to include the entire three provinces of Brigandia, the recently subdued Arvena, and the war-torn territories of East Tiberia.
In West Tiberia, the populace of the Capital area lived in blissful ignorance. Many believed the threat was over, trusting the hundred Sages to protect the realm. However, many couldn''t help but notice the rising prices, the absence of the high nobles, and the ever-increasing crime rates. The poor had little means to survive, and the situation was treading on dangerous ground with no solution in sight.
Meanwhile, in Elandia, Lord Bengrieve received word of the ongoing crisis in Midlandia. Despite it being part of his plan, his army was tied down by Nicopolan armed refugees and mercenaries, likely anchoring them in South Elandia for the foreseeable future. With the peak of winter yet to pass, no significant army movements were possible, leaving Midlandia vulnerable to Sir Reginald and his allies.
Sir Reginald''s supporters acted swiftly. With the knights who sponsored him as the vanguard and thousands of zealous mobs in tow, they seized control of Lubina City and Castle, the central seat of power in Midlandia. The reigning Lord¡¯s unwillingness to retain power resulted in a largely bloodless coup. The only notable incident was the Countess divorcing the Lord after he refused to defend their castle.
The transfer of power concluded rapidly, within just four days. After disbanding his entourage, the ousted Lord was allowed to retire to his private estate to live in exile. Reginald, now the acting Lord of Midlandia, quickly formed a new local government, sharing power among the knights, scholars, and saint candidates.
His first decree was to dismantle House Bengrieve, stripping it of all its power and influence. Consequently, they marched to Bengrieve¡¯s allies and laid siege to Cascasonne city and castle, determined to winter there to secure a decisive victory by spring.
As the situation in Midlandia deteriorated, further south in Nicopola, the aftermath of the conflict had left little appetite for more confrontation. Many had perished in the violence, and now those who survived faced starvation. Many more died from hunger before the cold season even began, and the tragedy deepened as snowfall blanketed the region.
In the midst of this tragedy, the lifeline petitioned by Sir Harold and carried by the Free Legions under the command of Iron Head Servius continued to save lives. Fourteen thousand joined before winter, working desperately to build adequate shelters, with half volunteering to migrate to the Umberland mountains.
With so many people, the logistics provided by the Lord of Korelia were running dry. For the newly arrived, hunger was prevalent in their camps, but at least there was the certainty of rations and some vegetable soup. A breakthrough occurred when Servius'' legion secured a city containing a hidden stash of treasure, likely looted from cities or manors.
With this newfound wealth and the riches looted from the devastated area, Servius struck a deal with Umberland to supply them with food. During this time, the Nicopolan people became aware of different kinds of foods, like yams and their derivatives.
Just a few days'' ride to the south, with a hundred fresh Lowlandian Cavalry under his command, the Lord of Dawn managed to drive off the encroaching mobs and forced the mercenaries behind them to flee west. Lord Avery not only secured his people¡¯s livelihood but also reestablished contact with besieged manors around his barony. Despite his non-expansionist policy, knights and esquires flocked to his banner, further strengthening his position.
While separated, the successes of Servius'' Free Legion and Lord Avery brought some much-needed order and stability as the region braced for the cold embrace of winter.
In Lowlandia, Three Hills opened relations with Umberland and managed to organize a caravan before winter set in. Grains, ale, and wine were traded for medicine made from mountain herbs, black honey, and tree resin. This profitable venture and the guarantee of safe passage quickly cemented the Grand Alliance''s reputation in the eyes of the commoners. Now, the new order had the domestic credence to match its military prowess.
Before snowfall, Sir Hugo arrived at Hill Fort with his squire and servant. He reached Umberland before the onset of snowfall, where he became the highest-ranking officer of House Lansius and was received cordially. Quietly, he undertook a period of penance, though it was brief.
Lastly, in Arvena province, Sir Anci continued leading a guerrilla campaign that had reached Ceresia, wreaking havoc on the Northerners'' backlines and preventing news from reaching or leaving Riverstead, effectively splitting Arvena into West and East. In the eastern part, Lord Arte, his Marshal Sir Philip, and Thomas waged a clandestine war.
Despite early successes in raiding the Northerners'' weak local garrisons in villages, their hopes of inciting an open rebellion and regaining Riverstead City never materialized. The Arvenians, weary from continuous conflicts, remained tepid. Despite apparent support, the devastated population was unable to heed the call to arms.
The situation led Lord Arte to accept his wife''s suggestion that she return to Midlandia in search of reinforcements, specifically seeking the Saint Candidate Order, which controlled an informal army of zealous, armed mobs.
As the nobles waged their battles, for the populace not in power, the young year of 4426 could bring either salvation or utter destruction.
***
Midlandia, Hannei
"They had come," whispered many guards and servants in the corridor, prompting Lady Hannei to climb the stone stairs, driven by her curiosity. She had heard about the encroaching army, and the city, which had no walls, had surrendered, as the castle garrison was inadequate to protect it.
She reached the battlements and from there, saw the city being flooded by men, carts, and tents that moved like black dots over a white landscape. Despite the freezing winter, the armed mob had followed Saint Nay''s orders. Without Lord Bengrieve''s presence, she was able to exert her full power over the masses. Reports from spies also indicated that she had orchestrated the fallen Lord''s decision to step down.
Hannei spotted the old steward approaching her. The two''s entourage of servants and guards nodded at each other before giving them space.
"Lady Hannei," the steward greeted with a genuine warm smile.
"Steward," Hannei replied cordially, as she would to her father. The two set their eyes on the white landscape covering the city and the route beyond.
"Who is Saint Nay, really?" Hannei inquired.
The steward paused, a distant look crossing his face as he gathered his thoughts. "As you know, she''s a former associate," he began slowly. "Actually, I sort of knew her when we were young; you could even say that we grew up together."
Hannei gazed at the steward with wide eyes. "You were her childhood friend? But she''s... young?"
The man smiled as if recalling good memories, yet he warned, "Don''t be deceived. She''s old and insidious, likely from the means she used to remain youthful. However, I must admit that she used it cleverly to regain loyal followers and even a mob that would die on her command."
Hannei shuddered and clutched her fur coat tighter. "Still, can''t you try to dissuade her from fighting?"
"I doubt she''ll even acknowledge me now. She has climbed too high and done the unthinkable." Then, glancing at the worried Hannei, he reassured her, "Don''t worry, Cascasonne''s walls are high and our supplies are ample."
"Their numbers worry me. What if they swarm us? There are probably tens of thousands. And I see that they''ve brought siege towers and ladders," she observed.
"Impressive sight, Lady Hannei," the steward nodded. "Indeed, after centuries of controlling Midlandia, House Bengrieve has, regrettably, amassed quite a number of opponents."
"And the current Lord isn''t helping by treating people coldly, almost like toys," she added with a soft moan.
The old steward bowed his head a little apologetically. "Most regrettable," he said, his thin smile denoting silent agreement.
A cold wind breezed past them, but not even their hair moved as Hannei extended her ethereal shield. Turning to him, she asked, "What will become of me?"
"A better saint, as Master expected."
"I''m a mage," she refused. "Furthermore, it''s the role I never wanted."
"So did Master," he replied gently. "He didn''t want to be the head of this House or Midlandia. He wanted no power for himself, just to survive and guide this region toward everlasting growth."Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Hannei groaned. "When you put it like that, he sounds like a hero, and I''m an inconsiderate bum."
The steward chuckled, his broad and reliable shoulders shaking in his humble traveling coat. "Do you know why he ascended to power despite loathing every bit of it?"
Hannei furrowed her brows and shook her head.
"It''s because his family had observed, I must say correctly, that in nature there is only growth or decay. There is no other route to take. Either Midlandia continues to grow, or it will stagnate and decay."
Hannei sighed deeply and for once revealed her bitterness. "Don''t be fooled. He''s a cunning manipulator. He manipulated us."
"Without a doubt," the steward said as he looked at her warmly. "That''s the trait of a good noble. Bad nobles use whips, mediocre ones shout, good ones ask nicely."
"With enough threats and swords, asking nicely is easy," she retorted.
Again, the steward chuckled. He then saw a hawk in the sky and muttered, "The master''s words have arrived."
Hannei could only hold her breath in anticipation and exhaled deeply as she followed him to one of the towers in the castle. Meanwhile, beyond their walls, a large occupation force had formed, adding another seven thousand to the two thousand men-at-arms already wintering in the conquered city.
***
Korelia
Another month had passed in Korelia, and snow had finally blanketed the city in earnest. Unlike last year, Lansius chose to winter in the Eastern Mansion, which offered more comfort and space.
His last weeks leading up to cold season were filled with preparations for winter production. Unlike in other cities, Korelia had several large workshops that became centers of production during the winter months. Thus, local production actually ramped up in the wintertime due to the absence of other activities.
To accommodate this seasonal labor, Lansius ordered his staff to meticulously plan, calculate, and prepare all the materials needed for production. After the council and he had decided on a priority list, they also made a backup plan in case there were production issues. Because once winter came, there was no changing production plans due to the expected heavy snowfall, and any issues were unlikely to be resolved until the snowfall ended.
Such was the situation in Korelia that even when the waterwheel stopped due to the freezing river, production did not cease.
Moreover, due to the building projects, they had an extra building that was converted into a makeshift school for the young and adults and also lodging for the needy. Despite having made an orphanage, there were always the unfortunate who had different circumstances.
At the stone quarry to the east, the captured men from the battle of Korelia received better treatment. After all, they had become Lansius'' subjects following his House''s victory over Korimor and South Hill. They were allowed many conveniences after swearing their loyalty. There were also fewer guards around, and overall security was relaxed, as there was little perceived threat. House Lansius controlled their homes, and any attempt to flee without permission would only result in punishment upon their return.
Thus, for them, it was better to finish their sentences rather than run and cause further problems.
As he stood at the large window of his small hall adjacent to his chamber, wearing a coat lined with pashmina or cashmere wool that the nomads and Korelians had produced, Lansius quietly celebrated the end of 4425.
It had been a bloody year, and he was grateful that it was over. Yet, it was also a beautiful year, marked by his marriage to Audrey. Turning to his wife, he watched her cooking by the fireplace, a cherished winter tradition of their nascent House.
Returning to the window overlooking a city aglow with lights against the night, Lansius sighed softly. Next year would mark his sixth in this world, and against all odds, the once weak farmer from Bellandia had risen to become a warlord commanding multiple domains, knights, and squires.
The weight of the scroll in his hand reminded him of the rough calendar he had created. It was interesting that there were only eleven months in a year, but the number of days in each month was about forty.
While he harbored some doubts about the accuracy of the year''s solar revolution calculations, he had no practical way to prove it. However, it seemed the Elves had figured it out thousands of years ago, as the timing of the rain and planting seasons was generally accurate.
Interestingly, this world also coincidentally celebrated the end of the year in a way similar to Earth. Here, the new year was marked as the herald of the coming spring season, even though actual spring was still two to three months away.
A whiff of a sweet but burnt aroma alerted him. "Drey, why does it smell like honey?" Lansius asked.
"Because it is honey," Audrey replied, her attention fixed on the bubbling pot.
Lansius furrowed. "Why are you cooking honey? And isn''t it a bit late for a sweet snack?"
"Bochet," Audrey declared, stirring the mixture.
"A black mead?" Lansius was surprised. "But you''re pregnant."
Audrey turned to Lansius with a smile. "Not for me, obviously. It''s for you."
"Mm, you don''t have to do this for me."
"Well, it''s not like I''m making it all for you," she muttered, gently adding more ingredients into the cauldron. "You see, the best one is usually kept for several months."
"Ah," Lansius nodded, beginning to understand her intention. "But why make it yourself? Why not just place an order?"
"Well, it''s because Cecile gave me jars of honey from her land, and it''s been so long since I tasted a good bochet."
"Have you ever made one? I heard it¡¯s quite dangerous."
"Yes, the next part¡ªadding water to boiling honey¡ªcan be dangerous. One might lose an eyelash from the steam."
"Maybe it''s better if I do it," Lansius said as he tucked his scroll into his inside pocket and approached the fireplace and her.
"Just relax," Audrey said as she gently poured water into the cauldron. Despite her carefulness, heated steam rose towards her face. Lansius was startled and ran toward her, only to see an ethereal circular shape had formed over her face, protecting her from the hot steam.
Lansius was stunned to see it. "You can do that now?"
Audrey glanced at him questioningly. "You do realize that I can move an airship''s nose and change its course, right? Of course, I can protect myself from a little steam."
He shook his head in disbelief. The reaction time was unnatural, and how she could form it so accurately, effortlessly, and precisely was entirely different from moving a big object. It was like comparing pushing a boulder to making origami.
"I have to say, it¡¯s quite handy," she added with a smile.
"That''s definitely magic," Lansius stated firmly before adding, "Yet you still complain about not becoming a mage."
Audrey giggled. "I don¡¯t make the rules, love. If Ingrid said she can¡¯t sense my magic, then I¡¯m not a mage."
Lansius scratched his head and made a mental note to consult this later with Ingrid.
If only I weren''t besieged with so many things all at once.
He recalled the unfinished details for the south trade proposal, the banking plan, airship maintenance, the east agriculture project, the spring leaf carriage, the fire brigade, and also the spring bed. "Ah, I almost forgot we''re going to use a new bed tonight."
"A new bed?" She turned to him while stirring carefully with a long ladle. "What''s wrong with the one we used?"
"Well, it should be more comfortable," he said with a proud smirk.
"When did you order a bed? Must be costly, is it from White Lake?"
"I didn''t. I made it," he replied, his smirk turning smug.
"You made a bed?" Audrey giggled. "Why would the most powerful and busiest man in Korelia make a bed?"
Lansius almost answered, but Audrey shook her head and from her sweet lips muttered, "No, love. No need. I''m content to know later. I''m sure there''s a plan within a plan, as always."
"Not at all, I just wanted to make a comfortable bed. Why are you so distrustful of me?" he chuckled.
Audrey grinned happily. "Now that I know you''re the one making the bed, I''m really looking forward to it."
***
Lowlandia Plains
The plains turned quiet, muffled under a thick blanket of snow, broken only by the sound of goats bleating or horses neighing. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke from the fires that burned continuously in the heart of each felt-covered yurt. Inside, the murmur of low voices and the crackle of burning logs surrounded toddlers who huddled together for warmth, while adults worked on their crafts and mended their tools.
The sharp tang of preserved meats mixed with the earthy aroma of fermented mare''s milk, wine, and ale comforted everyone. For the first time in living memory, there was no shortage but an abundance of goods and food ingredients.
As their leader, Batu had seen even the most stubborn elders smile more often and show fewer wrinkles on their faces. They confided in him that they were glad the younger generations were leading better lives.
That morning, Batu quietly watched his wife breastfeeding their son, clad in clean, fluffy, soft linen¡ªthe best Midlandia had to offer. His wife, sweet and caring, beautiful even without her traditional decorations, continued to tickle the baby''s ears to keep him drinking her milk.
Outside, a rider approached their cluster of yurts. The rider stopped the horse, nimbly jumped down, and knelt in the snow.
Batu''s cousin, who guarded the entrance, reported to Batu, "Leader, Jelme, son of Belgutai, is here to see you."
Without answering, Batu rose, opened the leather and canvas door, and laughed when he saw the guest kneeling. "What are you doing? I''m not an Imperial subject."
The guest laughed, and the two embraced. "How is my sister doing in there?" Batu asked, curious about his half sister from another mother.
"As usual, complaining often," Jelme jested without hesitation.
Batu laughed. "She''s fiery, alright. I''ve always been curious¡ªwhy did you pick her?"
"I love my wife just like my horses: wild," Jelme explained with a silly grin.
The two laughed without reservation.
From inside the yurt, Batu''s wife called out in a lovely voice, "Dear, invite Jelme inside. Tell him to wait a little; I shall make breakfast, and I also need to pack gifts of almonds, sweet cake, and salted meat for your sister."
Batu motioned for the guest to come inside, but Jelme shook his head. "I don¡¯t want to disturb this early."
"Don''t be so formal. But really, what brought you here so early?" Batu inquired.
"I need to report that the Noyan''s new invention has worked. It kept the wolves at bay; we lost no goats or foals," Jelme''s voice was filled with unbridled excitement.
Batu grabbed his in-law''s arms. "Are your words for real?"
Jelme nodded and maintained his smile. "Even the elders are impressed."
"What did they say?"
"That the Noyan had brought magical fences from his trip in the sky. A fence as light as vine branches but strong enough to stop a raging horse, and as sharp as thorny bushes."
Batu laughed, almost jumping in joy. They gazed at the barbed wire Batu had erected next to his yurts to protect his horses and goats. As the Lord had suggested, they had used barbed wire attached to their collapsible wooden frames, similar to the ones they used on their yurts. Thus, the barbed wire could be packed and fielded as they moved from place to place.
With the elders'' approval, the new fences would face no resistance. This would secure their future. Now, even the dangerous task of guarding the flock was becoming light, even for the youngest among them.
Batu couldn''t help but head inside and said to his wife, "Do you hear it? The Noyan has granted us protection from predators. Our men no longer need to die to keep our flocks safe from wolves."
His wife looked at him warmly and, while playing with the sleepy baby, said, "If the Noyan is truly that great, then I hope our child, Lancius, will have at least half his talent."
Batu laughed and then, in great excitement, went out barefooted. He looked at the blue sky and shouted, "The gods in the sky and the land, hear me, hear me out!" His action attracted his tribesmen who went out to watch.
"You have answered our prayers by giving us a Great Noyan to lead us from a wretched life. Now, our fathers have enough soft and warm food to eat in winter, and our children have enough breast milk from their mothers and have warm clothes and blankets to cover their bodies."
More tribesmen emerged into the snow and approached Batu and Jelme. They all affirmed their leader''s words by greeting the blue sky, opening both arms, and beginning to dance in a trance.
"I declare our prayers fulfilled and I shall slay a thousand goats to honor your name. I wish the Great Sky and the Great Noyan will continue to guide us to greatness and beyond, and one day may his bloodline lead our grandchildren back to our ancestral home of the sea of grass in the great north."
Energized by his words, his tribesmen responded with a chorus of rich, resonant voices. United in spirit, they lifted their song high into the air, a powerful chant that mingled with the winds, echoing across the vast snow-covered plains.
The once scattered tribesmen had united under a single leader. Many had joined, even from the deep south, swelling their numbers from a mere thousand souls last year to well over seven thousand. They had become more numerous than most cities in Lowlandia. Now, a hope, long dormant within them, burned brightly.
***
Chapter 166 : Script, Silk, and Shadows
Chapter 166
Script, Silk, and Shadows
Korelia, Eastern Mansion
Amid winter, six castle staff and two carpenters, who had braved the snowfall, were busy dismantling the old bed in the master chamber. Lansius observed that most beds in this era were made from solid wood, equipped with canopies, and often adorned with heavy draperies. These beds were heavy and typically permanent fixtures, not designed to be moved easily.
The mattresses themselves were usually filled only with straw, wool, or feathers, but it was the bed frames that contributed most to the weight. In contrast, Lansius'' new mattress and bed frame, which were waiting in the hall outside, were modestly sized and remarkably lightweight. They featured coil spring construction, which kept the interior hollow, eliminating the need for dense materials to provide support and comfort. A thick layer of linen and feathers served as padding on top.
After the old bed was fully dismantled and removed, the new bed and mattress were carried into the chamber with surprising ease. The new bed required no installation, as it was designed to be compact. Once the maids had fitted a new bedsheet, everything was set.
The castle staff and carpenters, happy that their work was complete and looking forward to the warm snacks Lansius had promised as a bonus, left the chamber. The maids finished their cleanup and locked the door behind them, likely eager to join their colleagues in the kitchen.
Audrey, draped in warm clothes, approached the bed with a hint of skepticism. She touched the mattress, noting its bouncy yet firm feel, which raised her eyebrows in surprise. She turned to Lansius with a curious gaze.
"Go ahead and try it," Lansius encouraged.
"But you said it¡¯s made of metal wires," Audrey responded, still unsure.
With a chuckle, Lansius approached the bedside and then jumped into the bed, aiming to land on his butt. He surprised Audrey as he landed squarely on the bed with a satisfying ''thump.'' The bed responded gloriously¡ªits handmade springs compressing under his weight before rebounding smoothly to their original shape, not just absorbing the impact but adding a gentle bounce.
Audrey watched, wide-eyed, as the bed proved itself crash-proof. The initial doubt on her face transformed into an amused and impressed smile as she observed the bed''s performance. Lansius'' landing was far from the harsh jolt she expected.
"See? It''s perfectly safe," he exclaimed with a wide grin as he patted the space beside him, inviting her to try.
Audrey sat down gently and looked charmed by the softness. "It''s like floating on deep water," she remarked. "What do you call this kind of bed?" she inquired.
"My people call it... a spring bed?" Lansius replied, trying to translate the term from his world.
Audrey nodded approval in her eyes. "I like it. It can absorb punishment but quickly returns to form," she remarked, like a fighter assessing a weapon¡¯s resilience.
"It''s also healthier," Lansius informed her with a smile, fully expecting to draw her attention.
Audrey gave him her full attention, and he continued, "It''s mostly made of coiled wire, so much of the space inside is hollow. Because of this, there are fewer places for humidity, fungi, bugs, or lice to grow. Moreover, it''s easier to clean since we only need to work on the top layer; there''s no need to clean and air the entire bed."
"Easy to maintain, that''s great to hear," she nodded again and then tried resting her head on the bed. "Even without a pillow, it''s almost as soft as feathers."
"And they''re long-lasting. The coil springs inside won''t sag or compact over time. They''ll maintain their shape and function for years."
Audrey turned towards him, propping her elbow on the bed, her eyes inquisitive. "Lans, how do you know all this? Tell me, did you sleep on a bed like this on your home island?"
Lansius wasn¡¯t prepared for this but managed to reply, "Yes, my family has one."
Audrey pursed her lips as if thinking hard and mumbled, "I never thought you were this rich."
"Feeling guilty for letting me sleep on straw mats and in small tents?" he quipped.
That made her giggle, her eyes and lips looking sweet and enchanting. "Tell me, what else do you have on your home island?"
Lansius pondered what he could say without making her suspicious about the level of technology. "Well, I know about airships, but I don¡¯t own one. I don¡¯t think anyone I know owns one."
"I see, so you¡¯re no richer there than here," she let out a satisfied smirk.
"That¡¯s correct. There, I probably have a house, or so I remember," he muttered. "But here, I own a castle."
"Three," she corrected him, then added with a proud tone, "You own three cities, three castles, and vast estates."
Lansius found it almost too unreal, almost too funny to believe, and glanced at her, noticing her smirk. "What''s with the smirk?"
"Well, if you¡¯re successful here, then it¡¯s likely you¡¯ll stay and not try to go back home," she explained lightly, eliciting chuckles from Lansius.
Oh, Audrey, you''re always so practical.
"I have a wife here and soon a child. My place is here," he reassured her.
Audrey smiled sweetly, her cheeks flushing, which quickened his heartbeat.
She glanced at him, her expression shifting to one of concern. "I''d better do something," she muttered, starting to rise from the bed.
Lansius frowned. "Wait, what''s wrong?"
"It''s nothing serious... just, I don¡¯t want to risk twins," she muttered.
"Twins?" His brow furrowed in confusion, but he calmly waited for her to explain.
Audrey noticed, put on a thin smile, and explained, "If we¡¯re too... enthusiastic, I might end up with twins. I want an heir, but two at once could be risky..."
Lansius stifled his laughter. Although he harbored some doubts, as he didn''t fully understand this world''s human anatomy, he found her concern too amusing. "Drey, it doesn¡¯t quite work that way."
"Really?" Audrey focused on him, earnest and a bit puzzled. "I heard that twins come from being too active in bed during pregnancy."
He snorted and shook his head dismissively. "That''s just an old wives'' tale."
Audrey looked relieved and nodded, but she still headed to her armoire. It was a freestanding wardrobe with two doors, the latest model from Midlandia, gifted by one of the guilds seeking to curry favor with them.
Lansius admired the design, which was more modern than anything he had encountered in Lowlandia. It featured shelves for folded clothes and a separate closet designed to hang expensive garments, preventing damage. Not that the two of them had many; they mostly used it to store their tunics and freshly cleaned gambesons.
Despite her fondness for the expensive color black, Audrey wasn''t into fancy clothes. Her preference for black was purely because her knight master had told her it suited her well.
As the fireplace crackled, he watched her shiver from the cold as she undressed and quickly changed into a sturdier gown after donning her undergarments.
"Wait, where are you going?" he asked, rising from the bed.
"Archery practice. Will you join?" She asked without looking, then quickly added, "I guess not, you''ll be busy."
"Will I?" Lansius was puzzled; he didn''t remember having any scheduled activities today. Even the scribes, who often worked with him on the story''s manuscript, had taken the day off to be with their families.
"Yes," she answered while wearing her archery gear, which included full-length linen bracers extending to the upper arm and separate chest guards. "I''m sure you''ll be thinking about making a lot of these beds and selling them for a profit."
Lansius was amused by her suggestion that he was that industrious, although he was also concerned that she might think him too profit-oriented, or perhaps even mercenary. "Well... I''m thinking of giving it to our honored guests first, then selling it, but it''s probably going to be pricey."Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"With that kind of comfort, I think they''ll pay. Especially if it''s new," she turned to him. "Nobles can''t stand not having the latest thing their peers have."
Lansius'' confidence rose at her words. "Come, let me accompany you to training."
"Nice, practice is always better with some competition," she declared in high spirits.
"Drey, archery is always a practice against yourself," he remarked.
"In battle, a hit is a hit," she retorted plainly.
Lansius chuckled as the two exited the chamber, bows in hand, quivers on belts.
***
Winter in Korelia
Despite the cold embrace and the thick snow, the Korelians remained active inside their workshops and homes. Under Lord Lansius'' guidance, the workshops had transformed into communal hives of activity. While most continued as production facilities, some were repurposed for winter shelter and schooling.
With the promise of warmth from the fireplace and two free meals, even the poorest had shelter and food. The number of destitute individuals had decreased significantly from last year, as many had found employment. Korelia had grown into a city bustling with opportunities, no longer limited to shepherding but now home to various shops, farming, and building projects.
Rivaling these workshops, the orphanage shone as a center of learning. Dozens of orphans learned to read and became avid readers. Several of the brightest students even became assistants at the nascent public library for the chance to access various books.
This arrangement, spearheaded by Lady Astrid and Sir Michael and strongly supported by the Lord and Lady, allowed these young assistants to earn pocket money while studying and keeping the library clean. They also assisted the scribes who worked to make copies of borrowed books from nobles or wealthy merchants for the library''s collection. They worked in comfortable warmth, as the Lord had decreed the building important enough to warrant a share of the city''s precious firewood.
Aside from the librarians and assistants, five guests¡ªguildsmen staying in Korelia¡ªalso resided there. Preferring the library¡¯s scholarly environment to the noise of an inn, they opted to rent rooms where they could find the company of like-minded individuals.
There, they prepared reports for their head office in Midlandia. Despite the succession crisis and worsening ties, their focus remained on making a profit and growing their ventures.
During their stay, they became close and shared tales of their travels, food recipes, and knowledge of their crafts. Despite the gap in their social status, a few even grew as close as brothers, playing music and board games. One guest even offered the brightest orphan a job, recognizing the need for talent as his guild expanded.
The orphan''s success inspired his peers to study harder, reading books about trade and successful merchant stories. They listened eagerly when the guildsmen shared stories and became familiar with their business lingo and terminology. Slowly, they paved a brighter future for themselves.
For the guildsmen, after growing tired of their own tales, they found themselves drawn to stories from the Lord''s homeland. While others had become familiar with these narratives, working-class individuals like them seldom had the chance to read for pleasure, especially during the busy season leading up to winter.
With many tasks needing completion before the cold fully set in, leisure reading was reserved for the slower times of winter. They devoured tales like "The Boy Who Cried Wolf," "The Three Little Pigs," and "Pinocchio."
Their curiosity piqued, they moved on to "The Little Mermaid," surprised by its darker theme of sacrifice and the consequences of desiring a life contrary to one''s nature or fate.
But it was "Felis in Wonderland" that truly baffled them with its whimsical and often absurd events. At first, it seemed purposeless and confusing. Only upon searching for deeper meanings did they liken it to a pilgrim¡¯s journey, or a knight''s quest, sparking several nights of discussion. The story''s richly imaginative world was unlike any they had encountered before, and this enthusiasm encouraged other guests to at least try reading a few pages.
Of the five, three were eager for more, but the shelf was empty. Unaware it was the latest release, they inquired during lunch, and the librarian confirmed it was the last story available. Later, as they sat near the fireplace, the old librarian revealed that his colleagues worked as the Lord''s personal scribes.
"I believe the Lord is working on a new story, one of a different class," he said, his gaze sweeping across the guests who surrounded him.
"What kind of difference? Can you tell us?" one of the guests asked eagerly.
"This one is much more serious compared to the previous stories," the old man responded.
"Do tell us, what is it about?" another guest asked, everyone''s eyes peeled in anticipation.
The scribe chuckled and shook his head. "I''m not at liberty to divulge details, and it¡¯s far too long to recount even a part entirely," he replied. Seeing the disappointment in their faces, he added, "But I can recite a few memorable lines."
Eager eyes turned to him. "Please, spare us from wanting, good master."
With a smile on his lips, the librarian leaned back in his sturdy wooden chair and closed his eyes, reciting, "It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death, all things appear fair. But when dogs shame the gray head and gray chin and the nakedness of an old man killed, it is the most piteous thing that happens among wretched mortals."
The guests listened in awe, captivated by the strong lines.
"Such a remarkable line. What is this story about?" asked one.
"Please share more with us, what else do you remember? We can always part with ale if that would loosen your tongue," another suggested.
With a shoulder rocked by chuckles, the librarian said, "An ale might just do that. But I only remember a few phrases that my colleagues often repeat." He then closed his eyes and then recited another, "Everything is more beautiful because we''re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."
The guests were overjoyed, but one held his finger to his lips, signaling for everyone to remain quiet and allow the old man more time to recollect.
Nodding his head, the librarian took a deep breath and then murmured a poignant line: "And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you¡ªit''s born with us the day we are born."
The guests savored the line and committed it to memory. It was a familiar yet unique concept; the Imperium rarely discussed fate or destiny.
The librarian exhaled deeply and raised his hand to request silence as he recalled another passage.
"Come, friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so? Even the elves, far greater beings than you, have died," he said as he rose, his voice intensifying. He struck his chest passionately, then posed convincingly. "And look at me, see how handsome and powerful I am? The son of a great man, the child of a deathless grand progenitor. But even for me, death and fate are waiting," he continued, walking away then turning back solemnly. "There will come a dawn, or sunset, or high noon when a man will take my life in battle too¡ªperhaps with a thrown spear or a deadly arrow."
The guests were enthralled by his recitation and asked for permission to write it down, moved by the beauty and depth of the words. Afterward, the Lord''s unfinished story became the topic of speculation.
Naturally, they wrote to their families and friends about the must-read books in Korelia¡ªa series that made the journey to Korelia worthwhile.
Without sending invites or offering money, Lord Lansius had unknowingly attracted the intellectual and educated elites.
***
Lansius
Three months of winter had passed in Korelia, each day unfolding in peaceful bliss. As the grip of winter gradually loosened, the oppressive cold receded, and the thick snow thinned. From a tall tower or the unfinished city wall, one could see patches of cleared land on the great plains. Lansius could sense in the air that the spring of 4426 was just around the corner.
Yesterday, the river thawed, and the watermill resumed operation. Smoke billowed from the new complex as production restarted. Workshops busied themselves with various projects: one produced wires, another barbed wire, a third coiled springs for spring beds, and yet another completed a carriage with leaf spring suspension.
With the harsh bite of winter''s chill softening, the guards wore fewer layers. Riders, travelers, and carts ventured out more frequently as roads cleared of snow.
As soon as the road was open, Lansius headed to the airship "hangar", located beside the incomplete city wall. The structure was rudimentary¡ªmerely wooden beams and scaffolding topped with straw mats to protect the airship''s expensive skin from the elements. Every day, a crew of thirty, many recruited before winter, braved the cold to clear snow from the straw mats, preventing buildup that could stress the wooden supports.
Thanks to their dedication, even with only partial shelter, the airship remained free of snow.
To further protect the airship, a furnace directly connected to the vessel generated the necessary heat. Fueled by coal, this heat helped maintain the integrity of the airship¡¯s structure by preventing the material from becoming brittle and cracking in the cold.
Coal was chosen for its availability and cost-effectiveness in Korelia. It burned hotter and longer than wood but was not commonly used in homes due to the smoke and soot it produced, making it an economical choice for this specialized purpose.
Lansius'' visit boosted the crew''s morale, and Hans, whom Lansius had termed the airship¡¯s chief engineer and pilot, escorted him to inspect the airship''s worthiness. During this inspection, Lansius confided that he now had a specific mission in mind for the airship.
Previously, Lansius had only a vague notion of using the airship, primarily considering it as a means to generate cash through joyrides. But now, he envisioned a specific mission: to scout and map every corner of his domain in search of overlooked natural resources. Thus, he dubbed this crew of thirty the Airborne Survey Team.
Lansius remained in the hangar to discuss the new team goals, mission parameters, and requirements with Hans and the other crew members. He also took his lunch break there and, afterward, with a smile on his face, welcomed a shipment from the workshop.
All winter, the smiths, craftsmen, and carpenters from Lowlandia had been making a new gondola with changes and adjustments based on Lansius'' design. While Nicopola had their experts, Lansius brought the advantage of modern knowledge.
Carefully, the crew and the craftsmen unloaded the newly improved gondola. It now featured larger canard wings based on Hans'' input, and thinner walls that were reinforced with hollow square steel to provide structural rigidity.
The new gondola was only slightly larger but more spacious due to dedicated storage compartments. Surpassing Lansius'' expectations, the wire smith was able to finish what he wanted. Based on his design, they rebuilt the airship control from the ground up. Now it used a single stick, a lever for fuel throttle, and two-foot pedals for left and right yaw movement.
Without a doubt, the new control would require a lot of trial and testing, as well as a lot of calibration on the ground, but Hans was up to the task. He observed the new design with serious admiration and curiosity.
All these changes were only possible due to the work of various craftsmen who labored through the winter, even when water mill power wasn''t available to them. Their efforts were so great that Lansius was moved.
I have underestimated their brilliance. Medieval or not, they are masters of their crafts.
He boarded the improved gondola, thrilled by the new space. The gondola boasted lightweight canvas seats with seatbelts and dedicated storage compartments crafted from thin, lightweight wood and webbing.
Now, Lansius could only wait for another part of the puzzle: Calub, who was tirelessly experimenting day and night to produce an improved fuel formula. He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn''t squander the talents of a genius alchemist in his service. Even a modest 2 to 5% increase in power could extend their range by dozens of miles or provide crucial safety margins in emergencies.
Achieving this could open the door to further enhancements, allowing for the integration of specialized mountings and even multirole hardpoints for weapons or rescue operations.
"Rescue operations," he murmured to himself, finding the idea both ironic and a bit absurd.
Lansius touched the skin of the airship, felt the warmth from the externally heated air, and said, ¡°Pray that nobody is stupid enough to challenge us. Otherwise, we''ll show the world that beneath that silken skin, you are a weapon delivery system.¡±
***
Chapter 167 : A New Canvas
Chapter 167
A New Canvas
Korelia
The airship''s first flight of the year became a spectacle in Korelia. The vessel, which had slipped through the night on its arrival last season, was now revealed in all its glory under the morning sun. Its majestic form, sleek and unburdened by ornaments, resembled the tip of a spear soaring across the blue sky. The ivory skin of the airship gleamed as it made its rounds, seemingly to delight the onlookers below.
Rumors spread that the Lord himself had piloted the flying vessel. The airship took to the skies several times over three days before the activities in the sky subsided. However, these events were just a prelude to the military display that would soon take place.
The citizens of Korelia had barely finished discussing the Lord¡¯s daring exploits with his airship when, one crisp morning, the sound of marching abruptly filled the air. As the first light of dawn grazed the horizon, hundreds of men clad in full military gear streamed out from their billets, their breaths forming misty clouds in the cool air.
Hearing the commotion, Korelians opened their windows in amazement and watched the troops pass by. Cheers erupted from some who recognized family members or relatives among the marchers. Sir Justin, fully armored, rode his eager warhorse at the front. Following close behind were Sir Harold and Sir Michael, leading the rest of the mounted knights and the cavalry.
They moved like a procession, marching in good order toward the city''s west gate. Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey were present too, riding in a new carriage flanked by squires and guardsmen.
The Korelians was emerging from winter''s grip and relished the parade-like atmosphere. Among the figures they cheered for was Francisca. Her towering yet delicate presence had made her a favorite among the children.
Banners from Korimor, South Hill, White Lake, Three Hills, Nicopola, and the Nomadic tribesmen fluttered in the wind, a vibrant testament to the significant expansion of House Lansius over just one year.
Although the ice outside had not fully thawed, it was preferable to the impending muddy conditions that spring would bring. This lingering chill did little to deter the procession as it reached the open plains of west Korelia.
Upon arrival, Sir Justin, acting as the marshal, promptly commanded the army to assume formation. Following Lord Lansius'' directive, he was to ensure the troops were ready and willing.
In the field, the soldiers lined up in precise formation, their backs straight, right hands holding either halberds or spears, shields on their left, and swords at their belts. As the sun rose higher, its golden rays caught the polished ringmail and helmets of the men, making them glisten under the morning sun.
Despite maintaining garrisons in Korimor, South Hill, Hill Fort, and the bulwark in Umberland, their numbers had swelled impressively. From the original four hundred, the force had almost doubled.
As the columns formed squares, the formidable scale of the army became apparent to everyone. Whereas a typical barony might muster a hundred or two hundred, House Korelia had assembled seven hundred professional soldiers. This impressive count did not even include the militia and their allies.
Lord Lansius, observing from outside his carriage, instructed calmly, "Line formation, five men deep."
Echoing his command, Sir Justin announced, "Line formation, five men deep!" Captains and lieutenants immediately relayed the order through their units.
The soldiers, no longer mere recruits, shifted into line formation with practiced ease. Most of them had seen combat and bled in battles. Their faces were confident, eager to march even with loaded rucksacks on their backs.
Lord Lansius then climbed into his carriage for a better view of the troops. He admired the straight lines of the formation before him. With a nod, he commanded, "Forward, maintain formation."
"Vanguard, march! Maintain formation," echoed the marshal. The order cascaded down the ranks.
The army advanced. Infantry formed the center with cavalry on both flanks. The cranequiniers, a special unit armed with crossbows, held the reserve position. Meanwhile, the Lord and his knights kept pace.
Riding next to the carriage, Sir Justin confirmed, "My Lord, My Lady, do you have any specific orders for today?"
"Let¡¯s head to the village by the forest where Lord Jorge camped last summer," Lord Lansius replied from inside the carriage. "The scouts have confirmed the roads are passable for carriages and carts."
"By your order," Sir Justin acknowledged, then rode off to inform his command staff.
With that, House Lansius began their early spring training. It wasn¡¯t the annual training session, but it had become a tradition as the men were restless after a long stay at the billets and eager to show what they had learned or how they maintained their edge despite the long winter.
...
Lansius
Despite the softer seat and the leaf spring suspension, the ride was still rocky and bumpy. Lansius knew this was to be expected as they were riding off-road, yet he couldn¡¯t help feeling downhearted by the harsh ride.
I guess I expected too much.
He admitted this to himself while peering outside to observe the plains and the troops¡¯ movements, using it as a distraction from the uncomfortable journey.
"It''s a smooth ride," Audrey reassured, as if reading his mind.
"Really?" Lansius turned to her and couldn''t help but notice the gentle swell beneath her pashmina wool coat.
"Definitely better than usual," she said warmly.
Lansius couldn''t resist a smile. "It''s still bumpy, though."
"Of course, it''s running on a frozen, off-the-beaten path, not the Imperial road," she replied.
The mention of the Imperial road piqued his interest. "Imperial Road? I''ve never heard of that."
Audrey raised her brow. "But you read a lot?"
He chuckled softly. "I guess not many bothered to write about roads."
"Well, there''s a road that connected Centuria, Tiberia, Elandia, and Nicopola," she explained. "For the most part, it''s a good cobbled road, some even wide and smooth. Even in disrepair, it surpasses most dirt tracks."
Lansius nodded thoughtfully. "I hope I could get a map of that."
"I can probably find one for you," Audrey offered confidently.
"You can?" Lansius'' tone was skeptical yet amused.
Audrey wore a proud smile. "You''d be surprised at how many letters I receive, asking for invitations. Cecile said that some come from wealthy families from as far as Galdia and Salceslia."
"Now, I''m getting jealous," Lansius quipped as he leaned closer. "And what exactly do these correspondents seek from my lovely wife?"
Audrey grinned as they bumped shoulders. "I already told you, invitations to our court. They probably want to see the face of the black-haired conqueror," her tone was playful.
"The famed Black Lord, eh?" Lansius chuckled. By now, he had embraced the moniker. "Soon, it''ll be Gray Lord."
"I don''t mind," she said with a sweet smirk. "I also love gray horses."
Lansius chuckled, allowing Audrey to add, "Husband, you work too much. Even in winter, I see you tinkering with so many things¡ªstacks of plans on your desk, drawings, and you''ve even had the servants help you with those boxes of canvas and resin." She reached out to gently touch his arm.
"I''m guilty of that," he admitted. "I wish I could lay back and rest, but with so much going on, I fear that I''m on borrowed time," he explained. "The world isn''t going to get better in a few short years. I fear that the conflict in the Imperium will drag us all in."
Audrey squeezed his hand. "Lans, you have me, the knights, the staff, and the people. We''re not weights to carry."
His smile returned, grateful and warm. "You do well to remind me often."
"Of course," she replied, holding his hand warmly.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
As he lowered his gaze, the baby bump caught his attention again. "How''s the baby?" he asked, glad that he could shift the topic to lighter matters.
"He seems rather excited today," said Audrey, caressing her belly. "Maybe from all the moving in the carriage."
"Do you feel nauseous?" he asked, concerned.
"Not at all," she shook her head. "The view and the smell make me happy."
Lansius drew a deep breath and felt relieved.
As they conversed, the landscape began to shift, growing more rugged. Audrey peered out the window. "The terrain is getting harder; we''d better adjust the formation."
"You''re right," he remarked and then opened a small wooden window.
Sterling quickly rode closer. "My Lord," he greeted.
"The terrain is getting rougher. Ask the marshal to have the men form up into marching columns," he instructed.
"At once," Sterling responded, spurring his horse to convey the orders.
Only then did Lansius realize the carriage was performing well. He noticed the terrain was rough, likely from the freezing winter, which had made it jagged, unlike the smoothness of summer. He could feel and hear the leaf spring suspension working hard to absorb shocks from the uneven terrain.
Still, it was far from optimal. Sometimes it was harsh; other times, it was too bouncy. He needed to hand over this carriage and allow the craftsmen to take it on a long journey for testing and further improvements. He reckoned that a dozen more tunings were required, and along the way, they might try another approach or design. Such was progress and development¡ªit was never a linear process.
***
Korelia
This early in the season, farming, herding, and most other activities hadn¡¯t yet started. There was only the spring festival waiting just around the corner.
The military training concluded within a week. Lansius did not participate directly but visited several times to check on their progress and gauge their proficiency. He observed that his orders were carried out with increased flexibility and confidence. Moreover, Lansius was satisfied to see the troops executing a well-ordered retreat against a mock enemy, played by the knights.
I guess they''re ready for the next level.
Lansius made a mental note to order a specific purchase to enhance their effectiveness.
As for the cavalry, he noticed that their command had become more intuitive. Even without direct orders, they assumed effective positions using their intuition and experience, reducing the need for his micromanagement.
The same improvement occurred with his crossbowmen, who had become more mobile in separate smaller columns. Sir Justin had experimented with repositioning them to counter various threats or surprise the least expecting enemies. This strategy worked surprisingly well, especially in combination with the skirmishers, who moved as quickly and could provide protection against fast-moving cavalry.
Sir Justin and Farkas, who commanded the skirmishers, considered integrating them, and Lansius could see a rough model resembling a mini Spanish Tercio. This formation would consist of smaller, mobile columns of guards surrounding the main army, serving as the vanguard, flanks, or rear guard. However, he realized he didn''t have enough troops to create even one full Tercio.
Despite not having muskets like a real Tercio, Lansius felt that the formation might still work using his new crossbow design. Thus, he gave his officers the freedom to experiment, especially since they would need more experience in pitched battles.
Lansius feared there would come a time when he couldn''t rely on strategic maneuvers and would need to depend on brute force. Lansius wanted his army to be more than prepared¡ªhe wanted them to excel.
However, he was grateful that his concept of a standing army was now gaining wide acceptance. Initially, a gambit born out of desperation to survive, it had since rewarded them well. Anyone could see that the alliance and the shogunate stood on the shoulders of his army, which had conquered Korimor and South Hill, and brought peace to Three Hills and Umberland.
They had proven themselves in battle, and now in peacetime, they demonstrated their ability to maintain a high standard. Lansius observed their prime physical condition, their well-polished gear, and the sharpness of their spears. Reports also confirmed the cleanliness of their billets and the absence of crime-related issues.
This consistent demonstration of high standards reassured him. Furthermore, with a more experienced chain of command in place, Lansius felt confident that his army was in good hands.
The only issue was loyalty.
While there were no direct allegations, the deteriorating crisis in Midlandia cast doubts on the loyalty of several key figures. Although Lansius would vouch for people like Sir Justin and Sir Harold, their past ties with Lord Bengrieve and the fact that they had family in Midlandia could cause a rift with the rest of his officers.
Only Calub fared better, as his marriage to Cecile made him more trustworthy since he was of Tarracan origin and had no family in Midlandia.
Despite his concerns, Lansius kept them to himself. He knew that even a small hint could rouse his supporters and potentially cause a rift. So far, he could only discuss this with Audrey. He didn¡¯t even dare to mention it to Farkas, who managed his network of spies, which had now grown from bards to also include peddlers, market workers, masseurs at the bathhouse, and even beggars.
Lansius'' reluctance and caution left the issue largely unaddressed until now. One week after the military training, at the small council meeting, Sir Justin unexpectedly relinquished his office as marshal.
"On what grounds, my good Sir?" Lansius asked from his seat, blindsided by the unexpected development.
Sir Justin maintained a relaxed posture. "I doubt any Arvenian needs to explain himself. However, if My Lord needs a direct reason, the last time Sir Archibald was here, I gave the champion my word that after your return from the Umberland campaign, I would assist the Arvena resistance. So now it feels like the right time."
So, it was Anci''s doing...
This meant there was no ulterior motive. The man was a force of nature, but he was also reckless and rarely had a plan in mind. This revelation made Lansius somewhat reassured.
"For how long?" Cecile asked.
"I''m not sure how long it''ll take, but I''ll return to Korelia," the knight answered Cecile firmly, then turning to Lansius, he added, "Next time, I''ll bring my entire family."
Lansius let out a snort, acknowledging that the marshal likely had a rough idea about the issue of loyalty. "Don''t forget to bring your son and also your horses."
"Such is my plan, My Lord," he said with a charming smile.
"Pardon me for intervening," Calub interjected, "but if the campaign is successful, wouldn''t you gain more land in Arvena?"
Sir Justin chuckled. "If that were to happen, I''d take coin."
His unexpected jest made the other council members chuckle.
The knight continued, "Arvena may have more fertile land and developed towns, but it seems that the fortune of my House lies elsewhere as fortune continues to evade us." He looked around the chamber and said, "I seriously think that my House''s fortune lies in Lowlandia."
Lansius chuckled, finding the reason poignant despite its nonsensical nature. "What happened to the knight that fights for profit?"
Sir Justin laughed. "I haven¡¯t changed. It¡¯s just that I smell fortune and revenge in Arvena." He then gazed curiously at Lansius. "What about you, My Lord? You''re as good as any Arvenians. I heard you were in Riverstead when the city fell and in Sabina Rustica as well. I¡¯m sure you have blood debts to settle."
Lansius leaned back in his seat and admitted, "My blood boils if I think of their treachery. I wish to lead an army there if I could, but alas, I''m now responsible for so many souls."
Sir Justin smiled like a proud father and nodded. "Originally, I had hoped you could lend me some troops, but with the situation in Midlandia, I doubt they would let an armed party enter."
Lansius exhaled sharply. "I wish you would reconsider your plan; I don''t want you to get tangled in their succession crisis."
"I''ll manage. The one thing I''m expert at is smuggling myself," he quipped, eliciting chuckles from Cecile and Calub. "Besides, it''s probably a good way to prevent them from trying to use me against you, My Lord."
Lansius sat up straight. "Gratitude for your concern, Sir Justin."
"Don''t be," Sir Justin shook his head. "It''s mostly my own affair. You see, I also badly need to see my son and my wife."
Lansius nodded and had nothing else to say. Cecile took the chance to ask, "What about Eleanor?"
"Yes, this is the hardest decision," he said with a sigh. "I sincerely hope you can take care of Eleanor for me. Right now, Korelia is probably the safest place in this part of the Imperium."
Cecile exchanged glances with Calub, who nodded and replied, "I''ll be honored to be entrusted with your daughter. And indeed, as you said, politically and militarily, Korelia is the most stable."
"Militarily, yes," Lansius commented, "but politically, we''re still to see whether the shogunate will take form smoothly."
"My Lord, it''s still a better bet," Sir Justin replied. "With the Imperium in this state, Korelia is likely to escape the crisis¡ªor, as Sir Harold said, strong enough to wrestle the conflict down."
Lansius chose not to argue. The other two council members, Calub and Cecile, glanced at him, waiting. "How many men will you bring to Midlandia and Arvena?" Lansius finally asked.
"Twenty from here. I''ll pick up more when I arrive in Midlandia, thinking about forty or fifty."
"That''s big enough for Midlandia to see it as a threat," Lansius leaned forward. "I can''t give you more men, but I can give you something better."
***
Eastern Mansion
As Lansius returned to Eastern Mansion, Ingrid and Claire were waiting. Audrey asked them to join her for lunch.
Sterling, who hadn''t seen his newlywed wife for an entire winter, was certainly emotional, but he composed himself well, despite Claire clearly giving him some sweet smiles.
After lunch, Audrey invited them to their private hall. With Margo keeping watch at the door, they could speak more freely.
"How was your stay at Cecile''s family estate?" Audrey asked.
"It''s wonderful. I might even say that the stay has been incredibly pleasant," said Ingrid.
"My house is honored to host an esteemed educator like her at our humble place," Claire commented.
Originally, Lansius was a bit worried since Cecile and Calub had stayed in Korelia over the winter, leaving only Claire as the host. But as it turned out, it worked out well.
Afterward, Ingrid began her reports. "I''m sure My Lord and Lady are eager to hear about my findings. As Sir Morton has said, indeed, Claire has a talent."
Lansius, seated, and Sterling, who stood guard, both leaned forward; however, Ingrid merely smiled, prompting the two to look at Claire, who sheepishly smiled in return.
"She can," Audrey muttered without surprise to Lansius. "I could see her aura."
Lansius and Sterling breathed a sigh of relief. "Congratulations," Lansius said to Claire, who promptly curtsied.
"Lans, I believe the two need some time together," Audrey hinted, and Lansius chuckled. "Sterling, Claire, I order you two to go home. I''m sure you''ll have some catching up to do."
The two newlyweds, separated since the start of winter and now slightly flustered, excused themselves.
"I feel bad separating them just after their wedding," Lansius commented as he watched them leave. "Especially since Sterling just furnished their new house."
"He ended up spending the winter in the Eastern Mansion with us," Audrey said, sharing a similar sense of guilt.
"I think My Lord and Lady shouldn''t feel bad about it. We should feel fortunate instead. Claire''s gift of magic was almost lost," Ingrid revealed.
"Then indeed it is a stroke of good fortune. Now our House has another mage," said Audrey spiritedly. She was the one who introduced Claire to Ingrid and brought this plan to Cecile and Lansius.
"It''s going to take another year before she can be of any use," warned Ingrid. Then she asked, "My Lady, you previously mentioned something about an aura?"
"Oh, yes," Audrey muttered. "That''s what my master used to say about the colored glowing thing around the body. I''ve begun to see it clearer and clearer."
Ingrid furrowed her brow, nodding but looking quite befuddled.
Lansius rose and decided to seek his expertise. "Ingrid, I think you should see what Lady Audrey is capable of."
This piqued Ingrid, who readily stood and asked, "Capable of what exactly, My Lord?"
"Oh, you''re going to be surprised," Lansius remarked, his voice tinged with anticipation yet carrying an ominous undertone. Meanwhile, outside, the blanket of snow gave way to a tapestry of wildflowers, closing the chapter on winter. Now, the canvas of spring sets the stage for the ascent of the new Korelia Shogunate.
***
Chapter 168 : Halls of the Rising Sun
Chapter 168
Halls of the Rising Sun
Eastern Mansion
Lansius invited Ingrid into the renovated corridor used for training. There, Margo had prepared and lit seven candles on a table. The candles burned brightly, some made of tallow and others of more expensive beeswax. Meanwhile, Audrey stood a good ten steps away from the table and its lit candles.
Ingrid stood at attention, doubt clouding her face about what this demonstration was all about.
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who nodded back. She casually raised her right hand and, with a small motion, extinguished a candle without taking a step.
Ingrid¡¯s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. "That is impossible," she said, completely bewildered. She hurriedly approached Audrey, inspecting her hands and body gently, careful not to disturb her pregnancy, muttering, "How can I not sense anything?"
Audrey was delighted by her reaction, biting her lip to stifle a grin. Lansius and Margo exchanged glances and grins; they had seen it several times and were still equally impressed by it.
"Show me again. Can you do¡ª" Ingrid began, but Audrey flicked her finger, and two more candles went out.
Ingrid then turned emotional, grabbing Audrey''s hands with tears in her eyes. "It''s impossible," she muttered, her voice filled with gratitude. Turning to Lansius, she said, "Even now, I can''t sense a large magic from her."
"It looks like magic to me," Lansius said lightly. "Can you at least confirm that it is magic and not some other art?"
"What she did is clearly magic, My Lord. No question about that," Ingrid replied, regaining her composure. With a small circular motion of her hand, she extinguished a candle. "It is exactly what I taught her."
Audrey grinned. Lansius knew that Ingrid''s words had validated her ability more than he ever could.
"But the question remains: I can see the fire, but not the fireplace," Ingrid explained. "My Lady, how do you do that? Since when?"
"Well, on my return journey, I tried to manipulate the wind aboard the airship and sensed something. Still, it was hard, and I gave up. Then, when I trained in archery, I could feel it more clearly and see it. That''s how I managed to rein it in."
Ingrid furrowed her brow. "See, as in seeing shapes?"
"And colors," Audrey confirmed.
Ingrid just stared blankly before assuming a stance. "Tell me, what do you see now?"
"Around your right leg, I can see a yellow aura swirling around it," Audrey said, much to Ingrid''s disbelief. "It''s a fascinating color. I''ve never seen it before."
Hearing that, Ingrid showed a mix of emotions. Lansius could see she was happy, even grateful, but also equally troubled.
After giving her time to ponder, Lansius added, "I also noticed that her eyes sometimes turn golden, but I guess you''ve seen that already."
"Do you think it''s related?" Audrey asked Ingrid.
"I''m not sure at this point, My Lord, My Lady," Ingrid admitted. Then, with more firmness, she asked, "But what powers this? I don''t feel any source flowing from you."
"I have no idea." Audrey exhaled sharply. "And I don''t know much about the source."
Ingrid was deep in thought. Meanwhile, Lansius tried to make sense of it all, saying, "If, as you said, it''s magic, then clearly she''s a mage, no?"
"But is it even magic?" Ingrid murmured, more to herself. Turning to Lansius, she explained, "I can''t sense any, but it''s clearly magic. Somehow she can do it without¡ª" She stopped, realizing something.
While Lansius and Ingrid conversed, Audrey took a spare bow. "Mind if I practice?"
"Sure," Lansius said, thinking it would also give Ingrid more time to ponder.
Audrey didn¡¯t bring her chest guard and arm guard but was confident enough to do without them. Besides the spare bow, she had kept two quivers for practice. She assumed a natural stance, drew, nocked an arrow, and loosed. The piercing sound of the arrow slicing through the air was followed by a satisfying thud as it hit the straw mat at the far end of the corridor, cushioning the precious arrowhead.
Audrey didn¡¯t smile at the solid hit; she merely pulled another arrow and repeated the process. She spent all her quivers and only then observed her hits.
"Good aim," Lansius remarked. Meanwhile, Ingrid approached Audrey. "May I inspect the bow?"
"Certainly," Audrey offered the spare nomadic recurve bow.
Ingrid tested the bow''s draw and, at first, couldn¡¯t draw it completely. She looked rather distressed, but on her second try, she was able to draw it fully. She carefully let the string rest without releasing it, her face brightening.
"What is it?" Audrey asked, noticing her reaction.
"My Lady, you may not realize it," she began with a shaky smile on her lips, "but somehow you''ve mastered strengthening magic."
Audrey furrowed her brow. "That''s surely a jest. All that based on this bow''s draw weight? But it''s not that hard. Even Lord Lans used it for practice."
Ingrid turned to Lansius, who shook his head and said to Audrey, "I use my crossbow or your bow. I tried that spare bow once but thought it either needed some tuning or had gone bad, probably because we left it here without proper wrapping for winter. Likely the animal parts used to make the bow''s limbs or strings got dry or hardened."
"You mean, you can''t draw it?" Audrey looked surprised.
Lansius shook his head to confirm. "I can, but it''s incredibly hard. I believe Ingrid used her magic. And yet you still shot two quivers'' worth of arrows without even noticing it."
Audrey finally came to terms with her power. She looked at both her open palms, trying to understand what she had done. Then she turned to the others, asking, "You people are not joking with me, right?"
"Of course, I wouldn''t dare, My Lady," Ingrid reassured her.
Lansius approached Audrey, whose eyes began to moisten, and gently grabbed her hands. "You have it within you. Whatever it is, now you''re as good as Isolte."
"My Lady, congratulations," Ingrid said, her eyes equally moist. "I don''t know how, but you''re a mage. And I can train you further."
"To think I''m going to have Claire as a sparring partner," Audrey commented, not expecting anything.
"No," Ingrid said, steadying herself quickly. "It''s best if nobody knows about her, not even Claire or anyone closest to you." She turned to Margo, prompting Lansius and Audrey to follow her gaze.
"I''ll keep this a secret," the fair-looking lad blurted out.
That failed to reassure Ingrid. "Who else knows about this?"
"Nobody, I swear," Margo tried to reassure her.
"We trust him, Ingrid," Audrey said, while Lansius chose to wait and observe.
"I understand," Ingrid said to Audrey. "But we''re going against Midlandia and little things like this matter." She turned to Margo again. "Can the Lord and Lady trust you with such a secret?"
"They can. I have never made a mistake," he declared.
Ingrid relaxed slightly as she approached, then asked in a calmer tone, "Margo, tell me about your family. Are they natives of this land? Do you have brothers?"
"I''m a native of White Lake. I have no brothers or sisters. My father is a knight but can''t take up arms anymore, and my mother is the second daughter of an esquire."
Ingrid then softly but ominously asked, "Tell me, Margo, if someone threatened to kill your family for this secret, could you still keep it?"
"Ingrid, that''s too far," Audrey intervened.
"Apologies, My Lady, but it¡¯s common for servants to be silenced to keep lesser secrets than this."
"I''m not that kind of person," Audrey retorted, causing Ingrid to bow her head slightly.
Margo grew nervous, his face turning pale, but he stood straight and answered boldly, "Our family estate is a poor one. Father and Mother rely on me. If I go against My Lord and Lady, then I''m as good as killing my own family. I believe my father would choose the sword rather than starvation."
The youth''s answer and determination surprised everyone. Lansius, beaming with pride, approached Margo and patted him firmly on the shoulder. "I don''t deserve such loyalty." He glanced at Audrey before adding, "Margo, can you write a letter to invite your father and mother? Perhaps I can offer them to manage one of my estates."
Margo''s face brightened with a smile. Right now, he looked as sweet as a girl. "Yes, My Lord, I shall do it."
"Then go now before I change my mind. I''ll permit you to use my messenger for this."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"At once, My Lord. G-gratitude," Margo stammered as he ran, heading downstairs.
"A wonderful solution, My Lord," Ingrid said as the three of them were now alone.
"Is this what the book meant by buying loyalty with gold?" Audrey pondered.
"Gold isn''t the best thing," Lansius argued. "Using gold will get you corrupt and greedy individuals. I prefer fairness and generosity."
"Wise words, My Lord," Ingrid praised. "Still, I must advise that we quickly find a suitable woman for Margo."
"Isn''t he a bit young for marriage?" Lansius asked, surprised by her suggestion.
"Soon, he''ll be of age. Fair as he is, when love comes, his tongue might turn loose," Ingrid explained. "I only wish to keep My Lady''s secret safe."
"Why is my being a mage so important to keep hidden?" Audrey furrowed her brow.
Ingrid''s lips formed a warm smile. "Imagine this, My Lady: an invitation turned ambush targeting My Lord''s life. They come fully prepared to handle guards, knights, a mage, or even a half-breed. Their plan is to kill My Lord outright or capture you for ransom. Now, imagine their surprise if, instead of a lady in distress, they find a Mage Knight beside My Lord."
Audrey''s face said it all. Her empty gaze, her slightly parted lips. She was love-struck by the idea.
As Lansius had learned a long time ago, nothing pleased his wife more than a righteous retribution.
***
Korelia City
Several days after the Lord welcomed Ingrid''s return to the city, the weather changed drastically. The southern wind had returned to Korelia. Almost overnight, the remaining flowers bloomed everywhere around the city, creating a spectacle to behold. This change ushered in the long-awaited spring festival.
The festival was a week-long celebration of feasting, dancing, and merrymaking. The streets were alive with colorful parades, music, and laughter, while stalls offered delicious treats and handcrafted goods. Nobles and commoners alike gathered to celebrate the coming of spring and a brighter future.
Never before had they celebrated spring with such joyfulness, and they weren''t wrong; there were plenty of reasons to celebrate. Last year¡¯s victories, the creation of the Grand Alliance, and the successful Umberland campaign were all cause for jubilation. Moreover, the Lady of Korimor was pregnant with the Lord''s heir, and everyone was happy for her.
With so many achievements in such a short time, it was only natural that the Lord and Lady''s names were on everyone''s lips, spoken with great reverence and respect.
While the city was dazzled by the feast and festivity, Sir Justin and his company of men, without waiting for the conclusion of the spring festival, departed for Midlandia. They were heading to Brunna, where Lord Arte''s base was located. From there, he would gather more men and lead reinforcements to Arvena.
Sir Justin''s haste stemmed from the weather. As the snow melted, the dirt roads in Lowlandia would turn to mud. Worse, the rainy season usually fell in early spring, often lasting for a good two months or more.
The Lord and Lady, along with key retinues and officers, joined in a brief ceremony to honor their departure, bestowing gifts and wishes for safe travels. Alongside Sir Justin''s thirty men, thirty other Arvenians also decided to follow. They would take a different route so the Midlandian authorities would be less likely to suspect them.
It was a bittersweet moment for those who had followed Lansius since the inception of their army in Toruna. Bitter because they would leave Korelia and might never return, but sweet because they had been longing to return to Arvena, and now they had their chance.
The Lord and Lady provided them with ample supplies, along with a few personal gifts. It was widely known that both the Lord and Lady wished to join, but their circumstances and duty to their domain made them reconsider. The Korelians and Arvenians who stayed behind could only hope that the two would be content to play a different role: providing support for Lord Arte while also caring for those who wished to start anew, unburdened by the blood feud.
Eleanor, Sir Justin''s daughter, took her father''s departure with pride. Young as she was, the lass didn''t break down crying, shedding only a few heartfelt tears as she would be lonely without her parents.
Cecile and Calub assumed the position of her guardians and nominally took care of her well-being. Despite this arrangement, they let Eleanor choose, and she decided to continue living with Lady Astrid as her lady-in-waiting.
Meanwhile, in the city, the people continued their spring festivities until they ended on the eighth day. Afterward, the farmers returned to their fields. Everyone began their work in earnest, knowing that everything must be sorted out before the rainy season.
Farmers hurried to plant seeds before the heavy rains, while traders rushed to complete as many transactions as possible before the roads became impassable. Builders aimed to work as much as they could before the downpours arrived, and herders began shearing their sheep for good quality wool. Thus, the city and its surrounding areas came alive with various activities. Walls were built, workshops were furnished, bridge construction was resumed, and farms were cultivated.
However, the monotony was not to last. The year 4426 was destined to be special for Korelia. News spread that a noble convoy had been spotted a few days from the city. Not to be outdone, another noble convoy was seen from the west, bearing rich banners, carriages, and fine steeds.
The Shogunate, an alien word they had never heard before, was now on everyone''s lips. It was discussed in every tavern, inn, bathhouse, and communal spot in the city.
With excitement, the people from different regions of Lowlandia, who now proudly called themselves Korelians, welcomed the era of the Shogunate.
***
Lansius
The Grand Keep, located on the easternmost side of Korelia, was still unfinished. Masons and laborers worked daily to build its many chambers, storage areas, and the city wall that connected to it. Lansius purposely designed it to be large but simple, as he didn''t want an elaborate castle.
Defensively, the building had ample space around it, allowing for the addition of ditches and walls if needed. For now, he envisioned it as a training and marching ground for his troops.
Unlike traditional castles, the Grand Keep had space to house a large garrison of men. It featured only modestly high walls without multiple towers. From the outside, it didn''t look grand or imposing, but its main function lay in providing a residence for troops and officers. It also served educational purposes and was equipped with training facilities.
In essence, it was a military academy with dormitories for its officers in training and active duty. It also had a dedicated barrack with ample living space to house the city''s garrison. While the billets south of town would remain in use, this new facility provided better living conditions as Korelia''s army continued to grow.
The Grand Keep also boasted state-of-the-art supply rooms, designed to store wooden barrels for longevity and spoilage prevention. Additionally, it had wells and cisterns that provided a reliable source of fresh water, especially in emergencies.
As for Lansius himself, the Grand Keep was primarily a refuge for emergencies and wouldn''t be his main residence. Its only other significant function was to hold formal meetings, and now it was being used in that capacity for the first time.
The Grand Keep had a vast hall dedicated as an indoor training area. Its purpose was to allow the men to train all year long without concern for the weather. It was large enough for group sparring, had a tall ceiling for spear practice, and was long enough for crossbow and archery sessions.
The hall was decked with stone tile, gleaming softly under the ample light streaming in from the still unfinished tall, mullioned windows. In this hall, Lansius held the first meeting of the Grand Alliance, now effectively a Shogunate due to the presence of other lords residing in Korelia.
The arrival of the two lords and their closest retinues was greeted by sunlight that cast a warm glow over the hall, illuminating the intricate tapestries that adorned the stone walls. These tapestries were trophies from House Lansius'' victories in Korimor and South Hill.
A long, polished table made of dark oak dominated the center of the hall, its glossy surface giving it a regal appearance. Around it, high-backed chairs were arranged, their cushions covered in rich brocade.
Standing to welcome them were Sir Harold, Calub, and Farkas, who served as moderators.
Lansius was seated at the middle of the long table, with Lord Jorge and Lord Robert in front of him. Despite Lansius'' wish to keep things informal, they adhered to the usual formalities out of respect for the guests. However, that said formality didn''t last long.
"So, we meet again," Lord Robert opened as he reached the table. Despite having a seat prepared by his squire, the old viscount didn''t sit but walked around to grab Lansius'' shoulders.
Lord Jorge chuckled at the sight and did the same from the other side. As he walked, he took a jug of spiced ale and poured it into the three waiting goblets, saying, "Pardon my thirst, but it''s a vast place."
Lansius chuckled, and they drank from their goblets. Clearly, the lords had broken the rigid Imperial decorum, causing the moderators and other retinues to grin as they no longer needed to adhere to formalities.
It was clear to anyone that these were all warlords. To them, etiquette and formalities were just minor facades. The meeting began with Lord Robert pulling the nearest chair, which was empty since Audrey opted not to attend, and sitting facing Lansius. The moderators quickly moved another chair for Lord Jorge, who also sat facing Lansius.
There was no table between them, and they couldn''t be bothered. Following their lords, their retinues also sat down. Sir Morton, Sir Michael, and Sir Omin were present, along with Sir Harold, Calub, and Farkas. The lords'' squires were also present in the back row, keeping watch at the door and passageways.
"First, I have to say that I feel honored that you two lords came so early in spring," Lansius greeted as the host.
"What can I say? I promised," answered Lord Jorge. "And it''s not like I''ll let this old man mock me for being young and late."
Lord Robert laughed, commenting, "Oh, Jorge, you''re getting better at reading my mind."
"Now, aren''t we good honored Lowlandians for once, fulfilling our promises and all," Jorge jested at his own expense.
Old Robert snorted, "A well-behaved Imperial citizen, just like the Ageless had wanted." He then gazed at Lansius and said, "Well, we better start our discussion before we end up getting thirsty and start drinking."
Lansius stifled his chuckle. "Indeed. Gentlemen, I believe it''s time to set some policies."
"I hope that policy allows me to ride an airship," Jorge commented lightly with a charming yet mischievous smile.
"Oh that," Robert exclaimed, then quickly added, "And also, where''s the beastman? I want to see." The retinues in the back collectively shook their heads, amused. The old viscount was undeterred and continued passionately, "From childhood, I always heard and read about beastmen but never had the chance to see one. Can you please bring him here?"
"I think I could invite her," Lansius said, eyeing Sir Harold, who rose without hesitation.
"Her? That''s even better," Robert was more than pleased. "Ah, to finally meet such a creature. I feel young again."
Looking at his counterpart, Jorge commented to Lansius, "I doubt we''ll have trouble accepting the Lord of Umberland''s membership in this alliance."
"I''ll trust my instincts when I see one," Robert retorted, likely his honest reaction.
"Well, as we wait for the female beastman, why don''t we talk about the South Trade Proposal?" Jorge suggested.
"Wise words" Lansius agreed, shifting in his seat. He noticed Robert''s sharp eyes, indicating his interest. "The South Trade is ongoing. I have communicated twice with the Lord of Dawn via the Hunter Guild''s hawk, and he reassured me that everything was in order. We can expect the first caravan this summer."
"Excellent," Jorge exclaimed in good spirits. "I have arranged some deals to build the small fishing village to have a harbor and warehouse fit for trading."
"How about the guild''s reaction?" Robert''s tone was careful. "I heard you gave a tepid response when the Guild wanted to participate."
Lansius did not answer quickly, merely nodding while formulating his reply. He noticed the sweet fragrance from the fresh lily-like flowers decorating the table they didn''t use. He then gazed around to ensure that the servants who usually innocently listened from the corner were absent, as this place had yet to have one and this meeting was confidential and privy to the highest level. "There''s a reason for that," he began.
"Certainly," muttered Robert.
"In truth, I need them. The Alliance needs them," Lansius emphasized. "But I also see that they could undermine our rule."
"They''re always powerful if you let them be," Jorge agreed. "They have the money, the expertise, and the influence. Without them, it''ll be hard to build anything worthwhile in Lowlandia."
Lansius leaned forward and explained, "The problem is, I have some inventions that, while beneficial to many, could be dangerous in the wrong hands..."
"Sounds like a trade secret issue to me," Jorge commented. "Perhaps the Alliance should behave like a guild."
"That''s not a bad idea," Lansius said, grinning.
"Wait till I tell my wife that I''m also a merchant now," Robert laughed freely, joined by the other two lords and several of their retinues.
Afterward, catching his breath, Robert turned to Lansius and asked, "You did say inventions?"
"It seems we''re going to see more than just the airship," Jorge remarked.
"Indeed," Lansius confirmed. "I have several, but as I said before, revealing them might lead to the guilds copying them recklessly."
"Worse, they could bribe and steal our craftsmen, depleting us of our own talents," Jorge agreed.
Robert looked annoyed, grunting, "I wish I could reach their homeland; that would make exerting our authority easier."
Lansius nodded. Robert was certainly right¡ªthey were dealing with organizations that operated within their territory but were based beyond their jurisdiction. The meeting had now arrived at a critical juncture: either find a way to ensure the loyalty of the Midlandian-based guilds or risk becoming mere stepping stones in the guilds'' rise to power.
***
Chapter 169 : Lords of Lowlandia
Chapter 169
Lords of Lowlandia
Lansius
Inside the spacious hall of the Great Keep, the three lords were discussing the issue with the guilds'' power when the Lion of Lowlandia crossed his arms, muttering, "Still, I think I''m missing something. Do you think there''s a clear risk that they will try to antagonize us? I mean, united as we are now, we''re a pretty powerful alliance."
Lansius and Jorge nodded to acknowledge Robert''s take.
"I say, let''s give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, more people, more trades, more money. While I still think forming a guild does have a benefit, I''m against making this all too complicated. I mean, everyone is better off with more money than more effort," Robert added.
Lansius smiled at the old viscount''s practicality, which reminded him of his wife.
Perhaps I married a lioness without knowing...
"I assure you that one of the inventions could be powerful enough to make them betray us," Lansius explained.
The two viscounts stared at Lansius, their expressions a mix of doubt and admiration.
"Such claim will require explanations, Lord Lansius," Jorge said, giving his full attention.
Lansius leaned forward and explained, "I have a new fence that I wish not to spread outside of Lowlandia. At least until we begin to master it and become familiar with it. I think for at least a decade or two, just to be safe."
"Fence? A wooden fence?" Robert asked, his experience with horse breeding and livestock influencing his tone.
"A better one," Lansius answered. "What if I told you that I possess a fence that is easy to make, light to carry, easy to install, and ten times cheaper than a stone fence, yet could stop a raging horse?"
Robert''s breathing grew heavy. "I need to see it," he declared, his enthusiasm evident despite his whitening beard and hair.
"But of course," Lansius reassured him. "We can see it after this meeting is over."
Jorge chuckled as he watched his older counterpart. "If such a fence exists, then I think we''re better off forming our own guild. After all, a guild exists to protect its members'' crafts, trades, and interests. It¡¯s only fitting that you protect yours as well."
Lansius nodded, listening intently.
Jorge continued, "If you''re concerned about the other guilds'' reactions to us forming our own, we can entice them with more opportunities."
"Put them in a golden chain," Robert commented with a dry smile.
Lansius then revealed, "My plan is for the South Trade to persuade the guilds to cooperate, with a contract stipulating that they must honor our trade secrets or be barred from trading."
"That is clever," Jorge praised. "I think we can do both. Two solutions for an issue might sound unusual, but even in battle, we use multiple layers for protection."
Lansius found himself nodding again. Jorge was making a lot of good remarks. Lansius couldn''t help but feel that those who labeled Jorge as the Big Fool of One Hill were simply short-sighted. The viscount was clearly well-educated, just not as talented as a warlord.
Jorge turned to Robert, who responded, "No issue from me. As long as I get those new fences available for me."
Lansius chuckled. "They''ll be available for our Alliance members."
Jorge smiled at Lansius'' reassuring words. "A question though, Lord Lansius." His careful tone drew the other two''s attention. "I think we all heard about the Midlandia crisis. Will we take any action?"
Lansius sighed but shook his head. "I will not trouble ourselves to deal with Midlandia. Besides, after the last campaign, my men might be refreshed after winter, but my resources are depleted."
The two lords didn''t comment but likely understood as well. Lansius continued, "The new power in Midlandia did send me a messenger with a threat, saying he''ll round up my friends and also threatened to come to Korelia after he finishes with Lord Bengrieve."
The two lords'' eyes sparked like fire. "Open threats to the Lords of Lowlandia?" Lord Robert scoffed as if hearing something absurd. Gazing at Jorge, "It sounds like this Reginald has a severe brain rot to cure."
"Sir Reginald''s name is rather well-known in intellectual circles. We shouldn''t underestimate his followers," warned Jorge. "Still, if he comes, I''ll gladly prepare a Lowlandian welcome."
Robert''s laughter echoed in the chamber, while Jorge continued firmly, "This time we even have the Alliance. If they really are that foolish, perhaps we''ll even gain parts of Midlandia''s fertile lands as a concession."
Satisfied with their reactions, Lansius asked, "Then do I have your support to ignore Midlandia unless they come looking for trouble?"
"You have our support," Jorge and Robert said reassuringly.
"Gratitude for the support," Lansius replied, sighing a breath of relief. "I wish I could also secure the people''s support. The city has dire needs for talent."
"I doubt you haven''t won the people''s hearts," Robert responded amused.
"I''ve yet to tour the city, but with so much construction and innovation underway, it''s only natural that the city will need carpenters, masons, smiths, and all kinds of artisans," Jorge explained to Robert, who stroked his beard and retorted, "Ah, don''t worry too much. With three lords in a city like this, I''m sure talent will find its way into Korelia."
"Technically four, I believe we have Sir Omin here," Jorge glanced at the retinue row some distance away from them.
"It''s actually five. We also have Sir Gunter, the former Lord of South Hill, in Korelia," Lansius said apologetically, considering Jorge and Gunther''s past relationship.
Lord Jorge noticed the tone and shrugged. "What''s past is past. He lost South Hill, and your arrangement has satisfied my House and my court, so for me, it''s a settled matter."
As they talked, Calub and Farkas personally delivered the snacks instead of the usual servants, ensuring the confidentiality of the meeting.
Deep in their discussion, the three lords didn''t pause the meeting for lunch, which was served in place. All agreed to forgo an elaborate, fancy meal in favor of a simple one like those they had on campaigns. Thus, still in the same seats and without a table between them, Lansius, Robert, and Jorge continued talking while eating stews topped with pickled vegetables, accompanied by wheat bread.
One ate and listened while the other two discussed. After several back-and-forths, Lansius became convinced that forming a guild-like department was a good choice without serious drawbacks. The only issue he foresaw was the potential for production bottlenecks, as a single entity owning the design might hinder widespread adaptation.
Still, he knew he could try issuing licenses, allowing other guilds to produce limited quantities within Korelia while barring their smiths from leaving. However, he realized that total exclusivity was risky. He could end up losing them, much like how the Empires of China lost their monopolies on silk and tea by refusing to share the secrets.
He preferred to compete on cost. Lansius believed that if he could enforce this approach until Korelia became a major producer, they should be able to climb the learning curve, become cost-effective, and remain competitive.
Furthermore, he saw similarities to how modern governments operated their own state-owned enterprises. He figured the Alliance could run based on a similar principle. All this extra effort to protect trade secrets was necessary, not because of losing potential profits, but because some inventions, like barbed wire, could cause irrevocable damage if introduced recklessly.
"It seems this is the best way to safeguard our trade secrets and protect everyone from unnecessary risks," Lansius finally stated.
"The word ''our'' seems too much, Lord Lansius. I don''t see how I, who did nothing, should benefit from this endeavor of yours," Jorge voiced his concern.
Robert, still wiping his bowl clean with his last piece of bread, watched them with interest.
Lansius smiled, explaining, "I think ''our'' is correct since I''m going to need the Alliance to enforce it."
"Ah, enforcing it," Jorge nodded while setting his bowl aside. His squire wanted to take it, but Jorge motioned that it was unnecessary.
"It''s a good idea. Rules without enforcement are just an empty bluff," Robert added, then drank from his goblet.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Jorge pondered before saying carefully, "So the idea is whether the guilds play by the rules, or they invite the wrath of the Alliance... it''s quite a solid proposal."
"Just like hunting those wild ducks. Fat chance, big risk," Robert added.
"Then what should we name the guild?" Jorge asked Lansius, who was still munching his last piece of bread. The Lord of Three Hills then turned his gaze toward Robert.
The old viscount replied with a grin, "Don''t look at me. The last thing I named well was my daughter."
Lansius, setting his bowl aside, said, "I already have the Korelia Mason Guild, so we can get it up and running. As for the name, I''m pretty bad with names too."
The two chuckled, but Jorge had something in mind. "I read somewhere that the Imperium used to have a Ministry of Works. Obviously, we can''t use ''ministry.'' But we can substitute it with ''office.'' How about ''The Office of Works?''"
Lansius glanced at Robert, who said, "Not bad at all. Not too fancy. Not too bland."
The two turned their gaze at Lansius, who was quick to nod, saying, "Sounds good. Then it''s settled¡ªwe''re going to expand the city''s Mason Guild into The Office of Works."
Robert stood and took the jug of water, pouring it into their goblets. "I think it''s fitting that we drink water to celebrate this. Let''s hope that our endeavors stay fresh, sober, and vital."
Lansius raised his goblet, as did Jorge, marking another breakthrough of the meeting.
As Robert finished his goblet and placed it on the table nearby, he turned to Lansius and muttered, "Before we move on, when are we going to name ourselves? The Grand Alliance is a bit of a mouthful, and alliances usually have an expiration date."
Lansius stroked his chin and admitted, "I haven''t settled on a name yet."
"Then let''s use the name we agreed on before," Jorge urged. "My staff and I often referred to it as the Shogunate plan. So, I think we can just call it the Korelia Shogunate, and you, the Lord Shogun."
"Lord Shogun does sound nicer and less alien than just Shogun," Robert approved. "Does it mean anything specific?"
"Shogun means commander-in-chief, so it''s essentially Lord Commander," Lansius explained.
"Then it fits," declared Jorge, turning to Robert, who gave a firm thumbs-up.
"Then we have a name," Lansius declared, clapping his hands to mark the decision. A team of scribes quickly rushed to their side.
Lansius prepared to dictate his decision, but Robert raised his hand, interjecting, "While there may be no precedent for this, since you will be first among equals¡ªperhaps even more¡ªit is only proper that I pledge my sword to your cause."
Hearing that, the rest of their retinue also rose, quickly surrounding them and beginning to kneel.
"Robert, Jorge, don''t kneel," Lansius quickly pleaded. He hadn''t expected this and felt the honor was too great to bear.
Robert glanced at Jorge, who had also taken his sword and scabbard out. The two Viscounts of Lowlandia, without kneeling, merely lowered their heads as they offered their swords, still in their scabbards, to Lansius.
Lansius, now standing, racked his brain for something solemn to say. He touched their swords and declared, "As Lord Shogun, I vow that no freeman shall be taken, imprisoned, or in any other way destroyed, except by the lawful judgment of his peers."
With this vow, the first formal meeting of the Shogunate was concluded.
***
Lansius
Returning home after the three lords meeting and debriefing with his top staff, Lansius headed to his study. It needed cleaning; leftover canvas and resin were everywhere¡ªsticky, gunky, and smelly. He hadn¡¯t had time to clean it since Sir Justin''s sudden departure forced him to rush the production of sturdy canvas boxes that were reinforced with resin.
He wished for modern resin since tree sap resin was difficult to work with, requiring a long time to cure in the absence of a hardening agent. Nevertheless, it made the boxes lightweight, sturdy, and mostly waterproof.
Lansius hoped his invention would serve Sir Justin and the Arvenian effort well. Although there was a fear that his new invention could fall into the wrong hands, he convinced himself that its intricate and unfamiliar design would likely break and render it unusable if tampered with, or tried by an inexperienced person.
Besides, it''s still far from the final design. More like a limited test bed.
"Are we going to clean the place, My Lord?" Margo asked as he lit up the multiple lanterns in the chamber since it was getting dark.
"Yes, Margo. It''s time to clean up."
"Then, I''ll go call for help," Margo said, heading to the door before he paused. "My Lord, will we do crafting like that ever again?"
"Possibly," Lansius nodded. "We''re going to make a lot more of them, this time with a better design."
"When are we going to make it?" the fair lad asked, his eyes hopeful.
"Soon, Margo. We''re still waiting for more resin. Why do you ask?" Lansius inquired as he took a seat in his study.
"Well, it''s sort of fun making crafts with you and the other squires¡ªcutting, sewing, and gluing," Margo explained cheerfully.
Lansius chuckled. "Well, it''s going to take longer as I have to improve the design."
"Understood, My Lord."
As Margo left the study chamber, Lansius spent some time alone just to soak in his experience. He had just been made Lord Shogun, and now the Shogunate was truly up and running. Its first decree had been to expand the Korelia Mason Guild into The Office of Works, tasked with managing all new inventions.
Knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," Lansius called. Margo, leading a group of maids, entered. They bowed their heads before beginning to clean the chamber.
Lansius himself pulled open his drawer and took out many of his designs. As he looked at them, he couldn''t help but feel frustrated.
Just how to make it hold more? If only I could double stack them.
He picked up a finished box and began to tinker with it. He knew he had an hour or so before Audrey would knock on the door and ask him to join her for supper. Without realizing it, his lips turned into a smile.
Just as he was busy with the shogunate and several inventions, Audrey was also busy. Under the guise of studying, she continued to train with Ingrid, who was experimenting with how archery could help her master magic even without a source.
Lansius suddenly frowned. He had seen Sir Morton today and remembered that it was Sir Morton who had recognized Audrey''s potential.
Perhaps it would be beneficial if we involve Sir Morton... Maybe we could learn a thing or two.
With that in mind, Lansius planned to broach the subject with Audrey and Ingrid. If they agreed, they could begin to find ways to invite Sir Morton privately without arousing suspicion.
...
Another week had passed quickly for Lansius, who was busy nearly every day. At one point, his health nearly faltered under the weight of his duties. But Audrey, ever watchful, forced him to sleep early and instructed the cook to prepare spicy meals along with boiled duck eggs, which helped Lansius'' sickness to disappear.
There was a reason for all these activities. Lansius was assisting his noble guests, helping to distract their families from feeling homesick. He had devised an elaborate tour, enabling his staff to showcase the city in their carriage, which was equipped with leaf spring suspension.
The trip highlighted what Korelia had to offer. First, they toured the market area, which was smaller than Three Hills or White Lake but was growing and had a vast selection of goods. Almost every week, new traders arrived from other cities to try to make a profit in Korelia.
Next on the tour was the library, which had gained several more books during the winter thanks to the librarians'' efforts to copy borrowed books. Now that trade had resumed, the library had also acquired highly valuable works such as the Imperium encyclopedia, arranged no less by the decree of the Emperor himself, several volumes of Imperium histories, and books on mathematics and philosophy.
Further into the tour, they showed off the state-of-the-art bathhouse, decked with marble and decorated lavishly like a cool oasis. The separate indoor sauna and swimming hall were also nearing completion.
Afterward, as they returned home to their inns, the tour traveled through the other side of the market where they could see the new fountain projects. Once completed, these would provide the city with clean water and help flush all the sewage from the city center into a dugout area that would later become ditches outside the city wall.
Aside from the city tour, Lansius had also delivered two spring beds, one to each Lord''s household as gifts. They were well-received, and many inquired about them. As a gesture of goodwill, he planned to deliver another set for Sir Michael and Astrid, who were part of House Robert, and for Lord Jorge''s children, as production ramped up.
Next to receive the beds were Calub and Cecile. Despite his objections, Sir Harold would also receive one. They were also trying to make a special lightweight bed for Batu, and lastly, Sir Gunther was on the priority list, as he was still a former Lord and was ailing.
Contrary to Lansius'' low expectations, the news of the new mattresses caused quite a stir among the nobles and merchants. Some curious souls found their way into Lord Robert''s presence, who then decided it was in his best interest to further boast about the beds. The Lion of Lowlandia praised the mattresses'' supreme comfort and durability, even going so far as to claim that he felt much healthier after sleeping on them and that his long-waned virility was now returning in force.
This led to great demand for the beds among rich knightly Houses and wealthy merchants. Lansius addressed the issue early by introducing a waiting list, thus preventing a major headache as everyone wanted to meet his staff just to inquire about the bed.
The escalation in demand made Lansius realize that he could profit greatly from the craze. Thus, he implemented tiered pricing: those who received the beds first paid a premium price for exclusivity, while those willing to wait were offered a lower price. This strategy allowed him to maximize profit without tainting his reputation.
Furthermore, he also implemented discounts for members of his knights and his allies, pleasing everyone and securing a long future for one of his enterprises.
***
Elandia, Lord Bengrieve
Unexpectedly, and against his advisors'' counsel, Bengrieve took only Sir Stan and a small detachment of a hundred people, aiming to return before winter. Many believed he was being obtuse, yet he left that notion unchallenged, not wanting to reveal his plans even to his closest retinue.
Thanks to the Hunter Guild''s reliable eagle messengers, they had a steady stream of information from home. However, they were stranded around the Elandia-Midlandia border as heavy snowfall battered the region. There, they spent their winter in humble villages.
Bengrieve sat on a wooden stool and, in the absence of entertainment, was content making his own meals, chatting, or engaging in singing ballads he knew. Often, he watched the fire in the old soot-filled fireplace. He didn''t need a quill pen or paper to formulate or revise the grand plan in his head.
Never before had his retinue seen him live like a humble villager, yet Bengrieve seemed unfazed by any inconvenience. In his youth, his father and grandfather had mentored him well on multiple hunting trips, making him accustomed to resting in such old wooden cabins.
The door creaked, and Sir Stan watched indifferently, munching on a blood sausage. The squire opened the door to a slit and received news from the man outside. Turning to Bengrieve, the squire reported, "My Lord, the advance scout reports that the road is clear of snow."
The baronet of Toruna''s face immediately beamed with delight.
"Good," Bengrieve remarked lightly. "Then, let us move to Chateau D''Aguilar."
"D''Aguilar, My Lord? Not to Cascasonne?" the squire dared to ask.
Before Bengrieve could answer, Sir Stan interjected, "There''s nothing there. Why are we heading there?"
"You didn''t know? Beneath it lies a town with natural hot springs," Bengrieve replied, almost quipping.
Sir Stan and the squire''s eyes widened. Taking steps closer, Sir Stan confronted Bengrieve, whispering, "What are you thinking? Are you hiding something in that place?"
Bengrieve laughed and quipped to his cousin, "I merely wish to find some comfort after the winter." Then, turning to the squire, he ordered, "Set our men to D''Aguilar tomorrow morning."
"Yes, My Lord," the squire confirmed, despite his doubts, and left the command tent.
Once alone, Sir Stan dropped the formal facade, asking, "Cascasonne is our power base, and it''s besieged by ten thousand angry mobs with siege weapons."
Yet, Bengrieve''s response was lackluster, "There''s no need to force ourselves. The rainy season is coming."
"But the news from the castle... With that many opponents, even the tall walls might not withstand the siege regardless of rain," Sir Stan pressed.
Bengrieve was amused, saying, "Have some faith, cousin." Next, he wore an ominous smile and mused aloud, "But you know. Even if I let Cascasonne meet its fate, it will still serve a beautiful purpose."
***
Chapter 170 : Ex Veteri, Novum
Chapter 170
Ex Veteri, Novum
Lowlandia
It was a beautiful spring, with a slight persistent chill lingering in the air and blooming wildflowers in the pastures all over Lowlandia. Hundreds lined the roads to Korelia from the East and the West, many experiencing this journey for the first time. Despite the hardship of crossing the great plains, they were captivated by the convenience of resting places that appeared strategically located at a day''s march, even in the middle of the plains.
Upon arrival, travelers were enveloped in nomadic hospitality, treated like honored guests with offerings of fresh water, warm meals, and lodging¡ªall for a mere three copper coins. This fee included the famed mare wine and enough water for the onward journey. The nomadic family also offered select merchandise; purchases of leather goods, wool, or trinkets often resulted in free additional food provisions for their travels.
The host''s warmth made the travelers feel safe despite coming from different backgrounds. There, they often encountered other groups heading in the opposite direction, messengers, and even cavalry on patrol, which bolstered their sense of security further.
With Korelia now becoming the political seat of Lowlandia, dozens of messengers and their escorts commuted daily into the city. Along with them, official merchants and cargo haulers operated their trade between domains now unified under one leadership. Their meetings with the lord''s men further emboldened these would-be migrants. They learned what Korelia had to offer, what the Lord and Lady had achieved, and their grand plans for the city.
The journey from Three Hills to Korelia typically took fifteen days on foot, though many preferred to extend this to twenty days, taking long rests at scenic resting spots. From the White Lake region, the journey was shorter, with half the route veiled in thick vegetation due to the proximity of White Lake itself, tapering off as they moved further away.
For the migrants seeing the city for the first time, they were immediately greeted by the new city walls, which were still under construction. The presence of the walls instilled a sense of safety and bestowed a grand prestige on the city, rivaling that of Three Hills.
Coming to the powerful-looking eastern gate, each traveler had their details recorded in the gatehouse. They were issued permits and then were free to enter the city. Straight out of the gate, the travelers were welcomed by the sight of a burgeoning city with a vibrant market area. New buildings were everywhere. Rows of shops with freshly painted facades stood under colorful canvas canopies, where traders from every known region hawked their goods.
And then there was the plaza, adorned with colorful mosaic marble and featuring a graceful water fountain at its center. The area around the fountain, surrounded by palm trees, provided a cool shade frequently used by citizens to relax after work. They sat around on carpets, enjoying the melody of folk songs and the dramatic flair of street performers, which included minstrels and even acrobats.
The social gatherings in the plaza gave Korelia its appeal, further enriched by the rich aroma coming from the market district. The city hosted a large variety of foods as merchants who supplied the three lords often had surpluses to sell. Thus, the city offered goods from every region: wheat and wine from Three Hills, fresh fruits and ducks from South Hill, barley, venison, and salted fish from White Lake, and rye and smoked fish from Korimor.
These goods complemented Korelia''s own offerings of salted or fresh meat-based meals. With the ease of obtaining a rich selection of ingredients at affordable prices, the number of food stalls continued to grow. This favorable business environment allowed cooks from as far as Umberland and Nicopola to start their own stalls.
After their supper, travelers often headed to the city¡¯s bathhouse to cleanse and unwind. The migrants who had settled there had fostered a tradition of recommending that newcomers take a refreshing bath before retiring to their lodgings.
While most of the bathhouse facilities would close after sundown due to the costs of illuminating such a large space, the small indoor bath remained open. This cozy haven offered warm water baths at a modest price, becoming a favored spot for late workers, guardsmen, travelers, or anyone who needed to wash up.
For the would-be migrants, this warm bath felt like a cleansing ritual.
"From the old, the new," the bathhouse worker would say to newcomers, encouraging them and wishing them a better life.
For those in need of alcohol, the city boasted an enviable selection. With multiple lords bringing their own suppliers, there was a wide array of drinks available: from the expensive mead made purely from honey mixed with either fruit juice, floral water, or spiced water, to local ales, Three Hills'' wine, and the exotic nomads'' mare wine.
Drinking stalls and taverns sprang up everywhere to cater to Korelia¡¯s burgeoning population, which had soared with the arrival of migrants since last fall. Even early this spring, hundreds more arrived, all seeking a better life under the rule of three lords.
As the last tavern closed and its guests retreated, the night blanketed the city in the middle of the steppe. When the stars gave way to daylight, Korelia awoke to a bustling scene of trade and commerce, offering abundant opportunities for those literate in the languages of trade or construction.
From the eastern banks of the river, the city''s emergence as a manufacturing power was evident. Workshop complexes, waterwheels, blacksmiths billowing smoke, and warehouses occupied dedicated areas. Manufacturing jobs were plentiful, allowing masterless smiths and apprentices to learn as they worked.
The ruling House offered a myriad of opportunities, including for breeders and farmers. The lands of Korelia, a steppe with limited fertile areas only between the hill and the river, were now being transformed. New lines of trees and shrubs were taking root, and fields were grazed by sheep.
After much study, the Lord had decided on four crop rotations, a method previously unknown in Lowlandia. Unlike the traditional three-crop rotation used in Midlandia, this new approach includes two main crops and replaces fallowing with the planting of fodder and grazing crops.
Farmers working on these lands were eager to see the results of this new method. The Lord''s staff had told them that the fodder and grazing crops would help repair and maintain the soil''s fertility more effectively than simply letting the soil rest and allowing wild grass to grow. Hearing this, they were hopeful that the combination would change the barren land to grow wheat or other grains.
The details were as follows:
1. Main Crops: Wheat or rye, cereals that required rich and fertile soil, were planted first.
2. Fodder Crops: After harvesting the main crops, turnips and other root vegetables were planted. These broke up the soil and helped reduce soil compaction from the previous main crop. At the same time, their root structures also helped bind the soil, protecting it from the harsh steppe winds. Additionally, they were effective in reducing weeds and, once harvested, provided a convenient source of livestock feed for the winter.
3. Secondary Crops: Barley or oats followed the fodder crops. These staple grains, more tolerant of poorer soil conditions, helped clean the soil of weeds after the root crops. They also provided sustenance to the population without overly burdening the soil.
4. Grazing Crops: Clover or legumes were planted where the secondary crops had been harvested. These plants rested, maintained, and enriched the soil. They also provided a grazing area for livestock, further ensuring the ability to breed year-round without needing to graze outside, thus allowing premium grazing ground to be dedicated to horse breeding.
This year, the city had begun to welcome horse breeders and traders from all over Lowlandia. With the major Houses and the knights¡ªwho were their primary customers¡ªnow concentrated in Korelia, they had no choice but to follow. The lords'' move had created conditions for the city''s horse market to thrive.
Furthermore, being stationed in Korelia opened new avenues of opportunity. It was known that the lord of the city maintained good relations with the nomadic tribes, and the nomads had pledged to bring a yearly tribute of a hundred horses. Upon their arrival, there would be ample opportunity to purchase high-quality horses and mares for breeding.
Adding to the allure, rumors circulated that the three Lords would hold an annual race and horse contest after the harvest. This event was highly anticipated, as horse racing had long been a favorite entertainment among the lords and people of Lowlandia.
Now, the city, which was once nothing more than a dusty fortified hill on a frontier plagued by wars, was the fastest-growing city in the south of the Imperium. Its citizens and migrants were looking forward to a great year.
***
Lansius
One month had passed since the first meeting. While the three lords were always welcome to visit each other, it was decided that they didn''t need to meet daily, and such meetings didn¡¯t have to be formal. Often, they gathered in the Eastern Mansion¡¯s garden for casual chats or to resolve minor issues.
At other times, they walked near the wall construction site or the new agricultural area to exchange ideas. Thus, meetings in the Great Keep were reserved for important discussions or monthly gatherings.
Each lord managed the affairs of their household and domain via a fast and reliable horse messenger system. This system, pioneered by Lansius with the help of nomadic peoples, made sending mail and small packages both reliable and ultra-fast. Despite great distances, they could send mail in just six days and urgent messages in three through a horse relay system.
Surprisingly, Korelia had also developed a robust trade network. The firewood merchants, utilizing the lord''s established postal route¡ªwhich provided convenient resting spaces, protection, fresh water, and resupply¡ªhad evolved into a significant trade network. Previously, they traded only firewood for bathhouse services, but now they also transported a vast array of commodities to make substantial profits. Thus, the small caravan of several carts had grown to a dozen, ready to meet the demands of the growing city.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Lansius would need every bit of efficiency if he wanted to keep the populace happy and the industrial heart of the city well-oiled. Speaking of oil,
"Reports of naphtha from Calub," Sterling said, offering a missive inside the eastern mansion''s second floor hall, where Lansius managed his domain''s affairs.
Seated behind a large table, Lansius took the missive and glanced at it, noting that Calub had found a supplier all too glad to provide oil to Korelia, despite the hostility in Midlandia. Turning to Sterling, Lansius said, "Next."
"From Sir Gunther," Sterling offered another missive.
Ah, thankfully, just a thank you note for the spring bed mattresses. Mm, he did hint about his worsening condition.
Lansius placed the missive to his right to remind himself to ask Farkas whether the former lord was living comfortably and if he needed special care due to his old wound. While House Gunther was no longer relevant, Lansius felt that people would judge him if he mistreated those who had surrendered to him. "Next," he instructed.
Sterling offered another missive.
Soon there was a pile of items to consider:
- noble area''s reports
- dedicated firemen service
- reports on guild that proposed gambling den
- reports on agriculture projects
- duck breeding progress
- the city library matters
- new letter from Dawn
- correspondence from the Hunter Guild
- reports on workshop expansion
- decisions regarding city wall features
- current treasury valuations and appraisals
- Dame Daniella''s report
- and even paint color choices for the Great Keep.
Lansius stared at them, trying to prioritize his concerns, then remembered Lord Robert. "Sterling, do you have any news about the Lord of White Lake and Francisca?" he asked before he forgot about it.
Instead of answering, Sterling glanced at Audrey, who was seated on a soft couch next to Lansius.
Audrey offered a thin smile. "They exchanged stories, snacked, and traded gifts. Lord Robert seems to treat Francisca as an honored guest," she reassured him.
Lansius nodded but added, "I hope that''s not a mating ritual."
Audrey and Sterling chuckled softly.
"The Lion of Lowlandia isn''t that kind of man. He could have pursued more but chose to marry only once, despite having only a daughter," Audrey replied.
"A good role model," Lansius muttered, earning an approving smile from Audrey. He then turned a concerned gaze toward her. "And what about Sir Harold and Francisca?"
"What about them?" Audrey responded, her smile evolving into a sweet grin. "There''s no innuendo between them, which is only to be expected. Sir Harold is more noble than most; he wouldn¡¯t take advantage of his charge."
"But My Lady, the charge seems enamored," Sterling commented, amused.
Audrey giggled but gave no further comment.
After that brief distraction, Lansius returned to his work, organizing the letters and planning a working schedule. Many tasks required a visit and supervision, as well as decisions. "So many things to look after," he muttered.
"We still have several more just arriving," Sterling added.
Lansius was stunned. "This is not all?"
"Carla is still working with the apothecary to detect poison," his squire reminded him.
"Ah," he murmured. With hostilities from Midlandia, the council had urged him to be extra careful. He was about to sort his priorities when the door swooshed open.
A young man, his personal scribe, entered and greeted him as he caught Lansius'' gaze. "My Lord,"
Lansius exhaled, preparing himself, then asked, "What do you have for me?"
"The crossbow smiths need your attention," the young scribe explained, offering no missive. It was simply a verbal request.
"Sterling, make sure to remind me to visit the crossbow smith," Lansius instructed.
Sterling nodded, and Lansius motioned for the scribe to continue.
"My Lord, word from the market: you have yet to decide on the horse market."
Lansius mulled it over before giving his answer, "The Korelia horse market will be seasonal. It will be available for auction this spring. If anyone wishes to buy horses, they can do so when the tribesmen arrive."
The limited time window was designed to allow the nomads to share in the profits, rather than letting horse traders hoard most of the earnings. By making the market seasonal, everyone would be encouraged to participate, enhancing the opportunity for knights and esquire families to connect directly with the nomads, who were the main producers.
By eliminating the middleman, Lansius hoped to empower his cavalry by providing reasonably priced, high-quality warhorses for their main steeds or spares. Moreover, this limited time window would also simplify the process of ensuring that taxes were paid.
Having settled the matter of the horse market, Lansius asked, "What else do you have?"
"I have reports on the city fountains as you requested, barbed wire production, and also an airship report from Hans," the scribe offered three missives.
He took the papers, glanced over them, found them complicated, and set them aside. He then turned his gaze to the scribe, who seemed eager to say more. "Don''t tell me you have more," Lansius frowned.
"My Lord, just a small request."
"Yours?" Lansius responded as if it were a slight betrayal.
The scribe sheepishly stifled his boyish grin. Audrey and Sterling were also amused, finding it all too funny that Lansius'' guidance was needed for so many things.
Inhaling deeply, Lansius said, "Spit it out."
"Your story about the Trojan War. There are so many requests, even if it''s only for a chapter or two..."
Lansius massaged his nose bridge. He had forgotten about the Trojan War; he barely covered their crossing to Troy. And they loved how Odysseus didn''t want to go there, even to the point of faking insanity, plowing the field, and sowing salt on his farm.
I did too many projects...
Audrey looked at him, quipping, "I''m glad to be pregnant and have none of your work."
Lansius chuckled and retorted, "That was before. Now you''re educated. I shall delegate half of this to you."
"The decision is for the Lord Shogun to make, not his wife," she retorted back, nervously.
Lansius chuckled with a tired voice before saying, "I told you, I''d rather live in the woods and chop wood daily than do this."
Knocking was heard at the door, and Sterling opened it to allow a guard to approach.
The guard in ringmail bowed and reported, "My Lord, the guildsmen have assembled and are ready for you at the Grand Keep."
Lansius turned to Audrey, who replied, "Go on, this can wait."
Placing a weight and a clean sheet of paper on top of the stack of missives, Lansius rose and said to her, "Wish me luck."
After descending the flight of stairs, Lansius stepped out of the mansion. His entourage was ready, but he longed for a moment of respite in the garden, weary from all the work. As he neared the garden, his gaze landed on a stack of wood and an axe embedded in an unfinished log.
Without a particular thought in mind, he approached, suddenly placing his boot firmly on the log. With a swift motion, he grasped the axe handle and pulled it free with ease. His entourage watched with a mix of concern and curiosity but Sterling¡¯s silence reassured everyone.
Feeling the weight of the chopping axe in his hands, Lansius assumed the correct stance, raised the iron overhead, and then drove it downward. The axe sliced through the wood, splitting it cleanly in two with a satisfying crack. He caught Sterling''s eye, who immediately understood what his lord wanted.
"Next," Lansius quipped, his voice steady.
Without a word, Sterling placed another log on the stump. Lansius readied himself again, muscles tensing, and delivered another powerful blow, the axe''s blade biting into the wood with a thud.
The gathered onlookers¡ªservants, guards, and maids¡ªmurmured among themselves, initially surprised at why the Lord was chopping wood, but soon became captivated by his rare display of strength.
They whispered theories about his need to vent frustration¡ªsome speculated it was due to the sheer volume of tasks he faced, while others suggested that with the Lady being pregnant, his frustrations might also be personal, given that he had not taken any concubines. A few jestingly said that he needed to pump himself up before meeting with the guild.
Whatever the reason, Lansius continued to chop, log after log, his strokes rhythmic and forceful. He stopped only after he had reduced a sizable stack to neatly split wood, his brow glistening with sweat. With a final, forceful swing, he planted the axe into the tree stump, then loosened his tunic, revealing pronounced muscles on his arms rippling under his skin.
Turning to his entourage, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion, he announced, "Time to head to the Great Keep."
***
Guildsman Caine
Following last year''s debacle, where a guildsman''s attempt to promote gambling nearly invoked the lord''s wrath, it became clear that leadership among them was necessary. They quickly found a suitable leader in Caine, who not only came from one of the largest guilds in Midlandia and was well-liked and respected by many but also had a good relationship with the Lord of Korelia. Thus, he became the de facto head of the guilds. His primary roles were to organize and cater to their needs, and keep their members in line.
Caine felt they were grossly unprepared to handle the changes ushered in by the Lord of Korelia. Like any guildsman and merchant, he noticed how Korelia¡ªand indeed, all of Lowlandia¡ªhad been gradually transformed following the Lord''s plan for the shogunate last summer. Now, the shogunate encompassed five regions along with several allies. Moreover, as the new political center of Lowlandia, Korelia had become a hub of activity, attracting a steady stream of messengers, guests, visitors, merchants, and talent seeking opportunities.
Just recently, many were thrilled to learn from the gatehouse records that more than five hundred people had traveled to the city to stay. For guildsmen like them, a larger market meant more money to be made. Furthermore, it was solid proof that Lowlandians were comfortable and had put their trust in the Lord of Korelia¡¯s rule.
In such a short time, they witnessed the transformation of Korelia from a remote, unwanted town into the most promising city in Lowlandia.
Now, the guildsmen waited in the vast hall of the Great Keep, chatting as they awaited the lords'' arrival. They had not yet greeted Lord Lansius since the spring festival, and for many, this was their first business meeting of the year.
There were activities, and soon the herald took the stage: "May I present to you the Lord Shogun of Korelia, Lord of White Lake, and Lord of Three Hills."
The guildsmen all bowed their heads as the three lords entered. The Great Keep now featured an elevated wooden platform, lacquered to a high gloss, where the lords would sit on their designated chairs.
Lord Robert and Lord Jorge took their places to Lord Lansius'' right and left, respectively. Lansius'' seat, however, was elevated a step above the others. Each lord had a small table before him, and from the audience''s perspective, the arrangement resembled a courtroom. Even Caine felt a slight nervousness.
To many observers, it was evident that this was not the Lord of Korelia they had known last year. Though Lansius still donned his comfortable blue tunic, the air around him had changed. His influence and prestige had expanded across nearly all of Lowlandia. It was clear that his growing power was bound to attract more lords, drawn by the myriad of benefits of aligning with him.
Caine, who looked like an experienced clerk with neatly combed hair and a sharp nose, along with his fellow guildsmen, began their greetings and soon dived into the South Trade proposal. Only after a session of questions did the Lord motion with his hand to stop the inquiries.
"My dear guildsmen," Lord Lansius began, causing everyone to focus on him. "Based on your enthusiasm, I think there''s some miscommunication."
Caine and his fellow guildsmen exchanged glances.
Lord Lansius continued, "I''m telling you about the South Trade because I don''t want to offend you. I would rather you know it from me than from other sources. However, the caravan that''ll pass through Korelia will have exclusivity rights."
"Exclusivity?" Caine blurted out, surprise painting his face.
"Correct," the Lord said as he gazed at him. "It means you are gravely mistaken to think that you can trade with them. Their goods are sealed to be traded only in Navalnia, and from Navalnia to the archipelago beyond it."
Colors drained from the guildsmen''s faces. They had been dreaming of astronomical sales and fat profits all last summer, yet it was all just a silly misunderstanding on their part.
"They will be under my protection, but I merely collect toll payments, escorts, and supplies as needed," the Lord continued.
Even Caine paled. The South Trade was the biggest trade opportunity he had ever faced in his lifetime, offering a direct route from the furthest reach of the Imperium into the neighboring kingdom to the south. Previously impossible due to warring lords, this route had now materialized, yet they would be barred from it.
At the urging of his friends, he asked, "My Lord, could we explore any avenues for trade with them at all?"
"Unlikely," Lord Lansius muttered, leaning back in his chair and gazing at his two lordly allies. "We only care about the tax," he quipped dismissively, eliciting chuckles from the two lords.
All the guildsmen present felt their stomachs churn. Even though it was hypothetical, the potential loss of profit¡ªpassing right under their noses¡ªwas too heartbreaking.
"Unless you want to become an active part of this venture," the Lord muttered, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.
While many of his fellow guildsmen turned hopeful, Caine swallowed hard. He knew that they had fallen into the Lord''s trap, and he too would come willingly; the lure of profit and progress he could provide was too great to resist.
***
Chapter 171 : A Company of Men
Chapter 171
A Company of Men
Caine
As the discussion between the lord and the guildsmen continued, Caine, the mason guild representative, grew weary. Several times he had resorted to wiping the sweat from his forehead, though he was merely standing and listening in a cool, well-ventilated hall. The mental effort of processing the Lord''s offer proved quite taxing.
The other guildsmen fared similarly. The drinks offered to them barely cooled their heads or helped them continue. From their reactions, Caine could see they were wondering whether they were dealing with a merchant, a war general, or something else entirely.
For a long time, Caine had questioned whether the Lord of Korelia was one of them, a profit-seeker. Previously, many had suspected his brilliance originated from one of his advisors, like the late Sir Callahan, Sir Michael, or even the shrewd Sir Omin. But now, he no longer felt the need to find an answer. It was clear that beneath the veneer of a warm and empathetic noble in times of peace and a cold-blooded warlord in conflict, lay a shrewd mercenary.
The Lord had proposed they "become an active part of this venture," which meant for the guilds to join the southern trade with their own caravans.
On the surface, it made perfect sense: Join the South Trade and you can conduct business as suppliers or providers of inns. Nothing sketchy about that.
However, his instincts warned him that it was as good as gambling against a weighted die. A deeper look revealed that the exclusivity meant each participant had to dig deep into their pockets to join. Moreover, it was tied to the caravan, meaning any guild that stopped participating the following year would be barred from trading. Thus, each year, the commitment would need to be renewed.
In essence, it was a limited membership. The Lord of Korelia was asking them all to pay for a permit to enter his exclusive trade network.
Suddenly, Caine realized that the Lord was treating the southern trade as if it were a guild.
A guild for guilds...?
A bead of sweat trickled down to Caine¡¯s chin.
It was clear that Lord Lansius spoke their mercantile language. He had awed them with his Lowlandia peace initiatives, massive city-building efforts, grain trade, airships, and even new mattresses. Now, he had charmed them with his vision of a grand southern trade.
In the face of the Imperium''s crisis, this route served as a lifeline in gold, reconnecting the westernmost reach of the Imperium to the easternmost Navalnia Empire via a more direct route. Leveraging their profit-oriented motives, Lord Lansius had effectively divided the guilds.
While smaller guilds could not afford to set up a long-distance trade caravan, the larger guilds with cash to burn would leap at the opportunity. This arrangement undermined Caine¡¯s chance to negotiate, knowing that his informal group was an unreliable partnership; it was there to protect their interests, not to prevent one from gaining an advantage. Moreover, there was the looming fear of missing out.
Thus, like a coiled snake, the Lord''s fat proposal had ensnared them. There was no escape. Even if half of the guildsmen understood, they would still willingly walk into the trap. The potential profits from the South Trade were too lucrative to dismiss.
In fact, Caine himself began to doubt whether it was justified to label it a trap.
"A shared profit is still a profit," the Lord suddenly said, answering a guild representative''s question as if reading Caine¡¯s mind.
Caine was humbled by those words, but his instincts screamed to keep his guard up.
Is there another catch? If so, where?
He looked inward with slight panic as he searched his mind about the proposal, knowing well that it would be best to find the issue and ask for clarification now in front of the other guildsmen.
"Well, I think I have said everything," the Lord suddenly declared, and Caine felt a jolt that made him stand ramrod straight. He was about to step forward when the Lord of Three Hills cleared his throat.
This prompted Lord Lansius to turn toward the speaker, who was seated to his left on a slightly lower platform. "Yes, Lord Jorge?"
"Lord Shogun, may I?" Lord Jorge inquired, his voice dripping with affluent charm.
"Be my guest," the Lord of the city replied with ease and pleasure.
"Gentlemen," Lord Jorge addressed the hall, "I believe this announcement will surprise no one. The shogunate has established the Lowlandia Office of Works, and thus every question and dealing will go through them. Think of it as a separate body designed to ensure our new institution runs efficiently. Furthermore, I believe it''s only prudent for us to keep our dealings and contracts clearly documented."
Noble houses forming guild to protect their interests?
It was unprecedented. Caine had been informed about the transition from the Korelia Mason Guild to the Office of Works but had felt it was just another extension of the city''s function. However, he now understood what it was really about.
The southern trade was a guise. At its heart, it was a venture and should be properly named: the South Trade Company.
***
Lansius
In under four days, the guilds came to terms, and many signed their contracts. A few small guilds, in a stroke of genius, merged to form a larger one in a desperate attempt to secure a share of the lucrative trade.
Lansius employed his talents to draft an ironclad contract designed to minimize loopholes. He also aimed to empower the Office of Works and appoint the Shogunate as the arbiter of disputes. Although not quite a neutral party, this arrangement was more equitable than anything previously available in the Imperium.
With so many dealings and fine details to consider, Lansius included seemingly insignificant points, such as requiring the guilds that signed to respect inventions made by the Office of Works.
Another clause stipulated that they could participate and be granted a license to produce a limited quantity, but production had to remain in Korelia for twenty years to protect the Office of Works'' interest and trade secret.
It was also stated that anyone breaking this law would face the full might of the Shogunate, whether via diplomacy, economy, or military.
This might seem like a lot of effort, after all, Lansius could simply rely on a total monopoly to continue making substantial profits. However, he understood that when demand far exceeded supply, it was likely to invite crime, as had happened with the smuggling of silkworms and tea trees from the Middle Kingdom.
The East Roman Emperor Justinian I had two monks smuggle silkworms into the empire, breaking China''s monopoly and establishing silk factories in several cities. Similarly with tea, it took only a hundred years after Europeans acquired a taste for it for a German to plant tea trees in a colony, sparking efforts to cultivate suitable varieties on a large scale.
Similarly, if Lansius maintained a monopoly on spring beds, eventually someone would replicate the technology, causing Korelia to lose significant opportunities. He preferred to allow them a piece of the pie and remain content as the industry leader.
As the last of the guilds signed the contract, Lansius ramped up barbed wire production. This new fencing would give the majority of his citizens a fighting chance.
Out in the wilderness of the Great Plains, packs of wolves, wild dogs, and even elusive carnivorous cats claimed this land as their territory. Previously, it required skilled riders armed with weapons to keep livestock alive as they grazed increasingly far from town.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Every year, a shepherd with 100 sheep could lose two dozen sheep, if not more, to predators. With more than three thousand souls leading a pastoral life, a yearly loss of more than 20% was a life-and-death situation. This was without accounting for attacks on humans and farm personnel. Each year, there were dozens of recorded cases of deaths from carnivores and tens of reports of crippling injuries.
Now, barbed wire would pave the way to even the odds against these apex predators.
In the hands of shepherds, barbed wire was a weapon. And Lansius was arming them to the brim.
***
Korelia
The presence of Lord Robert and Lord Jorge in the city was still sensational news. Nobody would have thought this arrangement possible, and the presence of three powerhouses in Korelia had an immediate effect.
The city had received a steady stream of craftsmen, smiths, and talents from all over Lowlandia, lining up for opportunities. Now, there were more people buying land permits and building their houses. Rows of shops and houses were emerging here and there, based on the latest city layout approved by the nascent Office of Works.
This growth was further fueled by the local populace who had disposable income, many of whom had joined the Lord''s war effort, either in defense work or as soldiers. The influx of campaign money was sufficient to stimulate the surrounding economy. Additionally, many residents earned wages by working in various workshops or profited from selling goods to the reigning House.
Another effect came from the two noble houses, which required a great deal of supplies for their retainers, making the Korelian merchants very happy. Luxury goods that nobody in Korelia ever bothered with were now in great demand.
Carpenters and furniture shops that had just finished their orders for the bathhouse were now working full-time to meet the orders from the two lords. Clothing shops also received significant orders, as the lords couldn¡¯t bring their entire wardrobes and needed extras. Artisans found plenty of work, as both houses required plates, bowls, jars, wooden bathtubs, and a myriad of other items.
This economic boost extended further when the two lords, despite having their retinues secure temporary accommodations, purchased properties in Korelia for temporary residences. Neither wanted to be outdone by the other.
The lord of the city appeared to adopt an open policy and rarely intervened in his counterparts'' dealings. However, hidden from the public eye, Lord Lansius had established specific guidelines to ensure peace and maintain honorable conduct.
One rule was particularly noteworthy: the lords should not hold important celebrations or send invitations on the same day, and especially not at the same time, to ensure that all their retinues and other lords could attend without sensing any rivalry.
Such rules were necessary as Lord Lansius, more than ever, wanted them to live in peace and prevent potential conflicts from flaring up. These rules also extended to the nobles'' residences.
Under the pretense of preventing rivalry and maintaining dignity and peace, he instructed that the main building be a one-story construction with high ceilings and a large roof for good ventilation, surrounded by gardens. The main hall could be connected, separated, or integrated into the main building as the occupant wished.
As protection, the complex was surrounded by high, white-washed walls with two-story watchtowers at each corner. Both the walls and the towers were regulated not to exceed a two-story house height and needed to be decorated with tiled roofs on top to not make them look like bastions. He underlined that the house needed to look like a place to live in, not a defensive structure.
As much as possible, the design should conceal or soften its defensive capabilities with woodwork or stonework.
The lord of the city also dictated that the house be filled with lush gardens and ponds that also benefited cooling. He allowed the compound to have multiple buildings as necessary but encouraged them not to overbuild as it would add a significant risk of fire.
With these guidelines in place, the two lords were busy managing the construction of their new residences.
Lord Jorge in particular had abandoned his plan to claim the land up north, where he used to camp after the war. Now that Korelia had built a city wall and a dedicated noble district, the young viscount realized it would be more beneficial to accept the offer and put less strain on his house¡¯s still depleted coffers.
Due to his late start, Lord Jorge was still working on the foundation but expected the main residence building and surrounding residential wall to be completed within the year. The rest of the complex, including the guardhouse, horse stable, armory, and lavishly decorated main building, would be completed in the following years.
Meanwhile, Lord Robert got an early start. He had tasked Sir Michael and Astrid to select a prime spot in the noble district. Their residence''s foundation had been completed last fall, allowing them to anticipate the completion of the main residence by late summer, with plans to expand its adjacent wings next year as needed.
Moreover, the old viscount excelled in leadership and had less of a penchant for decoration. Thus, he expected his gardens and banquet hall to be ready around harvest time. True to his style, Lord Robert drove the masons and carpenters with military fervor and an abundance of spirits. However, his unyielding stamina did not match his planning, which plagued the worksite with mistakes, setbacks, and repeated fixes.
Amid their busy schedule, these two lords also needed to care for their families'' demands. Noblemen or not, keeping their families content was essential for this arrangement to work. Fortunately, Lord Lansius had provided some assistance.
The lavish gift of a new mattress and the city tour was still the talk of many. But for them, what was more exceptional was the modest-looking carriage that they had been using for the city tour.
The carriage was more comfortable than any they had ever experienced. Even nobles like them were accustomed to jarring rides, so a comfortable ride came as a shock. Only riding on a palfrey horse was better, but riding a horse under the sun was exhausting.
Impressed by the ride, Lord Jorge and Robert quickly placed an order for such carriages. As a token of goodwill, Lord Lansius, through the Office of Works, decided to simply upgrade the lords'' existing carriages, as building from scratch would require a lot of time. Hearing about this, now every wealthy family in Lowlandia began to pay attention.
Soon another waiting list emerged, giving Korelia''s growing Office of Works a robust foundation to expand their manufacturing capabilities before the start of the southern trade. Around this time, the guild began to recruit every talent it could find locally. News quickly spread, and since then, it was common for well-educated esquires to exchange their swords for a quill.
For the most part, the integration of another two noble houses along with Sir Omin and Sir Gunther, the former Lord of South Hill, proceeded smoothly.
Aside from construction efforts, the two lords spent their days managing their affairs back home, which had yet to fully adapt to their move. Sometimes they decided to bring in more officials to support their functions; other times, they delegated more duties to their governors. They were also responsible for training a small contingent of guards, men-at-arms, and cavalrymen as reserves for the shogunate.
After the two Houses had familiarized themselves with the new military standards and practices, the Lord planned to send the majority of this reserve, no more than two hundred, to Korimor. This would alleviate Korelia¡¯s food burden and provide a stronger garrison for the city closest to Midlandia.
Some rumors came from Lord Robert''s arrangement to have his wife stay in the Eastern Mansion with their daughter, Lady Astrid, who was pregnant.
The old viscount was known to have a close relationship with the popular Francisca, thus fueling rumors about them having a romance. Instead of dispelling the rumors, Lord Robert was only too happy to let them spread, as it would bolster his claim of regaining his virility.
Meanwhile, externally, Lord Jorge faced no issues that sparked rumors. However, internally, he was plagued by problems in his domain. While Sir Arius was capable as a governor, his cousin still needed reliable support. With the memory of last year''s coup still fresh, Lord Jorge was considering whether to send Sir Morton home.
Unnoticed by all as they dealt with their various concerns, the first month of spring had quietly come to a close.
***
Ingrid
The educator felt her hand while she fed power into the earring, which lazily absorbed it. Unlike older dwarven artifacts that usually nibble aggressively at power or have their own temperaments and feeding issues, this one was rather dormant.
Ingrid understood that its laziness wasn''t due to its mood but because it was entirely different.
"When I take care of dwarven gemstones, they usually nibble at my power aggressively," Ingrid explained to Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey in their comfortable private hall in the Eastern Mansion. "Some are a bit picky and have their own eating habits, but they all have that almost sentient-like personality. However, this gemstone," she held it up for the Lord and Lady to see, "doesn''t have that sentient feeling."
"Then what is it?" the lady asked, resting on her soft couch after her mage training.
"It''s a replica of a dwarven object," Ingrid replied.
"Replica?" the lord''s eyes widened.
"Indeed. It''s a craft that even the Mage Guild did not possess, yet clearly, there were people in history skilled enough to create such items."
"Could it be that the Grand Progenitors are the ones who made it?" Lady Audrey asked.
"To my understanding, every Grand Progenitor had an innate understanding of magic and runes, even more than the elves. I doubt a Grand Progenitor with thousands of years of experience would make such an inferior product," Ingrid responded.
"Especially when they are half-dwarves themselves," Lord Lansius added.
"Exactly, My Lord," said Ingrid approvingly.
Nodding while relaxing in her seat, the Lady asked, "Well, what does the artifact do?"
"Francisca told me that the famed Old Man Kae in Umberland used this to send pictures from one earring user to another. The half-beast tribes used it for hunting for several generations before it stopped functioning."
The Lord was piqued, leaning forward, he asked, "It can send pictures?"
"Yes, pictures or colors," Ingrid clarified.
"May I see it? How do they do it?" the Lord asked, and Ingrid readily offered the gold-encrusted gemstone.
Smiling, the Centuria-born mage explained, "It''s an earring. I believe you only need to wear it, My Lord."
At the Lord''s side, the Lady quipped with the same reaction, "Obviously you can''t wear it unless we pierce your ear first. Should we?"
The Lord chuckled and took his time to examine and admire the earring before handing it to the Lady, who turned to Ingrid, asking, "May I try it?"
"Yes, it''s safe; I''ve tried it before," Ingrid reassured her.
The Lady removed her earring and put on the new one.
"When My Lady uses it, it will activate but won''t do anything," Ingrid explained.
"Yes, I can feel it trying to do something," the Lady confirmed.
The Lord suddenly rose, his voice filled with unexpected excitement. "Come, we need to go somewhere."
"Eh, why?" Even the Lady was perplexed by his sudden urgency.
"I''ll explain later," he promised, his eyes alight with an unspoken plan.
"Where are we going? Do we need to bring Ingrid?" the Lady inquired, rising with Ingrid''s aid.
"Yes, bring Ingrid, and don''t forget Francisca," the Lord instructed as he led the way. The three hurried out to the waiting carriage, with their entourage scrambling to keep up. The Lord''s instruction to the coachman was simple: "To the new workshop complex."
***
Chapter 172 : A Distant Reply
Chapter 172
A Distant Reply
Lansius
Riding in a carriage that had undergone further improvements, Lansius took Audrey, Ingrid, and Francisca to the workshop complex near the river that divides Korelia into west and east. In addition to experimenting with the magic earring, this trip also served to invite Audrey out, providing a change of scenery from her confinement in the Eastern Mansion. Now that her pregnancy was stable enough, her physician and the old nanny had given their approval.
Despite seeing her every day, Lansius remained captivated by Audrey''s growing bump. Noticing his fascination, Audrey caressed it, prompting Lansius to also gently touch it, much to the delight of the other two passengers, Ingrid and Francisca.
The carriage wasn¡¯t spacious, so Ingrid ended up covered in some of Francisca¡¯s fur, though she didn¡¯t seem to mind at all.
"This is a really smooth ride. What did you do to it?" Audrey asked, clearly impressed.
"We''re trying adding rubber and corkwood as dampeners to the metal springs," Lansius explained casually.
Audrey nodded, while Ingrid and Francisca looked intrigued.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted as they neared the workshop complex. Guards stationed at the entrance readily motioned for approaching carriages and carts to slow down. The area was loosely cordoned off by wooden fences, providing some measure of security. Nearby, the newly formed second fire nightwatch brigade, the Fire Wardens, was stationed, further bolstering the area''s security.
As their carriage approached, the guardsmen recognized Sterling seated next to the coachman and promptly waved them through.
"Ingrid, do you mind telling Sterling we''re going to the wire warehouse?" Lansius asked.
Ingrid turned and opened the speak-through panel, knocking on it twice. Sterling, hearing the signal, leaned back slightly to face the panel. "Yes, maester Ingrid?"
"My Lord said we''re heading to the wire warehouse," Ingrid directed crisply.
The carriage then promptly veered right, heading towards a cluster of warehouses strategically spaced apart to mitigate fire risks. As they pulled up in front of one particular warehouse, the sudden stop drew curious looks from carpenters and masons working on an adjacent building.
"What are we doing here?" Audrey''s tone filled with curiosity.
"Just a small experiment," Lansius reassured her with a smile.
Francisca jumped down first to secure the area, her presence stirring a buzz among the nearby workers. With Sterling and the half-breed, it was clear to everyone that the Lord was likely in the carriage. The three guards stationed nearby approached and snapped to attention for an inspection.
"At ease," Sterling commanded them with casual authority.
Lansius then emerged from the carriage, reaching back to carefully assist Audrey as she descended. Her presence, highlighted by her noticeable baby bump, immediately captivated the workers who lined up, their faces showing surprise and admiration.
"My Lord, My Lady," they greeted almost in unison. A woman from the warehouse staff stepped forward, speaking on behalf of the group, "Blessed be the child in your womb. May you always be in good health."
Audrey smiled warmly at them. "Everyone," Lansius addressed the warehouse workers, carpenters, and guards, "gratitude for your hard work."
Pleased murmurs filled the air as the group moved toward the warehouse, led by Lansius and Audrey, with Ingrid close behind, and Sterling and Francisca guiding the way.
The warehouse, constructed with local stone on the first floor and topped with a timber roof, was typical for Korelia where stone was abundant and quality timber was scarce.
As they walked, Lansius turned to the warehouse staff and asked, "We have thick copper wire, right?"
"Yes, My Lord, we''ve kept it as you ordered," the staff answered.
"Bring them to me," Lansius instructed, stopping in a spot well-lit by a large window.
As the staff jogged off, Audrey and Ingrid looked around. It was their first time here, and they were amazed by the rows of uniform wooden shelves of similar build and height that lined the walls. Each was meticulously labeled with a logo for efficient storage. There were two portable stairs made of light wood to easily and safely access the higher shelves.
The shelves were stacked with metal bars, pipes of different sizes, rolls of metal wires, and a massive quantity of barbed wire, all coated with thick, greasy tallow to prevent rust. Hays were scattered here and there, used to absorb moisture.
"What are those?" Audrey pointed at the multiple stacks of crates, some sealed with clay, others with ropes and a tar-like substance.
"They''re for bolts," Lansius replied. "Each crate can hold six hundred normal-sized bolts."
"Why are they blackened like that?"
"They''re sealed to ensure they remain sharp and in good condition," Lansius explained. "There are also crates for crossbows and spare strings."
Audrey raised her brow. "I didn''t know sealing could help preserve things."
Lansius smiled at her curiosity. "In some villages, they store freshly harvested fruit in clay and dry it. It can last until the next harvest."
Hearing this, Francisca looked at the crates with interest.
Audrey noticed and turned to Lansius, addressing him formally, "My Lord. Francisca has planted several native plants in her garden. Perhaps she''s interested in the crates. Would it be possible to spare her one?"
"Native plants?" Lansius was intrigued, muttering, "That reminds me of the plants the Lord of Dawn gave us."
"She''s been tending them too with the gardener''s help. She has a knack for gardening¡ªused to grow her own yams back home," Audrey explained. Hearing this, Francisca approached and knelt, listening intently as they discussed her.
"Interesting," Lansius remarked thoughtfully. "I can spare a crate or two, but Francisca, let me inspect them first. It''s best if we handle the sealing here since it needs skilled hands."
"I''ll bring them over as soon as they''re ripe," Francisca responded, her tail wagging with enthusiasm.
Lansius returned his gaze to the stacks of crates ready to be delivered to the Eastern Mansion, the Castle, and the Grand Keep. Sometimes he wondered if this was overkill. A thousand bolts cost him three gold coins, and now he had over a hundred thousand bolts.
It was an impressive amount of bolts, but still barely enough for five hundred of his crossbowmen, who, with an average firing rate of three bolts per minute, could expend it all in just one hour of fighting.
300 gold coins, the entire income for a small barony, for an hour''s worth of ammunition. War is indeed costly...
While he knew the realistic number would likely cover several hours, as battles were rarely fought at a continuously high intensity, Lansius was accustomed to planning based on the worst-case scenario.
The warehouse staff returned, accompanied by another worker who carried two rolls of reddish-gold wire as thick as a quill pen.
Lansius examined them briefly and then announced, "Let''s go outside and call for some help."
Audrey followed him without question, flanked by Sterling and Francisca, with the warehouse staff and a worker trailing behind.
Lansius glanced at her. "You might want an umbrella."
"That''s unnecessary," Audrey replied, but Ingrid had already unfurled a lavishly decorated canvas umbrella she had carried from the mansion.
"Let me hold it for you," Francisca snatched it from Ingrid.
"Hey, I can manage," the mage protested mildly to the half-breed.
"No, no, you carried Margo¡¯s bag for drinks; don''t be greedy trying to do two tasks at once," Francisca quipped back, and the two stifled their chuckles.
As the group stepped outside, the sun was high in the sky. Turning to Sterling, Lansius said, "Find a nimble worker to put that wire on top of that building and hold it there. We¡¯re going to test something."
Sterling did as instructed; he went with the warehouse staff and solicited help from workers at the unfinished building. It required some coordination, prompting Lansius, Audrey, and Ingrid to retreat into the carriage. Francisca climbed to the seat next to the coachman in front, momentarily unsettling the two horses, but she calmly continued to cover everyone with the umbrella.
Soon after, Sterling returned with a strand of copper wire in hand. "They¡¯ve put it on the rooftop," he reported.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
"Did it take two rolls?" Lansius inquired through the half-opened carriage door.
"Almost, but there is some leftover," Sterling reported back.
"Good. Were the connections done neatly?"
"Exactly like the ones in the barbed wire," Sterling confirmed.
"Excellent." Lansius paused, giving Audrey a brief look before addressing Sterling again. "Could you spare us a moment?"
Understanding the request, Sterling nodded. "I''ll take the coachman for a drink then," he said, accepting the two copper coins Lansius offered for the beverages. Knowing his way around the complex, he headed towards the kitchen and rest area.
Lansius then turned to Audrey, handing her the copper wire. "What should I do with this?" she asked, surprised.
"Hold it and then try the earring again," Lansius explained.
Audrey and Ingrid exchanged glances. The educator nodded, and Audrey grabbed the reddish-gold wire and closed her eyes.
"What do you feel?" Ingrid whispered after a moment.
"Something... I''m not sure," she frowned.
After a while with no progress, Lansius suggested, "Let''s try touching the wire to the earring."
Lansius and Ingrid helped with the wire. Lansius fashioned it into a spiral so it would be blunt and flat, ensuring it wouldn¡¯t graze Audrey¡¯s ear if they slipped.
Audrey leaned closer, and once she was comfortable, she closed her eyes again to focus.
"Well?" Lansius prompted.
Audrey opened her eyes but shook her head.
Lansius chuckled, a light sigh escaping him. "Well, it was worth a try."
Ingrid looked at him curiously. "My lord, where did you get such an idea? Does copper enhance magic?"
"Just a feeling," Lansius reasoned, unable to explain radio waves, electromagnetism, or antennas.
They ended up testing it on Ingrid and Francisca, but they too had no luck.
"Maybe the other earring is without magic?" Audrey suggested.
Ingrid shook her head. "No, this kind of thing usually shares potency. It''s a similar concept to a mage and their source. It isn''t affected by distance or space."
"Probably my cousin''s wife doesn''t wear it," Francisca offered an explanation.
"Perhaps," Ingrid agreed, preferring a simpler explanation.
Lansius nodded, saying, "Francisca, can you write a letter to your cousin? We''ll send a fast rider to Umberland to inform them."
"Of course, I shall make a letter," the half-breed replied firmly.
With that, Lansius called off the experiment, instructing the worker to roll up the copper wire. He decided not to put them back into storage, thinking to try it again at their mansion later.
...
After their little experiment, the group headed toward the market area. The carriage stopped several times as Sterling and Ingrid, also disguised, bought various food items from stalls that caught the Lady''s eye. Her appetite had grown considerably, with strong cravings, especially for fruits and smoked fish.
While they paused, they watched children playing cheerfully under a cluster of palm trees in the new plaza. The children ran freely over the colorful mosaic marble, their clean linen fluttering in the wind, as their mothers filled their jugs with clean water. The city had recently unveiled its first working water fountain, from which clean water flowed from a metal spout shaped like a mythical duck.
Since its inauguration by the city''s officials, the fountain had become central to the daily lives of the Korelians, providing fresh water for drinking, cooking, and washing, as well as a venue for resting and socializing.
The fountain¡¯s base, made of stone, featured a basin with elaborate carvings and a column depicting Ancients, elves, dwarves, and grand progenitors. The figures of the Lord and Lady, serving as the patrons, were prominently displayed, wearing ceremonial raiments with their coat of arms chiseled into the stone.
Sitting next to him, Audrey leaned on Lansius and whispered, "Lans, what you did will be remembered for a long time."
Lansius smiled. "To see children playing freely like that, instead of protecting sheep from wolves with a wooden cane..."
"They''ll be forever grateful," Audrey added, grasping his hand tightly. The two continued to observe the plaza.
Furnished with palm trees and elaborate marble mosaics from the local quarry, the fountain came at a considerable cost. However, it represented more than just a facility.
Lansius held the view that well-maintained and accessible public facilities, such as fountains, comfortable community spaces, and accessible libraries, enhance the quality of life for residents. They promote community engagement and foster a sense of ownership and civic pride among the inhabitants.
He would need this civic pride and good popular support if his experiment with the Shogunate were to succeed. In line with this, the construction of two other fountains was currently underway, with completion expected just in time for summer.
The fountains were powered by a water wheel that pumped water from the river into a three-story-high reservoir. From there, gravity facilitated the delivery of water via large and sturdy stone pipes underground into the fountains.
Lansius found similarities with how the Romans built their aqueducts and fountains. They used stone and clay pipes, especially after learning that lead pipes caused some cases of poisoning. While in this world lead pipes were also the go-to choice, due to their malleability and cost, Lansius had opted for more costly bronze pipes.
He didn''t want to risk his populace with lead poisoning. Moreover, bronze was only used in bends or specific places, so it wasn''t all that expensive.
The excess water from the fountain was used to irrigate the selection of native trees planted by the city and affluent families at the Lord¡¯s suggestion. These growing greens provide more shade, trap moisture, and cool down the city. Additionally, this excess water supports the city''s nascent waste system by flushing wastewater through the system and sending it outside the city into the recently dug moat.
Lansius then realized that Audrey hadn''t made a sound, so he turned to her and found her asleep, leaning on the corner of the carriage. She looked so peaceful.
Maybe pregnancy made her sleepy...
No, wait, she''s always been like this since we met.
Lansius'' lips formed a smile, recalling how he often saw her sleeping during any lull, just like when they were wintering in Ceresia. It was a valuable trait in the military, where resting time in battle was at a premium. This was also probably the reason she could handle night watches with ease.
She looked so comfortable, so Lansius refrained from doing anything, afraid of waking her up.
Francisca, who shared the carriage, looked at him with approval, then returned her gaze outside, not wanting to intrude on her masters'' privacy.
Lansius did the same and observed Korelia, which had transformed into a thriving city. The plaza, fountain, and trees again caught his eye. As he admired the simple yet powerful facility, his thoughts naturally drifted to the pipes and pumps. He recalled another reason why he had chosen bronze pipes: to provide his smiths with valuable experience in handling bronze¡ªfrom alloy creation with tin, to mold making, casting, cooling, and finishing; there were many processes to learn and master.
Since last winter, Lansius had been planning to build large furnaces and a foundry, but he was uncertain whether medieval trade could supply and sustain enough raw materials to make it feasible.
This thought spurred Lansius to observe the sky. As per his instructions, the airship had been methodically surveying the area around Korelia, guided by the city''s old records and nomads'' stories about unique geological sites that had piqued their curiosity. The crew was searching for resources that might have been overlooked, which provided valuable experience, including for a new pilot trainee.
He mused that it was also a good use of the airframe. Since most of them were made from organic materials, Lansius did not expect it to last five years before a complete refit was needed, thus he felt the need to get his money''s worth.
As he thought about the airship, his lips smirked. He was thinking about the new pilot in training. The candidate was simply unexpected.
Through the glass window, Lansius saw Ingrid and Sterling emerge from the market crowd near the plaza. They appeared successful in their errands and were heading back to the carriage, purchases in hand. They were still a hundred paces away when Audrey woke up. She blinked slowly and turned to Lansius, who smiled at her.
She inhaled deeply but slightly blushed, excusing herself, "Suddenly, sleep came to me so strongly." The squire in her was still very much alive.
"We''re in Korelia. You can have all the sleep in the world," Lansius reassured her. Then he added, "Are you feeling tired?"
"I''m quite refreshed now," she replied reassuringly.
"Care to visit another place before returning?"
"Lead the way," Audrey replied with a wide smile.
***
Lansius
Not giving up easily, Lansius planned another experiment. He had ordered Sterling to take a horse to the warehouse to fetch more rolls of wire. He knew they only had one copper wire left, but iron ones were available as well.
Lansius, along with the rest of the group, headed toward the eastern wall where the airship hangar was located.
Fortunately, the airship wasn''t scheduled to survey the land that day, so after some formalities, Hans quickly prepared it for a short flight.
As they waited in the crew''s quarters adjacent to the maintenance warehouse, Lansius overheard Audrey asking the staff, "How''s the new pilot in training?"
The crew glanced at each other and grinned. "Interesting," one replied.
"Charming," said another.
Lansius didn''t join the conversation; instead, he climbed the section of the wall still under construction. More than just supervising, he wanted to see the airship from a higher vantage point. As he walked with a guard, the rhythmic chiseling of masons and the sight of workers installing stones filled the air, their efforts supported by a man-powered treadwheel crane that hoisted materials upward.
Navigating crude scaffolding and rough stone slabs, he marveled at the ingenuity of the carpenters and craftsmen who had erected not only the walls but also the connected hangar.
They had built up several meters, fortifying the inside of the structure with rammed earth on Lansius'' orders to ensure the wall was thicker and sturdier. Reaching the construction''s highest point, Lansius was suddenly drawn to a commotion from outside.
He saw troops outside the city wall in training. There he heard a familiar voice¡ªit was Sir Harold''s, who cried out, "If we can''t make you smarter, then we''ll make you harder."
It was a chilling cry as the knight and the best of his vanguard rushed into the fully armored columns of recruits. Sir Harold''s small column methodically battered the larger column. The gap in skill and experience really showed.
"Sir Harold always believes that nothing beats real-time experience in warfare," the guard commented from the side.
Lansius chuckled. "Let''s just hope they don''t overwhelm the infirmary with bone fractures."
After more sightseeing from above, Lansius returned to ground level where he found Sterling and Hans had made the necessary preparations.
After some final measurements and discussions about safe procedures in case something went awry, Hans took off with the copper wire, now fashioned like an antenna strapped to the airship gondola.
Slowly, Hans kept the airship''s ascent as vertical as possible. Roll after roll of copper and then iron wires were used. With some colored flags, the crew signaled Hans to stop, and he did his best to maintain altitude.
"Give it more slack; we don''t want it to strain," Lansius ordered.
Then, when it was ready, Ingrid, covered by an umbrella held by Francisca, slipped in. She was the one wearing the earring since there was some risk involved from the wire snapping. For this experiment, Audrey had to contend with watching from the safety of the crew''s quarters.
"Give it a try," Lansius whispered, looking left and right to ensure that no one was watching.
Since they were near the wall and far from populated areas, not many were watching them. The wire was thin and almost translucent from afar, so it did not attract much attention on the ground.
Ingrid closed her eyes to focus.
Lansius was about to ask a question, but she turned to him, her eyes wide.
"I have someone on the other end," Ingrid exclaimed. Lansius couldn''t believe the experiment was working. The copper wire extending into the sky was not magical, but simply a really crude yet tall antenna.
So, it had some basis in electromagnetism.
"Imagine the color red and send that to them. It''s for: I found something," Francisca suggested excitedly.
Ingrid''s shoulders shivered and her smile blossomed. "They sent colors to me, I see red."
Francisca giggled, pleased. "Let''s send him a picture," she turned and found a scenic field in the eastern agriculture projects. "Send them that."
Ingrid glanced at Lansius, who nodded. It was just a farm and from that distance, it was merely a scenic beauty, nothing he needed to conceal. He then tried to come up with a way to mark the wire; if this was working, he might have to build a tower and would need the exact height, hoping it wouldn''t be too high.
After a while, Ingrid had another excited reaction. "They sent a picture. It''s vast farms with flowers stretching everywhere..." Her face turned troubled, she looked at Francisca, who asked, "Terraced farm?"
Ingrid shook her head, worry painted across her face.
"There are no vast farms in Umberland," Francisca said, her earlier excitement lost as she turned guarded.
"I don''t see mountains or forest," Ingrid added, suspicion was on her face.
It was clear that they had contacted someone, but not the one they expected. Someone who still possessed an old relic like this and kept it working. Now, the decision was in Lansius'' hands.
***
Chapter 173 : Beneath the Throne
Chapter 173
Beneath the Throne
Lansius
Beneath the shade of the umbrella, Lansius pondered an answer while Ingrid and Francisca waited. Above them, Hans took a slow, tight turn to maintain altitude and keep the wire from snapping.
"We better end this," Lansius said to the two, who looked at him sharply. "Call me paranoid, but we might be contacting an unknown, powerful party, and we might get discovered."
Ingrid and Francisca exchanged glances. "I think it''s a good approach, My Lord. I don''t even know who could possess something like this," Ingrid agreed.
Lansius turned to Francisca. "Do you have a color to say goodbye?"
"Wood color," said Francisca. "It''s for night, to sleep well."
"Why not black?" Ingrid asked.
"Because you can''t imagine black in your head. The color of the void is black, or so the scripture says," Francisca explained.
Lansius nodded. "Do it, send the color, and then let''s end this now before we make a mistake and reveal ourselves."
Ingrid nodded and closed her eyes. It took a moment before her shoulders relaxed; turning to the other two, she said, "The other party also sent wood brown."
Lansius breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "Let''s move away from the wire. Francisca, can you get the crew to mark the wire and then have them bring Hans down?"
Francisca moved rapidly, leaving the umbrella with Ingrid. Together with Lansius, the educator walked toward the crew quarters where Audrey was waiting. "My Lord, are we going to abandon this experiment?" Ingrid asked.
"No, this is too valuable," Lansius revealed. "We need to learn who they are, and for that, we need to find a way to communicate with them."
Ingrid''s eyes wandered as she muttered, "It is unfortunate that it is only limited to colors and images."
"Can it send an image of letters?" Lansius asked.
"I think it''s not possible, My Lord," she said in an apologetic tone. "It''s hazy and dream-like as if seen through a thick veil."
"I''ll think of something," Lansius replied, already considering a way forward.
Ahead, the crew used flags to signal Hans to bring the majestic airship down, while Audrey stood by, eager to hear what they had achieved.
...
The recorded length of the wire was around 12 ceremonial spears'' lengths or about 24 meters. Lansius felt he could get by with less, so he built a shorter wooden tower with a long pole in case more height was needed. He constructed it in the Eastern Mansion as the experiment involved magic and he wanted it to be concealed.
Externally, it appeared to be just a very tall watchtower, which also served a purpose as it enabled them to see much of the city, even beyond the city walls.
While construction was underway by his select men, who by this time had grown akin to an engineers'' corps, Lansius was trying to come up with a solution to communicate. He had discussed with Francisca, but she could only confirm what Ingrid had already told her: The earrings were simply limited, perhaps because they were only an imitation of the original.
The range and also the function was likely limited. However, at least now he knew that there were six colors that he could use: Red, Green, Blue, Yellow, Wood Brown, and Silver White.
With that combination, he had an idea to write a basic code. It was essentially Morse code but with a combination of colors. He designed it so most letters corresponded with two colors to make it efficient as the earring couldn''t use sound and, from what he had gathered, the visual signal was significantly slower.
After one day, he came up with:
A = Red, Green
B = Red, Blue
C = Red, Yellow
D = Red, Silver
E = Red, Wood
F = Green, Blue
G = Green, Yellow
H = Green, Silver
I = Green, Wood
And so on with Blue, Yellow, Silver, and Wood.
Now, in his private hall, Lansius presented his idea to Audrey, Ingrid, and Francisca. "Can you understand it?" he asked, laying the parchment on the table for them to see.
"Using colors to make letters," Audrey commented. "But wouldn¡¯t it be complicated to communicate even a simple greeting?"
"Yes, it''ll take time even to ask a simple question, but it¡¯s better than groping in the dark," Lansius replied.
"This might work in concept," Ingrid said thoughtfully after studying the list. "But how do we send this alphabet list to them?"
"We''ll have to use large, clear lettering," Lansius suggested, placing a blank sheet of parchment on the table. "How many letters do you think we can fit on one sheet while still making them legible enough to be sent?"
Ingrid pondered momentarily before responding, "I think we can manage three large letters with their corresponding colors listed underneath."
"Well, if there''s no other way..." Lansius pushed the ink and quill pen he had prepared beforehand across to Ingrid. Seated across from the Lord, Ingrid began to write the first parchment with A, B, and C. Beneath each letter, she noted Red, Green; Red, Blue; and Red, Yellow.
"Do you think the other side will understand this?" Audrey asked.
"Hopefully... but if they don''t, then I don''t feel that much threat from them," Lansius explained with a smile.
"Indeed," Ingrid muttered in agreement. "If they can''t understand this, then they''re probably not much of an issue." Turning to Francisca, she asked, "How about you? Why are you keeping quiet?"
Francisca crossed her arms and tilted her head a little. "Mm, I understand the idea, but it''s such a hassle. If they don''t try, then they might just be another half-breed tribe," she said dismissively.
"Does your tribe know any mage in Umberland?" Ingrid asked, looking doubtful.
"Mm..." Francisca pondered. "Good point," she admitted, then giggled innocently.
Lansius and Audrey smiled at her carefree attitude. Lansius turned to the window, observing the wooden palisade that had been used for last year''s defense now being repurposed for the tower''s construction. As the city walls started to take shape, the need to repurpose every piece of hardwood and timber became vital, especially since Korelia had only a limited amount of precious land.
While the trade route to Umberland and Three Hills had been opened, with plenty of firewood and timber expected to arrive in summer, the price for good quality timber was likely to still fetch a premium until the building boom ended in several years.
Turning back to the trio, Lansius said, "Then we''ll reconvene when the tower is completed."
"It should be quick. Then, My Lord and Lady, I''ll take my leave," Francisca said, nodding her head slightly before heading out.
"Where are you going?"
"To help them, obviously," she replied, gazing outside to the base of the tower where men were working with a smirk.
Indeed, as Lansius had witnessed before, half-breeds like her could climb building easily. They also seemed able to survive jumping down from two to three stories high without even flinching.
After Francisca had left, Audrey asked Ingrid, "Who do you think we are dealing with? Could it be the mage guild?"
"Possible but quite unlikely," Ingrid responded with a tone of doubt. "I know about such earrings from the books, but not even the mage guild had one to be studied."
Audrey turned to Lansius, who gave a reassuring nod. "There¡¯s always a risk, but at least they know nothing about us except for an image of a farmland. I hope we can keep it that way until we learn more about them."
Ingrid added, "I think it''s prudent to direct our suspicion toward the Hunter Guild, one of the two lords here, or one of the guilds operating right under our nose."
"Not likely," Lansius stated. "The fact that they knew about the color red and wood brown means they are familiar with Umberland''s legends."
"Lord Robert?" Audrey raised her brow.
"No, I already asked Francisca about it," Ingrid reassured her.
"Then not the two lords," Lansius muttered. He gazed again at the window, now seeing Francisca leaping up with building materials on her left shoulder and landing nimbly on the unfinished platform.
"Let''s just stop worrying about this," Lansius said to the two. "We''ll find out soon enough."
Despite saying that, Lansius harbored an uncomfortable feeling. If he was contacting potential enemies, then he would be giving away something akin to Morse code to hostile hands. He felt a chill down his spine but realized that the path of progress is never without risk.
***
Chateau D''Aguilar
The smell of sulfur was thick in the air, and the greenish water of the natural hot spring bubbled nearby. Bengrieve sat in a separate bath of brick and stone, fed by a mixture of water from the hot spring and a stream that poured down from the ruined chateau above them.
The long peace in Midlandia had made the knightly House that owned the chateau neglect its upkeep, preferring the comfort of a more hospitable manor nestled next to a bustling village.
For Bengrieve, the steaming waters of the bath were as addicting as they were rejuvenating, a rare luxury after his campaign in Elandia.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Sir Stan approached, his figure stark against the misty backdrop. He was naked except for a necklace, rings, and a sheathed sword. He made his way toward Bengrieve, who lounged chest-deep in the green waters.
"Ah, you''ve come. Care to join?" Bengrieve asked, dressed merely in his undergarments. The gemstones on his necklaces glistened while his rings were completely submerged.
With just a sigh and a grunt, Sir Stan joined Bengrieve in the pool.
Sir Stan moaned from the hot bath. "I must admit, this is extraordinary," he said afterward.
Bengrieve smirked but did not comment.
Several minutes passed in peace, until Sir Stan asked, "Cousin, how can you enjoy this while Cascasonne is besieged?"
"Don¡¯t ruin the mood," Bengrieve warned.
Sir Stan sighed and changed the topic. "When are we leaving?"
"Soon, I''m just waiting for the messengers."
The baronet glanced. "I doubt the local nobles will entertain us. At best, they¡¯ll just feign illness."
"We''ll see about that," Bengrieve answered, keeping his secrets close to his chest.
"How do you even plan to win Cascasonne and secure Midlandia now?" Sir Stan muttered, his shoulder muscle tensed. "I thought you were going to lead the entire army home."
"What can I say, I''m a greedy bastard," Bengrieve said with a wry smile. "I want Elandia as well as Midlandia. And I can''t secure Elandia without the army."
Sir Stan gazed at Bengrieve sharply, his voice turning vicious, "And how do you suppose we''ll win without an army? Groveling and begging for help?"
Bengrieve opened his mouth but merely yawned.
The baronet''s veins in his forehead bulged. "Do you know just how few are protecting Cascasonne? I''m sure you do with your outstanding memory, so tell me, how do you think those one hundred guards will fare against ten thousand?"
"They can also rely on one hundred trained staff and another fifty of¡ª"
"Gardeners, stable boys, and cook¡¯s assistants?" Sir Stan snapped. "That''s insane!"
Bengrieve turned and gave him a disapproving look.
"I... I apologize for my outburst," Sir Stan said, exhaling deeply.
Bengrieve¡¯s face looked smug momentarily before saying, "Since you¡¯re such a worrywart, let me tell you something." He looked directly into Stan¡¯s eyes. "Cascasonne will not fall. Not that easily."
Sir Stan could only nod under Bengrieve''s intense gaze. "Even against assault towers?"
"Yes, it''s within my calculations."
"But how...?" Sir Stan¡¯s eyes wandered, searching for an answer or hint.
"You weren¡¯t with me all the time, cousin," Bengrieve chuckled. "But even when you were with me, the preparation was always ongoing."
...
The next morning, a column of Bengrieve''s small cavalry rode toward a noble''s manor near the border. Scouts in light armor rapidly came and went, a reminder that Midlandia was no longer friendly territory for them.
"I''ve been here twice," Sir Stan commented atop his horse, wearing plate armor painted bright red.
"I''ve known them since I was little. They''re friendly and helpful people," Bengrieve answered, his gaze fixed on the surrounding landscape, covered in beautiful rolling grass and colorful wildflowers.
"I''m surprised they agreed to meet you, given the situation," Sir Stan commented, more to kill time than expecting a truthful answer.
"Because the message is fit for purpose," Bengrieve explained.
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them that even if I''ve lost Midlandia, I''m still the de facto Lord of South Elandia. And that I still have an army and support to take half of Midlandia," Bengrieve explained, ever so indifferently.
"That is quite a powerful message," Sir Stan praised.
Unconcerned, the deposed Seneschal continued, "I also told them that even if I fail, I can still funnel those marauding Nicopolans from Elandia into their land. So they can either open their doors to me, or to thousands of armed looters and cannibals."
"What a frightening choice," Sir Stan chuckled nervously, drawing the attention of nearby riders momentarily.
"Indeed. But what I said just outlines all the things they already knew. They knew it was true, but it was buried under piles of unnecessary information."
Stan nodded seriously in understanding.
Gazing at him, Bengrieve said, "I don''t need to persuade anyone. I only need to remind them just how much of a bigger threat I am, despite everything that has happened."
"Still, they won''t support you fully," Sir Stan warned.
"That''s unnecessary. I''m not actively seeking their support. I only want their tolerance and cooperation," Bengrieve said ominously.
Sir Stan smirked and whispered, "How about the Lord of Korelia''s support?"
Bengrieve squinted his eyes and jumped to a conclusion. "What did the Champion of the Lowlandians do? A victory against poverty?" he mocked.
"Don''t be so dramatic," Sir Stan teased. "Actually, I just learned that he responded harshly to Reginald''s offer."
"And what kind of offer that was?"
"Half of your realm, or so I heard," Sir Stan said with a wide grin.
"And he said no to that?" Bengrieve chuckled and then burst into laughter, prompting his men to look at him. The sound of his laughter reassured them that things were going well.
"Wonderful..." Bengrieve muttered, pleased. "So, the impudent and ungrateful bastard who took my prize actually has a working brain. Perhaps I underestimated his intellect."
"Oh, you did, several times already," Sir Stan quipped.
Bengrieve snorted dismissively but still maintained a happy demeanor. "If he proves to be loyal, then perhaps he can join me in the grand plan." He was soon distracted by a pair of birds flying carefreely across the meadows. But it only amused him further, "Yes, perhaps they could be redeemed?"
Sir Stan was piqued. "Redeemed?"
However, Bengrieve refused to clarify, merely stating, "This whole mess has fortunately borne some unexpected ripe fruit."
To him, another layer of this crisis was just a test to see who was loyal to his House. For he had no fear of losing Cascasonne; winning or losing didn''t matter to him. In his calculative mind, he was already working to secure the last step of his victory.
With an expectant gleam in his eyes, he asked, "Tell me, what response did the Lord of Korelia give to Reginald¡¯s messenger?"
***
Tiberia, Imperial Capital
The hall was immense and ornately decorated, soaring so high that two three-story buildings could be comfortably stacked beneath its intricately painted ceiling. Frescoes and gilded motifs adorned every surface, casting the legends of old in vibrant hues. The air, kept fresh by a lattice of Grand Gemstones hidden from view, carried a subtle, invigorating scent. Ingeniously placed light gemstones bathed the hall in celestial lights, creating the illusion that the ceiling itself had parted to reveal the skies.
Beneath this celestial canopy, rays of light danced upon the central gardens, which lay at the very heart of the hall, directly below the throne¡¯s imposing dais. Here, a magnificent golden tree stood as the garden¡¯s crowning jewel, its branches heavy with the largest gemstones, each encased in shimmering silver that caught and refracted the light. Surrounding the tree, a serene stream meandered, its bed a mosaic of lapis lazuli and aquamarine, sparkling like stars scattered across a clear night sky.
The First Emperor had envisioned the hall as a lesson in humility: the lavish gemstones that adorned every corner were meant to demonstrate that the wealth of the world was mere vanity, just ornamental stones without true value. Yet, centuries after the Third Emperor vanished, this once hallowed hall had become a place where opulence endured, but virtue had crumbled, leaving only echoes of ambition.
The garden, once a beacon of moral and philosophical ideals, was now tarnished by greed. Nearly all the original gemstones had been clandestinely replaced with counterfeits of tinted glass. This betrayal was not lost on the ministers who convened their weekly council amidst these corrupted splendors. To them, the dilapidated state of the garden served as a powerful reminder of the unchecked power they wielded; in the absence of effective oversight, the Imperium was effectively theirs to command.
"O Great Sages," a minister called out from the floor, addressing the seniors who reclined behind lavish curtains that afforded them the luxury to lounge, dine, or rest at their leisure. Though they bore the esteemed title of Sages, they were formally recognized as ministers in this grand assembly.
There was no immediate response, only thick smoke wafting from behind the curtains. The air was heavy with incense, designed to mask the scent of the substances they smoked from ivory and other exotic pipes. These substances soothed their nerves and delivered immediate pleasure, warding off boredom at the cost of yellowing teeth and the risk of gum rot if indulged carelessly.
"Proceed," a weary voice eventually called out from behind one of the curtains, its tone tired and disinterested. They had been there since the first light, a tradition established by the First Emperor. Their discussions had ranged from food shortages and famine to the persistently grim situations in the western and eastern regions, none of which had improved since the last winter.
"O Great Sages, the northern rebel has sent a letter," the standing minister, assuming the role of the speaker, declared.
A hundred pairs of eyes shifted toward him. Though their gazes were laden with questions, the minister could only offer silent glances left and right.
"What does he want?" inquired a senior minister, his voice emerging from beyond his rich, red draperies.
"A proposal," the speaker began, his voice steadying as he prepared to delve deeper.
"A proposal from Gottfried?" interjected another minister, his tone filled with mockery.
"Why hasn''t this bald rebel leader died yet?" a new voice from the right row suddenly asked.
"One would''ve thought that his bald head makes a good target for our assassins," one added, followed by a chorus of laughter from his row.
"How many have we sent?" another asked, his voice seemingly old and frail.
"O Great Sages, we have dispatched six," the speaker answered.
"The Hunter Guild isn''t as competent as they claimed to be," one from the right row commented firmly.
The old and frail voice coughed before suggesting to his peers, "The weather is clear and the roads are open. We should urge the Hunter''s Guild to send another, under threat of utter destruction should they continue to fail us."
A high-pitched chuckle from the right corner drew everyone''s attention. It emanated from the prime spot nearest to the platform where the Emperor''s throne resided¡ªa spot reserved exclusively for the highest minister, the Emperor''s Hand, formally known as the Minister of the Right.
Silence ensued until the Minister of the Right continued, "Maybe we should send our assassins?"
"If the elder suggested it, we have no say," a minister from his row replied.
"A word," said the Minister of the Left, one of his only equals in this hall, capturing everyone''s attention.
"Yes?" responded the Minister of the Right.
"The reason we use the Hunter''s Guild is merely to dissuade him. We don''t want him to die," the leader of the left ministry argued.
"And why is that? It''s been so long I don''t remember," from the tone it was clear that the Minister of the Right was jesting.
Nevertheless, the leader of the left replied lightly, "If he dies, it''ll be hard to control the northerners."
"Ah, I remember," the Minister of the Right feigned enthusiasm. "We wanted to bribe him to pacify the north."
"Yes, many in the capital, even among us, still count House Gottfried as allies," the leader of the left declared, playing the game.
"Then should a persecution be scheduled, given that this great pacifier of the north is now ramming at our doorstep?"
There was a lull, and none dared to interrupt the two until it became clear that nothing more was to be said. Then, someone from the right row suggested dramatically, "We shouldn''t show leniency to the rebel or his associates. He raised his sword against the Imperium, even nearly breached the Capital¡¯s outer defenses. Moreover, he has declared himself the king of the north. This is treason!"
Another was quick to add, "Only capital punishment awaits. Let him be brought to justice to be drawn, hanged, and quartered."
"Treason, rebel... Those are such charged words," his left row counterpart replied. "He''s still useful to govern the north. Let the unruly govern themselves. We don''t need the north. It''s only there because of the High Noble''s hunger for conquest and blind prestige."
"Nobody can eat prestige," the leader of the left added, garnering chuckles from both rows. In truth, they cared little about the nobles'' domains since they derived no direct profit from them. Long gone was the era when ministers viewed the Imperium as a unified entity; now it was merely a question of who controlled whom.
"Perhaps we should hear what the letter says first?" suggested one. There was no objection, so he addressed the speaker, "What does he want?"
"He wants peace," the speaker replied, his smile betraying amusement.
Mocking laughter slowly filled the hall. They understood the stark contrast between a truce and peace ¡ª that Gottfried asking for peace meant he was admitting his mistakes.
One from the left row suggested, "Then we should demand his sons along with heavy concessions, including Arvena and Inglesia."
"And what is our plan with Inglesia and Arvena?" someone from the opposite row asked, his voice filled with excitement.
The chamber erupted in chuckles. No answer was necessary¡ªthey wouldn''t return the territories; they would be divided into small parcels for hundreds to own.
"So, what has he offered?" another from the right row inquired.
The speaker walked toward a curtained area and reported, "It''s a fifty-one-page deal."
Many were a mix of emotions¡ªsurprised and confused. "Why so long?" one asked curiously.
"He''s trying to confuse and trap us with details," the old and frail minister warned.
The high-pitched chuckle echoed again from the top right row. "It''s likely because he''s frightened now. His last assault was a gambit that failed to yield any gains."
"Debacle turned into victory," the Minister of the Left commented.
"Indeed. Our own failed attack by the nobles actually baited Gottfried into attacking deeply and exhausting his resources. What a fortunate series of events," the Minister of the Right praised themselves.
"Winter, in one sweeping blow, dashed all his efforts to nothing," the speaker declared, pleased with the poetic justice of his words. "The capital''s walls remain untouched, and the garrison has yet to bleed. No wonder he now seeks peace."
Murmurs of agreement came from the dozens of ministers standing on the floor.
The Minister of the Right spoke up, "Let''s assign our brightest ministers to scrutinize every detail. I expect a thorough discussion the next time we convene. Let''s safeguard the independence from the High Nobles that we have fought so hard to achieve."
The hall echoed with agreement, and with that, the council meeting was adjourned. Like the last hundred, they had failed to reach any effective decision. No policy changes were made concerning the imminent food shortage, there were no firm stances on uncontrolled migrations, no decisions regarding the military¡¯s request for emergency funds to address the crises in their borders, and certainly no responses to the public outcry against crimes, corruption, and injustice.
What they had done was merely initiate a series of studies and fact-finding missions, which continued until the results affirmed their belief that no changes were necessary¡ªand that the fault lay in the populace¡¯s weak-mindedness, pettiness, and rampant laziness.
The ministers were driven by nothing more than a desire to maintain their grip on power, appointing the numerous sons they had sired to positions of influence while indulging in opiates and reveling in the wealth they had accumulated.
Among them, one group sweated profusely. For a long time, they had been gathering the courage to speak up, but past censure had nearly cost them everything¡ªtheir fathers, mothers, uncles, and wives had berated them for daring to voice harsh truths. Thus, even as a crisis loomed, they found themselves paralyzed, unable to warn of the report they had received: a large contingent of disgruntled citizens, weary of the Imperium''s heavy taxation and emboldened by rumors of the Ageless One''s death, along with the absence of the high nobles, was marching toward the capital.
***
Chapter 174 : Final Days
Chapter 174
Final Days
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
There was no creaking noise as the owner opened the intricately decorated wooden door that led to the back garden. Upon entering, the delicate sensory gem activated gemstone-powered bronze fans in the ceiling, which expelled hot air and drew cooler air from underground stone vents.
Three men dressed in old-fashioned ceremonial white tunics and red togas entered. The last man quietly closed the door behind him and followed the other two through well-lit corridors, courtesy of a large panoramic glass ceiling that extended to the garden at the back of the mansion. The soft gurgle of water, channeled through bronze plumbing, filled the air¡ªa soothing sound that would drown out their voices and any unwelcome ears.
They sat close on the low stone benches as the host passed around a jug of liquor, a precaution against the servants who might be spying for the ministry. They smeared their lips with wine and shared cheap jokes, their laughter carefully measured¡ªloud enough to seem genuine, but not so hearty as to arouse suspicion.
Contrary to rationality, the members of the Imperium¡¯s ministerial council, known as the Sages¡ªsupposedly wise and benevolent¡ªlived lives of debauchery.
This abnormality stemmed from a fanciful interpretation of the Ageless One''s teachings about celebrating peace. The truth didn''t matter, as those in power used it to discern friends from foes. Thus, since the dawn of the last century, officials who didn''t partake were viewed with suspicion and could face censure.
With each generation, the situation only deteriorated further. Hard work and critical thinking were seen as creating disharmony or even being regarded as disruptive to the Imperium Court and, therefore, punishable.
Offenders were encouraged to partake in "Imperium Peace" which meant living a life of indulgence¡ªtrying intoxicants, taking multiple wives, accepting lavish gifts, and embarking on obscene building projects. Those who refused faced censure, loss of rights, family shame, and numerous social terrors designed to enforce compliance. In this elite society, the nail that stuck out was hammered down, and dissent was drowned in wine.
A minister who couldn¡¯t afford a grand estate, with its requisite lush sprawling gardens and opulent halls, was deemed a failure, bringing shame to his peers and risking his position. Conversely, a minister able to host lavish feasts, displaying his wealth and generosity, would see his influence and reputation soar.
In such a corrupt and decadent state, few good ministers lasted long. Everyone, except those at the very top, was under constant scrutiny. Even within the walls of their own estates, every move was watched by households loyal to opulence.
These three ministers, however, maintained a facade of corruption while keeping their moral compasses intact. They collaborated with a handful of like-minded individuals. Like the generations before them, they tried to steer the Imperium out of trouble, but with each passing generation, they found themselves increasingly powerless.
In the previous century, there were only 32 ministers. Now, the number had swelled to over 100, most of whom were new members with little credibility, appointed merely to accommodate the sons of powerful ministers. These additional ministers effectively silenced any dissenting voices in the Imperium Court.
"Don''t blame yourself. You did the right thing," the host said to the young minister, who forced a chuckle despite the sadness on his face.
"You shouldn''t let your family suffer," the second minister, a clean-shaven gentleman, added, pouring more wine for the young man. "Neither the left nor the right ministers will listen. They''re too absorbed in their games. Let them discover the truth on their own and spare us the risk."
"But their agents are incompetent," the young man objected.
"Not incompetent," the host shook his head. "They simply know what to report and what not to report. It''s a structure that rewards those who tell the master only what he wants to hear."
"Then is the Capital finished? Should we just sit and do nothing?"
The host stroked his graying beard. "Even without informing the top, their captains of the guard have taken some measures. I saw contingents hurriedly leaving for the west, likely in an attempt to quell the masses."
The gentleman offered his advice, "You''re young. You should escape. Tell the ministry you wish to explore the women of the South and bribe them well. They''ll probably believe it."
The young minister nodded, his eyes moist. "But what about you two, good sirs?"
"My wife was the one who reported us for censure. I have no other family. I''m prepared for a violent end," the host replied.
The young man turned to the gentleman, waiting for his response. The man sighed deeply and said, "As you know, my son died young. He saw one of our peers smoking black poppy milk and tried it. He became addicted. My family and I were no better. I have no more worth; let the fire consume me."
Suddenly, they heard the door open and quickly pretended to tell jokes, sharing a laugh.
But it was one of their own, who shouted merrily, "I brought edelweiss mead!"
"Splendid! Come, join us," the three said loudly, eagerly tapping the stone bench and table.
The man, in his early thirties, sat down. Unlike the three of them, he was genuinely cheerful, a trait that seemed inherent from birth. He was content with tinkering with his gemstones and cared little for the Imperial Court, so much so that he rarely joined the Court at all. Surprisingly, those in power left him alone as long as he partook in ceremonial events and occasionally held parties at his estate.
"So, Paulos, why did you come? And what is the reason for this precious edelweiss mead?" the host asked as he brought more goblets for the mead.
Paulos uncorked the thick glass bottle and poured the mead, rich with a floral aroma, for everyone as he replied, "I''ve had a great breakthrough! I just established contact with the old Capital."
The other three were stunned. "Really?"
"But how?" the host asked. "The western nomads'' incursion has been so deep and ever since we pulled most of our men to counter Gottfried, we''ve been unable to even send messages to Centuria."
Paulos smiled with reddened cheeks, proud of his achievement. "Indeed, my vigilance in keeping watch has borne fruit." He pulled a clip-on earring from his unpierced earlobe that was connected via a hair-thin wire to his inner pocket and showed it to them.
"It¡¯s the dwarven ear artifact," the young minister recognized.
"It¡¯s not a dwarven original but a close copy. I''ve been improving it and playing with it with my wife to send messages as I work. Then one day, I heard someone else contacting me."
The three ministers were piqued and did not interrupt.
"They''re clearly using an old model. It can only show colors and images. And you know what that implies?" Paulos grinned.
The three exchanged glances between them but shook their heads.
"Well, I think outside of what we''ve got in the Capital, there are only several left of that model in existence, and they''re in Centuria at the Old Capital''s vault!"
Nodding, the gentleman asked, "What exactly did you communicate with them?"
"They sent me a picture of farms and as a courtesy, I sent them a picture of the farm at the back of my workshop just outside the city wall," Paulos replied happily.
"Oh, wonderful," the host said, nodding amusedly. "Yes, they''ll need a lot of farms. We''re in crisis, and even if we somehow manage to create a safe corridor for supplies, we''re unable to send them any." Those words put the three in a foul mood, and then one by one, they drank the expensive mead.
"But that''s not all," Paulos declared, gathering his friends'' attention once more. "The man who contacted me is super smart. He made a series of colors and letters to make communication possible using only colors."
"Who do you think that person is?" the host asked the gentleman, who stroked his chin but shook his head, replying, "All my friends in Centuria have been dead. I''m not sure who''s in charge of the old vaults now."
The host turned to Paulos again. "So you''re saying, you can use this ear device to communicate with them?"This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"Yes, using color code," Paulos reminded the host, not wanting him to miss the good part.
"Right..." The host scratched his head and then, turning serious, asked, "So, what information do they give? Are they asking about reinforcements?"
"Not really... They seemed to have problems with their device. Whenever I asked about something they were unable to reply and just resorted to sending wood brown color."
"Wood brown color?" the host squinted his eyes.
"Yes, that''s the code the Hero Kaen used¡ª"
"Oh, I''m familiar with that story," the younger minister exclaimed. "It¡¯s for saying goodnight." The two then went into a recollection of stories and shared a laugh.
The host and his older friend looked at them with fondness, hoping the Imperium would somehow survive to let these two talents thrive. Then, the host''s eyes widened. "Paulos," he called out.
"Yes?" Paulos turned to face him.
"Tell me, do you ever wish to visit the south, like Elandia? There are a lot of old Imperium fortresses there."
"Imperium fortress?" Paulos muttered, intrigued, while the two other ministers began to suspect a plan was forming.
"Yes, I read it in the old records. They should have a good collection of Dwarven artifacts. I heard there''s even a sealed vault somewhere," the host replied.
"Ooh," Paulos exclaimed, getting excited. He knew that a sealed vault was an Imperium armory, dedicated in case there was another Beastmen war.
The host continued, "Legend has it that it was filled with ancient weapons, armor, and Dwarven artifacts. Since we''re currently facing a crisis, it might be prudent to catalog them and see if they''re of any use today."
Paulos'' eyes filled with admiration. "How do you know all this?"
"I''m not the August One''s Record Keeper for nothing," the host smirked. "I have old records from the era of the 1st Emperor. I¡¯ll give them to you so you don¡¯t search blindly."
"I really want to, but I''ve never been outside the Capital," Paulos said without hesitation.
"There''s a first time for everything," the host chuckled. "The road to Elandia is clear right now, so you should start your trip before the spring rains arrive. And bring your family with you; it¡¯s going to be a beautiful trip."
Paulos looked ecstatic but suddenly frowned. "But what about the Court?"
"Ah, that¡¯s easy," the host dismissed the issue. "I¡¯ll arrange it so that you''re going on an official trip. That way, you¡¯ll even get some money for the travel costs. Now, what are you waiting for? Tell your family to pack; you don¡¯t want to get trapped in the rain and mud."
After sharing another merry round of drinks, Paulos quickly left, his footsteps light.
"What is this plan of yours?" the young minister whispered. "Is the story of the Imperial vault even true? I''ve never heard of them before."
The host''s eyes wandered as he answered, "They are true, but even in my predecessor''s time, they had become ruins. The wood had rotted, the iron rusted, and the stone vault itself crumbled after the great Elandia earthquake."
Turning to the young minister with a grim face and voice, he advised, "You should go with Paulos. Tomorrow, I¡¯m going to give all my savings to you and Paulos. Bribe your way and live there in peace, build a happy family, and support whatever kingdom arises from the ashes of the Imperium."
The young minister was deeply moved and could only drink his mead to stave off tears.
"You''re a good chap with a bright mind. Also good with a sword. You''ll do well in life," the host tried to comfort him.
Meanwhile, the gentleman took a deep breath. "I like the idea, but Elandia is now under Bengrieve. Do we even trust him? Also, I doubt it''s that easy to obtain a permit for one, let alone two."
"No, I don''t trust that man," the host admitted, playing with his graying beard. "But he''s better than waiting to die in the Capital. As for permits, the top ministers aren¡¯t paying attention to the young ministers with little influence. And so far, the young in our group has never caused a scene."
The gentleman nodded and drank his ale loudly before slamming his silver goblet down on the stone table. "If only I had money to give. Alas, as an addict, I doubt I even have enough to pay for my own funeral."
The host and the young minister chuckled. At this point, they had grown accustomed to laughing at dark humor.
"You shouldn¡¯t feel bad. Even without the gold, Paulos alone is enough," the host said to the young minister. "Keeping him safe will be your mission for life."
The other two looked unsure.
Noticing their expression, the host clarified, "He¡¯s probably one of the few who know about Dwarven artifacts, capable enough to repair them, and even make copies of them. For the good of the people, we must not let such talent die."
...
Four days later, as Paulos and the young minister busied themselves packing for the long journey and arranging the necessary escort, the top ministers had finally given their answer.
"They said what?" the gentleman asked the host as the two reconvened in the garden.
"They told me to supervise Paulos and also to take whoever I want to help me with the task," the host still couldn''t believe what he had heard, but the stamped royal decree for four persons in his hand was real. "Possibly they hate my guts so much for petitioning so many things through their channels that they want me gone from the Capital."
The gentleman laughed hard, tears streaming down his eyes. "What a stroke of luck. Then, who will you bring? I can suggest¡ª"
"You, it must be you," the host remarked firmly. "Old friend, we¡¯re going together on this."
"I¡ªI¡¯m flattered, but I''m an addict," he said with a sharp sigh. "Without a regular dose of black poppy milk, the withdrawal is too painful."
"You can do it. You¡¯re the most hardy person I know," the host tried to persuade him.
"That was before I started smoking. Now, my body has waned greatly along with my intellect. Promise me you¡¯ll take someone else more worthy," he said, then drank his wine to erase the bitterness.
"Old friend, there''s time before my departure tomorrow morning. Let me know if you reconsider."
"No, you should depart now." He rose, patted the host¡¯s shoulder firmly, and whispered, "I heard rumors from the city guards that the contingent sent to the west had been routed. Soon, the top ministers will hear about this and seal the gates. Go now, take Paulos and our young friend."
The host gave no immediate answer, so his friend added, "My House possesses a dwarven artifact that can inflict painless death. I promise to offer that option to your family after mine, before chaos and fire consume the Capital."
With tears in his eyes, the host looked at his old friend. Both knew that their families would rather die than live without the luxurious lifestyle they had enjoyed since birth.
The two clasped their hands firmly. "Then, I''ll begin preparing to leave," the host stated with clarity.
"I still have bolts of Centurian silk and a golden ringmail, the heirloom of my house. I shall fetch them for you," the gentlemen revealed warmly. "Sell them, be well, and one hundred years from now, remember me on your deathbed. May the August One watch over you."
***
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
The flowers in the central plaza burst into vibrant colors, heralding the beauty of spring in the Capital. Hope was in the air as rumors of an impending deal with the Northern rebels spread¡ªpeace seemed finally within reach. Lavish parties filled the Capital''s market district, spilling over to the inner lake, which shimmered with the glow of festive lights.
But abruptly, it all ceased. Without warning, all four city gates clanged shut. Only then did the people of the Capital learn of the open rebellion brewing outside. The siege came not from an outside enemy, but from their own citizens.
Since Arvena''s fall, every community under the Imperium has been heavily taxed, levied, and robbed of its livelihood to fund wars in the west and the east. So severe were their hardships that they no longer feared threats from the west or east; instead, they recognized that the ruling class in the Capital was the one inflicting the most pain.
Last year, many had turned to banditry. Now, after a winter that inflicted so many deaths from famine, it grew into an open rebellion. The peasants around the Capital took up their farming tools and rampaged through the countryside. There were no nobles or knights to oppose them, as almost all had fled the Capital due to their distrust of the Sages.
Facing little resistance, their numbers swelled as more and more joined their ranks. They attacked the surrounding towns, destroying everything in their wake. When they couldn''t find food, they resorted to cannibalism. No one was spared, not even the children.
Guildsmen and merchants and their families were slaughtered; captured officials were paraded and then nailed to their office doors, left to perish from hunger and thirst. They wailed and cursed, and many committed suicide by biting off their tongues, dying from blood loss. Meanwhile, anyone resembling a guardsman was beheaded, their heads placed on pikes, and displayed like banners during marches.
Despite the staggering death toll and brutality, the rebels'' rage remained unsatiated.
Initially, they sought revenge on the Sages and the elites. Now, after a series of successes, they had tasted power and believed themselves divinely sanctioned by the Ancients to punish the wrongdoers. Thus, despite facing hunger and plague, they marched toward the Capital at the head of fifty thousand armed rebels, unstoppable by any force.
When the Imperium Court finally learned about the rebellion, heads quickly rolled as blame was cast on everyone even remotely responsible.
Every day, a dozen officials, their adjutants, and their confidants were put to the axe in the field next to the market, in front of a booing crowd that blamed them for their misfortunes. In reality, almost none of them were guilty; they were merely scapegoats.
The blood of the innocent officials and the tears of their loved ones were still wet when the Capital was finally besieged.
Seven thousand defenders stayed behind their walls, while fifty thousand rebels tried their best to mount an assault. However, without adequate siege ladders or siege towers, their only option was to attempt burning down the nearest gate using dried grass, firewood, and tallow.
Slowly, the gates were consumed by fire, but the defenders used water and sand from above to counter the flames.
Meanwhile, inside the Capital, three million souls were trapped. In just ten days, crimes surged as the poorest in society had nothing to eat. The market had ceased, and people were desperate enough to hunt rats in the sewer canals and frogs in the lake.
Clashes at night became frequent, filled with murders and robberies, with no one to stop them. The city guards only concerned themselves with the ruling elites. The city''s youth organized themselves as militia and patrolled the night. However, their zealous attempts to find and punish perpetrators only worsened the situation, leading to more bloodshed.
In response, the masses targeted merchants with storehouses openly. Shops and warehouses were looted even in broad daylight, escalating the situation into a crisis. Despite this, the ruling Sages, content that the defenses had not been breached and that they had ample supplies, merely shrugged at the soaring crime rates.
"That is just what the populace really is," one sniggered behind their red silken curtain.
"An animal in human skin," another senior minister mocked from the opposite row.
"These lowly people should be grateful that we allowed them the honor of staying in the Capital and breathing the same air as we do," said an old minister, whose voice was old and frail.
A dozen ministers nodded in unison. They felt no need to devise a solution, merely lamenting as if observing a different race or a creature.
The Court''s only response, stemming from greed in the face of calamity, was to offer special permits¡ªwhich had to be purchased at exorbitant prices¡ªif any wealthy family wanted to stay temporarily inside the inner walls.
For the majority of the people trapped in the Capital, their only hope was for a hero as they shuddered and cowered in fear in their homes with their families. However, there was none.
Instead, a fire that had started in a looted warehouse and failed to be extinguished quickly turned into a raging inferno. It engulfed the surrounding buildings and soon became uncontrollable, burning everything in its path.
***
Chapter 175 : The Fall of the Imperium
Chapter 175
The Fall of the Imperium
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
Another day dawned on the throne of the Third Human Imperium, yet dark, billowing smoke obscured the beautiful sunrise. The fire had raged throughout the night, consumed the warehouse district, and spread uncontrollably into the neighboring market and residential areas.
The populace tried to control the fire by demolishing buildings. However, as desperation grew, a great host of people shifted their attention to the eastern gate. Deprived of food for weeks and encroached upon by the fire, the gathering masses rushed the gatehouse from the inside, seeking escape from the besieged capital.
The eastern garrison, mostly inexperienced and led by officers appointed solely due to their family''s connections to top ministers, failed to mount an effective resistance. After only two hours, the poorly trained garrison fled. Many trapped in the gatehouse were either captured or cut down at their posts. In the ensuing panic, they opened the gate to save themselves from the masses.
The heavy gates swung open, and at this critical moment, hundreds of thousands fled south. The military in charge of the Capital''s defenses was thrown into chaos as they learned that they had lost control of the eastern gate. They rushed contingents, both on horseback and on foot, to try to retake control of the gate. It became a race as the peasant rebels besieging the west gate learned of this and surged toward the east.
Despite the ditches, marshes, and farmlands, the peasant rebels won the race and stormed the stricken city. For the defenders, the fight turned into a bloody struggle. Despite their efforts, their hastily assembled forces were fighting a losing battle, having lost the protection of their wall and being at a great numerical disadvantage.
It was four thousand¡ªhalf of the entire Capital garrison, aided by willing militia¡ªagainst thirty thousand, whose numbers kept growing as many more arrived from the west gate. There were no large fields for deploying formations; it was urban warfare fought from street to street, alley to alley.
In the thick of the fight, the city continued to burn. The Capital garrison, beaten and bloodied, finally broke ranks, fled, and left their stricken comrades and allies to their deaths. For the two million souls still trapped inside, their verdict had been cast.
Seeing victory, the rest of the rebels flooded into the heart of the Capital. In their wake, they beheaded every captured man found wearing a gambeson, ringmail, or any armor. Heads filled the gutters, and blood soaked of what was once a beautiful plaza in the most prestigious market area. The peasants didn¡¯t care about ransom; they sought only food, liquor, and vengeance against those responsible for their misery. When they found nothing to eat, their rage complete, they began to set the city aflame.
The fire that had started from the warehouse remained uncontained, and several more fires had also erupted. From its magnificent towers, one could see that the Capital was burning. Like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, ashes were showering the city and giving everything a gray coat.
Chants were heard everywhere murmuring that the Imperium was over. The 1300 years of peace in the Capital had come to a sudden bloody end.
The beaten defenders retreated to the inner walled complex, their morale shattered. They were good men but without capable officers and commanders. Outside the inner wall, numerous rebels massacred the population in a blood frenzy. Screams filled every corner of the city as humans butchered one another like animals.
Seemingly hungry for blood, the rebels killed those they encountered, took what they wanted, and set the rest on fire. On that day, filled with ashes, not even children were spared. The masses had hated the Imperium for generations for its heavy taxation, for taking away their much-needed grain, and for conscripting their family members into the nomadic western wars from which they never returned.
Watching the children reminded them of their lost sons, daughters, or siblings who succumbed to famine. It only fueled their hatred further. They believed that those residing in the Capital were responsible for their suffering.
For the rebels, what happened today was retribution against the corrupt officials, a reckoning long awaited.
Amid the turmoil, smoke, and fire, inside the inner wall, where the Imperium palace and officials complex resided, a lone person politely knocked on the door of a mansion as if everything were normal.
"Good afternoon," the gentleman said politely. He was wearing ringmail, but the servant and family recognized his face.
"Let him in, quickly," the father said to the servant, who opened the door. "What news do you bring, good minister?" the father nervously asked as the gentleman entered.
"There''s only bad news, I''m afraid," the gentleman replied with a smile, as if it were all just a jest, while he gazed upon his friend''s family.
As the rain of ashes fell again, the father quickly motioned for them to get inside. Once in the inner hall, the guest said to them as they all sat down, "I''m here as I promised your husband and son."
"Then are we saved?" the father asked.
"Saved only from pain," he corrected them. "As you may be aware, the city is burning as we speak. The rebels kill indiscriminately. They''re unlikely to stop, even if they see the August One flying with wings on his back."
"Then, what then?" the wife trembled from fear.
"But what about the Sages? Surely they have plans to save us all?" the mother said with enviable confidence.
"The top ministers are delusional. Right now, they are collecting everyone''s gold and jewelry, trying to bribe the rebels. They''ve even ordered cooks to prepare fine meals to entertain the rebels'' leader." He laughed and clapped his hand at his superiors'' stupidity.
"Won''t it work?" the mother asked, her confidence waning. Even she knew it was a futile attempt.
The gentleman smiled grimly. "Madam, do you bribe and negotiate with hungry wolves?"
Only now, the family looked aghast.
He continued with eerie calm, "The rebels will either reject or take the riches and the food, but they will continue to watch the city burn. At this point, the fire is already uncontrollable. The fire barrier set by the August One has been trampled by the rich and powerful who built houses, buildings, and shops in the gardens meant to stop and protect us from the fire. Now, everyone is paying the price."
The father could only nod, his expression pained, while the mother and wife were at a loss for words.
Without wasting breath, the gentleman revealed, "My ancestor served in the first Beastman War and became a guard to the First August Emperor." He took out an item bound with a silken pouch. "This dwarven artifact has been passed down in my family. We''ve kept its function secret. It can grant you instant death without pain or fear. One blink and you''ll be in the presence of the Ancients in their eternal hunt over the grand pasture."
The family looked at him in horror and distress.
"I''ve been a good, exemplary citizen all my life. This..." the father paused. "These horrors, this madness, what wrongs did we ever do to them?"
"I heard the masses blamed the Imperium and the Sages, but we are just families working to serve the Imperium. Surely they can''t blame us. We''re innocent," the mother added emotionally.
"Everyone is innocent," the minister shrugged. "Sir, you know my uncle. After returning from war, he built farms and tried to house refugees from the west. My late father tried to convince the ministers to give some funding, believing it would alleviate the strain on the community. But the ministers never did. My uncle died inside a burned-down granary when the harvest failed and the migrants and the locals clashed."
"But what does that have to do with us?" the mother pleaded.
"Nothing, if you only look at the surface. I''m only shedding light on the unjust remarks you made," he explained. "You, me, everyone here knows about the heavy taxation imposed on the populace, and you also know about the large influx of refugee migrants from the west, and how they strained the community to the breaking point. And what did you do?"
He let the last question linger for a while before continuing, "Did you help people like my uncle who tried their best to find a workable solution? No. Despite the might of your House with all its affiliates and influence, when the time was critical, you closed your eyes to the injustices that befell the unfortunate. You preferred to bribe your way so your son could become a minister by replacing one of the good ministers."
The gentleman paused. "I must admit, your son turned out to be a better minister. But by then it was too late. Now the unfortunate have come, migrants and locals joining together for a cause, and just like how you closed your eyes to their plight, they will also close their eyes as they deliver injustice to you."
The words hit them hard, and they had no rebuttal.
"I''m not here to joust with words. I''m merely offering a dignified end, but the decision is yours to make. Know that I have granted these merciful deaths to my family, my concubine, the maids, and even to my beloved dog. They feared that the angry mobs would tear them apart for their soft limbs."
The family began to cry, lamenting the end of their lives.
"Take a bath," he warmly suggested. "Wear your best clothes, your gold and jewelry. Eat your best meal. Drink your best wine. Burn your best incense. Make peace with life and then return to me. Or you can opt not to, stay in your room, or try to escape with the servants. Your fate is yours to choose. But I won¡¯t be here for long. I still have things I need to take care of, so give your answer before sundown."
"Can''t we decide tomorrow?" they begged for more time.
"My husband surely... There are so many things I wanted to do," the wife rambled, clinging dearly to her luxurious life.
The gentleman laughed dryly. "Can''t you smell the bitter taste of soot in the air? Probably hundreds of thousands have died by now, and the noble complex is next. Even with the guards'' brave sacrifices, by tomorrow, this mansion will be ashes."
...
*This scene might be too strong for Royal Road, you can skip this and lose nothing.*
In the aftermath, the father and mother accepted the offer. After ritually cleansing themselves and barely touching the plain food they were served, they freed their servants and maids, allowing them to take whatever they wanted in an attempt to survive the upcoming chaos.
The gentleman, hiding his nervousness, took his dwarven artifact from its silken pouch. It had an odd shape, with short metal barrels bursting forward, arranged like bamboo in a bundle. Its color was that of gray metal, and it was attached to a polished wooden handle, much like the haft of a sword but smaller and cunningly designed to fit one¡¯s hand comfortably. A protruding metal piece on top and a mechanism below gave it a sophisticated appearance.
"Please, close your eyes and imagine the field of the Ancients."
The old couple did as instructed, and the minister, out of respect, loudly announced if he were a speaker in the Court of the Emperor, "Accept this honor bestowed by the First August Emperor, crafted by the dwarves, forged in the Old Progentia Continent." He lowered his arm and held the artifact with both hands before squeezing the trigger.
The loudness of his voice masked the violent popping sound, while his hands recovered from the sudden recoil. There was no smoke as the essence inside the barrel was completely burned, leaving nothing but heated air, as the dwarves had designed it to be used in their underground citadel.
"May the Ancients light your way and may your hunt..." He continued the chant as he moved and squeezed the trigger again.
He abruptly stopped his rites and used his sleeve to wipe his moist eyes. He was relieved to see that the two had met their end with grace; there was no fear or pain on their faces. Despite the circumstances, he was the one who took their lives, and he shouldered the guilt heavily.
With a broken heart, he looked around the now-empty hall that had once been warm and welcoming. He had been there several times as a child in the company of his parents, long before he served in the western war that consumed his entire youth. Departing from there, he headed toward the heart of the complex only to feel the heat emanating from the deeper parts of the house.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He had heard from the fleeing maid that the mistress had locked herself in her room. Apparently, she set her own chamber on fire, unable to part with the things she loved so dearly.
The minister sighed deeply as he walked to the open courtyard and looked south. "Friend, I have done as promised. Please consider my oath fulfilled."
By now, the sun was high on the horizon, its rays obscured by smoke and competed with by the fire emanating from the city.
In front of the mansion''s double door, he checked the artifact and knew well enough that two out of seven barrels were hot. He took out a clean cloth and used a small wooden rod to carefully wipe down the inside of the two barrels, ensuring they were clear of any residue.
Next, one by one, he meticulously loaded the two barrels with white powder from a glass vial, inserted a round metal ball, and used a little paper or cloth to keep them in place. Afterward, he checked the flint on the hammer, which was seldom damaged.
He took one last look at the mansion; it was a large estate that the fire inside had yet to appear on the outside. He bowed his head for the last time as a sign of respect and left.
Outside, he walked with purpose toward the palace. He had debts to settle.
***
History would not recall his deeds, for he spoke of them to no one. Silence was good for secrecy¡ªthe fewer men who knew, the less the risk. No man knew, no risk. In this manner, the lone minister had meticulously planned his move to eradicate the plague that had long crippled the Imperium.
He wasn''t naive enough to think that his actions would restore the Imperium. His efforts were solely to ensure that the plague died with its host. He wouldn''t allow it to infest the sprouts that would arise from the ashes.
After passing the courtyard occupied by wounded soldiers and the few refugees they allowed into the inner courtyard, the lone minister navigated through another courtyard. He used his credentials to pass through gate after gate into the belly of the Imperial Capital.
Despite the ensuing chaos, the grand palace complex remained well-guarded. Though the guards were nervous, many recognized him and let him pass without issue. He was only stopped at the last post, where he had to resort to bribes to satisfy three persistent guards.
"I''ll complain to your superior about this," the minister-gentleman said in displeasure after giving them the coins.
"Rules are rules. Even with key and credential, if you don''t want company, then you must pay the fee." The guards grinned sheepishly.
"Go on, Minister. Be on your merry way. The Captain''s order is clear. Besides, we know what you are hiding in there," another added.
"Hmph," he feigned dissatisfaction and added, "Lock the door behind me. I''m heading straight to the Court."
"At your service," one replied mockingly.
The lone minister paid no heed and quickly entered as the heavy iron gate swung open. Initially, only a faint light greeted him inside, but then an array of sensor gems detected his presence, causing lights to brighten one by one from the ceiling, illuminating the vast cavern.
The light revealed walls constructed from massive gray stones on each side. The space was filled with thousands of tall wooden racks containing canvas bags or stacks of crates and barrels, many sealed with a thin sheet of tin to protect them from dust and the elements.
High above, the ceiling disappeared into shadows, giving the cavernous room an almost infinite feel. It resembled a vault, aptly so, since it was the Imperial Armory.
The air began to circulate faster; it was cool but stale, carrying the scent of tallow, old leather, and even mold. Even the bronze fans and ducts were in need of maintenance, but the funds were always embezzled. As he walked, he recalled a time when he cared and tried to address these issues, but he had given up as corruption had run too deep, even in this ancient repository.
He had visited this place dozens of times for inventory and documentation as part of his duties. Despite its regal name, there was nothing special about its contents. There were no dwarven weapons like the ones hidden in his inner pocket. If there had been any, they had likely been taken many generations ago. Here and there, there were only barrels and crates filled with common items like swords, spears, old unwanted scale mails, moldy padded jacks, socks, and various sizes of shoes.
Over the past ten years, he had noticed that many items had been removed without replacement. Yet, he made no issue of this, and for his "cooperation", the Captain in charge of the armory treated him well. Similarly, the top ministers in charge never bothered him about his post. This was further evidence that the money flowed to the very top of the bureaucracy.
Now, most of the functional armor had been stolen, and other valuable items had also been sold; he had seen the missing boots being sold at the market but again did not raise the issue, as he was disillusioned with the entire corrupt ministry. Unlike his friends, he felt that everything they did was fruitless.
"Only fire can end this corrupt nature," he lamented softly as he navigated the turns of the vast labyrinth.
This armory should have been able to arm and equip an army of ten thousand men in case of imminent war or rebellion. But in reality, it was reduced to a warehouse filled with old, rusted, moldy, and subpar equipment. It was in such a state that even now, during an open rebellion, nobody but him ventured down here.
As for the reasons, he could think of at least four:
One, they knew there was nothing of real use here.
Two, they feared that using it would expose the corruption and allow them to be persecuted by their rival factions.
Three, despite the rules forbidding weapons in the Court, in reality, many had secretly armed themselves. Some even had bodyguards disguised as servants or maids.
Fourth, distrust of their own populace. Even in the face of rebellion, the Sages would allow no one but their trusted affiliates to bear arms.
It was almost poetic that their neglect of the armory spelled doom for the Sages'' plight. In their greed, they had hammered the final nail into their own coffins. And today, the lone gentleman had decided to be the one to swing that hammer.
Thus, he walked with ease. There was no rush. He had drunk his last good wine, smoked his last cigar, said the last farewell to his family, and delivered his oath to his friend.
To the uninitiated, the armory was like a maze. Everywhere he went, tall wooden storage racks flanked him on the left and right. After all these years, nobody really knew the entire manifest, which had been revised too many times¡ªand mostly poorly¡ªto conceal the embezzlement. The crates and bags visible contained mundane items like scarves, various shoulder bags, rusted crossbow limbs, dilapidated winter undergarments, grain grinders, and canvas for tents.
It took a lot to fully equip ten thousand, and this was reflected in the vastness of this underground space. Finally, after passing seemingly endless uniformly built storage racks and crates, he found a seemingly inconspicuous cluster of wooden barrels neatly arranged next to one another. He knew from memory that one cluster was filled with iron nails, but next to it were ivory granules.
Nobody knew what it was, except his House. His great-grandfather had recognized its similarity to the white powder that the First Emperor had given them. They had taken a little, run some tests in secret, and for years, it led to nowhere. The granules seemed dull and acted like common sand. It did nothing until they mixed it with some of their precious white powder and sealed it in a container. Only then would it violently combust and explode.
Having learned about the experiment from his father, he had tested it himself on a small scale and mastered it. Ever since that day, he had been waiting for the right time to end the Sage''s charade. Many times, he had thought to end it, but without a catalyst, he hadn''t had the guts to do so.
But now, there was no more hesitation. He pushed several barrels aside. Those had been tampered with, and their seals broken. The previous ministers weren''t all incompetent; they had tested the material but, fortunately, found nothing of value¡ªlikely because they did not possess the white powder.
Exerting his muscles, he carefully laid the barrel on its side and began to roll it toward the other door that led to the Palace above. Wearing a satisfied smile, he rolled the wooden barrels one by one. He took his sweet time and managed to move thirteen barrels, the entire unmolested stock.
He sat down to catch his breath, blaming himself for not bringing a waterskin to drink. However, he smiled. He had finally taken the steps he had always wanted to and his hands were trembling with anticipation.
Standing on his feet again, he prepared his dwarven artifact, removing three of the metal balls and loading a different concoction inside. Next, he straightened his clothes to make them neat, ensured his hair was immaculate, and then went to the door. He inserted the small yet intricate key and operated its mechanism. After generations, nobody really cared about the armory anymore, except to occasionally hide their contraband; thus, there were no guards posted outside.
As he opened the door, he was greeted by ornate decorations, pristine marble floors, and lights cascading from the ceiling, all subtly perfumed with floral scents. There, he spotted a much older minister whom he had known but never had the chance to work with.
"Why are you here? The banquet has almost started," the minister, with deep eye sockets and a thin mustache, asked.
"Then help me with the barrels; they''re for our honored guests," the gentleman urged.
The old minister raised his brow and looked at the opened door to the armory. "We keep wine in there now?"
"No, they''re opiates," he whispered bluntly.
"Oh..." the older minister exclaimed, knelt, and took a good look at the substances. "Why is it different?"
"It¡¯s the bad unrefined stuff. My order was not to give the good ones to those bloody peasants."
The older man nodded in agreement, "Indeed. Let them empty their bowels for robbing us dry."
"What happened?" he asked.
"They ate so much and had the audacity to ask the palace to cook for their entire officers waiting outside the inner gate."
"And did the Left and Right Ministers consent?"
"We had no choice," he lamented before turning to the corridor and snapping his fingers. Two servants appeared, their movements smooth and quiet, seemingly gliding over the stone floor.
"Get the others and move these to the banquet hall," the old minister ordered. The two bowed and left in a hurry. Afterward, he muttered, "Maybe allowing them to smoke this will enable us to control them."
The gentleman could only nod as if in agreement. He knew the Sages would try alcohol and drugs against the rebels'' delegation. They would even prostitute themselves to buy more time, even if only for half a day longer. But he wouldn''t allow them to stall any longer. Outside, the citizens was suffering. This terror must end, or millions would die. Everyone had suffered enough, except the Sages and their enablers.
The servants dutifully relocated the barrels to the entrance of the opulent banquet area, positioning them discreetly next to the main pillar. Amidst the commotion, everyone was too preoccupied to notice. Following the old minister, he joined the others to observe the speaker and several ministers as they endeavored to pacify the warlike delegation.
He watched as the ministers unveiled their dwarven artifacts, presenting them as one might present toys to toddlers, demonstrating their capabilities and mystical purposes.
The peasant leaders seemed pleased; the empty plates and bowls indicated they had eaten heartily. However, the distrust and gloating that marred their faces could not be erased. Moreover, their eyes bore the unmistakable look of violence, both as victims and perpetrators. And now, greed was also unmistakably present.
Just as the Sages had corrupted everyone, they also tried to corrupt the rebels.
The minister next to them had been whispering, "We have shifted the blame to the nobles. The only thing left is to shower them with gold and titles, so they would bring their troops home and rule as mini kings. Afterward, we can pit them against one another."
"The Sages'' plans are marvelous," one praised in a whisper, without considering the impact of such clashes on the entire population or the agricultural land that had already been heavily strained.
Then one of the rebels, a short but stout man, said, "These things are wonderful toys. We shall take them for our children to play with. But you have yet to show us what we seek."
"And that is?" the speaker minister asked ever so politely.
"The gemstone of life," the man declared clearly. "I need to bring back my son and daughter who died from famine last winter."
Despite the stirring music, the chamber fell silent.
"Please, the elixir requires ingredients and extensive preparation time," the speaker attempted to reassure the rebels.
There was no such elixir, and the gentleman began to realize that the entire meeting was predicated on a lie¡ªthat the ministers possessed such a thing. He smirked and promptly returned to his thirteen barrels, each filled with more than two tonnes of ivory granules.
As he walked, he observed that every Sage was there, seated in lavish soft chairs, openly displaying their faces, with their top lieutenants behind them. Most were old and looked even older due to their addictions.
His only remorse was for the servants, but there was little he could have done. They had been thoroughly trained. If he had warned them, everyone would have been alerted. Thus, he opened two of the glass vials he possessed and buried them in the ivory granules within one of the barrels.
He gave one last look at the banquet table and then, without giving a speech or making any remarks, he simply took out his dwarven artifact, which had been loaded not with balls but with a fire compound, and squeezed the trigger.
A sharp crack erupted, followed by a sudden burst of flames. His thoughts were fixed on one thing: only with the Sages'' deaths could real change begin. He wasn¡¯t an idealist¡ªhe knew the bloodshed would likely continue for years, but if he could hasten it by even one day, that would be enough justification.
He watched as people stared at him, their faces filled with terror and confusion, but he was beyond caring. The second shot struck the white powder, igniting the primary explosion. A blinding white flash tore through the vast hall.
The blast hurled him aside, shattering his eardrums, and blood streamed from his ears and nose. The explosion was far greater than he¡¯d imagined, shaking the entire palace, toppling one of its magnificent columns, and sending debris raining like burning ash from above.
The gentleman barely registered the heat or the pain, yet he was acutely aware of his clothes, limbs, and eyelids being scorched. Still, he was content, watching as everyone in the banquet area met the same fate.
Time seemed to stop as he watched several Sages get crushed by falling debris, while others perished when their heavy chairs were lifted by the blast, tumbling forward and landing their occupants face-first into the cold marble with gruesome results. On the other side, the head of the right ministry stood screaming, his face bloodied, his jaw broken, his front teeth falling out as his enablers ran to assist him like headless chickens.
But the worst happened to the head of the left ministry, who was aflame like a human torch. It started at his head and quickly spread to his limbs and body. Apparently, the rumors that he bathed in wine to keep his skin tight were true. He tried to run, his skin melting, but the frightened rebels'' men impaled him with spears.
The gentleman grinned one last time as an even stronger blast enveloped the whole palace in fiery wrath. There was no regret¡ªand then it was all over.
***
Korelia
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as Lansius hefted his axe and brought it down with a satisfying thud into a log. Chopping firewood was hardly a necessity for him, yet it had become his favored pastime.
Somehow, someone had swapped out his usual axe for one with a better shaft and a keener edge. The thoughtful replacement brought a smile to his face.
With a firm grip, he swung the axe again, effortlessly splitting another log in two. Each strike sent chips of wood scattering, and the sharp crack of splintering timber punctuated the quiet evening air.
Suddenly, Sterling, who was with him, announced, "My Lord, Farkas, Sir Harold, and the Hunter Guildsman are approaching."
Lansius turned to the courtyard entrance and spotted the three. "Now this could be trouble," he mumbled.
Farkas, Sir Harold, and the Hunter Guildsman approached, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. With a casual flick, Lansius embedded his axe into the stump, the blade sinking deep with a satisfying thunk. A cool breeze swept across his face, drying the beads of sweat on his forehead.
"My Lord," they greeted in unison.
"You three, here at this hour¡ªit must be urgent," Lansius observed.
The trio exchanged somber glances. Sir Harold, spoke first. "It¡¯s a message from the Capital. And likely their last."
Lansius'' heart skipped a beat; he knew instantly what it was about. "How? A coup?"
But I''m yet to hear that the Capital was besieged.
Farkas gently nudged the Hunter forward. "Tell the Lord what you told me," he urged softly.
The Hunter looked tense as he began, "My Lord, the message was passed from branch to branch. At first, it seemed chaotic, but I can now confirm it as true: The Capital has fallen to rebellion. The casualties are immense. All the ministers perished in a violent explosion that also destroyed the palace."
Lansius stood frozen, his gaze distant as he processed the news. Slowly, he reached for the axe handle, pulling it free from the wood with a forceful tug and tossing it aside. He sank onto the stump, his mind reeling.
Sir Harold''s voice cut through the heavy silence, "The Ageless One is dead. The Imperium... is no more."
Lansius looked at his staff and sighed. "The age of strife is truly upon us."
***
Chapter 176 : Harbingers
Chapter 176
Harbingers
West of the Capital
Dust billowed into the sky as seven thousand cavalrymen surged furiously from the west. Their faces were haggard, their horses spent, yet they clung on tenaciously. Duke Alvaro, notoriously slothful, now rode determinedly at the front with his knights. The Imperium had asked for aid, and the sons of Centuria had answered.
"Ride, ride!" commanded the Duke''s knights as they switched to fresh horses at intervals¡ªa tactic borrowed from their nemesis, the western nomads. With barely a pause, they continued, hearts swelling with hope as they glimpsed the imposing white walls of the Capital, its majestic towers and grand gatehouses looming in the distance.
"It''s burning," murmured a woman, her voice as cold as her lips, cloaked in gray trimmed with gold. Murmurs rippled through the ranks at her observation.
In response, the Duke''s most hardened Captain bellowed, "Harden your hearts, the time is upon us!"
Like his men, the Duke was similarly spurred into action. He rode with a newfound vigor, tapping into a strength he scarcely knew he possessed. His spare horse, bred for endurance, trotted eagerly beneath him. Since receiving the dire news five nights prior, he felt fortune had smiled upon him. If he could save the Imperium now, he would wield unparalleled leverage over the corrupt ministers.
Not that he intended to negotiate. His disdain for them ran too deep; he would not permit them even a sliver of power. Once he regained control of the defenses, he planned to accuse the ministers of grave incompetence for allowing the city to fall to rebels. He would execute them en masse for such failure, sparing only those agreeable enough to help maintain a functioning bureaucracy.
To Duke Alvaro, this crisis was a dream come true. He envisioned reviving the High Noble Court and restoring the Imperium to its former splendor.
"My Lord," called a Hunter Guildsman, riding up from behind.
"Speak," the Duke commanded, not breaking his pace.
"The hawks have returned, still carrying their messages."
"Keep sending them. Pray they receive our warnings in time," the Duke instructed, muttering, "I only need an hour, just an hour."
The Hunter Guildsman nodded and moved away, ready to coax his tired hawk into another flight.
The Duke turned to his side and called, "Berengia, come closer."
"My grace." The Royal Mage rode up beside him, her golden hair peeking from beneath her beautiful cloak.
"Tell me what you see," he commanded.
But before Berengia could reply, a violent blast erupted in the distance, sending a towering plume of debris skyward. The earth-shattering roar that followed halted the horses and silenced the men, who exchanged stunned gazes. Even the knights were at a loss for words.
"What happened?" the Duke halted, his heart sinking with the realization that something catastrophic had occurred.
"That''s from the direction of the palace," the Royal Mage answered, her usually composed face now etched with shock.
"By the Ageless," Duke Alvaro cursed, spurring his horse forward. His lead was followed by all seven thousand cavalry, charging toward the Capital, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited them.
...
Despite Duke Alvaro''s timely arrival, it was too late to save the Royal Palace. The inner gates had been breached, the nobles'' quarter lay in ruins, and flames engulfed the palace.
In the midst of this chaos, the Duke ordered his men to engage any rebels they encountered. Despite mounting fatigue, his stalwart and hardened men from western campaigns easily subdued and massacred each group of rebels blocking their path, before moving on to another pocket of leaderless rebels, largely unaware of their presence.
As they advanced into the inner complex, they rallied the beleaguered palace guards. From them, they gained crucial information about the situation. With the defenders now united, they began to drive the rebels out. The Duke¡¯s powerful cavalry allowed them to reign uncontested on the wide roads of the Capital, while dismounted knights inflicted untold horrors on the remaining rebels.
For four intense hours, they fought from street to street, corner to corner. Yet, the Capital city was vast, the rebels numerous and everywhere, and the sun dipped low.
Illuminated by the eerie glow of gemstones of light, Duke Alvaro¡¯s forces solidified their hold on the area around the palace¡¯s inner walls. Yet, behind them, the Royal Palace continued to burn. Its ancient elven wood¡ªprized beyond gold, brought from the old continent, and once part of the Grand Progenitors'' ships¡ªblazed brightly against the night sky.
As his troops established a new defensive perimeter, allowing citizens refuge, Duke Alvaro and his staff approached the burning wreckage of the palace.
Armored, though tightly around his girth, Duke Alvaro stood watching the palace burn under the darkening skies. From where he stood, he could see the area around the inner courtyard, once imposing and magnificent in its vastness and symmetrical beauty, now lying in ruins, strewn with debris, ash, and corpses.
And there was the Royal Hall, once the center of this realm and a proud testament to the Imperium''s enduring majesty and unmatched splendor, now defiled and crumbling. Its central gardens, directly below the dais and the grand throne, lay desecrated. The celebrated golden tree had succumbed to the inferno; its once majestic branches were now bent and twisted into grotesque shapes, dripping into a pool of blackened ooze. The stream that once flowed beneath it was now filled with smoldering rubble.
Berengia, the Royal Mage, approached quietly. "I see a lost cause," she whispered to him.
"I did not ask for your opinion, sweetie," the Duke replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the flames as if in mourning.
Berengia stepped back, giving him space to watch the great ancient structure being consumed by fire. Several sections collapsed with loud crashes, sending dust and debris to the immediate area.
Moments later, his Captain approached with a group of officers.
"Your Grace," the Captain greeted first, then introduced, "the palace guard commander and his officers who led the inner sanctum''s defense."
The Duke turned and saw the officials, who bowed their heads politely. "Your Grace," they greeted, their demeanor seemingly upbeat.
Observing their unfitting demeanor, pristine armor, and clean gauntlets¡ªonly slightly marred by blackened soot¡ªDuke Alvaro exchanged a knowing glance with his captain, who subtly blinked in acknowledgment.
"Has anyone here witnessed His Imperial Majesty?" the Duke inquired.
The men looked at each other before the commander replied, "No, Your Grace. We did not see anyone fitting His Imperial Majesty''s description. Surely, he wasn''t in the Palace. In fact, not even our seniors have ever seen anyone resembling the August One."
The Duke nodded. That was all he needed to know. "Commander, you and your staff have performed admirably in defending the palace," the Duke announced. "Berengia, please bestow upon them a fitting reward for their breathtaking efforts."
"Breathtaking, Your Grace?" Berengia echoed, her tone neutral, seeking confirmation.
"Indeed," Duke Alvaro affirmed.
Berengia turned to face the officers, her expression unreadable. "Gentlemen, please embrace the sensation. You will find peace and rest."
The commander and his four officers suddenly felt a cold, rejuvenating breeze sweep past them. Initially pleasant, the sensation soon turned unsettling as they became dizzy, then began gasping for air, their eyes bulging. They attempted to shout or scream, but no sounds emerged from their mouths. In a panic, one tried to draw his sword, but Berengia closed her eyes and, moments later, all five collapsed, their bodies convulsing as their lungs and muscles starved for air and their blood vessels ruptured.
"Oh, none of them were even wearing the slightest anti-magic," Berengia commented indifferently as the officers bled from their eyes and mouths. Based on their poor reaction, it was evident they were poorly trained and unfit for their roles.
"This is why the ministers wanted you lot away," the Captain remarked from nearby.
"Trust issues," the blond said dismissively.
The Captain motioned his men to come closer. "These five felt dishonored by their failure and redeemed their guilt by throwing themselves into the palace fire," he instructed.
The group of men nodded, accustomed to such commands. They stripped the officers of their valuables and dragged them into the flames of the burning palace.
Gazing at the Captain, the Duke asked, "Do you think we''ll face more resistance?"
"We can handle any resistance," the Captain assured him.
"Make sure to secure the provisions," the Duke added.
"At your service," the Captain bowed his head.
"One more thing. Rescind the order to attack tomorrow, unless it''s for raiding supplies. We''ll maintain our gains."
"Doesn¡¯t Your Grace want to free the city?" the Captain asked.
"It''s a lost cause," the Duke replied, glancing at Berengia, who nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, systematically plunder everything. Gather any carts or pack animals we can find and load them with gold, silver, ancient furniture, and any other prized artifacts. Make sure to scrape up any precious metal ooze we can find on the palace''s floor. We''ll need it for the wars in the west."
"Shall we do the same to the nobles'' quarter as well?" the Captain inquired.
"What''s stopping us?" the Duke snorted. "Today, the Imperium has fallen, and I don¡¯t see any Lord capable of restoring it. House Centuria has fulfilled its oath to the end, and now we''ll take what is rightfully ours to defend its legacy against the western barbarians."The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
***
Korelia
In the chamber of the Eastern Mansion, Lansius sat at the head of a long oak table. Although it was close to supper time, the table lay bare. Lord Robert and Lord Jorge, having arrived at short notice, sat across from him, their expressions grim after hearing the Hunter Guildsman¡¯s news from the Capital.
"And so the Imperium has fallen," Robert stated somberly, his words heavy as they hung in the air.
Lord Jorge''s face hardened, his eyes momentarily closing as if to block out the reality of those words. Despite having predicted this outcome last year, the reality filled him with despair.
Robert continued, "The Lowlandians will grieve, but ultimately, little will change."
Jorge nodded but remained silent, his usual quick wit absent. He turned to Lansius and asked, "So, what should our response be?"
"Inward," Lansius replied, capturing the attention of his allies and staff. "Without the Imperium as the glue holding the human realms together, now the lords have no allegiances. Things will stay the same for a while until someone is proclaimed King."
"Gottfried has," Robert reminded him.
"And perhaps more will follow," Lansius replied. "Without the Imperium, and in the absence of a reliable trade and the collapse of commerce, these kings will eventually resort to attacking their neighbors just to sustain their kingdoms."
"What a messy outlook," Robert commented, crossing his arms and sighing loudly.
Everyone seemed to have the same reaction.
Robert then turned to his counterpart. "What do you think? If such were to happen, would they really come to our humble province of goats and grass?"
Jorge responded, "The Nicopolans are proud people, yet we found them on the plains of Korimor and Umberland."
Robert nodded, his question answered. Sensing the chamber''s somber mood, the old Lion of Lowlandia decided to lift spirits. "Well, on a brighter note, we have another lord willing to join the Shogunate."
This news surprised Lansius, Jorge, and everyone else in the chamber.
"Who?" Lansius inquired.
"The Lord of Galdia," Robert revealed with a grin.
"How did you convince him? You didn¡¯t overpromise anything, did you?" Jorge asked, his tone cautious.
"I¡¯m not that reckless," Robert reassured him. "I simply mentioned that, along with other benefits, each member of the Shogunate could also opt to have a half-breed in their retinue."
Lansius blinked twice, the pieces falling into place. He realized this was Robert''s strategy and chuckled, amused by his audacity. "What is it with you and the Lord of Galdia''s obsession with half-breeds?"
"Don¡¯t get me wrong. We''re just old friends, and he''s as interested in legendary creatures as I am."
"I hope you''re not thinking of breeding them," Jorge quipped, his snark returning.
Robert chuckled, followed by the rest of the chamber. He turned to Lansius and said, "Perhaps you haven¡¯t considered this, but we should invite more half-breeds for education."
Lansius exchanged glances with Sir Harold, Sir Omin, and Sir Michael, none of whom had the slightest idea. "I admit they''re popular," he muttered, unsure.
"Come on, Robert, don¡¯t tease us like that. Do you have a plan, or is this just a running joke?" Jorge asked on behalf of everyone.
Robert stroked his gray beard before explaining, "The half-breed has told me a lot. For example, they age quickly and reach maturity by age seven. By twelve, they are as wise as an elder human."
Lansius was piqued and nodded earnestly.
The old Viscount leaned forward and continued, "Each has been taught to read their scriptures and has experience with writings and records. Can you imagine? Every one of them can read, and some write as well as scribes. I say they have great potential to aid Korelia''s lack of talent. They''re also pleasant to work with and could captivate the commoners'' interest."
"Indeed, one of the hardest things is getting people to attend school," Lansius admitted. Although there was gratitude for educational opportunities, in reality, parents wanted only their children to learn; they themselves did not participate despite being young enough to benefit. This attitude turned education into a generational issue, one that would take a long time to resolve.
"All I¡¯m saying is they could be a good catalyst for learning. And even if it doesn¡¯t work out, they¡¯re still more than capable of bolstering our security."
Jorge seemed ready to agree but held back his comments until Lansius said, "Good points. However, I doubt we can simply ask Lord Beatrix to send more of her people."
The Old Lion smiled, likely satisfied that his petition had been heard and considered. "Of course. I don¡¯t want to overstep my bounds, so I rest my case."
Lansius was amused. "That¡¯s fine, Lord Robert. I don¡¯t have designs for them. We might as well try your idea."
The mood in the chamber improved. Somehow, even the notion of more half-breeds coming had the intended effect.
Do we unconsciously treat them like beloved pets?
Lansius pondered this, realizing that everyone, including Carla, the guards, and even Audrey¡ªwho had bled against half-breeds¡ªfound Francisca agreeable, if not trustworthy. They had even exchanged gifts and even occasionally shared perfumes. Ironically, the only one who remained guarded was Sir Harold, who had instructed Sterling not to let his guard down.
"Now that we''ve shared the good news," Robert said, settling back into his chair, "may I ask, what is our concrete plan moving forward?"
Lansius paused to gather his thoughts before explaining. "Firstly, we will allow the people time to mourn the Ageless One. Next, we''ll drill our troops to ensure they are proficient with the new formations. Then, we''ll send two hundred to bolster our garrison in Korimor. Our immediate goal is to defend against any potential incursions from Midlandia. Furthermore, we will continue to fortify Korelia by increasing our grain reserves and seeking new food sources. Lastly, we''ll prepare the routes for the upcoming South Trade caravans."
Before anyone could respond, Lansius raised his hand, signaling he had more to say. "As much as possible, let''s maintain peace in Korelia. A city can only thrive in peace. Should invaders come, we will intercept and eliminate them on the Great Plains."
"Words of wisdom," Robert remarked with a chuckle, a sentiment echoed by Jorge and the others. With that, the meeting concluded.
***
Midlandia
As they departed the D''Aguilar area, leaving behind its hot springs and the hospitality of its people, Bengrieve and his expanded band of men, crested a hill that offered a clear view of the western horizon. Taking advantage of the cloud cover that provided respite from the sun''s heat, Bengrieve waited for his staff to ride closer before he remarked, "Did you know that Elandia was once known as the Kingdom of Elandia?"
"We''ve heard such stories, My Lord," Sir Stan replied on behalf of everyone as their horses came to a stop.
"It''s far older than even the First Imperium. They say its advancements surpassed even those of the elves, but alas, it did not last," Bengrieve lamented.
"But we didn¡¯t see any magnificent palaces in the area," his Captain argued.
"That¡¯s because the kingdom was far greater than today¡¯s Elandia province. Records indicate its capital was located at the intersection of Elandia, Midlandia, and Arvena," Bengrieve explained.
"The Great Ancient Forest," Sir Stan remarked.
Bengrieve chuckled softly. "People tend to add ''Great'' and ''Ancient'' to everything old," he quipped. "Its name is Amertume Forest, from the words ''am¨¡rus,'' meaning bitterness, sadness, and sorrow. There, a kingdom once rivaled the dwarves'' achievement but faced a tragic demise. Now, only fell beasts lurk, and no man dares to go near it, turning the whole area into a vast swath of forest."
"That''s an interesting tale; perhaps we ought to send an expedition party there. There ought to be gold," one of his knights quipped, prompting laughter from his fellows.
"What are we, the Old Continent''s Explorers?" another joked.
Bengrieve enjoyed their reaction, finding respite in his men¡¯s good morale.
Then one of the newly joined knights spoke, "My Lord, my mother was originally from the area bordering that forest, and there''s more to that legend."
"Please, speak freely," Bengrieve encouraged.
"There''s a legend that a man who died at the heart of that forest returned as a different person."
"Doppelg?nger story?" Sir Stan ventured.
"Similar, possibly related," the knight confirmed. "It happened to my mother''s neighbor. The man went out looking for firewood, as he had done for years, and then one day he disappeared for several days. Half the village searched for him but found nothing¡ªhis traces simply vanished. Then, suddenly, after a week, he returned. What''s strange is, he could no longer speak properly, only gibberish. It took him months just to communicate again. Only then did he start saying strange things, like how he couldn¡¯t remember anything¡ªnot even his mother, siblings, or his wife."
"Ah, such stories won¡¯t spook me. If I don''t remember my wife, all the better; then I have no issue finding a new one," the Captain commented, triggering a round of laughter.
"But what if you forget how to joust? Or where you keep your secret stash?" Sir Stan teased.
"I kept mine in these fists!" the Captain insisted, chuckling along with the others.
Bengrieve was amused by their playfulness, but his mood soon changed when two hawks arrived almost simultaneously from the north. With them on the move, the Hunter Guildsman on his service was hard pressed to maintain the line of communication. Because of this, news reached them slower. Now, the majestic creatures crossed the skies, screeching as if harbingers.
***
Commander, Bald Eagle
Against all odds, and under the mysterious Sagaria''s watch, the column of men successfully crossed Tiberia at the height of winter. Their journey was nothing short of legendary. An ethereal shield above them protected them from the snow and provided a stream of warm air. Their only issue was the melting snow beneath their feet, which wetted their boots and socks¡ªa minor inconvenience compared to facing the full fury of snowstorms.
It was no surprise that the four hundred men under Bald Eagle became devout believers. Sagaria had led them to a cluster of villages in northern Elandia. The villagers were initially shocked to receive guests in the dead of winter, but they soon warmed to the newcomers, especially when they noticed several welcoming anomalies, such as the winter becoming milder wherever the group was located. Some villagers even saw their vegetables and trees bearing fruit in the middle of winter.
During the winter months, Sagaria crafted various items, including salves for skin disorders, soap, ointments, and remedies for common ailments. Unlike herbalists who often guarded their secrets, she openly shared her knowledge, teaching anyone willing to learn.
If there had been any doubts about her abilities, Sagaria was now truly revered.
Bald Eagle, once worried about payments since they had gone rogue and could not hope for more payments from the Sages, was relieved when the men declared they required no pay beyond sufficient food, having become soldiers of faith rather than fortune.
Only after Sagaria''s intervention could Bald Eagle freely distribute confiscated valuables from the last war, allowing the men to purchase personal items like socks and boots for their journey.
And march they did, ever since the snow had thawed. To avoid too much attention from the locals, they had split into two groups, with the Guardsman and the Squire leading the rear group.
With that arrangement, they steadily journeyed southeast. Sagaria had learned that a certain lord was in southern Elandia, and she wished to join his cause. Normally, this would pose a problem, especially since she lacked noble lineage. But Bald Eagle was convinced of her ability to prove herself as more than just the daughter of a hat-maker.
...
The spring sun shone brightly on the barn where they had stayed. Bald Eagle, though old, woke up refreshed, despite only using straw mats and leather carpets as a bed. As his men began to eat breakfast, he glanced at his silver necklace¡ªthe only thing he wore because of the war¡ªand was surprised to see the small gem had not changed color. It remained milk-white, although he had clearly witnessed magic or been in close proximity to it.
While Sagaria remained subtle and never admitted that she used magic, the results were evident. The clanking noise and laughter from outside quickly drew his interest. He saw eager men honing their skills with swords and spears.
Now, the young knight had grown fond of Marc, the new member, who trained himself hard after he had recovered.
"How is he?" Sagaria asked as she snuck next to him, bringing two bowls of thick soup.
"Marc or Sir Munius?" Bald Eagle asked as he received the bowl. As agreed, he didn''t call her ''lady'' during the journey for fear of complications from the locals or bandits.
"Marc," she replied while sipping her soup.
"Well, he''s lucky to have met you. And for the record, many are jealous of him."
"Why?" Sagaria asked, her tone indifferent, without a hint of curiosity.
"Well, you took good care of him, and he isn''t even one of us," Bald Eagle explained between spoonfuls of soup.
Sagaria only nodded once but didn¡¯t comment further.
Bald Eagle continued, "I sort of understand, you know. I mean, you didn''t even treat our champion, Sir Munius, that well."
Only then did Sagaria¡¯s lips form a smile, though she quickly busied herself with another sip of soup.
"Still, I have to ask, why do you take special care of the Arvenian boy?" Bald Eagle asked, his tone fatherly. "I''ve noticed you chat with him more than with anyone else in the group."
"The chats aren''t anything special¡ªjust about the place he was born and his family. However," she turned to him, her expression serious, "he is indeed rather special."
"Special as in talented as an herbalist?" Bald Eagle had seen Marc assisting Sagaria often while she prepared medical concoctions and salves.
¡°No, not as an herbalist," she said, holding back her full thoughts. She continued in a tone like an old mentor, speaking in riddles, "Perhaps you should talk to him. Ask about his family or his sister."
"His sister?" He was puzzled. He knew she wanted him to find out on his own, but it was beyond him.
"She has golden hair and blue eyes," she hinted.
"You mean they''re nobles'' bastards?" Bald Eagle asked, clearly skeptical.
"No," she said firmly. "I''m not interested in that."
"So...?"
"He is not of northern descent, yet his sister has that kind of mutation." Seeing Bald Eagle frown, she explained softly, "He''s gifted."
"Of what kind?" Bald Eagle whispered, his voice barely audible.
Sagaria didn¡¯t smile, but her eyes were gleaming. "Magic," she breathed softly.
Bald Eagle was surprised; he quickly turned his gaze outside to see Sir Munius and Marc training with the rest of the men-at-arms.
Sagaria''s voice was a whisper, meant only for Bald Eagle, "The boon does not reside with him alone; it extends to Sir Munius as well. I suggest he take Marc under his wing. That way, he''ll secure a powerful ally."
Bald Eagle nodded thoughtfully, wiping cold sweat from his brow. How could he not? Their company had grown into a tapestry of legends: a prophetess in disguise, a knight returned from the dead, and an ordinary farmboy turned mage. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was at the start of a great saga.
***
Chapter 177 : Cascade
Chapter 177
Cascade
Sagarius
As dawn broke over Elandia province, a thick mist lay heavily upon the land. This part of the Imperium was cloaked in forests and rolling hills, lending them a mystical appearance. The air was damp and earthy, saturated with the scent of pine and wet foliage.
Humans had built towns and villages and opened vast areas for agriculture, yet they were clustered tightly, surrounded by woodlands. The thick forests and hills made the province naturally difficult to traverse, especially in wet conditions.
Despite being obscured by fog, the forest was alive with the rustling of wildlife¡ªbirds chirped from hidden branches, and the occasional deer darted through the lush foliage.
Sagarius was familiar with this area, but it had been some time since her last visit, and the roads and towns had changed. Some had grown larger, while others, once promising, had become abandoned ruins.
During one of their stops, Bald Eagle met with one of the local knights to discuss some matters. With time available, Sagarius felt it was time to teach Sir Munius and Marc.
Without informing them too much, she took them deeper into the neighboring forest, and the two followed unquestioningly.
Sagarius stopped in front of a large tree that towered over the others, so massive that it stood alone, with no other trees in its close vicinity. Small stone structures, half-buried with decomposing leaves, likely old altars of past beliefs, were scattered on one side.
"What a huge tree," Marc commented in awe, looking up at the tall branches.
"It''s probably as old as the Imperium," the young knight observed.
"Possibly," Sagarius stated before turning to them and pulling something from her pocket. She then motioned for Sir Munius to take it.
The knight did so, taking it with both hands. She handed him an inconspicuous medallion made of iron and tightly woven bronze, inscribed with runes. "It''s an anti-magic piece. In the old days, champions used these for protection."
"I''m not worthy to accept this¡ª"
"Hush," Sagarius said gently but dismissively. "Take the gift with pride. It will be useful, especially for this exercise."
Sagarius then turned toward Marc, who stood at attention. She gestured for him to approach.
As Marc did so, she took one of her rings, ebony-colored as if made from wood, and handed it to him. "I hope it fits."
"What should I do with it, my lady?" Marc asked.
"Wear it and watch. Do not run," she instructed, then walked a distance before turning to face Sir Munius. "Draw your sword and try to charge at me."
"But my lady?" Sir Munius voiced his confusion, expecting to spar with Marc as they had done so many times before.
However, Sagarius was not known for her patience. With a focused gaze, she summoned her magic and silently extracted the breath from the knight''s lungs.
The knight clutched at his throat, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock as he staggered back, desperately trying to draw breath.
"What, what happened?" Marc cried out, turning to Sagarius with a mix of concern and alarm. "My Lady, what are you trying to achieve?"
Amidst his panic, Sir Munius instinctively drew his sword and began to retreat rapidly. Suddenly, the suffocating effect ceased. He gasped, inhaling sharply as fresh air flooded his lungs. Doubling over, he fought back the nausea.
"A good and correct reaction," Sagarius praised from afar. "Remember this range. This is the practical range for a mage in close combat."
"Then you are truly a mage," Marc stated nervously.
"Don''t speak of it as if being a mage is something abhorrent. After all, you too are one," she revealed, her voice almost indifferent, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of excitement.
Marc looked down at his calloused hands in disbelief. "Me, a mage?"
"A mage with an unawakened source. So, let''s do the same to you," Sagarius directed her focused gaze on Marc, who suddenly found himself gasping for air.
He wanted to run, but a commanding voice echoed in his skull, "Do not run." His legs froze in place.
"I need you to fight it, so don¡¯t run," Sagarius explained in her usual tone.
Marc struggled to breathe, groaning, before finally deciding to crawl toward the knight.
Watching the man''s face turn blue, the knight pleaded, "My lady, he''s almost out of breath; please, spare him."
Sagarius waved off her magic, and Marc gasped sharply before vomiting on the side.
"You did well," she said before adding, "Nothing triggers the mind and body to adapt like losing breath."
"H-how did you stop me from¡ª" Marc coughed and spat, sitting on the ground, "And what did I do well? I lost my breath almost instantly."
Sagarius decided not to discuss the voice. From experience, she knew it easily aroused suspicion, as many believed the skill could control their minds. However, it could only temporarily shock the mind and force it to surrender to the suggestion. It was useful to prevent violence, stop a blade in mid-thrust, or move a stunned child out of the path of a charging horse. "The duration is not the point. What I want is for you to fight it like a drowned man fighting the water."
"Did he resist your magic?" Sir Munius asked, his eyes wide in surprise.
"Yes, he did. Like a baby''s finger trying to wrestle its mother''s hand."
The knight chuckled, turned to Marc, and said, "You have a long way to go, mage-boy." Then, looking back at Sagarius with renewed spirit, he asked, "Is the training still on?"
"Come at me, Sir Knight," she replied without hesitation, standing only twenty steps away.
"Any tips, my lady?" he asked as he prepared himself.
"Swing your swords, use the trees and terrain, anything that makes me lose focus can save you."
Sir Munius did as he was told, moving calculatingly from one spot to another, without running to preserve his breathing, while maintaining eye contact to gauge her reaction. He did so much better, able to breathe momentarily behind cover, and then stopped just a dozen steps from her.
Sagarius removed her magic from him and asked, "Why did you stop?"
"I feared I could hurt you, my lady," he said. Then suddenly, his vision flared brightly, his muscles spasmed in shock, and his knees buckled, forcing him to the ground.
"I still have plenty of tricks in my bag," she warned, while the knight lay immobile on the mushy forest floor.
Marc dashed toward the knight, stopping next to him. "Are you good, Sir?"
"It felt like being stung by a large bee," he muttered.
"They named it static control," she explained. "I manipulated this area to deny you a connection with the ground and sent fragments of dry leaves to overload you with a charge. When I wanted, I restored the connection¡ªand that¡¯s what just happened."
Marc gazed at Sagarius and dry swallowed, his eyes betraying his fear that he might be next.
"Of course, you shall experience¡ª"
Marc broke into a run, attempting to conceal himself behind the large, ancient tree.
"It will only make it worse," she said, disappointed, and blinked once. Suddenly, a long pitiful yet laughable groan emerged from behind the magnificent tree.
Sir Munius chuckled as he slowly stood up, feeling a strange tingling in his limbs.
"You said a large bee," Marc complained from afar. "Mine was like being struck by a stag."
The knight stifled a laugh and turned to Sagarius. "Say, if I don''t move, can you still do that to me?"
"An excellent observation," she remarked. "Static will only work if you move quickly and abruptly. If you remain stationary, it will hardly affect you. However," she flicked her wrist slightly, and suddenly the knight toppled unceremoniously.
He gasped in total surprise, scanning the area for someone he thought had struck his leg.
"A skilled mage can also concentrate her magic to gather rubble, dirt, and stone, and direct them to your blind spot."
"Can you manipulate even something like a sword?" he asked from the ground.
"Swords are too smooth and slender, I doubt most mages can do such a thing."
"But can you?" Sir Munius asked.
Sagarius merely wore a thin proud smile. In her hundreds of years of experience, she was able to put a strand of fiber into a needle or swat a fly without moving her finger. Those were small things compared to the other arts she had mastered.
Interpreting her smile, Sir Munius broke into a chuckle. Then from behind, carefully Marc approached, pleading, "No more of those."
"I won''t. You could die. I only do it to Sir Munius because he wore an anti-magic."
"Why don''t I have it?" Marc found his courage and complained.
"I don''t have two and you need the ring."
"Ah," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "What does the ring do, my lady?" Marc asked, his gaze fixed on the simple yet intricate ebony ring.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"It shall grant you magical capacity as you learn strengthening magic."
While Marc frowned, the knight remarked, "I know that one." He stood up, brushing dry leaves from his clothes, and asked, "Can he really master such a technique?"
"Is it strong?" Marc was now piqued.
"You''ll be like a Mage Knight," he replied excitedly.
"Really?" Marc''s jaw dropped, likely thinking about the impact it would make on his life.
"More like a mage squire," Sagarius commented, then addressed both of them. "The human world is in peril. The Imperium might be gone at any moment. By some twist of fate, against all odds, you have been brought together from the brink of death. I advise you to heed the workings of the Ancients and unite your strengths. Sir Munius," she called out, "why don''t you take Marc as your squire?"
The two men exchanged glances, and Marc''s expression seemed troubled.
"My Lady, I think we need to give Marc more time. Even though he joined us, the fact remains that we were on opposing sides, and there''s likely still some bad blood between us," Sir Munius voiced.
"Marc, are you still contemplating it?" Sagarius inquired, aware that he had spent the winter reflecting.
Marc took a deep breath. "I don''t blame any of you, especially you, My Lady. You saved me, and for that, I am eternally grateful. More than ever, I blame myself for letting myself be recruited into Gottfried''s army."
"But my side did kill many Arvenians," Sir Munius stated clearly, not attempting to gloss over the truth.
"No," Marc shook his head. "Not you, Sir. Even if I wanted to, I can''t hold you responsible. I know for sure that by the time you arrived, all of my brethren had perished. You fought against the Northerners and the Inglesians, vile people who oppressed us, and for that, you have my gratitude."
The knight breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to Sagarius, he suddenly declared, "I''ll take him as a brother."
Marc''s tanned cheeks turned red as he stammered, "Wait, but why? I''m not even noble-born."
"You''re a mage," the knight reminded him.
"I haven''t done anything mage-like yet."
Sagarius decided to intervene. "Marc, focus all your thoughts on protecting your chest as if you''re about to be punched," she instructed, her tone icy, her gaze even colder.
Driven by fear, Marc complied, his muscle tensed and Sagarius thrust a tree branch, as thick as a spear, toward him. The branch shattered as if striking another tree. It knocked Marc to the ground and ruined his clothes, but his chest was only bruised a little.
"That''s strengthening magic," Sagarius explained, tossing the broken branch aside. "With enough magical capacity, the mind can draw power from it and manipulate it to protect your body or limbs."
"Is magic really that easy?" Marc asked as he got up.
"That''s the ring''s power, not your innate source," Sagarius corrected him. "Also, let''s try again. Now, I''m going to slap you on the face," she announced, then raised her hand deliberately slowly, causing Marc to lose his focus.
Her slap connected gently, yet Marc flinched sharply in pain, prompting Sir Munius beside them to burst out laughing. "You lose focus," the knight pointed out.
Marc, patting his reddened cheek, frowned. "I know that, Sir. But it''s harder than it looks."
"In time, you''ll learn, as will Sir Munius," she said warmly, then gazing at the knight. "There are gemstones that can grant you a similar ability. Many Champions of old collected them."
The knight nodded thoughtfully, then turned to gaze at the man beside him. "So, brother...?" he offered his hand.
The mage apprentice sheepishly took it, and they finally clasped hands. "Gratitude, Sir. Well, it seems I''ve found another brother."
***
The Imperium Royal Palace, once the beacon of human progress, now stood as a charred remnant of its former glory. Its markets and residential areas were engulfed by the stench of burnt and decomposing bodies, becoming so unbearable that both defenders and rebels had to abandon parts of the city. Swarms of flies and insects, attracted by the horrendous smell, came to feast on the infested carnage. Although there were several attempts to bury the dead in pits outside the city, these efforts proved insufficient, and the risk of clashes loomed large.
Despite Duke Alvaro''s presence and his seven thousand strong cavalry, the numerous yet leaderless rebels continued to occupy and plunder the larger part of the capital for three more days. They only ceased when the situation became dire due to a severe lack of food, the overwhelming stench of corpses, and the onset of rampant diseases.
Finally, the rebels, content with their plunder, abandoned the capital to its grim fate. Little did they know that Duke Alvaro and his knights had been waiting.
As the rebels crossed the plains west of the capital, thousands of cavalrymen chased after them, and a great host of rebels was massacred. The riches from their plunder were now added to the Duke¡¯s grand baggage train, stretching from the palace to the west gatehouse, where he had taken temporary residence.
With these significant victories, many hoped that the Duke of Centuria would fully liberate the capital. However, after six days, the Duke signaled his intention to return to his domain, exercising an abundance of caution against the western barbarians.
He left the capital to its fate, entrusting it to token stewardship of volunteer knights, men-at-arms, and remaining officials. On the day of his departure, three hundred thousand citizens followed on foot, despite his pleas for them not to, as even the western part of the Imperium was not secure.
As the Duke and his rear guard vanished into the distance, the rebel remnants, still occupying a section of the capital, resumed their reign of terror. They attacked at night and attempted to reoccupy the rest of the city in search of food and riches. Anarchy soon erupted anew, but after three days of fighting, the citizens, having reorganized into an effective militia, managed to control the situation. For the first time, the defenders, now outnumbering the rebels, began to retake lost parts of the city.
The rebels, lacking a charismatic leader and fighting in a piecemeal fashion, began to suffer significant losses. In contrast, the citizens'' militia, backed by knights and a confident new guardsman, soon gained the upper hand. After a series of clashes, the demoralized rebels finally abandoned the city, fleeing with whatever spoils they could carry.
After two weeks of terror, the occupation finally ended. The capital was now under the control of the stewardship of volunteer knights backed by several wealthy families who funded the militia. However, despite their victories and sacrifices, there wasn¡¯t enough money or a functional bureaucracy to man the extensive walls and fortifications that had protected the city.
If the walls were unmanned, the capital was practically defenseless. In such a state, the city lingered in uncertainty. Once a paragon of order, peace, and stability, it had become a collection of scorched houses and burnt rubble, dotted with pits of mass graves.
Its citizens, once proud, now wandered through their crumbling city, their faces etched with the resignation of a lost empire. Its beautiful plazas and grand streets, once bustling, were now silent and haunted by the marks of violence. Before long, millions of its citizens and the remaining officials fled south to war-torn Elandia, racing against time as many believed King Gottfried¡¯s northern army was approaching.
To the east, even with the capital secure, the defenses of neighboring cities collapsed. Deprived of the Sages and their governing bodies, no army could sustain itself. Troops abandoned their posts, while nobles and knights focused on dispatching urgent missives to King Gottfried.
Now the capital lay deserted. Yet, the seat of power remained a magnet for those ambitious enough to grasp its importance. It would be a prize too great for any but the most powerful man in the realm.
***
Bengrieve
Another day had passed, and Bengrieve actively and clandestinely gathered more supporters around Midlandia''s border. Here, people driven by anxiety over the new ruler''s intentions came together to hear him speak. Though not naturally gifted, his oratory skills were sufficient to deliver speeches that resonated with a populace accustomed to centuries of prosperity, now viewing any change with suspicion and doubt.
"You should ask: What does Reginald want from you?" Bengrieve said, seated on the town''s fountain as a diverse crowd of knights, esquires, and commoners from all social levels gathered around.
"From what I''ve gathered, he has surrounded himself with ''intellectuals'' and wants this tight-knit group to govern Midlandia and implement untested changes¡ªchanges that go against policies that have long brought us good harvests and profitable business. To what end?" he let his words hang.
Bengrieve¡¯s words captured their undivided attention.
"Why fix what isn¡¯t broken?" he asked, promptly garnering murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
"Reginald has his group¡¯s interests at heart, not yours. I doubt he''ll champion your cause when he has no respect for our way of life."
Many in the crowd nodded their heads, and anxious whispers filled the air.
He continued, his tone sharper: "Furthermore, this Reginald claims to have the support of the masses, but all I''ve seen is him in cohorts with the Healers'' Guild¡ªa group of rowdy and violent fanatics blinded by a corrupt Saint Candidate." Bengrieve had tailored his words carefully, reinforcing the concerns that these people had already heard and grown worried about.
Now, the crowd looked concerned, with fear and anger more clearly etched on their faces.
Looking over the sea of faces before him, Bengrieve posed another rhetorical question: "Are these so-called reformers better than the Ageless One, who laid down our paths centuries ago? Why should we stray at Reginald¡¯s behest?"
People nodded in agreement. They knew that Midlandia was established by the Ageless One himself when he visited roughly six hundred years ago, and since then, for the most part, they had wanted for nothing. Therefore, there was little reason for them to believe that a change would benefit them.
Bengrieve''s rhetoric of fear and respect for the Emperor moved many.
"I''ve said enough. I''m not here to convince you," Bengrieve stood, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Yes, I want to keep my lands as is my right. And I want to continue serving as Seneschal of Midlandia, as I swore to the late Lord whose son is now unfit to rule. These are hardly hidden motives as my service is to the public."
He turned to an old local knight he knew well, "What''s the difference between me defending the land and the titles my family has held, and you defending your home and family from bandits?"
"None, My Lord," the knight replied firmly, echoing the supportive murmurs from the crowd.
Bengrieve faced the crowd again, "If I was wrong, then why didn''t the previous Lord give me a fair trial? And what standing does Reginald have to claim lordship over this realm? He''s like an unwanted relative who interferes in your children''s marriage."
The crowd nodded, visibly troubled.
"To me, he''s nothing but an opportunist pushed forward by corrupt men envious of my family''s longstanding influence. They want power for themselves¡ª"
"This is all just nobles squabbling," a bold voice interrupted.
Bengrieve waved off those eager to silence the dissenter, "He is in the right. Let him speak."
"I''m just saying, whichever lord rules, they only see us as fodder for their wars."
"You''re correct. But I''m not here to recruit," Bengrieve responded.
The man in the crowd had no rebuttal.
Bengrieve''s gaze swept across the crowd, making direct eye contact with several individuals. "I only ask you to listen to my words and tolerate my presence."
"Do not take us for fools, my lord. What is the purpose of your words and presence here?" challenged an old man. His eyes had grayed from years of farming, yet there was wit in his words.
"I am but a harbinger," Bengrieve replied in a clear voice, his words stoking the crowd''s interest further. "Reginald has over ten thousand hungry soldiers. How do you think he will feed them? Or more precisely, from where do you think he will gather the needed grains?"
The crowd now seemed tense and concerned.
"My campaign to Elandia was fully approved and funded by the Lord of Midlandia. I have taken the entire military stockpile¡ªenough for 200 days. Additionally, I have secured supplies for another 100 days. Gentlemen, I can assure you that the provincial reserves are now depleted."
A wave of astonished murmurs swept through the crowd.
"Then Lord Reginald''s troops have nothing to eat?" someone asked, sparking a buzz of conversation.
Bengrieve maintained a stoic expression and then added, "And the coffers too. Do you think Reginald and his supporters haven''t divided whatever was in the castle''s vault? Now their army has no food and no money to pay them."
He let the implications hang in the air, the crowd understood that looting and pillaging were imminent. Many shuddered; others looked resolute.
"They want everything," Bengrieve stoked their fears further. "They''ll take your crops, your land, and your families. It''s nothing but a game for them."
Bengrieve leaned to the fountain and took several sips of water using both hands. Turning back to the crowd, he said in a softer tone, "Now, you must decide whether you let them replace you, or if you are going to do something about it. Whatever it is, I won''t be here; I''m merely passing through."
The notion surprised many, who now looked at Bengrieve with longing and renewed interest.
"This realm has turned its back on my House after a century of loyal service. My House is innocent. I don''t even bring the army here today," he played his victim card effectively.
"Truth be told, I''d be content as a small lord in South Elandia. But should that happen, don''t blame me for not defending Midlandia," he said, his expression turning grim.
"By next summer, thousands of marauding Nicopolans will descend on Midlandia''s border. When that happens, I will not be here to defend this realm. What follows is that, after you''ve satiated Reginald''s hungry troops, you will, regrettably, have to face the Nicopolans'' hunger," he stated bluntly, forcing his listeners to confront the likely scenario.
He concluded, "May the Ageless One''s fortune ever reside with your families."
Afterward, he stepped down from the fountain and walked with his large escort. The somber murmurs of those willing to pledge their allegiance filled the air. Soon, men in armor, both mounted and on foot, gathered outside, ready to commit their fates to his cause.
Things were looking promising from the outside, however it was nothing but a facade.
"How''s the news from the capital?" Bengrieve asked grimly as soon as he entered an unused old watchtower they were using for shelter today. His earlier suaveness and charm had vanished. Ever since leaving Elandia, his network of informants and hawk messengers had struggled to reach him.
Inside the weathered wooden structure, Sir Stan and two captains, his closest confidants, awaited him. Sir Stan extended a small, rolled letter and said, "The palace has indeed fallen."
"The palace, you say?" Bengrieve echoed, stupefied. For the first time, his far-reaching plan had spectacularly backfired. His face now showed a mix of disbelief, disgust, and denial as he thought hard about what to do in such a situation. It felt like everything he had built had come crashing down so quickly, leaving him no time to react.
Now, everything is in jeopardy...
***
Chapter 178 : The Pact of Silent Blades
Chapter 178
The Pact of Silent Blades
Midlandia
As Bengrieve heard the news from the Capital, Sir Stan and the two captains watched him closely. His complexion turned pale as he settled into a hastily repaired wooden chair. Unfolding the letter, his eyes clouded over, and he stared blankly at the ground, his lips muttering gibberish¡ªan unusual departure from his typical composed demeanor that alarmed the other men in the room.
The three exchanged glances, and Sir Stan approached Bengrieve. "Talk to us. What''s causing your angst? Weren''t we expecting this?"
Clenching the letter in his fist, Bengrieve answered, "No. I did not expect this. Not like this." He was still processing the news. "It can''t possibly fail. What are the chances that Gottfried failed to take the Capital, and instead, a bunch of armed peasants did?"
Distraught by his words, Sir Stan urged, "I think it''s time for you to reveal the plan. Don¡¯t leave us in the dark. Midlandia and everyone are at stake."
Bengrieve stared at his cousin and the two captains. They had all been loyal followers of his house, and their doubts about his plan stemmed from their professional roles as military officers, not out of self-importance. "Originally, I had calculated that the Capital could withstand anything except an imminent attack from Gottfried," he began.
"But now, not only has it fallen to angry mobs, but it was also plundered clean. The Palace and the ministries were destroyed. Worse, Duke Alvaro also arrived."
"There''s an indication that the Duke will not hold it," one of his captains interjected.
"It doesn¡¯t make a difference," Bengrieve replied. "Without the Sages, my plans are doomed."
Sir Stan and the captains, hearing about all this for the first time, traded concerned glances.
"I was expecting Gottfried to take the Capital. I know he had powerful men in the Palace; he only needed to show up. Once he paraded his troops, they would throw open the gates for him and celebrate his arrival like a hero."
The three could only listen carefully. Rarely had they heard about the dealings behind the shadows.
"Gottfried isn''t ambitious, but he would be compelled to take the seat. His people want it. So, he''ll attempt to rule and, with the Dukes and us to worry about, he''ll resort to finding the middle ground. That means appeasing the Sages. He''s likely to allow the ministers to sort out their own rivalries. He''ll turn a blind eye to the massacres within the ministries as the Sages blame each other for their corrupt nature. However, he would be a fool to trust the remaining ministers."
Bengrieve''s gaze drifted into the distance as he continued, "Even those who supported him will eventually lace his food with poison that''ll slowly degrade his health in a few years. Or, they could have one of his sons do it, in exchange for the Sages'' support for the Northern Throne. Whatever the outcome, it would be a boon for Midlandia. But now..." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "''Now, everything is a mess."
Sir Stan raised his brow. "I''m still at a loss," he admitted. "Whether it''s Gottfried or the rebels, the Capital is finished, and no Great Entity has awoken to shoot fireballs in defense of the palace. So, we have no issue."
"Indeed, My Lord," his captain agreed. "Isn¡¯t the most important issue whether the Emperor is alive or not? Now that the palace is razed, we can finally be free and bury this Imperium facade."
"No," Bengrieve replied firmly. "Now that we no longer have the Sages, we can''t let Gottfried take the capital."
Sir Stan frowned, and so did the other two.
"Don''t you get it?" Bengrieve asked. "Without the Sages, Gottfried will rule. He''ll lay claim as the successor, probably by marrying someone he claims is the daughter of the Emperor. Then he could take the regency as Prince, and his son could eventually become the 4th Emperor. And with control of the entire Northern Province, Arvena, and Tiberia, his House has a significant chance of succeeding."
Sir Stan stroked his chin, his gaze now steady and sharp. "Now that you mention it, his taking the throne and the capital seems dangerous for us."
"That much is certain," Bengrieve confirmed. "Midlandia and Elandia¡¯s strategic positions are threats to his rule. He''ll grow wary of us who could strike at his veins and jugular, either Tiberia straight to the Capital or Arvena, his biggest shipping port to the Northern provinces. It''s only natural for him to try to find excuses to eliminate us as soon as he is ready."
The three nodded, their expressions grave as they considered the bleak prospects.
Bengrieve kept quiet. He loosened his tunic, his mind racing to formulate a new plan.
Sir Stan knelt next to him, drawing his attention, and spoke, "You can''t fight this alone."
"I have you and the army in Elandia."
"That''s not what I meant." Sir Stan maintained his gaze. "You need outside help, an ally."
"Lansius," Bengrieve uttered the name that now felt so pleasing on his tongue.
The baronet whispered, "I know you have his mother and sister."
Bengrieve stared at him questioningly. Their identities were a secret.
"I''ve been with a few maids, and they''ve been quite talkative under the blanket," he stated, without a hint of shame.
Bengrieve shook his head weakly. "It seems I''ve underestimated you."
"You assess your peers well, but you often overlook those beneath your station," Sir Stan rebuked.
Bengrieve exhaled deeply, his expression one of regret. "I will take your words to heart."
"You better," Sir Stan remarked as he stood up. Turning to the two captains, he said, "Let''s wait for more news before we decide anything. Rushing is meaningless if we''re going in the wrong direction."
"No," Bengrieve interjected firmly, prompting the three to look at him. He rose from his seat and declared, "Stan, you''ll stay. I''ll ride back to Elandia. I''ll find a way to prevent Gottfried from marching to the Capital."
Sir Stan''s shoulders tensed. "You''re going to do what? Battle the King of Brigantes?" His words were devoid of jest.
"No, that¡¯s stupid and reckless," Bengrieve retorted firmly. "I believe there are ways to sway him to stay put in Arvena."
Sir Stan nodded, but his expression remained cautious. "What exactly do you want me to do here?" he asked. "I can''t possibly take your role. I''m a poor speaker."
"Free Cascasonne," Bengrieve replied firmly, bracing himself for the inevitable verbal tirade.
The veins on his cousin¡¯s forehead bulged. "We don¡¯t even have three hundred! They have at least ten thousand,'' Sir Stan exclaimed. ''I¡¯m not going to risk my limbs in a losing battle."
"Stop acting like a spoiled child," Bengrieve countered sharply. "You can win this. Just stick to the plan I¡¯ve laid out for you."
"Against such gargantuan forces, I¡¯ll need more than just plans," Sir Stan insisted.
Bengrieve looked at the two captains, who showed their somber agreement, clearly aligning themselves with Sir Stan''s position.
"Fine," Bengrieve snapped, his lips curling in displeasure. "As you wish, I shall beg and ask the Lord of Korelia. Let''s hope he''ll be happy with adding Toruna to his fief."
"Oi, oi, not my land. Give him Reginald''s," Sir Stan smirked, clearly amused by Bengrieve''s change of heart.
"My lord," one of the captains stepped forward. "Even if we involve the Lord of Korelia, may we know your plan for Midlandia?"
"Of course," Bengrieve said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, listen carefully..."
***
Korelia
It had been a week since news of the fall of the Imperium first spread. City officials confirmed the news and decided to publicly mourn the passing of the Ageless One. As a result, a somber mood enveloped Korelia. Taverns closed early, as did several of its newest entertainment venues, and the streets saw fewer people. Everyone understood that they were witnessing a catastrophic event that would be remembered in history.
Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined they would live in an age where the Ageless One perished. Fear gripped everyone''s hearts as the Imperium sailed into the shadow of the night, never to return.
Despite being taught by the Ageless One himself not to believe in prayers, the city, at the people''s behest, built an altar so that citizens could light candles, burn incense, and pray for the Third Emperor, the Imperium, and peace.
The Lord and Lady, along with their retinue, also paid their respects. After seven days, the altar was incorporated into the newly built gatehouse, enshrined so that travelers could pay their homage.
While the commoners worried about the future of the Imperium and whether their way of life would be affected, the Lord''s council was in an uproar.
Lord Lansius had entrusted Lord Robert and Sir Omin with the task of writing letters to their neighboring lords to inform them of this calamity and seek their response. Meanwhile, he wrote five letters himself, one each to Lord Avery in Dawn, Lord Beatrix in Umberland, Servius in Nicopola, Sigmund in South Hill, and Dietrich in Korimor.
With only two hawks available and most neighboring lords not employing a Hunter Guildsman, most messages were carried by the usual horse-relay system.
While many were still in mourning, life, as always, moved forward. As farmers returned from their fields and shepherds tended to their flocks, a different rhythm began to pulse from the west. As the planting season drew to a close, thousands of nomads descended upon the region, their arrival heralding the start of their annual homage.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
As was their custom and to honor their oath to Lord Lansius, the tribesmen rode and camped on the verdant western plains. They brought wide carts with their yurts, and thousands of goats, horses, and sheep, bearing gifts of fine horses for the Lord of the City.
The Lord and Lady welcomed them on the plains outside the city walls. A large crowd, including many recent migrants to Korelia, watched in awe as these majestic creatures were presented, their strong limbs and impeccable shapes gleaming under the sun.
The Lord, dressed in a nomadic-style tunic, greeted the nomads with a warm smile. Batu and his brethren, along with the elders, reciprocated the honor. Many were still deeply fascinated by how this unassuming man with black hair had united Lowlandia and brought significant changes to the region.
After the initial greetings, and with no inclination for theatrics or time-wasting, the tribesmen proceeded with the annual exchange. Lansius, Batu, and their retinue observed as the men showcased the fine Lowlandia horses. Smaller than destriers or stallions, these horses boasted incredible stamina, were easy to care for, and could thrive on the sparse vegetation and limited water of the Great Plains, making them suitable for warhorses.
In front of the gathered crowd, Lord Lansius called out, "Before I accept these gifts, I must ask openly¡ªhave these horses been seized in any conflicts or raids?"
"No, My Noyan," the tribes answered firmly and proudly. "All have come from grateful tribes."
"Does accepting these horses and goods cause any grievances among your people?" Lord Lansius continued.
"No, My Noyan," they assured. "It is our pleasure to present these gifts."
"Then I accept this trade," Lord Lansius declared, ushering in two days of festivities. These included sumptuous feasts, meticulously arranged gift exchanges, and robust celebrations of alliances. After the festivities, the highly anticipated horse market of Korelia finally commenced.
For the following week, Korelia hosted its largest horse and livestock market of the year. Breeders, knights, and guildsmen from across the region converged, each seeking animals with the finest traits. They engaged in spirited bargaining, exchanged goods, and negotiated deals, all in the pursuit of profit.
As the Lord had intended, this strategy allowed the nomads to gain capital directly, bypassing the dominant local intermediary horse traders. Consequently, the horse traders were compelled to shift their focus to warhorse training and breeding rather than acting as mere middlemen.
For the nomads, this newfound capital enabled them to purchase land and houses in Korelia, educate their younger generations, engage in trade, start farming, or open workshops.
Lord Lansius hoped this approach would prevent conflicts between the sedentary and nomadic communities from escalating. He wanted to forge strong, lasting bonds between them because he knew the alternative would be too painful to bear.
***
Lowlandia
Morning light filtered through the shattered windows of the abandoned manor east of Korelia, casting long shadows across the weathered stones. Two groups of four, clad in soundproofed black brigandine and helmets covered in black canvas, gathered amidst the ruins, their breaths visible in the crisp air.
The silence of the early dawn was punctured by the mechanical sound of rapid-fire crossbows as they unleashed bolts toward crudely fashioned wooden targets propped against the crumbling walls. The first group, having eliminated the wooden targets, climbed the stone staircase while the second group moved to secure the first floor.
In the largest chamber of the manor, once a grand hall, the second group moved swiftly from one corner to another. The echo of crossbow fire melded with the scrape of boots on debris-strewn floors. Each man loaded and fired with practiced ease; their new weapons were a source of confidence and pride.
Suddenly, the relative orderly progress of their exercise was shattered. As they almost secured a seemingly unremarkable small chamber, the door they kicked swung back with such force that the first man was launched to the floor. From the door, a seasoned knight and a man-at-arms stormed the room.
As they fumbled with their crossbows, the two trainers pounced on them with wooden maces and swords, delivering swift, punishing blows. The clash of wood on armor echoed as the four men were taken down.
"Don''t clump up and never forget the steel at your side!" barked Sir Harold, the lead trainer, as the group failed to land any shots on him with their training bolts. The rapid-fire crossbows, even in their infancy, were so effective that they had led to an overreliance, causing the men to lose their awareness.
Breathless and bruised, the men from the second group stood ready, nursing their pain and fatigue. Soon, the other group joined them from the upper floor, similarly bruised. Francisca, the half-breed, was escorting them.
"One knight, one man-at-arms, and one half-breed¡ªjust imagine if you were also facing a mage," Sir Harold lamented.
"You guys are also missing a crossbowman," Francisca added. Farkas, in his flat gray setup, stepped forward from the shadows, saying, "I think I had a clear shot to get at least two of you."
"Captain!" the men called out.
"Don''t mind me; I''m just visiting," Farkas grinned.
The eight men''s smiles broadened despite being battered. This resilience was what made them special. Unlike most, they did not complain despite the hardship because they were driven from within. They knew what they had signed up for and aspired to be part of elite groups, so no amount of complex and hard training could dissuade them. They felt they were on the cusp of achieving something phenomenal, something unprecedented.
So far, only four men had passed last year''s grueling training. At least twelve were needed to form an effective detachment, with another four men as reserve and rotational backup.
They were mostly handpicked from the Black Bandits, famed for their skirmishing abilities. The battalion-sized unit had produced experts in unconventional warfare. After the events at South Hill, Three Hills, and Korimor, they evolved into a seasoned warband. They developed an innate understanding of disguise and stealth, learning that small numbers of highly capable individuals could significantly alter the battle situation.
Their success was not achieved blindly but under the guidance of Lord Lansius, who directed them with a concrete goal in mind. It was as if he possessed knowledge of what was achievable, leading them not out of mere experimentation but with a certainty that hinted at a deep understanding of such a group''s capabilities.
Recruitment was by invitation only, testing the best candidates through rigorous physical and academic challenges. Their rewards included generous pay, a robust pension scheme, compensation for injuries, and some of the best equipment money could buy.
What motivated them most, however, was the pride of being the sharpest tip of the spear. They were the best combat-ready group in Lowlandia, receiving special treatment and preferential care. This included fully customized armor with velvet liners in their metal plates to reduce noise, the still experimental rapid-fire crossbows, warhorses from the Lord¡¯s own stable, and even airship training.
At social gatherings, they also wore specially tailored tunics, which Lord Lansius and everyone involved in the project also donned whenever necessary, adding another layer of pride. Furthermore, they were exempt from mundane tasks, and outside of training, they were free to manage their own time, conducting additional training as they desired.
However, these privileges were reserved for those who succeeded.
"You are to scout, rescue, or kill a specific target within hostile territory," Sir Harold lectured the candidates. "Do it successfully, and you might prevent or end a major conflict swiftly, with as little bloodshed as possible. You¡¯ll be hailed as heroes. But first, you need to complete the objectives and return alive. Now, repeat your creed."
"I am the sharpest instrument of the Shogunate," the eight men began. "I am the one upon whom the Lord Shogun relies to advance further, faster, and fight harder, both within and beyond his domain. Wherever he needs me, I shall arrive by horse, by boat, or by air. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight. My conduct, how I dress, and how I care for equipment shall set an example for others to follow. I''ll defeat the enemies by being better trained and better prepared. Surrender is not an option. Silence is preferable. Under no circumstances will I ever embarrass the Shogunate."
"Good," Sir Harold was satisfied. "Now march back to your hideout and reflect on it. We''ll send random patrols, and if they spot your place, your group will camp further out."
Dismissed, the men began their march to their hideouts. The staff found their compliance and non-complaining attitude refreshing. They had to admit that the Lord¡¯s insistence on recruiting not the strongest, but fit men with good intellect, proved to be a wise decision. These men proved easier to teach, emotionally stable, more resilient, and capable of thinking independently to improve their skills.
"Good luck," Farkas said, his voice sympathetic. They responded with smiles and a thumbs up.
"Aren''t you being too harsh?" Francisca asked Sir Harold as they began to tally and reset the wooden targets.
Sir Harold smiled. "To tell you the truth, I''m proud of them. They''ve shown much progress in such a short time."
"Then why do we keep failing them?" Francisca asked without hesitation.
"She has a point," Farkas chimed in. "I think they''re doing fine. I counted eleven targets, each with two bolts in the torso."
Sir Harold looked at them and nodded, signaling his agreement. "The problem is the task the Lord wanted them to excel at¡ªfrankly, it''s near impossible. Imagine asking just eight or twelve people to infiltrate a town or castle, capture the leader, rescue a prisoner from a dungeon, or open the gatehouse for our advance party."
Francisca nodded, acknowledging the explanation. Yet Farkas, appearing unresolved, proposed, "If the issue is skill, why delay? Why not allow the candidates to try several more times today?"
"There¡¯s a point to this," Sir Harold replied. "Lord Lansius believes that waiting wreaks havoc on people¡¯s minds¡ªconstant waiting, the dullness, the restlessness, and the lack of sleep. That''s why he included it as part of the training."
"Can''t argue with that, but it still seems so demanding," Francisca said, tilting her head slightly.
"I''m convinced that the Lord has experience with such elite groups in his homeland, otherwise I don''t know where he got that confidence and planning. He even structured it so that the group''s official function is search and rescue," Sir Harold reassured.
"A pretty inconspicuous function for a group tasked with hostage rescue or assassination," she commented.
"Funnily enough, he often said that such objectives can be achieved through various means. That''s why he purposefully made the training complex and hard; he wanted them to win through good tactics, not just by being better, but through trying new approaches, clever deception, or even outright cheating."
"Cheat?" Farkas¡¯ tone carried a hint of amusement as he realized the possibility for the first time.
"Yes, it¡¯s also part of the training. The Lord wanted them to think outside the box," the knight explained, similarly amused.
Farkas chuckled and then one of the veterans who worked with them as support and safety officers approached. "Sir, the second batch of trainees is ready."
Sir Harold looked at the sky and said, "Yes, send them in. Let''s hope this batch also does not disappoint."
...
The training was repeated three times against three different teams and finished well before midday. Farkas wrapped his crossbows in leather before packing them in a canvas bag. Despite being prepared to shoot training bolts, he hadn''t fired them today; there was no need. No teams had sighted him, which was worrying, but he hoped it would teach them a lesson.
"Care to join us for lunch?" Francisca asked.
"Unfortunately, with the tribesmen, guildsmen, knights, and prominent figures all in Korelia, I need to be where my agents can find me quickly," Farkas replied.
"Sir Michael and Sir Omin are quite competent, are they not?" Sir Harold asked, stroking his chin.
"They are, but they''re not locals like me who know where to listen for whispers and talks on the streets," Farkas explained.
"True, one thing the Lord hates the most is surprises," the knight nodded in agreement.
Farkas was about to say something when Francisca asked first, "Is that why Lord Lansius asked me to send a letter, praising and asking Lord Beatrix for more of my kin?"
The knight looked at her, smiling. "No, he wants them as mentors. You see, most commoners in Korelia cannot read."
Francisca furrowed her brow. "I''m not sure why the Lord wants everyone to be able to read. I mean, for farmers, the common alphabet isn''t really going to help them grow crops."
"Isn''t it the same as how Kaen the Hero wanted your kin to be able to read and write, despite your ancestors feeling they had no need for it?" said Farkas.
"Indeed," but then her eyes widened. "Wait, how did you know about that?"
The acting captain of the skirmishers turned smug; he was no longer merely the innocent hunter-turned-lieutenant from Korelia, known for his tasty brown grains. His experiences with Sigmund, Dame Daniella, Sir Harold, Sir Morton, and Lord Lansius, coupled with the events at Three Hills, had transformed him into an effective agent, always listening, yet rarely seen.
"The scrolls," Francisca exclaimed. "You actually obtained and read Kaen''s dialogue scrolls."
"It is my obligation to do so," he answered humbly.
"Now, I have more respect for you."
"Am I that threatening?" Farkas quipped, hinting that he understood that respect among the half-beast culture was derived from threat assessment.
Francisca laughed and turned to Sir Harold. "This man is dangerous."
"Being dangerous is good. Perhaps, I should study the scrolls from him," Sir Harold said, unable to resist a light tease.
"No, you should ask me instead," the half breed replied heartily.
"But you didn¡¯t bring the scrolls with you on your travels," Farkas remarked ever so casually.
"H-how did you know that?" She was both flabbergasted and curious.
Farkas shrugged, eliciting a hearty laugh from Sir Harold. "But seriously," the native Korelian said in a much more serious tone, "for security reasons, I welcomed more half-breeds into Korelia."
His words surprised Francisca. "I hope you aren''t naive enough to think that all half-breeds will be loyal to Lord Lansius."
"I''ll accept that risk," Farkas stated. "Our Lord has antagonized the new House of Midlandia, likely wounding their pride or making them feel threatened. My sources believe there''s a high chance they''ll send assassins here even only to make a statement."
***
Chapter 179 : Mobile Brigades
Chapter 179
Mobile Brigades
Eastern Mansion
Lansius stood at the half-open window of his bedchamber, enjoying the night breeze. Stars dotted the sky, but he wasn''t in the mood for stargazing. He sipped kumis from a beautifully crafted wineskin. The mare''s milk wine, a gift from the nomads'' elder, was smooth yet strong, reddening his face.
The nomads'' annual visit and the horse market had just concluded. Aside from a homage of horses that Lansius would use for breeding, they also exchanged more horses, their famous silken-like pashmina cashmere wool, leather, mare''s milk wine, cheese, and sheep.
In return, Korelia exchanged grains, textiles, salt, spices, and, surprisingly, an amount of barbed wire. Instead of feeling threatened, the nomads had grown fond of it. Batu even praised it, noting that it would enable many weaker communities to defend their herds and family members from large carnivores that roamed the Great Plains.
Lansius was just glad that the invention was well received.
He exhaled deeply. It had been a busy week, during which his presence was required in various capacities as the host. From nomads to guildsmen, knights, and merchants, Lansius believed he had managed to satisfy most, if not all, although there was no easy way to find out.
One thing was certain: while the effort was time-consuming and tedious, the substantial tax profits made it all seem worthwhile. Still, he yearned for calmness¡ªa time when he could focus on building the city, experimenting with new things, or training his men.
Unconsciously, Lansius gazed at the tall yet narrow wooden tower tipped with a simple bronze antenna on a wooden pole, clinging to the mansion''s corner. After their initial contact with someone named Paulos in the Capital, they lost all contact just three days later. It turned out the Capital was under siege, and they feared the worst had happened to him.
What a tragic loss of talent...
The person was clearly talented, able to understand the basics of their color-coded Morse system with ease. It was also a shame that they couldn¡¯t learn more from him, despite being fortunate to have someone in the Capital. They had barely started smoothing out their communication methods when they lost contact.
Now, the antenna lay dormant. The last modification he made was the installation of a simple but robust lever switch, ensuring the copper cable would connect to the ground whenever the antenna was not in use. This precaution was borne out of concern for the upcoming rainy season when the tower could attract lightning. By grounding it deep in the soil, he turned the tower into a functional lightning rod.
Below, he saw guards led by Sterling patrolling the vicinity more frequently, using directed lanterns with reflective plates inside, which were brighter compared to traditional ones. He obtained them from one of Midlandia¡¯s guilds, who were all too happy to sell them. Lansius wanted a better lamp, like a carbide lamp, but he knew it was impossible to obtain calcium carbide, which didn¡¯t occur naturally. So, for now, his options were limited to the elusive and likely expensive gemstone of light, oil lamp, or the usual rushlights and candles.
Sipping his kumis again, he observed Ingrid and Francisca alternating their appearances, likely to bolster security. Ingrid was on duty until the second watch, and then Francisca took over until the first light. Seeing them take safety so seriously without being instructed warmed his heart.
It must be Farkas and Sir Harold''s doing. Which means, I''m actually important enough for them to care.
The thought made him proud. Even though he had risen to lordship, Lansius never dared to assume that he was well-loved. After all, ruling was naturally hard with powerful people having different goals and agendas. He was under no illusion that he could make everyone happy.
The thing that differentiated him from other warlords was that he simply didn''t have to make many compromises. The hand of fate forced him to face conflicts without any venue for negotiation, and he excelled in the power struggle by winning it through the strength of arms. It was tragic, bloody, and destructive, but on the other hand, it made things much easier.
Of course, simply winning and conquering was just half of the process. If Lansius merely won and ruled, then he would be nothing but another dictator¡ªa man to be toppled whenever he made a mistake.
This was the rationale behind the shogunate. Despite his victories, instead of appointing a new leader, Lansius cooperated with his former adversaries to ensure they could continue ruling. Lacking capable and trustworthy personnel, or even a functional noble house, he depended on them to maintain their power and influence over their domains. Through these former rivals, he maintained a firm grip on the combined military, populace, and resources.
At its heart, the shogunate was an institution designed to centralize power. The sankin-kotai policy of alternate residency, gathering all lords and their families in one unified city and assigning lesser kin to govern their lands, effectively minimized the risks of petty rivalries erupting among bordering domains.
Moreover, with every lord¡¯s family permanently residing in Korelia, the arrangement greatly reduced distrust among the noble houses. It even transformed their rivalry from destructive to constructive, fostering projects like buildings and artworks. By living and building together, this system ensured that each noble house had significant stakes in the shogunate, making them less likely to rebel or revert to their old ways.
In this way, Lansius expected Lowlandia to remain internally stable for the foreseeable future. So far, it had been working well. The populace seemed happy, migrations increased, trade flourished, and despite maintaining a standing army, their cash flow was positive, and they anticipated earning more from the upcoming southern trade.
Not to mention, his other domains were sending positive reports after the winter. The best of all was probably from Sigmund, who reported that South Hill was expecting a bountiful harvest. The winter seeds they had planted last fall seemed to have been blessed; the majority had survived the icy winter, boosting morale among the populace and soon stabilizing food prices in that part of the region.
Slowly, it would affect other regions, helping every Lowlandian community that had long been ravaged by frequent wars. Lansius hoped this trend would continue, enabling them to maintain well-stocked granaries in anticipation of future poor harvests.
He took another sip of kumis, savoring its yogurt-like, slightly tangy, and effervescent kick that tingled on his tongue. Feeling the cold breeze on his face, he exhaled deeply.
Ever since his travels, campaigns, and feasts with the nomads, he had developed a taste for this liquor, which, despite being derived from milk, did not contain lactose.
"What''s on your mind, love? I rarely see you drinking alone like this," Audrey asked from behind, prompting Lansius to turn around.
She had just finished preparing for sleep, wearing more comfortable Centurian clothes, a gift from a merchant who was all too eager to gain her favor. Surprisingly, to him, it somewhat resembled a kimono. "Well," he struggled to recall what he was thinking. "Just worrying about the Imperium and the future."
"The Imperium?" Audrey inched closer, a lovely floral scent emanating from her. "But you''re not even originally from this part of the world."
Lansius simply nodded, now feeling the full effect of the kumis. Suddenly, everything didn''t seem so bad. Even the fall of the Imperium wasn''t as worrying anymore. "Still, the fall is a big deal," he murmured, searching for the right words. Gazing at her, he asked, "Why aren''t you mourning the fall of the Imperium?"
She tilted her head slightly. "I guess I''m yet to feel it. It still feels surreal... the Imperium is older than even my great ancestors. Nobody thought it would collapse," she replied, taking the wineskin from him and gently guiding him to the bed.
"Also, I prefer not to get sad since I can''t even drink to drown the sorrows," she explained as she sat down.
He settled beside her on the bed, and she gently guided his head onto her lap. The close proximity made Lansius smile, especially after realizing he was so near to the baby in her womb. He leaned closer and pressed his ear against her belly, listening to the various sounds within.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"Do you hear anything?" she asked, amused.
"Maybe I should try calling him," he pondered. "Now, what would be your name, little one?"
"Try to come up with one. Something strong but unique."
Lansius pondered, but nothing suitable came to mind.
"How about someone close to you?" Audrey suggested again.
"I only knew Marc and Tanya, but I doubt naming our child after them would be a good idea..." His tone reflecting the uncertainty surrounding their fate.
Audrey nodded, understanding his hesitation. "How about a name from your homeland?"
"Lancelot? Arthur? William?" he offered a few names.
"Mm, they sound so foreign to me," Audrey remarked thoughtfully. "Perhaps someone important to you? Someone who has sacrificed for you?"
That struck a chord. Lansius instantly recalled a few names. "Max, Theo, and Sir Callahan."
"Callahan is a nice name," Audrey remarked warmly.
Lansius smiled in response. "Well, if the baby likes it, then we can call him that."
"Cecile and Claire will be pleased with that," she said excitedly. Afterward, they gently clutched hands, enjoying the moment in silence.
"Drey," Lansius said after a while, "I''m tired," his words alluding to his responsibilities.
"I know, I see you doing all sorts of things like bees in springtime."
Lansius chuckled weakly, gazing into her gentle eyes. "Any advice for this tired man?"
"How about eating plenty?" she teased, her smile radiant. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful.
"That''s so you," he teased back.
She giggled. "I heard you chopped a lot of wood."
"Oh, yeah. Just to get my mind off things."
"You know you should slow down a bit," she suggested.
"But I don''t have the luxury of time."
"That is exactly why," she said as she massaged his shoulders. "A good knight always takes care of his warhorse and won''t let her get restless the night before a battle."
Lansius chuckled, amused that she always used horse analogies. "Then how does the Baroness pacify her restless horse tonight?"
She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. "I used to kiss Horsie to calm her down."
Lansius couldn''t help but chuckle. "Someday, we''ll have peace in Arvena and then we''re going to look for Horsie."
"Really?" she asked, hopeful.
"Of course. I want to bring her to Korelia where she can eat, run, sleep, and even fart freely wherever she wants."
Audrey stifled a giggle, her face lighting up even more. "I also want to visit Bellandia," she said gently. "I want to properly meet your family, especially the little sister you''ve often talked about."
That night, the two reminisced about their roots and the hardships they had endured, vowing not to forget them, despite having become major powers in a different province.
...
The next morning, Lansius oversaw his troops marching in the new Tercio formation just outside the construction area of the eastern walls. He observed as the main body advanced northward in a compact, disciplined block, looking for signs that his men and the officers had grasped the new formation, which was unlike anything they had seen before.
At its core, the formation bristled with pikemen, supported by men-at-arms and crossbowmen. Surrounding the square-like center, four mobile brigades operated independently, each tasked with protecting the flanks and rear. This arrangement gave the cavalry the freedom to advance without exposing the main army¡¯s flanks.
Not only limited to defensive purposes, these mobile brigades could also serve as harassment troops or launch assaults when opportunities arose. Similarly comprised of pikemen and crossbow wielders, their long pikes could deter cavalry charges, while the crossbowmen delivered punishing strikes from a safe distance.
Although arrows or bolts seldom killed outright, they could be dispensed with ease and from a safe distance. In large quantities, they could draw so much blood that they might break the enemy¡¯s morale before contact, allowing the main army or cavalry to deliver the final blow.
At least that was the idea. However, there were reasons to be confident in this strategy, as they had experienced several victories featuring extensive use of crossbows. This success had bolstered everyone''s confidence in the lethality of their crossbowmen.
The four independent brigades were designed to roam freely, drilled to either counter or reinforce the main army as needed, effectively becoming their shield or sword. This strategic flexibility gave the Tercio formidable defensive capabilities compared to traditional long line or square formations.
While Sir Harold normally commanded, today Lansius had appointed Sir Michael as the commander. Sterling acted as his vice and commanded one of the mobile brigades. The staff and he wanted to assess whether the troops could also effectively follow a different leader¡¯s command.
As an observer, Lansius rode his horse slowly alongside Sir Harold, Carla, and a dozen mounted guards as an escort.
A short distance away, the Tercio formation advanced, turned, and resumed without issue. Lansius also observed how the mobile brigades behaved organically. "Good work on the training. They seem to be able to maneuver without hesitation," he praised.
"Thank you, My Lord," Sir Harold replied. "But without a real test, we wouldn¡¯t know if they can function in the heat of battle."
Lansius nodded and then turned to Carla. "Give the signal for the Baroness'' light cavalry."
"Light cavalry, My Lord." Carla took a color-coded torch from her bag and lit it, producing a thick black smoke that slowly turned into a reddish color.
"Calub¡¯s color signal is working quite well," Sir Harold commented with fascination.
Soon, from afar, tens of the Baroness'' light cavalry charged the Tercio formation, almost halting their advance. However, the mobile brigades effectively and patiently countered them, acting like a shield.
Despite the cavalry being faster and more maneuverable, the four brigades seemed able to protect the main army''s flanks, allowing the whole Tercio formation to continue their march, albeit at a slower speed. Now, the Tercio''s smaller cavalry had the upper hand and chased after the Baroness'' light cavalry.
Satisfied, Lansius turned to Sir Harold, who nodded in agreement. He then turned to Carla, "Send the Dragoons."
"Yes, My Lord." Carla took another torch from her bag, this one producing blue-colored smoke.
Before long, the ground began to shake as hundreds of dragoons took to the field. For this exercise, they used longer strings and blunt-tipped bolts.
The dragoons advanced slowly, assessing their opponent''s weaknesses before launching a rapid approach. Countering them, the Tercio formation assumed a defensive posture, offering bristling walls of pikes. The mobile brigades remained outside and deployed their pikes, each capable of fending off attacks proportional to their size.
Lansius urged his destrier to advance closer to see the action unfold. His entourage followed, flanking him, while the old and reliable bannerman carried his huge blue and bronze banner.
They witnessed the frantic, almost chaotic clash between the dragoons and the Tercio, from which they learned a great deal about the formation''s resilience and its real capabilities.
Although the dragoons were not using the new X-bow that Lansius had developed, nor were they equipped like the elite Cranequiners who used smaller cranequins, many were armed with steel-prodded crossbows. This steel construction allowed for a slimmer, lighter design compared to the traditional thick wooden prods. It was also more robust, far less susceptible to cracks or moisture issues, and required less maintenance. The smaller dimensions and streamlined shape were ideal for mounted users, making it easier to handle, aim, and store, and reducing the risk of snagging on other gear while riding.
Despite all these improvements, they still could not gain the upper hand against the new Tercio formation.
"The way they''re able to fend off the attack is impressive," Lansius said to Sir Harold, who eagerly nodded, his grin wide.
"Indeed, a simple line formation would have buckled against your Dragoons. They could easily outflank them in open plains like this," the knight replied, proudly.
Lansius, noticing Carla looked similarly enchanted, asked, "What do you think about the new formation?"
"The smaller squares are unpredictable, My Lord. Even the dragoons became cautious around them," she replied.
Lansius nodded. "Indeed, they''re smaller but can also take a lot of punishment."
"Just what kind of training have they had?" she said nervously.
Lansius smiled, glancing at Sir Harold, who answered, "The key is to equip them better. For the mobile brigade, we ditched shields in favor of ringmail or brigandine."
"Each of the mobile brigades is essentially heavy infantry," Lansius mused aloud.
Early European pikemen. Lansius thought to himself, before adding, "We need them to be extra tough. If any opponents underestimate them, they''ll pay dearly for their mistake."
Carla nodded eagerly, and Lansius'' group advanced closer to watch the spectacle from close range.
***
The day had turned to evening when Lansius returned to the Eastern Mansion with his escorts. Upon entering the armory, Margo assisted him with removing his brigandine and changing his clothes. He also took the time to refresh himself with water from a bronze basin before heading to the upper level to wind down.
As he climbed the stairs, the guards readily saluted and opened the door for him and Margo. Lansius then spotted Audrey. "Ah, you''re back," she greeted him with a gentle smile, still wearing her kimono.
"That outfit really suits you," Lansius praised with a smile.
Perhaps because she hadn''t expected the compliment, Audrey simply blushed.
Lansius approached and leaned toward her, observing the redness on her cheeks. "Are you getting flustered?" he asked with a teasing smile.
She gave him a playful look, one reserved just for him. "Husband, don''t ruin the moment with your sarcasm."
"Yeah, I know better than to push my luck," Lansius grinned and kissed her gently on the forehead.
Audrey was clearly happy, but as usual, a smug expression appeared on her face, almost like a defensive mechanism. However, the expression, which Lansius found rather cute, was reserved only for him. Everyone else only received the scary-lady look.
As Lansius took a drink off the table, Audrey said, "You know, the staff won''t let me do much outside of the mansion, so I thought, why not wear something comfortable since I''m not going anywhere?"
"I have no issue with the Centurian dress, especially if you''re comfortable in it," he remarked as he sat down on the soft couch. "I think you can even use it for archery training."
"Indeed, I just need to tuck the sleeve with a thick sash. That way, the long sleeve becomes manageable," she replied, her voice filled with excitement.
Lansius nodded in understanding. "Just be careful with the training. I don¡¯t want you to get hurt."
"I¡¯ll certainly be careful," she assured him, without a speck of doubt. "Oh, Margo told me that the artisan has finished your order for a large bronze bowl."
"A large bronze bowl...?" Lansius pondered before realizing, "Ah, they''ve finished the bronze dish!"
"What are you going to do with such a deep bowl? Deep fry a duck?" she wondered.
Lansius laughed as he rose. "Though deep-fried does sound rather tasty, I need it for another purpose," he said, his previously tired eyes now shimmering with hope.
***
Chapter 180 : Interregnum
Chapter 180
Interregnum
Eastern Mansion
High-quality candles in the ornate chandelier generously lit the cream-plastered walls of the great chamber, their brilliant light stark against the darkening evening sky. Today, unlike usual, the mansion was devoid of the usual bustle of staff preparing for supper. Lansius had granted them a well-deserved break after a week filled with extra work to cater to the guests who attended the nomads'' annual event.
He went further and chose to dine privately for a week to allow more kitchen staff to return home. Nevertheless, the castle''s great hall remained open to cater to his retinue and other staff, with Calub and Cecile acting as hosts. Similarly, Sir Michael took charge in the Great Keep, accommodating the growing ranks of Korelia¡¯s officers, recruits, and active military members.
Lansius readily helped Audrey on the wooden stairs, with Carla also ready to assist, but Audrey was as nimble as ever. Her pregnancy didn''t seem to encumber her at all. The three of them entered the great chamber. Still feeling the effects of the kumis he had indulged in, Lansius experienced a warm burn lingering in his throat as his gaze landed on a newly arrived object placed on a wooden pedestal, ready for his inspection tomorrow.
"My Lord, My Lady," greeted one of the staff and a guardsman on duty.
"At ease, we''re just checking the delivered item," Lansius said as he headed toward the bronze dish. Shaped like a deep bowl, it stood proudly on a pedestal, its smooth curving surface gleaming under the candlelight. Though solid, it wasn''t heavy. He lifted it to marvel at the craftsmanship, noting it was slightly larger than a Greek aspis shield, famously worn by the Spartans.
At his side, Audrey and Carla waited attentively, their eyes bright with curiosity over the object.
"Ah," Lansius muttered as he checked the back where he had requested a mounting suitable for a wooden pole, and more importantly, a hole for the antenna along with the necessary fittings.
"Mm, this looks more complex than a fancy cauldron," Audrey observed. "What''s the intended use?"
Lansius'' gaze shifted from the metallic sheen of the bronze dish to his wife, adorned in a simple white kimono that draped elegantly over her form. The sight of her, so serene and lovely in her traditional Centurian attire, captivated him anew. Or perhaps it was the kumis playing tricks on his mind because she appeared much happier than usual, her smile sweeter than ever.
He shook his head slightly to clear the daze. "This is for..." he paused, realizing it was intended for the magical telegram, so he corrected, "It¡¯s for the wooden tower, just an accessory."
"Oh," Audrey exclaimed softly. From the flicker in her eyes, Lansius could tell she understood it was related to magic.
Meanwhile, Carla, the guard, and the staff looked curious, yet they maintained their silence, knowing better than to meddle in their Lord and Lady''s affairs unless asked.
"Let''s install it tomorrow," Lansius added as he placed the bronze object back on the wooden pedestal.
"Then, shall I arrange for Francisca and Ingrid to come tomorrow morning?" Audrey offered.
"Yes, please. And also some carpenters who aren''t afraid of heights," Lansius said with a smile.
...
The next morning, Lansius awoke with a slight hangover. He couldn''t remember the details of the previous night, but a big smile lingered on his face.
Something about her in that Centurian kimono...
He had never realized just how pleasing to the eyes Audrey was, perhaps because he usually saw her dressed like a shield maiden. Only now did Lansius fully appreciate his wife''s charm. Even thinking about it made his heart race. Thus, despite the hangover, he was in a good mood as he got out of bed and prepared for the day, remembering that he had summoned several people to discuss the bronze object.
As he exited the chamber, as usual, he spotted Audrey, who was always awake first, either reading or reviewing reports in the private hall adjacent to their chamber. "Morning," she greeted first.
"Morning," he replied, glad she was still wearing the white kimono and looked as sweet as last night, minus the blur of alcohol.
From around the corner, Francisca and Ingrid approached, with Margo following behind. It appeared they had been waiting for a while. "My Lord," they greeted in unison.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting; the kumis I drank last night was quite potent," Lansius admitted.
The two smiled, likely aware that their Lord wasn''t known for his tolerance to alcohol.
"The carpenters you asked for are ready and waiting in the hall."
"Excellent, let''s meet them," Lansius declared, and everyone headed to the hall. There, he explained to the carpenters what he wanted with the bronze dish: to remove the antenna from the pole and secure it in the center of the parabolic dish without severing the bronze cable wrapped in thick canvas.
After some preparation, they climbed the small wooden tower, aided by two guards on duty. Francisca decided to help and amazed everyone with her ease of climbing, moving like a large leopard ascending a tree.
In just over an hour, the bronze parabolic antenna was installed. Lansius led Audrey and Ingrid back to the upper floor hall where he switched a robust lever, connecting the new antenna to a thinner copper wire. This wire ended in a small copper clip that could be attached to a small object like an earring.
Ingrid took her seat facing the small, antique-looking desk and pulled open the drawer. Inside, she found a small, beautiful box containing Francisca''s magical earring. With the help of the mirror on the desk, she put it on her right ear, then connected the wire and the copper clip to the earring. After receiving a nod from Lansius, she closed her eyes. Without needing further instruction, she began to search for Paulos, their contact in the Capital.
"Keep looking, I''m going to make some adjustments," Lansius said as he approached the window. He leaned out and spotted the carpenters and guards waiting on the tower. "Rotate it a bit to the left," he instructed.
"To the west, My Lord?" a guardsman asked from the wooden platform above, with Francisca acting as a safety overseer from the rooftop of the adjacent mansion.
"Northwest," Lansius clarified. "But do it very, very slowly."
They complied, and Lansius returned his gaze to Ingrid. He saw Audrey approaching and asked, "Do you think the bronze bowl will help?"
"I hope so," he exhaled. "There¡¯s no guarantee, but since the bronze wire helps with the range, this parabolic shape should also work."
She licked her lips, muttering, "Sometimes I wonder how you know things like this."
"I studied a lot," Lansius said with a proud grin.
Audrey stifled a giggle, and the two of them settled into a soft bench to wait for Ingrid. They passed the time by carefully verifying the directions on the map, ensuring every detail was correct.
"It should be correct," Audrey reassured him. "I have traveled via the Capital and Elandia; they should be northwest of us."
Lansius nodded. "If Paulos is alive, then we should be hearing from him now, or tomorrow¡ª"
"My Lord," Ingrid exclaimed, turning to them with a nervous smile before scribbling frantically on her wax tablet.
"You found him?" Lansius asked, already knowing the answer.
Ingrid recited the message she saw: "Green Yellow, Blue Wood, Red Green, Red Silver.
Wood Silver, Yellow Blue.
Green Silver, Red Wood, Red Green, Wood, Blue.
Silver Silver, Yellow Blue, Red Red."
Lansius and Audrey rose and approached her. "What''s the translation for that?" Audrey asked, anticipation in her voice.
"Glad to hear you," Ingrid answered with a big sigh of relief.
Lansius chuckled while Audrey grinned, happy to know Paulos had survived. "It¡¯s funny that we don¡¯t even know what Paulos looks like, but we¡¯re happy he survived," she commented.
"Our concern for others needs no acquaintance with their features," Lansius remarked poetically, and Audrey looked at him with delight.
Lansius quickly instructed the men on the tower to secure it in that position. Francisca continued to watch over them, her kind heart not wanting even the carpenters to fall.
Afterward, they allowed Ingrid to communicate freely. Soon, Lansius discovered several interesting facts.
"So, he escaped from the Capital," Lansius muttered from his seat.
"He said he''s been reassigned to Elandia before the Capital fell," Ingrid clarified.
"Lucky him," Lansius said with a breath of relief.
"Get some information on Elandia," Audrey instructed gently. "Ask without arousing suspicion: With whom does he travel, and what will they try to do now that the Capital has fallen? Also, does he intend to stay in North Elandia, or will he try to seek refuge in South Elandia?"
Lansius understood her intention. South Elandia was now under Lord Bengrieve, and with the new Lord Reginald of Midlandia openly threatening Korelia, there was no other way for him but to stay loyal to his benefactor, at least externally.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
A hundred allies are too few, one enemy is too many.
***
Two days after they reestablished contact, Lansius had learned a great deal about the grim situation near the Capital. From Ingrid''s exchanges, he captured Paulos'' grief and desperation. In general, North Elandia was in no shape to act, even in the face of the Imperium''s demise. There was no rallying, no movement to retake or secure the capital.
Instead, the local powers feared and expected the return of Gottfried''s army. Worse, everyone seemingly suspected that other nobles had established backdoor channels to the new king.
"The only figure they could rely on was the old Duke Louis," Sir Omin explained as Lansius gathered a few for a meeting in the Eastern Mansion. The former Lord of Korimor was more knowledgeable and intimate with the delicate nature of Imperium politics.
Sir Omin continued, "However, despite being in his early fifties, he is not blessed with good health. Moreover, unlike his counterpart, Duke Alvaro of Centuria, who is diplomatically shrewd and decisive, Duke Louis is stoic and pessimistic."
"I heard the old Duke is generally not well-liked," Farkas commented without any reservation, despite the former lord''s presence.
"Indeed," Sir Omin did not raise his brow but merely nodded in agreement. "The old Duke''s untrusting nature led to inefficiency and political stagnation in the High Lord''s Court. Those contributed greatly to the rise of the Sages in the Capital."
From their interaction, he could see that the two got along. He glanced at the last person, Sir Harold, who stood comfortably in silence. Without asking anyone in particular, Lansius asked, "So, what is the old Duke likely to do now in this situation?"
"Unfortunately, from what I know of him, he''s likely worn out or has given up completely," Sir Omin predicted. "His swan castle in Tiberia may be formidable, but he lacks allies, and without the Imperium''s support, everyone sees him as a lost cause."
Paulos and his small group of officials-turned-refugees probably thought the same thing. No wonder they decided to travel to South Elandia.
"Reports from travelers indicate that after last year''s siege and the Imperium''s doomed counterattack, the old Duke mostly stayed on his lands," Farkas reported. "He didn''t seem to send his troops or try to establish a defensive line with his allies."
"He''ll get surrounded again just like last year, and this time he has nobody to support or rescue him," Omin lamented in an irritated tone, likely disliking the powerful figure''s incompetence.
Lansius sighed softly in his seat, muttering, "So now, North Elandia and the remaining Tiberia will likely be taken by Gottfried."
"Likely so, My Lord," Sir Omin agreed.
"I think we''ve overlooked the other party involved in this," Sir Harold said, breaking his silence and drawing everyone¡¯s attention. "Lord Bengrieve is in South Elandia. With or without the Duke of Tiberia''s support, it''s unlikely for him to sit idle while Gottfried takes the rest of the province."
"That is true. However, he''s still mired by the Midlandian succession," Sir Omin replied, and Sir Harold gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
Lansius exhaled and stood to his feet, signaling that the meeting was over. "Gratitude for your counsel. Let us adjourn this meeting until we find more news from the Elandian front."
Afterward, accompanied by his small entourage of a squire and a page, Lansius deliberately chose the long way to his study, needing to distance himself from the chaos unfolding in Elandia. From the window on the second floor, he saw the two knights part ways: Sir Harold and his staff rode east, likely to meet Sir Michael at the Great Keep, while Sir Omin headed west, presumably to the Castle to meet with Calub and Cecile.
They served respectively as his arms in civil and military matters.
Meanwhile, he failed to see Farkas, who seemed to have mastered traveling undetected, likely using a different door and route, fitting for his role as the acting Captain of the Black Bandits. The traveling minstrels he funded were now everywhere, spreading across many towns and baronies, collecting news and gossip, and verifying claims before relaying their reports through their growing network.
Lansius entered his study chamber, and Sterling immediately closed the door while the rest of the entourage waited outside. He sat down and began to prepare his ink, while Sterling diligently sharpened the quill pen.
Afterward, the squire prepared a clean silver goblet and poured water for him. Although Margo still held the position of cup-bearer, Lansius had decided that others, like Sterling and Carla, could also perform this role.
"Gratitude," Lansius said as he took a parchment from his drawer. He positioned it on the writing slope set atop the table to prevent the ink from blotting.
He inhaled deeply to clear his mind and began writing a letter to Dame Daniella. With the help of Lord Avery and with Lord Jorge''s approval and support, they established another Hunter Guildsman in Three Hills. Now, their network of fast information was expanding, its reach only limited by the ability of hawks and horses to deliver messages.
Even with flying, the distance between the cities across the Great Plains was not trivial.
To Dame Daniella, he continued to answer her queries and guide her in dealing with the Moneylender Guild, now under his control. He aimed to transform it into something more significant than a mere money-lending operation.
He spent his time elaborating on his vision for the new guild, detailing policies and ideals.
Finished with that matter, Lansius continued with Sigmund''s letters. The skald had sent good reports from South Hill, now expecting a bountiful harvest from the winter seeds. However, he also reported that while the realm appeared calm on the outside, it was brewing with tension internally. He had learned of an insidious plan and was asking Lansius for his advice and approval.
Lansius wrote back, expressing his confidence in Sigmund but cautioning him not to stir a beehive. If action was required, he preferred that the accused be brought to trial in Korelia under escort. However, he acknowledged that the situation might still escalate. Ironically, such an escalation would provide the justification they needed to use force to quell it.
He paused, reluctant to suggest further actions, as he disliked being manipulative when not facing an opponent on the battlefield. He believed that ruling should have a standard of transparency and fairness, or else his peers and populace would see him as untrustworthy. And history had plenty of examples of what happened to rulers with that kind of stigma.
Leaning back in his chair, he eyed several reports still requiring his decisions. Some he had read but had yet to act upon. "Paperwork," he muttered, prompting a smile from Sterling.
"Perhaps some refreshment, My Lord?" Sterling asked considerately.
"Nah, I''d better finish this before my mind refuses to," Lansius quipped. "Besides, even without the glory, this is way better than drawing blood on the battlefield."
***
Elandia
"So, I heard you have a mother or father with different eye or hair color?" Sir Munius asked Marc as they sparred in the woods.
"They''re brown, like mine," Marc replied, swinging a broadsword at Munius, who could have easily dodged but chose to parry it instead as training for both of them.
A metallic clang and a spark occurred when their blades locked. "Keep it up," Sir Munius instructed, despite the slightly numbed feeling in his hand.
"But my sister, she''s blond," Marc said, breathlessly continuing with another wide swing.
"I see," the knight exclaimed as he parried again. He made it look easy, but it was challenging even for an experienced knight like him. "So, your parents are from the north?"
"No, we don¡¯t have any Northern ancestry," Marc replied as he unconsciously launched a murderous strike.
The knight parried the monstrous blow with all his strength, also recognizing what fueled the strike. He was slightly disappointed in Marc''s answer but not surprised. After all, the Arvenian didn''t possess the facial traits typical of Northerners, unlike his family. The truth was, that Sir Munius was a descendant of Northerners but concealed it, afraid that many would view him with suspicion or question his loyalty.
"Isn''t the idea not to overdo the swing?" Marc asked, resetting his stance.
"That''s for a common man with average power. But you, with your strength... Many will glance at your form and pose and decide you''re nothing but a trainee, then fail to counter you properly," Sir Munius reasoned.
"I see," Marc responded and launched an overhead strike.
They continued their training until Marc grew tired.
"You said I''m stronger than normal, but am I really that strong?" he asked, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
Sir Munius grinned and pulled a handy axe from his belt, offering it to him with one hand. "One way to find out," he said, nodding toward the trees around them.
Marc took the axe, his face set with determination, and chose a tree about the width of a man. It was an old tree with dark brown bark and thick branches. Touching the bark, he found it firm but dry. He then prepared his stance and channeled as much strength from the ring to his arm. Without hesitation, he launched his strike, which cleaved deep and shook the tree as if a bear had pummeled it.
The display of strength surprised even Marc himself, his eyes widening in disbelief. Unfortunately, it also dislodged old, dying branches, along with ants cascading over his head.
Sir Munius laughed as Marc took several frantic steps back while desperately trying to remove leaves and reddish-colored ants from his hair and clothes. That moment of silliness marked the end of their training, and they headed back to their main group.
There, a situation had unfolded. Faces had become grim, the mood heavy. They saw Lady Sagaria sitting on a tree stump, conversing with a group of strangers who were likely fellow travelers but strangely wore fine clothes underneath their traveling cloaks.
Sir Munius approached their commander and asked, "What happened?"
Sir Bald Eagle turned to him and explained, "We just received word that the Capital has fallen."
"No way," Marc exclaimed, while Sir Munius displayed only a look of displeasure and bitterness. "Who conquered it? Gottfried?" he asked.
"No," the commander responded firmly. "It was a common men''s rebellion from the west that also burned the palace to the ground."
The knight sighed, allowing Sir Bald Eagle to continue. "Best prepare your gear. I think we''re going to march faster."
"Why? Is someone threatening us?" Sir Munius asked, his eyes sharp.
"No, we have a new destination," Sir Bald Eagle replied.
Sir Munius frowned. "New? What happened to crossing into Midlandia?"
"Things have changed," the old man said with a weary sigh. "We¡¯re better off staying deeper in Elandia for now."
***
Lord Avery Dawn
It was a cloudy afternoon, and it looked like the rainy season had arrived in Dawn Barony. Inside the formidable-looking castle, Avery enjoyed a merry lunch with Ella, his favorite granddaughter. Despite her young age and slight build, the thirteen-year-old had a healthy appetite, much like his own.
Her health and appetite pleased him. Born with peculiar red hair, she was active, enjoying activities like riding, sword fencing, and she was quite adept with knives¡ªnot just kitchen knives but also a full-sized hunting knife. Ella had helped him in skinning and preparing game during the hunting season.
Their lunch consisted of roast chicken, skewered meat, and stir-fried vegetables, accompanied by white rice, as was customary in their land. As they ate, the chubby, friendly-looking Chamberlain, who was waiting in the chamber reading a book, received a missive from a newly arrived squire. He listened to the whispered report and nodded accordingly.
Avery took little interest and enjoyed his meal, aware that his duties often required him to be away for days outside the castle.
"My Lord, a hawk from Korelia has arrived," the chamberlain reported to Avery, without any sense of urgency.
Avery merely said, "Treat the bird well. They''ve earned some respite after all those flights."
The chamberlain bowed his head slightly. It was well known that the messenger hawks needed to regain their fat before their next flight.
Soon, Avery concluded his meal with a glass of clear rice wine, savoring its sweet taste and fragrance. "So, what''s the message? Is it as grim as the last one?" he asked, prompting Ella to listen attentively.
"I doubt anything could be as bad as the last one," the chamberlain replied, referring to the news of the fall of the Capital and the Imperium. For two weeks, they had been receiving reports of the Capital''s fall, including its unbelievable details from several of their allies.
"Our newest ally is ready to send another 100 warhorses," the chamberlain reported.
"That''s pleasing to hear," Avery said, smiling as he sipped his rice wine.
"He also suggested trading twenty more warhorses for as much fuel as he could get. He wrote that he''s building fuel reserves."
"Fuel reserves? So he actually likes the airship," Avery chuckled, prompting his granddaughter to smile.
"Perhaps you should entice him with our newest build?" she remarked wittily.
"That is a good suggestion," Avery replied, stroking his chin. Then, turning to the Chamberlain again, he said, "Twenty more horses for fuel. Not a bad deal. Let''s give him what he wants, plus a transport fee."
The Chamberlain nodded and motioned for their scribe to write it down for the upcoming caravan.
"How''s the report from the border?" Avery asked in a much more somber tone.
"Still the same, My Lord. Our men engaged another raiders'' attempt last night."
Avery sighed deeply.
"There might also be a problem on the water crossing to Three Hills," the Chamberlain added cautiously.
"What about it?" Avery pressed.
"After a more thorough examination, I believe we''re facing a piracy threat. The Corinthians, despite mostly being fishermen, are still Lowlandians by nature."
Old Avery rubbed his forehead but maintained his smile, so Ella wouldn''t worry. He then muttered, "With the caravan already on the move from the west and piracy on the east, we can''t afford any more risks."
"My Lord?" the Chamberlain asked, slightly nervous.
"I fear we''ve been too lenient with our actions," Avery declared firmly without raising his voice. "If these Sarmatians and Centurians can''t get along with the Nicopolans locals and us, then there''s no point in waiting. I''ll have them accompany the Imperium in its demise."
Ella seemed to grasp the meaning, but her gaze remained unflinching.
Avery turned his gaze toward the chamberlain and said grimly, "It''s the birth of a new era. Old problems should die with the old regime. If they''re not with us, then they belong to the past."
***
Chapter 181 : Chiroptera
Chapter 181
Chiroptera
Nicopola, Dawn Barony''s Border
Tattered tents flapped in the cold night wind, their shadows flickering over the barren, trampled ground. The only lights in this sad encampment, scattered around a ruined village, emanated from several dwindling campfires. Next to these fires sat empty cauldrons, alongside pottery that once stored grains. Like all other food supplies there, they had been depleted long before the onset of last winter.
It was a miracle that many who wintered here survived the cold season with barely anything to eat but boiled wild plants. Their only sustenance came a few times a week from their mercenary overlords, who brought thick soup with meat. Nobody dared ask what kind of meat it was. They ate gratefully; it was better than the gruel made from ground tree bark mixed with wild plants.
As the cold season gave way, the conflict stirred anew. Thousands who had taken refuge along the river longed to return to their lands to restart farming. However, many among them, particularly the more militant mercenary groups, resisted these movements. They were driven by ambitions to conquer Dawn Barony, which they saw as a crucial haven needed to survive the ongoing turmoil.
Their resolve was further steeled by the belief that the Lord¡¯s granary was filled with rice¡ªrumored to be both fulfilling and superior to most grains. Many were also buoyed by the success of last year''s raids into the outskirts of Dawn, which emboldened them to push deeper into the territory.
As the night wind blew again, whistling through the flames, its eerie sound was the only noise disturbing the silence that stretched for miles. The men were too weak to even snore, and no crows, owls, or crickets could be heard¡ªeverything alive had already been hunted down.
"Is it raining?" an old man muttered in their tent, wrapping his bony figure in old but thick fur coats his son had stolen from a manor last year.
"Indeed, the wind brings the scent of rain, but it has been like this since last week," replied his son gently, once a stout farmer, now reduced to thinness and weakness. He knew his father hoped to catch some frogs when the first rain came.
His father nodded weakly and returned to his sleep.
The son looked at his father¡¯s graying hair and wrinkles and felt a pang of sadness. His father was the only family he had left; the other family members had died in clashes between the migrants and the Nicopolans.
Families like his had left Centuria and Sarmatia to avoid wars with the western nomads, but after a few years, they ended up in a similarly dire situation. There were simply too many mouths to feed and too little harvest. Once hunger struck, people attacked communities like theirs, ironically, even those that grew food for every community regardless of their origin.
Meanwhile, the nobles merely watched from afar. Despite owning the best fertile lands, they chose to grow grapes for wine instead of grains. After years of greed and ignorance, the once illustrious Nicopola province was eventually engulfed in bloody conflicts.
His father opened his eyes again and gazed at his son with a smile. "Son, you must abandon me¡ª"
"I can''t leave you, Father," he replied without hesitation.
"Go and slip through the night; go to the Dawns. As much as they hate us, they need strong men to rebuild and grow their rice paddies," the father repeated what he had said for several days.
A lone tear fell from the son''s eyes.
"I''ll be alright," he reassured him with a fragile smile. "I''m old and don''t need to eat as much. The neighbors will light the campfire, and that¡¯s enough for company. I''ll just sleep peacefully under this nice fur coat you gave me."
The son leaned over to moisten his father''s dry lips with a damp cloth. "We''ll escape together. I just need some of my strength back. It''ll be soon. We can''t give up now."
The father gave a bright smile and stared at the stars outside their tent. "We''re such bad people," he suddenly muttered.
"Why do you say that?" the son asked, worried.
"We fled our home because the western nomads invaded us, but at the same time, we''ve also invaded other people''s lands," he explained bitterly and with regret.
The son had no reply and the father continued in his weak voice, "I¡¯ve heard a lot about the Lord of Dawn. I feel that our mercenary overlord is throwing sticks at a sleeping lion."
He paused, struggling for breath, then continued, "I fear that one day, this sleeping lion will grow tired of being provoked and will strike back. When that happens, everyone will die."
The son sighed, staring at the dry ground of their tent. He had been involved in several skirmishes and knew that Dawn''s forces were merely defending their land and had mostly restrained themselves. He was aware they were capable and well-trained.
Turning back to his father, he said, "Try to get some sleep, father. I''ll heed your advice. We''ll leave at the first light. I''ve secretly saved some coins from last year''s raid. That should be enough to bribe the guards to let us pass."
...
The sun had risen on a beautiful spring morning, with dew glistening on the grass. The son carried his father on his back using a makeshift carry-cloth, crafted from coarse hemp and lined with whatever fabrics he could gather. He had spent the winter working on it, stitching with the only tools available¡ªa net-making needle he had found. The finished carry-cloth was crude but durable. Nevertheless, the coarse rope gnawed at his thin shoulders, biting deep and leaving marks that reddened and bruised.
"Son, am I heavy?" his father often asked from behind.
"No, father. You''ve grown light," the son jovially replied each time to appease the old man.
"Oh, look a bee," the old man pointed out happily, taking pleasure from simple observation like a child.
They kept on going uphill as their camp was situated low on a small river bend. The land, having awoken from being snow-covered, was fresh. As farmers, they could even smell its fertility just by walking near it.
"You must be tired. I think we can take a rest; we are already far from the village," his father suggested.
The son turned towards the village, trying to make an estimation, and spoke, "Just a little bit more. The guards said not to be seen by anyone, especially the patrol."
"How many coins did you lose to the guards?"
"All of it," The son sheepishly replied. "The guard who I befriended, I misjudged him. He called his friends and stripped me clean."
The father chuckled to the point of coughing. "Pay no heed to it," he reassured the son. "That was blood money. May the curse of its owner pass from us."
The son snorted, amused, adjusted the thick coarse rope, and continued on their hike.
"What a waste," his father lamented as they reached higher ground. "The village we were in is fertile, with good rivers. I saw it when we arrived¡ªthe soil is dark and rich, filled with worms and insects, and there were bees everywhere, good for orchards."
"Indeed, Nicopola province is rich. Too bad its people are not much of farmers and chose to be warlike."
"History plays a role," his father explained wisely. "The whole province was taken from the beastmen, and the land was given to nobles who fought, their champions, and troops. Thus, it has been militaristic since birth."
The son smiled. "It seems fresh air makes you better."
The father chuckled and admitted, "The sun and the scenic hills jolt the mind."
"Mom always said that you¡¯re not always a farmer."
"Bless her," the father remarked, and then added cheerfully, "Indeed, I am educated and did many things in my youth."
"How come you never told me what you did in your youth?"
"It was a time long gone," his father reminisced. "I was the smartest in my village and was sent to the Imperium Examination."
"Imperium Examination?" the son never heard of it.
"Back then, there was a way to become an official. You just needed to be smart and pass the test. Although I was the smartest in my village, I was just average compared to the brightest in the province," he said without any tone of regret.
"So, I moved to a neighboring town and tried to make money with the money entrusted to me," his father continued. "I tried to start a textile workshop, but a trusted worker embezzled the funds. I attempted to raise cows, but they succumbed to sickness. Sheep too, but they were seized as taxes." At this, his father chuckled at his misfortune, a sound that prompted the son to join in the laughter.
"Is that why you never allowed me to raise animals?"
"Yes, they become a burden. The old laws must be repealed. Owning them hardly makes anyone wealthy, and the taxes¡ªwell, they''re simply ridiculous."
His son chuckled. "You''d make a fine civil officer, father. You know the common men''s hardship better than anyone."
Hearing the praise, the father''s face brightened. "I''m too old and fragile. The Imperium does not need me¡ª"Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
The distant thunder of hooves suddenly drew near, jolting the son and his father from their wearied march. In sheer panic, the son gazed left and right for refuge and spotted a slope thick with shrubs. He rushed toward it, keeping going despite the underbrush scratching at their clothes as they descended. He halted as the path below became treacherous and slippery.
"Lower me down," his father said, his voice competing with the hoof beats that pounded in their ears, "and drink your water."
Obediently, the son set his father down among the shrubs for cover. He then took a swift gulp, the cool liquid quenching the dryness in his throat. As the clamor intensified, his father gripped his arm, urging, "Leave me."
He turned sharply, staring at his father, who eventually relented with a slight nod.
The ground seemed to vibrate beneath them as the horses drew closer. The beasts'' neighs pierced the air. The two crouched lower as the riders thundered by. They saw a dozen riders in light armor, unmarked by any banner.
"Advanced party," the father whispered nervously.
His son said nothing, overwhelmed by the cavalry''s presence. Although a dozen had passed, the relentless sound of hooves indicated that a larger force was still behind them, the noise swelling into a relentless tide.
"They''re not ours," the father whispered again, hoarsely. "They''re the Dawns."
"Damn right we are," came a clear, authoritative voice from above, sending shivers cascading down their spines.
"Son!" the father half-screamed.
"Hold on, father, I''ll¡ª"
"Don''t do anything stupid," a second voice, feminine and surprisingly soothing, cut through the tension. "We''re not going to harm you," she added.
The son froze, the voice halting any rash decision he almost made. They remained motionless, chest-deep in the shrubs, but curiosity prevailed as they looked up to find the source of the voice. Above them stood an angelic figure, her presence as commanding as it was serene.
"Come, it''s dangerous to remain there. My name is Petra, I''m the Lord of Dawn''s physician, and I can guarantee your safety unless you''re a criminal."
"No, we''re just farmers escaping from the mercenaries'' clutches. We wanted nothing but to work on a field," the son replied earnestly.
"Please, accept him. My son is a good man. He worked hard and doesn''t indulge in drink," his father added.
Petra smiled warmly at them and then turned to her squire and guard escort. "Take care of them for me. We could use some help since the little miss''s tortoise keeper passed away a few days ago, or they might assist in my garden."
"But my lady," the young squire, who had found the two, interjected with a frown, "didn''t you notice their accent? They''re Centurians."
"And I''m Midlandian," Petra retorted firmly, standing her ground.
"Your squire is simply being protective, my lady. Please excuse him," the older guardsman interjected with a reassuring smile.
"Uncle!" the young squire protested, which prompted a light giggle from Petra.
"Do you trust us?" the son asked as he helped his father closer to the woman.
"As a physician, I''ve also become quite adept at sensing lies," Petra explained with a knowing look.
The father looking at this opportunity dared to ask, "My lady, please forgive my questioning, but why is the Lord''s physician here, along with the¡ª"
Before he could finish, the lookout''s voice drew everyone''s attention as he pointed towards the village near the river bend. "Lord Avery has begun."
All eyes turned toward the general location, and they saw growing spots of smoke. Initially small, the smoke soon billowed into a massive fire with thick, black clouds.
"What just happened?" his father asked, bewildered.
The son could only shake his head. As if by premonition, his father''s words rang true: The sleeping lion had awakened.
***
Lord Avery
Riding the airship with Angelo at the helm, Avery continued to observe the landscape through the latest optical sight mounted on the middle part of his new airship. This magnificent craft, the largest they had built, was the culmination of a lifelong project and had taken six years to produce. It had almost depleted his coffers at various points since its inception. So grand was this airship that hiding it was no longer feasible.
Along with two other airships, they formed a fleet that rained destruction down on the enemy encampment along the river marking the border of their barony. Now, the land beneath them was a fiery inferno, shrouded in dense, billowing smoke that soared skyward.
"Approaching the next target," Angelo reported. Having mapped them so often, he knew precisely where the most strategic targets lay.
"Found it. It¡¯s a big fort," Avery remarked, surprised.
"Make ready," Angelo instructed the crew of four, who began their preparations once more.
Beside him, Angelo¡¯s assistant peered through the Ekionia Optics slung around his neck. He spotted the silhouette of a man below. Using the delicate adjuster on the side, he bracketed the target¡¯s height in the glass and, based on the magnification number, determined their altitude.
"Speed?" Avery asked.
A crew member at the rear released a small canvas kite, attached to a rope marked with evenly spaced knots. As the kite caught the wind, it pulled on the rope. He observed the number of knots that extended beyond the reel as the kite stabilized in the strong breeze.
Another crew member who operated a sand hourglass tapped his colleague, who then announced, "Five knots."
"Elevation?" Avery asked again as he made adjustments to his complicated-looking bronze sight.
"242 standard height," Angelo''s assistant replied, having made his calculations.
Avery made the last adjustment to the sight, his hands steady despite the tension. He then called out, "Angelo."
"Yes, My Lord," came the immediate response.
"Easy right," Avery commanded.
"Easy right," Angelo echoed, his hands deftly adjusting the rudder.
"Steady, steady," Avery continued, his tone low but urgent as they approached the critical moment. Abruptly, he ordered, "Stop."
"Stop," Angelo confirmed, his hand put the rudder into neutral.
"We''re in line," Avery remarked, still peering through the sight.
"Prepare your torches," Angelo instructed, his voice cutting through the brisk air. The crew members stationed along the left and right sides sprang into action on their lightwood-made platforms, which cradled forty-two amphora-like clay objects in seven elongated rows on each side. A third of their number had already been used in the fiery assault. This vast array was why the airship needed to be so large.
Avery had conceived this behemoth with a grim functionality in mind: to raze a city to the ground if necessary.
"Steady, almost there," Avery murmured, his gaze fixed on the sight, calculating the perfect moment for release.
"Light them up," Angelo commanded crisply. The crew members swiftly ignited the oily fabric wicks protruding from the clay vessels, which began to sputter and blaze against the wind.
"Now, release a full spread," Avery commanded, pivoting away from his optical sight to view the scene directly.
Without needing further prompting, the crew on both sides sliced through the ropes with their razor-sharp knives. One by one, fourteen flaming clay vessels arched through the sky, tracing fiery paths toward their target. At the rear, another crew member signaled the trailing airship, coordinating their attack.
Simultaneously, the other two airships in their formation began their own deadly release, saturating the skies with burning projectiles.
The seemingly non-threatening earthen objects fell freely into the wooden fort below, much to the shock of the fort''s occupants who could only run or duck for cover. As they struck roofs and empty grounds, the clay vessels did not explode but shattered, releasing their sticky contents, which ignited. The fires grew quickly, fueled by the wind and surrounding materials.
"Right on the mark¡ªwe hit fast and caught them off guard," Avery praised, and the crew was thrilled by their precision while the horror unfolded below.
A metallic clamor filled the fort, alerting everyone to the impending attack. However, before long, several of the dozens of fiery spots had become uncontrollable. Attempts to douse the flames with water only made them worse.
High in the sky, Angelo made a wide turn to allow them to observe the damage. Avery saw the fire spreading everywhere, now the fort was almost completely enveloped in thick black smoke.
That day, everyone who witnessed the event realized, a new age had begun. What had previously required thousands of bowmen or tens of siege engines, firing thousands of specially-made, expensive fire arrows to burn a wooden fort at the height of summer, was now accomplished in mere minutes with just a dozen or so clay amphorae.
While observing the damage dealt to the fort, Angelo skillfully steered them away from the thick plumes of smoke billowing high into the sky. Despite his efforts, the sharp acrid scent of burning wood and scorched earth reached the crew.
"Large groups are escaping to the river," the assistant reported, his eyes still glued to the binoculars.
"Ignore them if they''re on foot," Avery commanded, now returning to his large optical sight.
"I see them," Angelo reported. A mage like him didn''t need optics at this range. "Should we chase?" he asked, with a hint of doubt, knowing that attacking a moving target was a tall order even with the dedicated tools they had.
"Chase them," Avery commanded coldly, and Angelo began to change the angle, warning the crew, "Sit and strap yourselves in."
An airship can''t normally chase horses, so he entered a dive. Avery and the crew held tight despite their straps. The baron''s lips flashed with a grin as the airship plunged downward, like a canoe falling over a waterfall. "Prepare the main muzzle," he instructed coldly.
The two bomb crew members exchanged glances before furiously working on a pump beneath their seats connected to a large cylinder beneath them. Their muscles strained with each stroke as the resistance built up. Each pump of the handle became harder and harder, building pressure until finally, they couldn''t pump any further. "My Lord, it''s ready," they reported breathlessly.
"Angelo, your call," Avery shouted over the wind noise.
"Speed," Angelo asked.
"Twenty-eight knots," shouted the crew at the back as the wind rushed toward them.
Angelo gave maximum fuel to the furnace to prepare the airship for recovery. "On my mark," he said as the airship shuddered from the speed and loss of altitude.
Everyone held their breath. They had trained for this, but nothing had prepared them for the real thing.
Angelo maneuvered as close to the target as possible, relying not on calculations but on crude instruments and his instinct. "Release!" he finally declared.
Behind him, the bomb crew opened a lever before frantically pumping again, as hard and fast as they could, as their lives depended on it. At the front of the gondola, an iron decoration shaped like an angry bat biting a red smoldering coal suddenly came alive. From its mouth, sticky fluids sprayed forward, showering a large area and setting everything ablaze.
This was why the front part of the gondola was iron plated, making it resemble a bat spreading its wings. Despite the speed and the wind, the heat rising from below was overwhelming, even for Avery and the crew, who could feel it on their faces and smell it in their nostrils as they delivered punishment upon the invaders.
...
The nearly two hundred strong mercenary riders dispersed as the gargantuan object bore down on them, but they couldn''t escape the rain of sticky fluid that covered a large swath of the area around them. Suddenly, everything reeked of a strong, sharp scent they had never encountered before, and then, in horror, they watched as the blazing fire raced toward them.
"Noo!" one shrieked as the flames descended on them like wrath from the sky.
Their pain was only matched by that of their poor horses, the only innocent creatures in this ordeal, who could only run faster, galloping wildly, until they all fell. Many were crushed to death in this manner or were dragged as the beasts ran toward the river.
"It''s the Ancients, they''ve come to punish us!" one screamed as his body was engulfed in flames.
"Why me? Why me?" another cried as the skin on his upper face and eyes melted. "I don¡¯t eat the children and the women, only men!"
His pleas fell on deaf ears as almost everyone screamed in agony, their skin scorched by the fire. Many who had escaped the initial fire eventually fell from their horses and rolled on the grass in vain attempts to extinguish the flames. Some, desperate for relief, discarded their clothes and cut their hair, then ran toward the river.
Still, they couldn''t escape; coated in the sticky liquid, sparks of fire seemed to find and cling to them. Thus, with fire on their backs and limbs, they ran toward the river like fell beasts from folklore.
Out of almost two hundred, less than half reached the river and doused themselves. Yet, the current was strong, and many, exhausted and in pain, simply drowned. Those who survived were riddled with severe burns. Now, not even the strongest and most cruel among them could do anything but wince in pain.
Despite their denial, they knew justice had descended upon them.
They had pillaged and burned those who didn¡¯t comply with their wishes. They even cooked those who submitted to them, unwilling to share the precious grains cache with their own people.
"O Ancients, have mercy on us," one pleaded, followed by others as they eyed the three gargantuan objects in fear and awe.
Thundering hooves shook the ground and surprised them. Most had no more stamina to run. A few crawled before their hands bled and they stopped, heaving pained breaths. Some took up their blades, ready to face whatever might come.
Above them, the three gargantuan objects circled again, the largest one seemingly more buoyant after discharging a fiery rain.
From a different direction, horsemen finally arrived, followed by a large army. A great banner was hoisted high in the air¡ªblue and bronze with a grey skull at its center.
With the dissolution of the Imperium, the binds of the old oath dissolved into the winds of change. House Dawn, once restrained by an oath from expanding, now stepped into a future unshackled and sovereign. Along with the Shogunate of the Great Plains, the Southern lands had awakened.
***
Chapter 182 : Battle for Nicopola
Chapter 182
Battle for Nicopola
Nicopola
A man in plate armor, with graying hair but sharp eyes, rode in front with the cavalry, followed by a formation of troops. The banner of blue and bronze with a grey skull at the center was hoisted high, fluttering against the wind. This was Sir Servius'' new coat of arms, the Iron Skull.
With the hook that replaced his right hand, Servius motioned to his officers of the Free Legion to close up. "Bring in as many who value their lives. But don¡¯t act on false hope," he warned, his voice cold and clear. "Blood feud runs deep between us and them. If they draw their weapons, do not hesitate."
His lieutenants voiced murmurs of affirmation.
Soon, his army formed a line, and then a thousand troops began to fan out, combing a large swath of land, capturing mercenary survivors, or granting a quick death to those who were severely burned. Meanwhile, his riders rounded up groups, taking their surrender or decimating those who still wished to fight.
Servius observed the Dawn cavalry and army approaching from the west, making their presence felt, while his Free Legion came from the east. As planned, the two forces would entrap the mercenaries and their militants who could only hope to cross the river to escape, leaving behind their armor, tents, and supplies.
As the Iron Skull Legion advanced steadily, Servius was drawn to the scorched landscape and the burning wreckage of the wooden fort that blazed brightly. He had sent scouts and knew it wasn¡¯t an easy target, with tall palisades, a watchtower, and accommodations inside to house hundreds of men.
To see it reduced to burning cinders in mere minutes felt surreal. He sighed and his nose twitched from the sharp scent of burning, then turned to his aide, who quickly came to his side.
"Make sure to write about this," Servius instructed. "Then, send a fast rider to Hill Fort. From there, the nomads will bring it to Korelia."
His aide was still memorizing his instructions when a lieutenant who rode with them suddenly reported, "Sir, Lord Avery has moved on," pointing at the sky where three leviathan-looking airships flew westward.
"Aye, he has plenty of things to do," Sir Servius acknowledged. "The campaign to reclaim Nicopola begins now."
Servius spurred his horse and advanced in front of his army with a heavy escort.
...
High in the sky, Lord Avery continued westward after witnessing his army link up with Sir Servius and the Free Legion. Their joint attack and coordination were nearly flawless. Now, he only needed to wait for the two forces to meet, effectively tying a knot around the enemy''s position.
Today''s victory would liberate the Dawn Barony-Nicopola border from raider strongholds that had been plaguing his land for the past two winters.
This result was the culmination of his alliance with the Lord of Korelia, now the Shogun of the Steppes. With a guaranteed steady supply of warhorses and the allied Free Legion by his side, Lord Avery could attempt a grand plan to restore order in the vast province of Nicopola. With two dozen cities and towns, over five hundred villages, and a population from the last century¡¯s census of three million souls, only a large army could establish order without risking destruction.
While Lord Avery wanted to adhere to the tradition set by the founder of his House¡ªwho had taken an oath never to expand, to appease the August Emperor, since they were originally not native to the Imperium¡ªcurrent circumstances forced him to adapt. It had become clear to him, as he bided his time in his barony defending against raids and incursions for two winters, that in this turbulent era, the paradigm was either to rule or be conquered.
The raiders'' persistence and savagery had strengthened his personal belief that in times of crisis, one with strength and a moral compass must bring order from the ashes or be subjected to the anarchy of the mob.
"My Lord, the next target should be in sight," Angelo reported, with the wind breezing past them and the sun at their tail.
"Noted," replied Lord Avery, then turning to the crew at the rear, "Tell the other two ships to follow and conserve their loads."
"Any reason why, My Lord?" one of his bomb crew asked from their seat.
"Because I''m magnanimous by nature," he quipped, eliciting chuckles from his crew.
"Today, we make these mercenaries rethink their lives as they sleep rough in the open. We''re going to send a message they''ll never forget," Avery declared.
***
Spring of 4426
In the wake of last year''s disastrous civil war, a number of mercenary warlords had seized control of the Nicopola province. The larger and more powerful among them controlled vast swaths of land. Each continued their feuds with the others, as tensions between native-born and migrant populations simmered on, albeit with lower intensity as too many had died.
However, despite the deep-seated animosity, a loose alliance had formed out of necessity. Among these alliances, one of the largest was the one that attacked Dawn. To them, Lord Avery¡¯s barony was a prime target, a potential land grab to feed their refugee army and solidify their rise to power.
Since last year, they had repeatedly tried to throw their might against him, often with disastrous results. To strengthen their position, they constructed fortified outposts, using them as staging grounds for future raids and attacks. Yet their aggression had only served to awaken a sleeping giant.
As the season entered late summer, Lord Avery led the forces of Dawn in a powerful counterattack. To those who witnessed the scale of troops and logistics involved, it was clear that this was more than just a retaliation. Despite the fall of the Imperium and the presumed death of the Ageless Emperor, the pacification of Nicopola province had begun.
With a combined force of two thousand men-at-arms, three thousand volunteer militia, and three hundred horsemen, House Dawn and the Iron Skull Legion poised themselves to bring order to the lawless province.
On their first day, they secured the area south of the river separating Dawn Barony from the southern exterior of Nicopola. In the process, they captured a fortified site at the river crossing, destroyed several large strongholds, and liberated at least seven villages.
The day ended with the deaths of over six hundred mercenaries and their accomplices, with no fewer than three thousand men and women captured.
That very night, to alleviate the captured people¡¯s fears that the mercenaries might seek revenge, a hasty court was assembled. Lord Avery and Sir Servius formed a council where every mercenary deemed responsible for provoking raids on Dawn Barony or involved in armed rebellion was dragged in, questioned, and, if found guilty, sentenced to death.
It was far from fair justice, but it was all they could manage in the face of mounting risks. Consequently, hundreds more faced their demise. There was no pit, but the river was dyed red with the blood of the greedy and ambitious.
The council only hoped that they had not condemned any innocents to death, but it was likely that several were sentenced merely by association.
The condemned''s heads were put on pikes erected along the road to the river crossing, accompanied by a wooden warning: "The Rebels Who Rob and Ate Their Kin."
It was a brutal end, but the campaign had just started. To deter further opposition, many messengers were sent under heavy escort, along with captured, burned victims, to spread the tales. The message was clear: surrender or face a similar fate.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
However, Lord Avery wasn¡¯t about to give the enemy time to think; he continued his air bombing campaign over Nicopola''s exterior, dropping one or two naphtha payloads on each raider''s or mercenary''s stronghold as a warning. Many places were reduced to burning wrecks.
Despite this clear disparity in strength, the mercenaries'' command decided to be foolhardy and escalated the situation by amassing their troops once again. In just one week, a formation of nine thousand rallied and began their march south toward the Dawn border. Thus, the flames of war were rekindled in Nicopola, burning with renewed vigor.
***
Korelia
The news of renewed conflict in Nicopola and Lord Avery¡¯s early victory swept into the great hall, filling everyone with a wave of surprise. Lansius himself bore a smile, touched by the rare joy of triumph. ¡°Finally, good news,¡± he declared to his court.
His court responded with a chorus of murmurs, their faces brightening with smiles and nods.
¡°Lord Avery continuously proves himself a capable ally,¡± Sir Harold remarked, his tone satisfied.
¡°Indeed, this is certainly auspicious,¡± Sir Michael agreed. "We should send him our congratulations and support."
Meanwhile, Sir Omin remained tight-lipped, his gaze distant, likely calculating the future implications of this victory. His silence did not escape Farkas, who discreetly observed the nuances of the room, as his training had conditioned him.
The chamber was still euphoric when Lord Robert entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. "More good news," he declared jovially, accompanied by a man not as old as him but similarly built, with a sharp jawline, tanned face, and strength in his eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the Lord of Galdia," Lord Robert announced, his voice tinged with theatrics.
"The Lord of Galdia, at your service," the man replied in good spirits, bowing slightly and allowing his brown shoulder-length hair to sway, with his hands open at his sides, like an actor concluding his performance for the day.
Lansius quickly stepped down from his seat and hurried over with a clean silver goblet filled with refreshing pale ale. "It''s an honor to meet you, Lord of Galdia," he offered the goblet to the guest, who took it graciously.
"The honor is all mine," the man replied, pleased and polite despite his warlike appearance, which included scars on his cheek and even neck. This was a man who had battled all his life, much like the storied Lowlandian warlords.
With the Lord of Galdia joining, the Shogunate''s members rose to six:
- The Lord of Korelia and South Hill
- The Lady of Korimor
- The Lord of White Lake
- The Lord of Three Hills
- The Lord of Umberland
- The Lord of Galdia
Before he was fully absorbed in welcoming the Lord of Galdia, Lansius made time to prepare something special for Lord Avery as a token of his support for the Nicopola campaign. He believed that it would be well received and might provide valuable experience in action.
The following week, Korelia buzzed with activity as Lansius summoned the shogunate members to formally accept the new member and to ratify dealings, along with arranging land for the Lord of Galdia¡¯s future estate in Korelia.
In between feasts to celebrate the allies'' victory in Nicopola and the new member of the Shogunate, Lansius and the other Lords discussed the current situation.
"First, I thank you for the news; usually, we receive news from the Capital in half a year, if at all," the Lord of Galdia began. "Mind you, we in the east also have a strained relationship with Midlandia, who seldom pass us information. We often learn things faster from Salceslia, who hears news from the Navalnia sea traders."
"That¡¯s Midlandians for you," Lord Robert snorted. "They see us as barbarians on horses."
Lord Jorge commented in jest, "I have high hopes for our Lord Shogun to improve our relations with the Midlandians. Alas..."
Everyone, including Lansius, chuckled.
"I can''t believe that Midlandia has a new Lord whose first course of action was to threaten the Lords of Lowlandia," the new member said, his expression amused, viewing the new Lord of Midlandia''s actions as foolish.
"Let''s set aside that matter for a moment," Lord Jorge interjected smoothly, steering the conversation with his charm. "How stands the situation in Galdia?"
The tone of the Lord of Three Hills was polite, even alluring, subtly coaxing the new member to reveal his inner motive. This shift caused the Lord of Galdia to turn serious. "My original intentions remain unchanged. While I believe I am still a fierce warrior, the years have not spared me. The assurances that I can secure my lands and manor, uphold the legacy of my House to be handed down to my son¡ªall while retaining a measure of authority¡ªare too valuable to disregard."
Everyone nodded, satisfied with the answer.
The Lord of Galdia continued, "Those reasons alone are enough to convince me. And then later, I learned about the fall of the Imperium." He paused gazing at the other lords. "Call me paranoid, but I think the eastern border is not going to take this quietly."
"Navalnia?" Lord Robert asked with concern.
"There are rumors that the Marquis of Edessa is not to be trusted. We don''t know where his loyalty stands. And without the Imperium, he might even bend the knee to the Eastern Crown," the Lord of Galdia replied.
Lord Jorge breathed deeply, capturing everyone''s attention as he said, "We''re lucky to have this Shogunate. Even though I doubt they''ll be interested in our grass and sheep, if they are foolish enough, like that Reginald of Midlandia, then we can show them what a united Lowlandia can do."
They all turned to the Shogun, with glimmers of hope, respect, and pride in their eyes.
"I''m a peaceful man," Lansius responded calmly. "I''m mostly interested in trade and innovation. But if they provoke us, historians for years to come will be writing about their tragic demise."
***
Nicopola Campaign
Lord Avery continued his aerial bombings behind enemy lines, while his army and the Iron Skull reinforced their gains and prepared for battle.
His persistence was rewarded. Before the two sides met in the field of battle, the populace under the mercenaries finally buckled. They became hysterical over the great bat of fire, rumored to have been summoned by Dawn to devour cities and towns. As soon as their city or neighboring town received a fire warning, many fled to the surrounding forests or villages. For the first time, the remaining mercenaries were unable to control the panicked masses.
News spread and the morale of the great mercenary army plummeted, leading to mass desertions in their ranks. Still, their command stubbornly pushed forward. They believed that once the Dawn army was defeated, the status quo would be retained.
They were further emboldened by the news that the Capital had been overtaken, signaling that no Imperium relief force was in sight. With the fall of the Imperium, many of the largest mercenary groups, which had heavily profited from the raids, believed they possessed the perfect opportunity to lay claim to the title of King of Nicopola.
With thousands of forces still loyal, they marched, ready to seize victory and make a name for themselves, oblivious and almost blinded by the lure of fleeting glory.
***
The Pride of Korimor
Ten days prior, after a long-distance flight from Korelia, the ivory airship, informally named Horsie but formally named The Pride of Korimor, returned to its original berth in Dawn Barony. It was there to be refitted as the Lord and Lady of the Steppes wished to lend their support in the ongoing Nicopolan conflict.
The airship''s arrival and the evidence of modernization surprised both its maker and designer. Initially, they were skeptical and concerned upon seeing the ship''s front area, which now appeared sharper. However, their interest grew as they noticed that many of its surfaces had been further smoothed.
More than just superficial changes, the gondola was radically enlarged and revamped, equipped with comfortable seats and new storage areas. They also noticed some cleverly designed, weight-saving small holes that were covered with canvas. Yet, that wasn''t the most surprising aspect.
What intrigued them the most was the beautifully crafted new wing with surface control, which possibly allowed it to fly more efficiently. Meanwhile, they also lowered the distance between the gondola and the balloon, making the connection rigid and seamless, as if integrated into the structure. This likely aided in maneuvering.
From the conversations they had with the pilot and crew, it was evident that these features allowed the old vessel to be fitted with a larger gondola without sacrificing buoyancy or range.
Another impressive change was how the Korelians were able to come up with simpler, yet effective controls. The combination of a stick, throttle, and foot pedals for yaw earned the Lord of the Steppes enduring respect from the maker. They studied these innovations in detail and made many notes. They began to view Lord Lansius as a fellow innovator and many wished to visit Korelia to discuss airships and flight.
In honor of Lord Lansius'' contributions to airship advancement, the Dawn airship hangar did more than just rearm and refit. They outfitted the vessel with the latest volatile oil furnace available, enabling it to have an even leaner fuel usage and the ability for a rapid, almost explosive heat when needed, or in emergencies.
As armament, the airship was equipped with a new wooden platform designed to hold two rows of four amphora-sized containers on each side, totaling sixteen payloads. As necessary, the vessel was also fitted with optics, not as advanced as those used by Lord Avery but far superior to the naked eye.
Lastly, it finally received a coating that protected and maintained its rubber silk skin, giving it a shade of black. The Pride of Korimor completed its refit just in time to participate in the campaign.
Along with three other ships under the command of Angelo, they would take to the skies at midnight. It would be a half-day flight to their destination, aiming to reach their target early in the morning.
As midnight cloaked the skies, the crew of the newly refitted airship braced for their first combat mission. However, the newly fitted payload bays lay empty; instead, they still retained their long canvas seats, as they were entrusted with a different role.
Two groups from the newly formed Search and Rescue, armed to the teeth, would attempt to retake Kapua city, one of the most heavily fortified towns on the outskirts of Nicopola. The great mercenary army had just passed, leaving the city laden with supplies. Furthermore, the city''s historical significance made it too valuable to be razed to the ground.
Previously, the only option was to set the city ablaze to disrupt the enemy''s supply lines. Now, a glimmer of hope arose¡ªa slim chance that this small group of elite fighters could infiltrate and take control of the gatehouse or the citadel, holding it long enough for reinforcements to enter the city.
Thus, the race for city of Kapua began. The fleet of four airships commenced their operation while, on the ground, Lord Avery and his elite brigades continued to traverse the forest, bypassing the great mercenary army with the mission to reach Kapua undetected.
The risks were certainly monumental, but the potential rewards were even greater. Securing Kapua intact would deal a severe blow to the enemy''s morale and could decisively tip the campaign in their favor.
***
Chapter 183 : Fight for Kapua
Chapter 183
Fight for Kapua
Nicopola Campaign
High in the sky, the troubled Nicopola province was serene beyond belief, cooled by the breeze that buoyed their ships silently across the night skies. Clad in a cashmere inner garment and a fur leather coat, Claire sat beside Sterling at the front of the cockpit, just behind the pilot. The two newlyweds had volunteered for this assignment, eager to elevate their standing within the House Lansius, viewing it as a pathway to secure rewards and rise in ranks.
During crossing the great plains, Claire and Sterling had alternated at the controls, accumulating tens of hours of experience. Sterling managed the daylight flying, while she took the nighttime shifts. Flying wasn''t easy or intuitive, but they had mastered the basics; however, a soft landing still eluded them.
For that skill, they relied on the new pilot, who now steered the airship with cold precision, maintaining formation with the other three airships bearing down on Kapua. He handled the flight with such ease and gentleness, that flying seemed second nature to him.
Claire noticed the lead ship, commanded by Angelo, signaling with his hand and pointing toward a large, fortified town on the horizon, shrouded in darkness even to his trained mage eyes.
"Descending," the new pilot informed the passenger, concisely and to the point. The Pride of Korimor began to enter a shallow dive.
Amid the growing flutter of winds as they gained speed, Sterling asked Claire, "How far are we?"
"Not far. I can already see the city''s outline emerging through the dusk," she remarked, preparing her drawing tools.
"I can see the Keep and the west gatehouse, can you?" the pilot asked without looking.
"Yes, I can," Claire replied as she began her sketch. Sterling moved the small lantern closer to illuminate the area, even though he knew his wife could see well in the dark.
Claire sketched a bird''s-eye view of the city, marking walls and pathways.
The city wall, constructed from large stone blocks, was at least three stories high to deter direct ladder assaults and thick enough to resist siege engines. It was further reinforced by towers that now shimmered with the glow of myriad lanterns, a beacon in the enveloping darkness.
She drew a close-up of the gatehouse, emphasizing its double gates and the strategic courtyard intended to disorient attackers. These were the most heavily fortified sections of the wall.
She then detailed the inner fortifications. Like other cities, Kapua had an additional layer of defense surrounding its Keep, the seat of power and the private complex reserved for the local governor and his family. The Keep served as the final point of defense should any attackers breach its gates.
As she finished, Claire turned to face the two groups of men on her left and right, dressed in inconspicuous clothing that concealed their light armor.
"From where we''re standing, this is Kapua City. It''s almost the same as the briefing we got from Dawn''s men," she praised their ally''s intelligence as they eagerly began to study the freshly drawn map under the dim lantern light.
Afterward, the men exchanged glances and nodded one by one. "It is almost the same," the captain agreed. "Then, we can proceed as planned." He glanced toward the pilot at the front. "Is there anything else to add, Sir?"
"All good from my side," the pilot replied, his voice cold but confident.
The two men looked satisfied, and their captain began to review their plan step by step over the map one last time to refresh and ensure everyone was on the same page. This rigor was part of what the Lord had drilled into them. What made them truly special was their level of preparedness, their detailed plans, and their willingness to follow those plans while still retaining the ability to adapt amidst the chaos.
As Sir Harold often reminded them, while plans seldom worked out exactly as expected, preparing for the worst significantly improved their odds of surviving unexpected problems.
Ahead, the three airships began to enter a wide circle, holding a pattern above the city.
"Angelo has signaled good luck to us," the pilot noted without turning, before adding, "We are a small glass of sand away from the city; prepare the rope."
The SAR, formally named Search and Rescue, but internally known as the Special Arms Regiment, began to prepare their rope ladder. Although they were well-trained in rappelling and had even developed specialized gear for such operations, they chose to use the emergency rope ladder provided on the ship because it was readily available.
Soon, all their training would be put to the ultimate test, as the walls of Kapua would decide the fate of Lord Lansius'' idea for a small team of elite forces.
***
Kapua
In the veiled darkness, the Pride of Korimor reduced its furnace to a minimum, shielded by a blackened metal cover. Despite its gargantuan size, its newly blackened hull absorbed light, rendering it nearly invisible as it glided silently over the fortified city of Kapua, barely making a sound against the cool winds.
Hovering over the tower closest to the west gatehouse, just as Claire had informed, they spotted the two men on sentry duty atop the open tower. One was fast asleep, his back against the parapet wall, while the other kept watch, crossbow in hand with a bronze lantern nearby.
There was nobody else in their close vicinity.
In the silence, the second man sensed something amiss. While he couldn''t see it, he felt the presence of an unknown threat; yet, he did not expect an intrusion from above.
Without wasting time, the two groups slowly lowered the rope ladder with a man secured to it. The sound alerted the second guard, who glanced left and right and was about to wake his companion when bolts simultaneously struck him in the back and shoulder¡ªfired by two from the airship. The last man on the end of the rope ladder delivered the final shot, striking just below the neck.
The guard collapsed in shock, and the team members quickly descended to silence him. Meanwhile, the first guard remained asleep, the lingering scent of wine explaining his unresponsiveness.
Under the watchful eye of their fellow on board the airship, the two swiftly secured the sleeping guard, gagging and tying him. Then, one by one, they began to rope down.
"Leave him," the captain whispered as they gathered atop the tower. "Others will interrogate him."
Soon after, the pilot and the squire descended and began interrogating the bewildered, drunken guard.
The two groups proceeded stealthily despite the growing tension in their veins. Their training proved fruitful as they maintained calm, which allowed them to carefully survey the surroundings, listening for any signs of discovery. There were none, so they quietly descended through a trap door. Fortune favored them, as the upper tower was deserted. Guided only by a flickering lantern that cast long shadows, they climbed down further.
After noticing lights downstairs and hearing steady snoring, the point man risked a peek.
"I saw four. Two on the left, one on the right, another at the far end," he reported in a whisper.
"All asleep?" the captain asked.
He nodded. The captain then whispered to the team, "Knives."
With their crossbows slung across their backs, they moved swiftly into the tower interior and neutralized the threat. Their training enabled them to deliver a quick, painless end to their victims.
Suddenly, without warning, the door leading to the battlements swung open, and a young man froze in place, his hand clutching a bronze lantern. He turned, his mouth agape, just as three bolts struck his torso, sending him tumbling to the side. His lantern clattered to the ground, rolling and ringing sharply.
"Get him," the captain ordered, as he and another team member rushed to drag the young man inside, quickly shutting the door behind them.
The noise had attracted attention. "What''s that noise?" a voice called from below. "Boy...?" it echoed again, much louder.
Turning to his team, the captain motioned for them to hide. Footsteps were heard, and then a man dressed in gaudy clothing and ringmail ascended to the chamber. From his attire, it was clear he was a mercenary, and from the expression on his face, he had noticed the smell of blood and reached for his sword.
Three bolts struck the man in quick succession; yet, he staggered but did not fall. "Intrud¡ª"
His voice was abruptly cut off as the point man lunged from the shadows, tackling the mercenary to the floor and clamping a gloved hand over his mouth. His attempts to wrestle were nullified as he was firmly pinned down, his shouts muffled. Gasping for breath, his last mumbled word, "Intru..." trailed off as he finally lost consciousness.
Everyone held their breath, listening intently for any movement. The captain, with his crossbow primed on the stone stairway, approached. Hearing nothing, he turned to the second team. "We''ll move ahead. Good hunting," he said, his nervousness barely concealed.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
His lieutenant nodded and led his team to stalk the battlements outside, allowing some time as the first team descended to the ground level and approached the Keep from below. Their goal was closer, just a short distance away through the battlements, albeit similarly risky as they would force their way to enter.
The first team reached the ground level, relieved to find it quiet. They stealthily neutralized another sleeping guard and discovered a small sleeping quarter. Deciding to secure it, they employed their special key tool to lock and break the mechanism, effectively locking the occupant inside. After seizing some drink to quench their thirst, they headed toward the keep.
This time, they had their crossbows lowered and walked at a normal pace, hoping to go unnoticed. They had memorized the route and easily located the large building complex. They noticed feeble lights emitting here and there, sleepy guards standing at their posts, and observed that the main gate was firmly shut.
"Climb?" one of the group asked.
"Let¡¯s try to find another entrance before trying that," the captain decided.
Under the cover of darkness, they explored but found the servant''s entrance also securely shut.
"Let me give it a try," a Nicopolan among them suggested suavely, handing his crossbow to a teammate. He walked toward the servant''s entrance and knocked softly several times, whispering, "It¡¯s me."
After a few attempts, an irritated voice came from inside, "Who is it?"
"I¡¯m here to take the wenches home."
"Wenches? The boss¡¯?"
"I gave my assurance that my lips are sealed," he replied with ease and confidence, almost playfully.
The door slid open, revealing an old man in a coarse gray robe, who scanned the Nicopolan with suspicion. "I don¡¯t know you."
"It¡¯s best to say you never see me," he replied with a charming smile, matching the old man¡¯s thick Nicopolan accent. And instead of forcing entry, he deftly offered three copper coins. "The competition is hard and I don¡¯t want any trouble."
The old man¡¯s demeanor briefly brightened, "I think you can spare some more," his greed apparent.
"I have such intentions, once my ladies are safely escorted out."
Without hesitation, the old man nodded and said, "Then I¡¯ll have you wait a little."
"May I come inside?" he replied softly. "I don¡¯t want the guard to see me and take my coins."
Taking another look at him, the old man in the robe sighed. "Can''t help it. Locals like us should have each other''s backs; I know just how much of bastards these out-of-province men can be." The door then swung fully open.
The Nicopolan went inside but not before motioned for his team to follow. The captain and the other two quickly approached the door, stopping only to listen, then quietly entered and closed the door behind them, securing it with a thick wooden bar.
"Break the lock," the captain whispered. They had no intention of exiting through that door.
Steeling their resolve, they fully loaded the rigid canvas-resin magazine of their X-bow with bolts, closing it with a simple spring to ensure proper feeding. With steady hands and sharp eyes, they entered the Kapua''s seat of power.
***
Kapua
An hour passed quickly for the 1st SAR group as they secured most of the Keep through stealthy eliminations and sealing off doors. Their expertise with special tool to lock and jam the locking mechanisms provided a significant advantage, allowing them to avoid clearing every chamber and confronting all of the Keep''s occupants.
The last stage of the fight escalated into hand-to-hand combat as the mercenaries became alert. The Korelian group prevailed through their superior weaponry and training, emerging nearly unscathed.
Breathing heavily with a bloodied blade in hand, the captain secured the city''s leader, a Samaritan horse breeder turned mercenary, along with one of his top lieutenants. The leader hurled curses and insults until they tied and gagged him, then locked them both in a separate chamber.
The four-man team was exhausted but their mission was a success. They had paralyzed the city''s command center and just needed to hold out until Dawn''s men could enter the city.
However, the mission was far from smooth. Before the final stage of the fight, the captain had his X-bow rendered useless; its delicate feeding mechanism jammed completely when a guard struck him from the side, forcing him to use it to block the attack until his men could assist him. He then resorted to using his dagger and a captured sword to continue the mission. Meanwhile, another team member slipped on the stone staircase, twisting an ankle but pressing on with a slight limp.
Their point man also sustained injuries when an alert guard thrust a spear that struck his forearm. Now, his comrade carefully cleaned the wound and fashioned a bandage from torn linen.
But they also received some unexpected assistance. The man in the gray robe was a local who had served the original House that perished in last year''s clashes. After some persuasion about the fate of the city, he pledged his support and began actively gathering like-minded servants.
Their greatest help came when they secured the dungeon, eliminating three guards and freeing more than twenty prisoners. Although these individuals appeared bearded, haggard, and decrepit, among them were renowned knights and famous fighters held for ransom. After a brief exchange, they eagerly offered their help, including guildsmen who had never before wielded weapons.
Time was pressing. They heard slams on the main door as suspicious mercenaries demanded entry.
"A few likely jumped down from their posts," the Nicopolan member suggested.
"Can''t we get the leader to tell them to back down?" the point man asked.
"Better not. He''ll sell us out," the old man in the robe warned.
The captain raised his brow. "He doesn''t value his life?"
"He has a crooked way of thinking. He''d rather die than give us the satisfaction of controlling him," the old man explained.
The captain swept his gaze across the hall, observing the other servants'' agreeing nods. He took a long breath, recalling what Lord Lansius had told him about the importance of sharing a common goal so his men would fight with tenacity, and decided to address them.
"Listen up," the Korelian-born captain began, gathering them around. "My order is to hold this Keep to buy time so my men can enter and liberate the city," he explained. "Things will be rough, but I want to assure you that our troops are on their way, and we also have support from the skies ready to assist us."
Everyone began to murmur in excitement, curious about the support.
"So, it is a vessel, not a monster," one of the knights murmured with unveiled excitement, while the guildsmen looked curious.
The captain gave a confident smile before continuing, "Now, I want you to look everywhere for weapons, food, water, or anything we can use to defend this place in case of a breach. We need to build barricades and secure every possible entry point that the mercenaries might use."
"Certainly, we''ll keep a record of this and will report back to our Lord. They''ll be thrilled and most likely to reward any meritorious service," the Nicopolan added, lending his charisma to get things moving.
For those in the Keep, things were going well. Little did they know of the chaos that was beginning to unfold at the west gatehouse.
...
After a bloody fight that left no fewer than twenty men dead, the 2nd group managed to secure the west gatehouse, only to discover the gate mechanism was broken. A captured servant confirmed their worst fears: the gate had been broken in the previous year''s fight, and there were no talents to fix it.
The lieutenant and his men exchanged tense glances.
"Your command?" one asked courageously, a grin on his lips but his voice betrayed his weariness.
"Let''s retake the south gatehouse," the lieutenant replied firmly, despite knowing that Kapua''s defenses were likely alerted by now.
"Embrace the suck," muttered another, echoing a phrase he had learned from his mentors, possibly even from Lord Lansius himself. He promptly checked his gear and reported, "Ready and willing."
"Korelians, follow me," the lieutenant ordered after ensuring his gear was in order, taking the point. He opened the door and quickly saw that the tower to the south gate was thoroughly manned, with crossbowmen ready to unleash their barrage.
"That''s not going to work," one commented and the lieutenant agreed.
"Lieutenant," another called from his position at the back window. "A dozen has climbed the stairs from the other tower, heading our way."
The lieutenant exhaled deeply, took out two torch-like objects, and headed toward the fireplace. He lit their ends and, once they began to burn, returned to the door. He glanced out one last time to confirm they were burning, then threw them hard toward the opposing tower.
The objects glowed increasingly brighter, bathing the area in a bright red light for several moments before fading.
The mercenaries on the opposing tower showed slight panic but eventually cheered and began to taunt them. However, the SAR 2nd group merely exchanged grins, knowing what was to come, and shut the door tight.
Within minutes a distinct sound of breaking clay confounded the defenders, as their tower had no clay roof. Another shattering sound followed, and then their tower began to glow.
"Fire, fire!" their men outside warned.
"It¡¯s the bat!" another shouted in sheer panic.
As warned, more burning amphorae rained down from Dawn''s three airships circling above. The defenders wisely deserted the tower as it was quickly engulfed in flames, which they knew would be hard to extinguish even with water.
Meanwhile, the second team, capitalizing on the fact that the mercenaries were still in panic, slipped through the base of the tower, which was somehow left unguarded, possibly because the key to the door was with one of the officers they had subdued earlier.
Through the unguarded door, they advanced toward the south gate, passing through the now-awakened city. Shouts rose everywhere, like a chaotic storm. Meanwhile, behind them, the tower continued to receive fiery bombardment, setting it ablaze.
The four-man squad rushed across the cobbled road with swift determination. Surprisingly, even when they encountered a confused group of defenders, they managed to slip by simply by pointing at the burning tower and feigning panic, shouting, "It¡¯s burning, it¡¯s burning!"
"The bat is upon us!" With just that ruse, they went undetected, which brought nervous chuckles as they picked up their pace.
After covering quite a distance, they finally reached the south gate. They encountered a lone young guard outside, who was trying to watch the burning spectacle, and quickly rushed him and brought him inside, still confused and mistakenly thinking they were merely local drunkards.
Inside, they found three men barely awake, drew their X-bow against them who showed complete horror, but before releasing the deadly projectiles, the men inside quickly raised their hands and said in trembling voices, "Don¡¯t, don¡¯t. We¡¯re not them. We¡¯re just commoners pressed into guard duty."
The lieutenant lowered his aim, noticing how thin and haggard these men looked, even the young guard who had turned pale and offered no resistance.
"He¡¯s right," another added, "Not many of them in here. This gate only leads to farms."
"Then where are they?"
"Drunk, sleeping on the upper level."
The lieutenant found it hard to believe. "The whole city is in chaos, and they¡¯re still asleep?"
"If you saw how much they drink, you wouldn¡¯t question it," another quipped, breaking the tension.
The lieutenant motioned his men to barricade the door and then quietly tied the men''s hands and legs to the chairs, telling them to keep quiet as they stealthily climbed upstairs.
***
Pride of Korimor
After knocking out the drunkard, Sterling and the pilot returned to the airship. They soon became airborne again and observed the unfolding events from a safe altitude. They saw how the fight unfolded, how the second group called for assistance, and how the tower was bombarded until it resembled a giant pyre burning brightly against the night sky.
"It¡¯s a bit overkill," Sterling commented.
The pilot merely nodded, his face always devoid of emotion, his predatory gaze fixed on the city beneath them. After a long while, however, a smile formed on his lips.
His expression did not escape Claire, who was intrigued, especially since the city was still under their control. "May I ask what''s the reason for your smile, Sir?" she dared to ask.
The pilot turned to her and pointed toward the south gate. ¡°They¡¯ve successfully breached it,¡± he explained. ¡°I am gratified that my intervention was not required, as per my orders.¡±
The young couple exchanged glances; as Korelians, they felt a swell of pride at the praise.
¡°This SAR is commendable. I am proud to be part of this,¡± the pilot added.
His words prompted Sterling to ask, ¡°What do you think of them compared to your Black Knights?¡±
The pilot¡¯s smile thinned. "Let¡¯s not dabble in possibilities. When we return, I shall petition for a friendly sparring. Then we¡¯ll know who¡¯s superior."
Sterling swallowed dryly, not realizing his comment would elicit such a serious reaction.
Seeing the tension, Claire tried to lighten the mood, "Sir, imagine if we had more airships. The Black Knights could storm into battle just like this."
"Indeed," Sir Morton declared, "I will dedicate myself to ensuring the Shogunate expands our airship fleet. The Black Knights will revel in this new kind of warfare¡ªno more dealing with distasteful sieges. We¡¯ll just land on their castles and bring the fight to their face," his voice unusually charged with emotion as his predatory gaze sharpened.
***
Chapter 184 : Supremacy
Chapter 184
Supremacy
Outside of Kapua
It was dark, cold, and wet in the leech and snake-infested swamp west of Kapua. The putrid water often rose knee-high, obscuring the ground and hiding countless hazards¡ªfrom tangled roots and treacherous muck to hidden water channels that threatened to swallow an unwary man whole. The terrain was so challenging that no one would expect anyone to pass through it at night, let alone an army.
However, this was precisely what the Lord of Dawn had planned. Five hundred of his men advanced under the veil of night, guided mostly by dim lanterns through the dense canopy.
Today marked their third day of forced march, beginning in the woodland and now concluding in the swamp. This swamp was their final obstacle before reaching Kapua, effectively positioning them at the rear of the great mercenary army heading south.
Although it was a strategic masterstroke, crossing the swamp was arduous and grueling. Despite their preparation and a half day''s rest beforehand, they still faced great difficulty. Even with reliable guides steering them clear of the most treacherous paths, every step forward met with muddy resistance. Even on drier patches, the dense underbrush was unyielding.
Yet, the worst was the pervasive dampness from the heat and humidity that soaked through their clothes, chilling their bones. Leeches greedily fed on their exposed skin in the shadowy waters, and even the air smelled rotten and heavy, making each breath laborious. Their only relief was the little activity of venomous snakes at night, though some still glided silently across the water, adding to their distress.
Despite the nightmarish conditions, their morale remained high.
"Where are the sand fleas? It doesn''t feel right without them crawling up to my cheek," one jested, prompting murmurs of agreement from his comrades.
"Fleas on your legs, mosquitoes on your hands, and the master instructor in your face¡ªthe perfect combination," another quipped, reminiscing about their training.
"Fuck that island! Fuck everything on it," another cheerfully cursed under his breath, careful not to be overheard by the staff.
Their resilience was not by chance, but the result of rigorous training and conditioning.
Unique among the forces of the Imperium, the troops of Dawn Barony, though following the same levied system, were exceptionally well-trained and equipped. By tradition, each soldier spent several months on an isolated island, accessible only by raft, where daily survival depended on enduring long physical training, coping with hunger, and hunting in dense forests and swamps. This harsh regimen broke many men, but only those who endured were deemed to have passed the rites and earned the honor to bear arms.
Thus, to them, crossing this swamp was no different than revisiting their training.
Despite their grumbling and the profanities muttered under their breath, the men secretly relished the challenge. It reminded them of the time they met their lifelong battle brothers, reinforcing their camaraderie and belief in themselves.
The second reason for their high morale was the presence of Lord Avery himself. Despite his age, the venerable leader marched on foot with his knights, using a gemstone-mounted cane whose soft glow illuminated the surroundings. Leaning slightly on a pike fashioned like a walking stick, he openly grumbled about the conditions yet moved with a steady determination that commanded respect. His confident stride made even the younger soldiers look on in admiration.
It had been an hour since they could see the silhouette of Kapua city, with lanterns on the city walls and towers glinting like bright stars in the night sky. These distant flames served as beacons in the dark, fueling their resolve to press onward.
Then, suddenly, a tower in the northern part of the city grew brighter before clearly bursting into flames.
"My Lord," the lookout in front pointed out, but Avery had already spotted it as it cast a giant plume of fire that illuminated parts of the city wall.
"Trouble?" a knight asked, quickening his pace to get a better view.
"It''s only expected," Lord Avery muttered, then turning to his staff, "Come, let us pick up the pace and join the battle."
"Men," the captain addressed the troops, "dry land and Kapua are but several stone throws away. Double the pace¡ªthe battle has already begun."
"This is it, this is the moment you''ve been trained for!" the veterans among them rallied further.
Despite their complaints of no rest time and fatigue, the men hastened their pace. As they pressed forward, the relentless muck and waterlogged terrain gradually gave way to firmer ground. The thick swamp reeds were replaced by sparse vegetation. The air, once heavy with the smell of decay and dampness, grew lighter and carried the scent of dry grass and earth.
"Marching column," the captain instructed as they reached an open ground west of the city.
Lord Avery quickly added, "Limit the lanterns and cover them adequately. I don''t want us to be spotted so easily."
The men complied to avoid looking like fireflies lining up at the city gates. They had almost resumed their march when a large shadow fell over them. As they looked up into the night sky, they saw the silhouette of a large airship, shrouded in darkness.
A rope ladder was extended, and someone descended. The Dawn''s men quickly escorted him to face Lord Avery.
"My Lord," the airship crew member greeted.
"What''s the news from Angelo? I hope we''re not too late?" Lord Avery asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Right on schedule, but the situation is evolving rapidly," the crew member reported.
"Explain," another staff member pressed.
"The infiltration group has abandoned the west gate; something must have happened there. They''ve headed toward the south gate instead."
Lord Avery exchanged glances with his knights and staff. Receiving no objections, he declared, "Then we''ll follow. We march to the south gate."
***
Sir Morton
Onboard the Pride of Korimor, the mage knight observed the unfolding situation below. He noted how the SAR 2nd group had captured the south gate without raising the alarm. Inside the city, the mercenaries were in disarray; many fled to another part of the city, likely terrified by the unnatural fire and the presence of the feared Bat. Others attempted to storm the Keep, while some regrouped near the west tower, unaware that the group had slipped past their defenses.
From afar, Morton could see Angelo steering his airship toward the newly arrived Dawn army. He reckoned it wouldn''t be long before Dawn''s men marched toward the south gate, ensuring the successful conclusion of this operation.
"To see a stone tower ablaze like a giant candle must have been terrifying," murmured a young mage trainee to her squire husband, both seated behind Morton.
The mage knight didn¡¯t turn to face them but felt a wave of sentimentality. He remembered his once rejected offer to Lord Lansius to train Claire, and if necessary, to marry her. Fate, however, had other plans, and for that, he was grateful.
Most mages didn¡¯t have families. Even if they married, it was usually nearing their retirement. The common belief was that the secrecy of their crafts prevented such ties, but the real reason lay in their conditioning. From a young age, they were trained to prioritize duty above personal needs.
This focus made them effective bodyguards¡ªloyal guardians and servants willing to sacrifice their lives for their masters.
Thus, they rarely married as it would only hinder their duties. This was also the reason why the Mage Guild usually didn''t accept older candidates, as it was harder to indoctrinate those who were more set in their ways.
However, with the shogunate''s plan ushering in an era of unprecedented safety, even the duty-bound Morton found himself feeling redundant. This was why he requested to be trained to pilot the airship, driven by both curiosity and a diminished role to play. Ironically, Lord Jorge was safer in Korelia than at his own home in Three Hills, where numerous plots against him had occurred.
Perhaps married life isn''t so bad...
He mused, recalling the numerous suitors from the affluent families of Three Hills. Yet, he had already favored a seamstress who shared similar traits with him. She was beautiful, yet reserved, preferring solitude. Coming from an esquire family with a shop in her name, she faced many suitors but was dedicated to her craft, striving to keep her family''s business thriving and rejecting all offers of marriage. However, some suitors were pushy, even rowdy, unable to accept a no.
That was when Morton first visited her shop by chance. Witnessing the altercation, his mere presence and stare were enough to disperse even the most obstinate suitors.
The woman thanked him and refused to let him pay for mending his clothes.
Afterward, under the pretext of having his training clothes mended and ensuring her safety, Morton regularly visited the shop. Although they never engaged in anything beyond casual conversation, they enjoyed their time together, and she often hummed a pleasant melody that filled the shop with a light, pleasant atmosphere.
The renewed fighting at the Keep snapped Morton back from his daydreams.
Deftly and with precision, he steered the Pride of Korimor toward the Keep. "Setting course to the Keep," he declared to Claire and Sterling.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
"Are you going to join the fight?" Sterling asked while Claire looked on, worried.
"Yes. I was instructed not to intervene, to assess the SAR¡¯s capabilities. I believe we''ve seen enough. Now, I aim to prevent unnecessary casualties," he replied. He then gradually increased the throttle, feeding more fuel to the furnace above, and simultaneously opened a vent at the rear allowing a stream of hot air to escape.
Despite the new, vastly improved furnace, he found it inadequate for his taste and chanted words that tapped into his magical source. He created a large vacuum area in front of the airship that rapidly accelerated its momentum. He had discovered that pulling the ship, like a horse-drawn carriage, was more effective and steerable than pushing it from behind. Moreover, mages had been trained from a young age to create spaces devoid of air, precise and powerful enough to kill a man from a distance.
As they advanced toward the heart of the city, the unfolding scene below revealed the Keep complex under siege, with a crowd of armed men attempting to breach the gate.
"Sir Morton, where will you land?" Claire asked, her eyes flashing with concern.
"Ideally inside the Keep, but that would take too long." He rose from his seat and turned to the couple. "Leave the Keep to me and stay airborne until the city is secured."
"Sir, what are you doing?" Sterling asked, his eyes widening as he watched the knight step onto the gondola''s side wall, his shoulder-length brown hair fluttering in the wind.
"What else?" Morton smirked and jumped without hesitation, to the horror of the two, who watched him plummet toward the Keep.
Morton summoned his magic, using an innate ability few possessed, to compress the air and cushion his fall¡ªa trick he had mastered since childhood to impress his brethren by falling unscathed from towers. He never imagined it would prove useful in combat.
As he neared the ground, Morton commanded the full strength of his magic, which slowed his descent as if he were moving through water. Strengthening his muscles, he landed directly atop the crowd with the force of a bronze statue, crushing and knocking down four people beneath him.
As Morton stood, those who had cushioned his fall groaned from broken bones.
His sudden appearance and the loss of four of their members shocked everyone.
"What happened?" people from the back row demanded, but those in the front remained silent, having witnessed the pair of predatory golden eyes that now stared back at them. "Greetings. I''m Sir Morton, a Mage Knight, Captain of the Black Knights. Surrender now, or die," he declared.
"He''s just one man!" someone shouted, attempting to rally the crowd, but he was the first to fall as Morton pounced swiftly like a beast and decapitated him with his newly acquired Midlandian curved saber. Effortlessly catching the head with his left hand, he displayed it before the crowd. "You won''t get another warning."
Dozens fled, screaming and pushing past their curious comrades. Yet, about forty with drawn swords remained.
"Suit yourselves," Morton said, tossing the bloody severed head toward them before chanting to summon his magic. Soon, everyone around him began to suffocate, coughing and panicking. Many attacked him in their desperation.
Yet, even as his magic maintained a vacuum around them, Morton moved with terrifying ease. Without his plate armor, he was nimble, parrying each blow like an iron whirlwind amidst the chaos. He skillfully baited his opponents, knowing their breath would fail within minutes.
After no more than fifty parries, no one was left standing. Those who hadn''t fled had collapsed.
Morton inspected his blade, noting the nicks and scratches but still finding it battle-worthy. Observing the men who stood at a distance, some aiming their crossbows at him, he laughed scornfully. "You lack a Sir Harold among you, and you''re certainly not the Black Lord of the Steppes."
Regaining his composure, and without asking for help from the first group inside the Keep, Morton advanced toward them like a hawk eyeing a family of mice. "Come, feeble ones, meet your doom."
***
For the defenders of Kapua, that night was marked by a series of tragedies. They lost their Keep and were cut off from their leaders. As they attempted to mount a rescue operation, the west tower was set ablaze. Many men lost their minds and ran, fearing that the rumored Bat would come to burn the city. It took tremendous effort to prevent them from opening the north gate.
Eventually, the situation stabilized somewhat, and despite the chaos, they managed to gather enough men to storm the Keep. However, at that critical moment, a mage knight appeared before them. All the fearsome tales they had heard about mage knights came into full display. Like a beast, he took down twenty of their bravest within minutes.
They pulled their crossbowmen from the walls, but even their mighty bolts proved ineffective. The situation deteriorated rapidly. Anyone foolish enough to resist met a swift end, and the best they could manage was to keep a line from a distance. As time passed, a sliver of hope remained that the mage knight might succumb to exhaustion.
But then, new trouble arose from an unexpected quarter.
"Captain," a voice called from behind, breathless. "Captain," he repeated, his eyes wild with panic.
"What is it?" The urgency was clear to all.
"W-we''ve lost the south gate, we''ve lost the south gate," the man stammered, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling under him.
"The south gate?" someone echoed in shock as worried glances were exchanged.
It was then that an unexpected proposition came. "Heard about the attack on the south gate, have you?" the mage knight asked, his body and face smeared with blood that wasn¡¯t his own. "Say, I¡¯m feeling generous tonight. How about you kneel now, and I won¡¯t kill you."
Everyone, faces slick with sweat, paused to consider, their expressions a mix of willingness and suspicion. The tension hung thick in the air. Many chose to flee, but then one man threw down his weapon. The iron clattered loudly against the cobbled stone, and soon everyone else followed suit. They threw down their blades and knelt.
"Promise us you''ll honor your word," they pleaded.
"Certainly. I, Sir Morton, guarantee your safety," the mage knight declared solemnly. "However, that does not exempt you from trial. If you''ve committed crimes, my words won''t spare you from judgment."
As this sank in, two men fled. Sir Morton, picking up a spear, assumed a throwing stance and then launched it faster than one could blink.
They all turned and watched as two of their comrades were impaled by the same spear, crashing to the ground.
"I believe you''d have a better chance at a trial. Here, I can only offer the death penalty," Sir Morton remarked, his tone blending jest with grim finality.
...
Before the first light of dawn, five hundred men poured through Kapua¡¯s south gate, securing strategic buildings and rounding up demoralized defenders who lacked leadership. Yet, this was not the end of the fight. Inside the city, they encountered resistance far fiercer than anticipated.
Hardened groups of mercenaries, determined to fight to the death, engaged in intense and brutal skirmishes. These mercenaries fought with ferocious tenacity, and their cohesion only broke when Lord Avery directed his weary men in a concerted effort, crushing the stubborn resistance with equal brutality and burning several buildings in the process.
Once they had assumed control of the city, Lord Avery''s men began a painstaking search of every nook and cranny¡ªfrom each tower and gatehouse to the Keep and its adjacent complexes¡ªto prevent sabotage or assassination. They captured over a hundred mercenaries who failed to flee, while another hundred, particularly from the eastern section, managed to escape through the east gate. However, their escape drew the ire of the Bat, which pursued them and inflicted heavy casualties.
Inside the city, Lord Avery''s first order was to calm the citizens and muster them to extinguish fires threatening to consume more buildings. He also directed his forces to confiscate weapons and armor from the mercenaries and to place them in separate locations to serve as temporary jails.
Meanwhile, the weary SAR groups completed their final task by escorting the captured mercenary leaders to the dungeons beneath the Keep. These were the very chambers where the mercenaries had once imprisoned the city¡¯s rightful inhabitants while usurping the Keep for their decadent use. Now, the wheel of fate had turned: the stone walls that once echoed with the pleas of their captives would now enclose them.
These mercenaries would answer for their crimes, but first, it was deemed fitting for them to endure the harsh reality of the dungeons they had so ruthlessly controlled.
***
In the spring of 4426, the Lord of Dawn executed a brilliant military strategy, liberating Kapua City, the largest in Nicopola¡¯s exterior. His victory deep behind enemy lines signaled the collapse of the grand mercenary army, whose supply line was decisively severed.
The nine thousand mercenaries, feeling the noose tightening, rushed to retake the city, only to be devastated from above as Dawn''s airships, hidden from sight, bombed them relentlessly, day and night. To support this state-of-the-art bombardment, Lord Avery had constructed a makeshift airship hangar and depot within Kapua. This infrastructure allowed his airships to deliver unrelenting punishment, their effectiveness limited only by speed, storage capacity, and the need for ongoing repairs due to many of their features still being experimental.
After enduring three days of relentless assault, the grand army was routed. Despite their numbers, they dared not lay siege to Kapua and retreated deeper into the interior of Nicopola. Meanwhile, the Lowlandian light cavalry, having shadowed the mercenaries from the south, seized their moment to strike. They quickly decimated thousands of the fleeing forces and captured many of their commanders.
With the grand mercenary army vanquished, order was finally restored to the exterior of Nicopola. This victory coincided with the onset of the rainy season, which gradually washed away the scars of battle.
As Lord Avery managed the city and implemented policies, the Dawn military and the Iron Skull Legion continued to clear the surrounding areas, driving remnants of the mercenaries from their strongholds. Although they could have trapped the enemy between their forces and Kapua, Sir Servius opted to provide an escape route to prevent desperate last stands.
Skirmishes continued for a time, but wiser heads among the mercenaries prevailed; many lower-ranking officers eliminated their commanders and surrendered to Dawn''s forces. Within a month, over three hundred villages and a dozen cities and towns were liberated¡ªmore than half of Nicopola. Although many places were reduced to rubble, it was already a sweet victory for the populace.
Lord Avery''s primary goal was to secure as much fertile farmland as possible to stave off famine. Even before Kapua was liberated, he had arranged for the populace to return to their fields. Thanks to this foresight, despite challenging mud from recent rains, the logistical arm of the House of Dawn successfully transported farming tools, oxen, and draft horses.
He also deployed his precious air fleet to transport seeds, ensuring that cultivation could begin in earnest. The Nicopolans accepted this with great gratitude and worked tirelessly, aware that their lives depended on this miraculous second chance.
While the populace toiled to rebuild their land, the Pride of Korimor, laden with prizes befitting its contributions, headed east after completing its recovery and rearmament. Accompanying it was another airship, acting as a supply ship, loaded with fuel and other supplies.
Claire and Sterling commanded the supply ship, while Sir Morton helmed the Pride of Korimor. Together, they set course for Korelia, planning brief stops at Three Hills and South Hill.
While many onboard hoped the Nicopola campaign would mark the end of their year¡¯s fighting, unseen troubles were already brewing.
***
Elandia
Sagarius was stunned upon hearing that the Capital had fallen to a peasant rebellion, and the Grand Imperial Palace¡ªthe last creation of the Great Progenitor¡ªhad been destroyed by fire. Despite anticipating chaos, warfare, and regime changes, she had naively never envisioned the palace¡¯s destruction.
There were so many priceless works of art stored there, valuables beyond imagination. More than just Dwarven or Elven craftsmanship, some were even handcrafted by the Ancients themselves. She couldn''t even fathom how to mourn such a loss.
Her eyes turned moist, recalling the many cherished memories of that place. She had sneaked in hundreds of times under various disguises across different generations and even served as an imperial official for years.
Now, her father¡¯s life¡¯s work, along with the bureaucracy he had built over a millennium, was gone, consumed by flames. She exhaled deeply, her fingers trembling as she remained seated on a tree stump, feeling weak.
Facing her were several Imperial officials who had escaped the Capital. They maintained contacts within the city who sometimes could spare them some news.
To compound her troubles, she had just learned that the House she intended to join, now called House Bengrieve, was at odds with the Imperium, likely having annexed South Elandia in collusion with House Gottfried. Now, all her plans were in jeopardy.
Sagarius glanced toward her followers, her gaze settling on Sir Munius and Marc. She felt the weight of fate on them.
Why has the situation become this complicated and unpredictable? What do the Ancients wish for me? Don''t tell me they want me to start a kingdom...
A cloud of worries invaded her mind. She did not desire such responsibility. The thought of governing a human kingdom frightened her. It was taxing, futile, and punishing. She had witnessed its toll on her father, and she wanted no part of it.
Humans must govern themselves. There must be someone, someplace peaceful...
She reaffirmed her beliefs adamantly, her thoughts drifting deeply. Nearly missing the gentleman official''s attempt to rise, she spoke with sudden regality, driven by a momentary lapse, ¡°Stay thyself in your seat.¡±
The unexpected authority in her tone made the official comply instantly, caught by surprise. Before anyone could question her, Sagarius continued, "You mentioned an interestingly different lord in the southern lands. Who is he? Tell me about him."
***
Chapter 185 : Dark Arts
Chapter 185
Dark Arts
Sagarius
The sun dipped low in the western horizon, its brilliant rays obscured by the rows of trees from the ancient woods. Yet, the cloudy skies still displayed a tapestry of red and golden hues. Beneath the Elandian sky lay an open encampment situated next to a burgeoning town at the crossroads. There, Sagarius resided in a simple tent, unbothered by the lack of luxuries. Unknown to anyone, she had cast a spell to block out sound¡ªnot to thwart eavesdroppers but to mute the ambient noise.
It was one of her most useful spells, as it allowed one to sleep quietly even in the middle of a deafening thunderstorm or when the summer crickets'' incessant chirping was in full swing. And it was certainly useful to preserve privacy.
"Pardon my intrusion," Sir Bald Eagle announced from outside before slipping into the tent, his hands carefully balancing two bowls. He offered one to Sagarius with a proud smile, declaring, "I have convinced the villagers to cook us some fine stew."
"Most pleasing," Sagarius accepted the bowl with polite gratitude.
He took his place on the thick carpet, directly across from her.
Midway through their meal, the old commander''s voice broke the silence. "So what are you going to do now?"
Sagarius understood the intonation and didn''t immediately answer. "Let me be frank with you," she finally said. "I no longer have a purpose. Not since I gathered increasing evidence that House Bengrieve is likely in cohort against the Imperium."
Sir Bald Eagle nodded, giving her time to reflect and collect her thoughts.
Sagarius continued, "Right now, I can only try to help you integrate with the local noble of your choice."
"Integrate," Bald Eagle repeated, tasting the word. "With ambitious warlords in disguise around us, I don¡¯t even want to think about it."
Unexpectedly, Sagarius extended her hand, grasping the old man''s coarse yet warm hand. "You don''t have to. You could have a farm and build a family."
"Maybe I can. I have enough coins and clout to do that. But for how long? A month, a year?" he asked gently, with a fatherly tone. "Eventually, the war will touch everything I hold dear. I fear that we''re in the eye of the storm yet to pass."
Sagarius didn''t argue but sipped her warm, hearty stew. She knew a succession crisis in an empire as old and vast as the Third Imperium would be disastrous. The thought almost made her reconsider her stance. However, she persisted, knowing it would only delay the inevitable.
"To integrate will only lead to us and your followers being split apart to avoid a coup, then being utilized as frontliners. With four hundred veterans, we pose a real threat to most local lords," Bald Eagle continued, his voice calm and free from pressure.
Sagarius nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Then what do you propose we do?"
Bald Eagle offered a wry smile. "I must admit, I''m ill-equipped to handle the fall of the known Imperium," he quipped.
Sagarius returned a faint smile.
"Anyone who claims they know what they''re doing right now is a dangerous liar. A succession crisis of this magnitude, with the throne and palace reduced to ashes¡ªit''s simply unbelievable," he said, exhaling deeply.
Setting down her half-eaten stew, Sagarius paused to gather her thoughts before meeting the old man''s gaze. "It seems we lack a clear path forward. I believe the military strategy dictates that if you can''t advance, you must either defend or prepare to flee."
"That is correct, My Lady," Bald Eagle affirmed. "We have only two options: defend or flee."
"And what does each option entail?"
"To flee is to continue our journey," Bald Eagle replied smoothly. His tone then shifted to one of caution, "To defend means to secure a strategic location and fortify it."
Sagarius took a soft breath and asked directly, "Do you really want to crown a daughter of a hat maker?"
Amused by her candor, he replied, "Under normal circumstances, no, I wouldn''t dare. But these are not normal times."
"Do not entertain such thoughts," she warned. "I have read about a new style of government. Perhaps it is time to explore such options."
"They''re a bit too radical for me, but I have nothing to lose."
"And what if I choose to flee?" she ventured, recalling the rumors of the new lord in Lowlandia she had only recently learned about.
"Then, we will gladly follow," Bald Eagle affirmed.
"I don''t believe you spoke for everyone," Sagarius voiced her doubt. "I can only hope they''ll find a just noble to serve and continue their lives."
"The men who followed you have lost more than everything. They''re... adrift," Sir Bald Eagle struggled to find the right words. "After their miraculous recovery and victory, they found no other purpose but to follow you. I believe, in doing so, they discovered a reason to live or at least a debt to repay."
"That is unwise," Sagarius chided. "They received a second chance and chose to squander it by following a nobody."
"Did they really?" the knight commander countered rhetorically.
Sagarius took her waterskin, poured water into a wooden cup, and offered it to the old man, who accepted it graciously. After he finished it, she ventured, "If I choose to defend, can we survive?"
"It depends on where and how," he replied.
"Explain," Sagarius prompted, almost instructively.
"A defensible position requires walls, good farmland, a river, and nearby population centers."
"It''s unlikely such a place doesn¡¯t already have a master," she observed.
"You''d be surprised, My Lady. Do you know why most towns and villages along our path welcomed us, despite us being strangers without a banner?"
She shook her head.
"Even before the fall of the Imperium, Elandia was overrun with bandits. Our men¡¯s presence deterred them, earning us a tepid but grateful welcome," Bald Eagle explained. "If we chose, we could claim the manor, and most of the people would likely support us."
"It¡¯s unwise to do so," Sagarius advised, though not entirely against the idea.
"Indeed. This area isn¡¯t remote enough to shield us from Gottfried¡¯s influence. Moreover, we have better options. To the south, the situation is far more dire. Last season, armed refugees from Nicopola raided deep into the territory and waged battles against Lord Bengrieve¡¯s forces."
"So you¡¯re suggesting we continue heading south, find a suitable city, encourage the populace to return, and then establish our independence?" she deduced, and Sir Bald Eagle nodded in confirmation.
"If you¡¯re still uncomfortable with southern Elandia, then perhaps we could cross the border into Nicopola. I¡¯ve heard that no one claims those lands anymore. They perished to the last kin."
Sagarius sighed, weighed down by guilt. She had heard about the great famine in Nicopola and couldn¡¯t help but feel responsible, despite lacking the power or position to have prevented it.
Oblivious to her internal struggle, Sir Bald Eagle continued, "If we proceed, and if House Bengrieve truly is conspiring, then we could use his Elandia domain as a buffer against Gottfried. It''s a sound plan."
"The Beastmen''s Marche," she mused, invoking the old name of the region. Sagarius had fought there as a Royal Mage in disguise. She had witnessed Kaen, the local champion, join the fray¡ªtalented and witty, yet recklessly impulsive. Despite his prowess as a mage-knight, his personality seemed shallow. The last she heard, he was doing penance, overwhelmed by guilt for the many lives he had taken, including those of young beastmen.
"Let''s revisit this discussion once we''re further south. It would be best if we have a map of the area," she declared with resolve.
"Certainly, My Lady. That can be arranged," Bald Eagle responded, pleased to secure a route to salvation.
...If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Sagarius hadn¡¯t fully made up her mind but decided to explore her options. Taking a lantern so that no one would come up to offer her one, she stepped out of her tent, intending to visit the officials with whom they had been traveling for several days. First, however, she needed to visit the outer boundaries of their encampment. There were no physical fences; just open fields dotted with trees where she planned to use a little bit of her magic to create a temporary ward that would alert her to any intruders.
Without being asked, Sir Munius, who was sitting near a campfire, stood up and escorted her, holding a simple torch that glowed brighter than the lantern.
"Visiting the perimeter again, My Lady?" the knight asked, familiar with her routine ever since they had arrived in Elandia.
"Indeed," she replied softly while walking under the starlight.
They walked quietly, her footsteps didn''t make a sound while the knight''s boots made some against the ground. Then Sagarius found a suitable object¡ªa gray rock with moss on one side. She extended her hand, channeling her magic onto the surface of the stone, and moments later began imbuing runes onto the magical layer.
Detect Parameters: physical movement, thermal body heat, or foreign magical energies.
Ignore Parameter: small signatures.
Execute: transmit to decoy.
End: Erase at sunrise.
She saw the magical circuit connect and briefly tested it. Satisfied, she walked away, carrying the lantern at her hip, not really needing it as her magic allowed her to see almost as clearly as in daylight. Arriving at a tree that would serve as another sentinel, she repeated the process, turning the tree into another one of her wards.
All the while, Sir Munius followed her without question. It had been several weeks, and tonight she felt it odd that he kept following without saying much. Thus, as she finished setting the second ward and headed toward the back of the camp, she asked, "Sir Munius, do you know the tales of the Champion, the Elven lady, and the sword?"
"I''ve heard of it but never actually heard it in full. But I know it''s a cautionary tale," he replied while keeping an eye on their surroundings.
"Indeed it is," she confirmed, then offered, "Would you like me to tell it to you?"
"Only if it doesn''t interfere with your business, My Lady."
"Not at all, we''re just walking," she reassured him, before beginning her story. "The Champion of Griate was known for his many exploits before he slew a notorious fell beast that landed on the eastern shore. But his story didn¡¯t end there. In the beast¡¯s lair by the sea, he discovered the Dwarven sword of Dainsleif. Though he did not use the sword to slay the beast, the tale grew in the telling. People and minstrels claimed he used the Dainsleif sword to cut through the monster¡¯s hide, which was as hard as stone as if he were skinning a young deer."
"It must be a magnificent sword to capture people''s imagination like that," he commented.
"Indeed. And it captured not only men''s imagination. A female elf heard of it too and began her journey to find him."
"Did she find him?"
"She did, after many years. By that time, the champion had already married and settled down. He kept his sword hidden as he didn''t need it anymore. The elf, wanting to see the sword, convinced him to go on another adventure, but the man declined. Until a fell beast appeared in a village some distance away."
The story took a grim tone at the end, not lost on the knight. "Was that the elf''s doing?"
Sagarius smiled but ignored his question. "Against his family''s wishes, the champion took his sword and went with the elf to slay the beast. They ended up doing more than just traveling. The elf wanted to see the sword used to hunt bandits and bears that terrorized the area. The champion agreed and the two became close, eventually becoming lovers. And then, when he least expected it, the elf was gone along with the Dainsleif. Her only motive was the sword, with which she had fallen in love."
Sir Munius took a deep breath before asking, "And then what happened to the champion?"
"He arrived at the village and still faced the fell beast, but as he was not in his prime anymore, he was slain, but not before giving the beast a mortal wound that the villagers could exploit."
Sir Munius gave no immediate reply, prompting Sagarius to ask, "What do you think of the story?"
"It''s certainly a cautionary tale," he then added, "If I may be so bold, you used this story to teach me not to blindly follow someone as mysterious as you."
"Perhaps," Sagarius refused to give him a confirmation, wanting him to reflect for a longer time.
"But, My Lady, you''re not after my sword, and you''re certainly not an elf," he noted.
Sagarius smiled behind the veil of the night.
Prompted by her silence, the knight asked, "Since the issue is a mystery, perhaps My Lady can explain what you are doing right now?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I don''t feel safe around here," she explained without hesitation.
The answer surprised the knight. "But you''re surrounded by men at arms."
"Perhaps, but it can''t hurt to keep my guard up," she replied softly, careful not to wound anyone''s pride.
"Are you from around here, My Lady?" Sir Munius asked.
"Well, I''ve been in this area multiple times, a long time ago."
"I see, then what do you fear in this part of Elandia?"
"Not here," she replied, "more toward the east; the ancient forest." She paused in her tracks and turned to him. "Can I trust you with something?"
"I am a keeper of secrets," Sir Munius stated.
She nodded and said, "The knight commander spoke of bandits that lurked in the area and how our presence here had deterred them. But I think that''s not the real reason. I believe the reason there are no more bandits around is that something else is preying on them."
"A fell beast?" the knight asked in a low voice, redoubling his efforts to scan their surroundings.
"I heard about the Nicopola refugee and mercenary war last season against House Bengrieve. The more I heard, the more I was certain that there would be many unburied carcasses from it. I doubt the fell creatures from the Ancient Forest would remain idle. They would multiply, and with the Imperium in this state, I doubt the Hunter Guild has an answer for them."
***
Lansius
The sun hung high, yet the sky darkened with the promise of rain, the wind carrying the earthy scent of an impending storm. Lansius stood by the window of the Eastern Mansion, his gaze sweeping over the vast stretch of land that belonged to his House. From a modern man¡¯s perspective, the expanse was staggering¡ªa city, a forest, plains, dozens of villages¡ªimmense even before considering his additional holdings in South Hill.
Despite actively governing them, he often marveled at the sheer scale of his domain, pondering just how many thousands of acres he had under his own name. A soft exhale escaped him as he reminded himself that the vast land was there as a foundation to secure peace and prosperity.
His eyes still peeled in the distance when thunder flashed brightly, striking somewhere beyond the wall, confirming the approach of rain.
Lansius turned from the window and slightly closed the curtain, not wanting the flashes of lightning to disturb the people working inside the hall on the second floor. Even on rainy days, when fields and roads turned to mud, there was still much to be done.
Last week, they had just finished a new chapter of The Iliad, depicting the early stages of the Trojan War. Surprisingly, from what he had gathered from those who listened to the herald outside the city library, his readers viewed the idea of launching an armed expedition to punish a wife-stealer as a noble act. Unlike modern audiences who often see an enduring love story between Paris and Helen, his readers perceived it clearly as a cautionary tale of wife-stealing.
When Lansius tried to argue to his senior scribes that Helen''s husband was a cruel king, they simply responded, "All kings are cruel to a point. But that doesn''t justify her eloping to another kingdom. That¡¯s a sure path to war, causing suffering in both kingdoms. Helen could have requested to return to her father. Eventually, the king, like any other, would grow bored and seek another. Women in power have used many strategies to retain their husbands'' attention. And I doubt someone who wouldn''t even make an effort would last long in a king¡¯s court, especially a cruel one. Such a king would be unlikely to remain faithful, no matter how beautiful Helen was."
Lansius found the different perspectives intriguing, yet it made a great deal of sense.
The story unsurprisingly resonated more with them than with modern audiences. Ending his musing, he gazed at the army of scribes and clerks who had been the backbone of his administration. They handled policies, tax collection, army wages, military expenditures, city expenses, guild dealings, and a myriad of other tasks. They were the ones he relied upon.
Last week they did Troy; this week, Korelia.
They worked here in the name of efficiency. Working in close proximity, they could ask Lansius directly about any issues they encountered, rather than formally presenting them at court, which would take too much time. Lansius found the traditional process rigid, plagued by formalities, and highly inefficient. By having them work here, they achieved an astounding level of progress.
The Lowlandia Office of Works, acronymed LOW.
Lansius couldn''t help but ponder whether the Toruna Office of Works would be acronymed "TOW," which reminded him of an anti-tank guided missile. The silly thought made him smile, and like clockwork¡ªyet to be invented here¡ªhe felt someone watching.
He turned to a particular soft cushioned seat across the chamber and found a beautiful pair of hazelnut eyes watching him. Like a hunter to its prey, Audrey had caught him smiling, and now her lips formed a smirk that could drive him crazy.
Mmm, temptations... Hold on the Paris in me. Don''t be swayed by this sword-buckling, horse-riding, knight-baroness of Lowlandia, Centurian-born Helen.
Lansius turned back to face the window again, his amused smile hidden from her compelling gaze.
He could afford a moment of idleness after outlining his latest plan. Now, he simply needed to wait for its finalization, calculation, and evaluation.
One aspect of his plan involved the production of flares and smoke signals. Having observed their effectiveness in training, he realized their demand would only grow. Unable to rely solely on Calub for their production, Lansius decided it was time to fulfill his promise and establish a proper laboratory¡ªor, in this world, an alchemy workshop.
Having enticed the guilds with southern trade, he aimed to leverage this advantage. He instructed the Lowlandia Office of Works (LOW) to propose to the alchemist guild that they establish an alchemy shop in Korelia. Before negotiating the price, LOW would broach the subject that if the barony bore all costs, then the alchemy workshop must pledge complete allegiance to House Lansius, ensuring all trade secrets became rightfully his.
Lansius expected that his proposal and the stipulation for trade secrets would spark their interest, likely leading to a counteroffer. This was exactly what he wanted. While he preferred to train local talents he could trust, training an alchemist was a lengthy and risky endeavor. The last thing he wanted was for his personnel, who depended on these signals, to face failure in critical moments¡ªa potential disaster.
Hence, a solution was necessary because talents were not merely tools.
If the guilds did not cooperate, the arrangement could become problematic, likely requiring the alchemists, likely from Midlandia, to move permanently to Korelia to safeguard the secrets. Such an arrangement was not only inhumane but could also backfire by attracting only less qualified individuals.
"Non-competing clause," he muttered to himself, watching a lightning fork in the distance.
Although understanding its utility and necessity, Lansius was not fond of it. Moreover, it contradicted his views on industrial secrets: keeping them too tightly guarded often led to theft, as the stories of tea and silk had shown.
Thus, he preferred cooperation, aiming to retain control and secure his margins. He hoped the guild would see the profit potential as distributors and be sufficiently interested in gaining access to either partial or full secrets, along with the capabilities to produce what Korelia manufactured after about twenty or thirty years.
Whatever the deal, the alchemy workshop would prove essential for continuing experiments with volatile oils. If Calub could delegate the production of flares, fire grenades, alcohol, fertilizer, and his famously potent poppy milk medicine to the new alchemists, he would then be free to pursue other projects.
For a long time, Lansius had intended to ask Calub, strictly for research purposes, to begin his studies in what he deemed the dark arts of his world. This meant delving into the study of guano, charcoal, and sulfur, or in simpler terms: explosives.
***
Chapter 186 : Haywire
Chapter 186
Haywire
Elandia
Sagarius had finished placing the third and final ward at the back of their encampment. With Sir Munius as her escort, she headed toward the area where the ministers'' group spent the night. They had better tents along with several carts guarded by armed men. Yet, the guards kept their distance, allowing Sagarius some privacy.
"Gratitude for the hospitality," Sagarius expressed as the old gentleman offered her a fragrant tea. She sipped it gracefully before muttering, "Bergamot and black tea, how quaint."
Her reaction was kindly received by the old gentleman, who smiled warmly, his full beard parting to reveal a friendly grin. "I''m glad to meet someone who knows their tea. And I do apologize that I only have morning tea to offer."
Sagarius smiled. "Please, in times like these, any tea is good tea."
The two did not immediately delve into business but spent some time enjoying the tea, the crackling campfire, and the night sky. It was peaceful, as Sagarius had tuned her magic to shield them from insects.
"I heard your group isn''t heading to South Elandia anymore?" the old palace official, Paulos'' chief, broached the subject.
"Indeed, we have learned enough about Lord Bengrieve. He''s not who I thought he was," Sagarius confirmed.
The old gentleman, who was a senior Palace official, kept his composure and said, "Unfortunate for us, there''s no one else worth serving."
"Perhaps so," Sagarius played along.
Caressing his beard, the man spoke, "There are new developments in this land. The people I''ve met say that Lord Bengrieve''s men are everywhere. Even in his absence, his couriers and messengers are riding almost everywhere."
"He must be busy, preparing for something," Sagarius remarked.
"He''s persuading the people," he revealed, catching Sagarius'' interest. He continued, "Rumors have it that he said: The end of the Imperium does not spell our end. Together, we must unite to stem the tide that threatens to wash away our Houses."
Sagarius, staring at the fire as she pondered, finally asked, "Are his words effective?"
"Given the hopelessness and lack of guidance in the situation, I believe his pitch should be effective. I''ve heard that more and more knights and neighboring barons have joined him."
"Does this mean the entire province will join him?"
"Likely, but we still have Duke Louis of Tiberia to consider," the official reminded her.
Sagarius had never met the current Duke of Tiberia, only his grandfather, but she held a low opinion of a House that for generations had shown no intention or effort to progress in science, production, or agriculture. This was why she disliked inherited power and generational transfer¡ªwhat merit and skills their forefathers had, their descendants rarely possessed.
Turning to the gentleman, who sported a fine beard, Sagarius asked, "What about the new Lord your friend was telling me about a few days ago?"
"How can I put this...?" he said, concern in his voice. "Paulos is naive to trust someone he¡¯s never met. The magic device he used could be connected to anyone, perhaps even brigands."
Sagarius found the remark funny. "If they¡¯re such technologically advanced brigands, then I have no problem meeting them."
The official chuckled and exhaled sharply, explaining, "You might have a point, but it''s inherently dangerous. For instance, Paulos initially thought the messages were coming from Centuria, but they actually turned out to be from Lowlandia."
"So you don''t have confidence in this new Lord of Lowlandia?" Sagarius asked.
"I''m afraid it''ll take quite a leap of faith to trust a Lord whose track record is only a few years. Moreover, he''s the Lord of the Lowlandians, and you know how their reputations are."
Sagarius nodded and sipped her tea again, finding its warmth and slightly bitter but fragrant taste delightful in her mouth. Then, holding the metal cup in her lap, she asked, "How about if you come with me? My followers and I are going south, trying to claim a place of our own. I''m sure your skill and experience would be priceless."
The gentleman was quite surprised by the offer. "I don''t want to be rude, but..."
"Yes, I may have no name, no reputation, but as you can see, I have followers," Sagarius remarked calmly.
"I''m aware, but so do brigands," he countered sharply.
Sagarius smiled, finding it true. "True," she remarked. "Usually, I wouldn''t go this far, but you and Paulos, I''ll need you two, otherwise, it''ll be, as you said, a brigand business in disguise."
"I''m not following," the old man replied indifferently.
Assuming a formal tone, Sagarius said, "The Imperial Palace complex had twelve outer gates, four main gates, and two inner gates." Her words captured the old man''s full attention; his eyes widened. Such knowledge was known only to those working or living inside the palace.
"However," she continued, "that is not entirely accurate. Beyond the Jeweled Gate, the main access for the nobility, and the Elvenwood Door for the servants, there are two lesser-known passages to the inner sanctum."
The precision of her details unnerved the gentleman. "Who are you? How could you possibly know this?"
Sagarius raised a hand, signaling him to pause, and spoke with measured calm, "There exists a third gate accessed through the Grand Armory, and a fourth, the grandest of all, concealed behind magnificent drapes of purple and red, inlaid with gold. The gate, carved from marble, features three dragons, the foremost with ruby eyes¡ª"
Overwhelmed, the old official fell to his knees, his eyes brimming with tears. "No need, no need," he pleaded as he crawled closer, then kowtowed at her feet. "O Great Ones, your servant is at your command."
Her revelation had clearly shaken him. "How can you be so certain of this?" she asked, surprised by his reaction.
"Only three officials ever knew these secrets, one being my mentor, and all have since passed away. After their deaths, the high ministers sealed the gates and the entrance hall."
"But then how do you know about the last gate to verify my claims?"
Still facing the ground, the official, no less than the last Master of the Record explained, "Before it was sealed, several officials managed to enter and slipped a memorandum through the marble gate. I know from my teacher that there was a¡ª"
"Yes," Sagarius interjected, "the third dragon''s leg engraving swivels sideways; you can insert a scroll."
Realizing the gravity of who stood before him, the official wept, trembling.
Sagarius, using her magic discreetly, blurred their forms from any prying eyes. While she could have rendered them invisible, she did not wish Sir Munius to come charging in, all worried. She then gently patted the old official on his back. "On behalf of my father, please accept our apology. We were not good rulers."
He sobbed louder, overwhelmed by his emotions.
Sagarius understood. She had been an official for more than several decades; for them, the Imperium was home, the Ministry was family, and the Emperor, was their father. Thus, she gently explained, "While people named him Ageless, the August One was still mortal. He passed away last winter."
"To the eternal emperor. May he ascend to the Ancestors," the official whispered, his voice breaking as he tried to compose himself.
Only after he calmed down, Sagarius instructed clearly, "Keep this knowledge between us."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Refer to me as Lady Sagaria. Although I am my father¡¯s last living child, I do not plan to claim the throne." Making her statement clear, she added, "Even if I were to claim a land, another would be the leader." She turned her gaze toward Sir Munius.
"Yes, My Lady. Your humble servant understands."
Laden with curiosity, Sagarius asked, "What have you understood?"
"You are a grand progenitor," he replied. "They say in their youth, they preferred to traverse the lands rather than govern."
Sagarius put a smile on her face. She almost revealed her House identity as Elven, but seeing him so shocked and grief-stricken, she didn¡¯t have the heart to do so. Moreover, she needed him, and the matter of her true identity could wait.
***
Eastern Mansion
In the chamber adjacent to the Lord¡¯s private hall, Ingrid collaborated closely with Farkas and Francisca, the few she could truly trust in this matter. As supervisor, Lord Lansius had assigned Sir Harold, since the wealth of information they had gathered from their contact in Elandia had become overwhelming.
"Wood Yellow, Red Green, Green Yellow, Red Green, Wood Blue, Green Wood, Red Green," Ingrid reported to Francisca, who, despite her notorious sharp claws, skillfully wielded a quill with deft precision.
As she was finished, the half-beast handed her neatly written notes to Farkas, who translated the color codes using a chart and then documented them for Sir Harold¡¯s review.
"So Bengrieve has returned and is on the move," Sir Harold whispered, careful not to disrupt Ingrid, whose focus was critical.
"Hard to believe he would abandon his ancestral home and gamble it all for Elandia," Farkas whispered back. Paulos, their contact, had reported Lord Bengrieve¡¯s unexpected return to Elandia.
"But what is his aim? What is he trying to accomplish?" Sir Harold pondered aloud.
"Perhaps, Midlandia is truly lost to him?" Farkas offered his opinion.
"You think so?"Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Farkas shrugged. "I''m not sure." Lord Lansius had always cautioned him to admit uncertainty rather than fabricate explanations. He believed it was safer for his agents to confess ignorance rather than construct assumptions that could lead to disastrous results and tragedy.
Francisca handed another parchment to Farkas, then joined Ingrid for a brief respite, awaiting Sir Harold''s directive.
Translating the new code, Farkas was stunned. Turning to Sir Harold while offering the translation, he explained, "Someone important named Sagaria is interested in meeting Lord Lansius."
"Sagaria? I¡¯ve never heard of anyone by that name," Sir Harold replied, his brow furrowed.
"You might want to know that the earring can also transmit a vague sense of feeling," Ingrid chimed in, capturing their attention. "And I felt that Paulus holds this Sagaria person in high regard."
This only confused Sir Harold further. He stroked his square chin, bidding time to think. "For an Imperial official, who used to work in the Grand Imperial Palace, to be impressed by someone... she must be special."
"You know, we should just bring them all here to make it easier," Francisca suggested. "There''s a lot of talk about this city needing so many talents; I''m sure this Paulos and his friends are quite the intellectuals."
They all nodded in agreement.
Prompted by their agreement, Francisca added, "So, how about just using the airship to get them?"
Farkas inhaled sharply. "Unfortunately, it hinges on the Nicopola campaign. And we don''t know when it''ll end."
"Still no news?" Sir Harold asked.
"With all the movements going on in the war and the distance to Korelia, even the Hawks would be hard-pressed," Farkas explained.
The room fell silent as they pondered the situation.
"If the Lord wishes, I could always travel by carriage and provide an escort," Sir Harold explored the option. "I''ll be riding from here to Korimor, then from Korimor to Midlandia, and finally crossing to Elandia."
Francisca looked at Sir Harold with hopeful eyes, but the knight turned her down. "Both of us can''t be absent from our Lord''s side. It would be a lapse in security."
"But, Sir, Midlandia is in such a state," Farkas cautioned.
"A civil war, yes, but I¡¯ve studied the report. It seems that the west of Midlandia has thrown their support to Bengrieve, and technically, our Lord is his ally, isn''t he?" Sir Harold reassured them, earning murmurs of agreement.
Turning to Ingrid as lightning flashed outside, Sir Harold instructed, "Ask Paulos who Sagaria is and if there''s a way to meet. Tell him Lowlandia is peaceful, safe, growing, and open to new talents."
His words brought smiles to everyone''s faces. It made them happy to think that their own place was in such a blissful state compared to the rest of the Imperium. However, before Ingrid could act, the door opened and Lord Lansius rushed in.
"My Lord," they greeted him, but Lord Lansius went straight to the table and found the large wooden switch that had been in the off position.
"Ah," they all understood the reason. The Lord had instructed them about the danger of lightning and how their bronze antennae could attract that very force of nature.
"I always remember your warnings, My Lord," Ingrid reassured him, with a proud smile evident on her lips. "Even if I forget, I can¡¯t ignore the tingling pain whenever there¡¯s a thunderstorm close by."
"My apologies," the Lord breathed a sigh of relief, clearly amused that they had heeded his warning.
"Please move away from the table, it''s risky," Sir Harold added, half-jesting. And the Lord followed with a chuckle.
"My Lord, if you''re not busy, how about a report?" Sir Harold asked on behalf of the team.
"Sure, but let''s get the Lady first; she might be interested to hear it," Lord Lansius said, clearly valuing his wife''s opinion.
Despite the building thunderstorm outside, the Lord and Lady listened to the report and were alarmed by the situation.
Lady Audrey turned to Lord Lansius, asking, "Why is Bengrieve back on Elandia?"
The Lord turned to her, simply shaking his head while stroking his chin, his face clouded with doubt.
The staff did not want to interrupt, keeping quiet as if their lives depended on it. They knew just how vital their Lord''s strategic insight was to their survival.
"For him to abandon Cascasonne," Lord Lansius muttered, unsure as he studied the map spread out on the table. He gazed at it, pondering under the glow of the hastily lit chandelier, as sunlight was blocked by the storm. "Could it be that Bengrieve is trying to save the Imperium?"
"In a sense, he''s similar to you," the Lady chimed in. "If there''s an action, there must be a deeper motive or an underlying one."
Her words were unexpected, prompting a thin smile on his lips. The Lord then turned to the staff, saying, "We can assume Bengrieve''s motive is growth and power. But his return to Elandia isn''t based on this."
Sir Harold, who stood next to him, asked, "Then what is it, My Lord?"
"Survival," the Lord revealed. "But not because of the civil war. No. I have a feeling that he had Reginald under control. He''s too cunning not to have secret troops somewhere or assassins ready to strike."
"I''m not so sure about that," the Lady disagreed. "I mean, it''s about warfare and he''s not you."
The lady''s words drew smiles from everyone and the Lord seemingly enjoyed the praise.
Sir Harold quickly added, "As My Lady said, My Lord, you''re most capable in the business of war, perhaps Lord Bengrieve isn''t as capable in this matter."
"He''s surely not incompetent," the Lord dismissed the notion. "Remember, he took Ornietia and Elandia with ease."
"I believe that''s Sir Stan''s doing," the Lady remarked.
The Lord nodded. "Your baronet brother is indeed capable. That''s why if I were Bengrieve, I would let Sir Stan handle Cascasonne while he''s doing his part in Elandia."
"But what is he doing in Elandia? Consolidating his gains?" the Lady asked.
"That is one good guess. But I believe it has to do with the Capital," the Lord said somberly. "Even in ruins, it remains a seat of power. Anyone who controls it could lay a claim over the Imperium."
The realization struck everyone hard, yet doubts lingered. Ingrid murmured, "Can they really? I mean, they don''t have the blood or the royal rights."
"It''s not even an issue," the Lord answered. "A woman could be found and identified as the daughter of the Emperor, imprisoned by the scheming High Ministers. The grateful freed princess would then marry the illustrious liberators. That way, the victor would become an Imperial Prince, and their future son, the next Emperor."
Murmurs of disbelief filled the room, but all knew it was frighteningly possible.
Sir Harold sighed. "I wish for the Imperium to continue, but not like this. I don¡¯t see peace coming from this. The rest of the provinces will rebel."
Lady Audrey also expressed her doubts. "People will eventually find out," she said to the Lord. "The woman will not be ageless, and neither will their descendants."
"Again, that¡¯s not an issue," the Lord replied, exhaling softly. "By the time they find out, the regime will already be twenty or thirty years old, stable enough to fend off any rebellion. And I doubt they''ll let the populace know. It''s very easy to conceal a puppet''s death, especially behind palace walls, or they could simply argue that not all descendants had the gift of being Ageless."
There was silence in the chamber, punctuated by a few thunder strikes that flashed brightly despite the curtains.
The Lady leaned toward the Lord and asked, "Do you really think Bengrieve is after the throne?"
The Lord shrugged. "I''m not sure, but I know that he''s afraid," he said, causing others to tense up.
"Whatever he plans to do, it''s likely related to the Capital and the throne. He might not want it, but possibly he also doesn''t want Gottfried to sit on it." With that, Lord Lansius concluded the main discussion. Although further conversations ensued, none possessed the depth or importance of the Lord''s insights.
Despite the revealing take on the situation in Midlandia and the Imperium as a whole, the Shogunate could do little in reality; they were simply too far from the Capital. Moreover, nobody wanted to get involved in the crisis, believing it to be a waste of strength and human lives.
As the meeting was winding down and they waited for the storm to pass, Francisca returned with trays of exotic-looking food resembling carrots or radishes, which she had grown herself. She introduced them as yams, explaining the varieties: some were golden, soft, and sweet, others white and starchy, and a few even purple, available both baked and steamed.
Lord Lansius took a special interest in them, inquiring about their origin and sampling several types, praising their delicious taste. His genuine enthusiasm encouraged others to try, and to everyone¡¯s surprise, the yams proved unexpectedly wholesome, filling, and tasty.
Seeing the Lord¡¯s and the Baroness''s enjoyment, the staff felt a new staple might soon be cultivated in Korelia, a prospect that delighted them greatly.
...
The next day, as was their routine, Ingrid wore her earring, turned the switch, and began to transmit her thoughts to Paulos. Outside, the sky was more friendly than yesterday; there were clouds but they were far from dark. Interested in the newest tidings, Lord Lansius sat conversing in whispers with Sir Harold and Farkas.
Lady Audrey was not around; due to the rainy season, whenever the sky was clear, she spent her time with Lady Astrid and their ladies-in-waiting. It was a happy coincidence that both women were pregnant at the same time, with Lady Astrid expecting in the summer and Lady Audrey due later in the fall.
They often went for a stroll in the mansion''s garden, now lush with rejuvenated fruit trees, meticulously trimmed foliage, and grass, as well as herbal plants and vibrant flowers, including ornate bird baths. Underneath the trees that provided cool, calm shade, they chatted and even engaged in some light gardening. Or so the Lord was told about the ladies'' activities. In truth, today''s meeting was a Defense Class for Ladies.
In turn, Lady Audrey and Carla demonstrated crossbow and spear techniques¡ªweapons that women could easily train with. Additionally, due to popular demand, Lady Audrey also showcased her archery skills with the nomad¡¯s bow.
Since they were outside, although technically still on the mansion''s grounds, not only were extra guards and Carla present, but Francisca and her group also provided a second layer of defense.
Because Francisca was occupied, the task of writing the letter fell to Margo; otherwise, Ingrid would have been overwhelmed. She believed that Paulos was likely a genius and no longer needed the color chart to communicate, which made her feel like the slower participant in their exchanges.
Inside the chamber, after a long silence, Ingrid''s lips curved into a smile. "He said hi," she informed the chamber, already familiar with several combinations of words coming from the device.
Lord Lansius nodded while Sir Harold rose and approached her. "Let''s ask him about Sagarius."
...
Sagarius
After last night''s exchanges with the old official, Sagarius had secretly become the palace official group''s matriarch. However, other members were kept in the dark, as the secret was deemed too significant to share with so many. Today, she visited the official campsite again while the rest of the group was preparing to leave, having gathered the supplies they needed from nearby towns and villages; they would head south the next day.
"So that is the item you used to communicate with that southern lord?" Sagarius asked Paulos as they met.
"Yes, lady Sagaria," Paulos confirmed. "In fact, I''m speaking with them right now."
"I see," Sagarius nodded, intrigued by the device similar to one she had used long ago.
Noticing her curiosity and amused by the attention, Paulos gladly offered, "Do you want to try?"
"Aren''t you in the middle of a discussion?"
"It''s alright, I''ll notify them," he said. He closed his eyes briefly and then readily removed his earring, which was attached to a copper wire.
"Gratitude," Sagarius extended her palm politely and accepted the earring, still connected by a wire to Paulos'' backpack. She examined the golden earring, noting its design and simplicity.
Interesting...
She mused, thinking it was likely a copy of the original dwarven think-to-talk communicator. She recalled the Imperium''s attempts to recreate such a device for long-distance communication, but they couldn''t replicate the complex dwarven rune, often a trade secret, that enabled thought sharing. The attempts were abandoned and rekindled several times, but the results were always inconclusive.
However, despite falling short of expectations, the devices saw action. They were issued to the Imperium''s many champions over the generations. She was sure that individuals like Kaen and his comrades were equipped with such devices during the beastmen war, and some were likely preserved in the Imperium Vault or studied by the respective Ministry.
"So you said you''re using some kind of code to talk?" Sagarius asked while beginning to don the earring on her right ear.
"Yes, a color chart, but I can decipher it without. Just let me know the color they send," Paulos reassured her.
"Is the wire necessary?" she asked, rather uncomfortable with how close they were.
"It works better that way. Somehow connecting it around my vest or my bag made it work better," Paulos explained cheerfully, completely oblivious to her discomfort.
Sagarius closed her eyes, familiar with having used the original device many times until she ran out of friends to communicate with. Memories of colleagues, both human and elven, long since passed away, flooded in momentarily. She cherished them always, but after hundreds of years, it was hard for her to even remember their faces.
Mm? It had no features and no mind interface.
She returned to the task at hand.
I doubt it can even send feelings, let alone thoughts. This is cumbersome, but probably that''s the limitation of human-elven craft...
As expected, she saw colors flash in her mind but did not act on them, choosing instead to use her magic to delve deeper into the device. She noticed some depleted energy cells and sent the tiniest amount of energy she could muster to invigorate them. These cells were old, likely reused from another dwarven artifact. The cells accepted the magical charge tepidly, and then the device began to reveal more functions.
Ah, so they attempted to copy the mechanism but failed to regulate it properly.
She pondered while tinkering with the device, noticing some pretty advanced runes embedded in it.
Could this be Father''s work? Maybe if I use myself as a regulator...
Sagarius'' eyes glowed briefly as she used her magic to connect with someone far in the southern land. Instead of achieving mind-to-mind communication, however, she experienced a vision. Pain immediately assaulted her, yet she persisted, mesmerized by the freakish accident. Unconsciously, she stared, realizing she was seeing through the other user''s eyes. There was no aural sensation, but she observed a chamber, bathed in light, airy and inviting. She noticed several people staring back at her, likely sensing an abnormal reaction.
Her? Ingrid...?
Sagarius'' spectacularly failed attempt had unintentionally caught a glimpse of someone''s memory before everything collapsed. She likely had broken the device, pushing it beyond its designed capacity. She could feel the cell vaporizing, but just before everything went dark, she caught a glimpse of a man with black hair.
Ingrid''s memory revealed a name, ''Lansius.'' Then, it all crashed down on her¡ªglimpses of the war, the inventions, the policies, the shogunate, the city fountain, barbed wire, nomads, half-beasts, the library, south trade, and airship.
Sagarius opened her eyes to find Paulos in a panic. Blood trickled from her nose, but there was no mistaking the nervous smile on her lips, contrasting with the tension in her gaze and a flicker of suspicion.
***
Chapter 187 : Ancient Order
Chapter 187
Ancient Order
Lansius
Everyone in the chamber was in a panic. Ingrid had fainted, jerking back from her seat and turning her head around as if seeking help. Suspecting an electric shock, Lansius rushed to turn off the lever switch. However, a glance out the window confirmed that a thunderstrike was an unlikely cause.
Sir Harold caught Ingrid as her body slumped from the seat, her eyes rolling back and her lips muttering unintelligibly.
"Get her on the floor," Lansius instructed, fearing she might have low blood pressure. He ran to the door and pushed it wide open. He saw the surprised guards standing not far from him in the corridor. "Go get Lady Audrey," he urged them with all the haste he could muster.
"Right away," one of the guards sprinted downstairs.
Turning back inside, he saw Farkas at the door, saying, "My Lord, I''ll get the physician¡ª"
"Yes, go," Lansius affirmed, watching him run downstairs.
Inside the chamber, Sir Harold had laid Ingrid on the wooden floor while Margo fashioned a cloth into a makeshift head pillow.
"How is she?" Lansius asked upon returning.
"I can''t be sure, but she looks much better now," Sir Harold said.
"Margo, remove her earring," Lansius instructed as he approached the desk and noticed the copper wire had snapped at the connection point, exactly as the artisan had designed. This precaution was intended to prevent injuries, and it had indeed saved Ingrid''s earlobe.
Lansius observed as Ingrid¡¯s breathing became calmer, and thankfully, there were no signs of injuries. To keep calm, he resisted the urge to question the others, knowing it all happened so fast and seemingly without provocation.
Slowly, Ingrid opened her eyes momentarily, frowned as if experiencing a strong headache, reached out for her head, and muttered incoherently.
"Ingrid, can we help you with anything?" Sir Harold asked gently but received no coherent response.
"Don''t give her any drink," Lansius warned, concerned there might be a deeper issue. "Keep her lying down; don¡¯t let her stand or sit for now."
They complied, and over the next few minutes, Ingrid slowly regained consciousness. "W-what happened?" she asked Sir Harold, her voice weak, her face sweaty, and her eyes unfocused.
"Everything is fine. Don''t worry about it. Just stay calm. You have no wounds or anything; just stay calm," he reassured her.
"What do you feel, Lady Ingrid?" Margo asked while massaging her shoulder.
"My head feels light, my eyes heavy, and my tongue unusually heavy," Ingrid''s explanation confused Lansius as it sounded somewhat like symptoms of an electrical accident.
"The physician will be here soon," Lansius assured her, kneeling next to her.
"My Lord," she greeted weakly.
"Just stay where you are. We''ll take care of you," he reassured her.
Ingrid nodded and closed her eyes again, murmuring, "It felt so odd. I felt someone else besides Paulos. And then she..."
Everyone paused, realizing her words were off, and Ingrid forcefully opened her eyes again, her face sweaty. "I think I met this Sagarius person."
They exchanged glances, and Ingrid continued, "She reached out to me, and then everything collided."
"A mage?" Lansius questioned.
Ingrid gazed at him, frowning. "Possibly..."
...
Sagarius
Turning to Paulos, Sagarius said apologetically, "I think I broke it."
Paulos was taken aback and muttered, "That can''t be; it''s a mostly stable artifact. I doubt you could break it."
"I tried something on it," she reasoned, removing the earring, but she couldn¡¯t resist recalling the fleeting image of the gargantuan object flying in the sky named Horsie.
Why is it named Horsie? she wondered.
"Y-you¡¯re a mage," Paulos exclaimed.
"My apologies." She bowed her head without giving him confirmation.
"No, no. Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m good at fixing things¡ªthat''s my skill," Paulos reassured her proudly, evidently pleased to befriend a mage.
Sagarius, fully expecting to be admonished since she knew just how precious the item must be to them, was concerned. "You''re not going to ask for money?"
"Why would I ask for money? Lady, this isn''t for sale."
She stared at him. "I mean, I broke it. Don¡¯t you want compensation?"
"Ah, don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯ll fix it and even make it stronger," Paulos said with glee, likely seeing it as a challenge.
Sagarius was really impressed with him. However, she suspected it was likely beyond salvage. "You know, I think I can find a replacement for you."
"Replacement?" Paulos looked slightly offended. "These things are of ancient origin and are no longer being produced. They''re very rare."
"I know a likely place," Sagarius muttered. Her words and confidence momentarily silenced Paulos.
"You do?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of excitement.
"Yes. Besides, if we¡¯re going to meet someone, it''s best to bring a gift," she remarked, turning to find a map on top of a chest used as a table. "Mind if I take a look?"
"Certainly," Paulos responded, pocketing the earring and joining her by the Imperium Map that displayed provinces east of the Capital. "We are around this area," he pointed out.
Sagarius couldn''t help but notice the current borders around Elandia, Arvena, and Midlandia. "These are new borders..." she muttered.
"The three provinces'' borders?" Paulos followed her gaze, seeking clarification.
"Yes, let''s not go there. There''s danger in the forest," she hastily put up an excuse to dismiss the topic.
"So it''s true that the Hunter''s Guild is active around the ancient forest," he observed.
"Yes, I''ve heard reports of minor fell beasts in that area, and sometimes even major ones," she added reluctantly. "We shouldn''t venture near it, lest we disturb one," she cautioned, despite knowing that the ruins, once known as the Old Elandia Kingdom, likely held a vast amount of relics. However, the presence of fell beasts made it impossible, moreover, they were particularly sensitive to Elves.
"I''ve always wished to visit the ruins," Paulos unexpectedly said, causing Sagarius to widen her eyes in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, right, not even most officials know about this. There are records of an advanced kingdom''s ruins located deep in the ancient forest, but access is officially barred. Even the records are hidden or falsified."
"What are you, a record keeper?" Sagarius couldn''t help herself, intrigued by a human who knew as much as her.
"Yes, I am," he answered proudly, missing the suspicion in her voice.
Sagarius blinked several times, doubting what she had heard. "But with the earrings and all, shouldn''t you be in Dwarven Studies?"
"Well, my parents didn''t have enough to bribe my way into that department."
"Bribe? But why?"
"It''s a well-known secret that the ministers there could sell fake Dwarven artifacts to unsuspecting merchants. Thus, it''s quite lucrative," he sighed, pain evident in his voice.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
"I see," Sagarius exhaled bitterly, never having expected the once-prestigious department that her Father had helmed to sink so low. "Then how did you manage to fix this earring?"
"An old minister allowed me to tinker with it. He must''ve noticed my curiosity. I couldn''t get it to work before he died, but his widow let me keep it on the condition that I promised to marry her orphaned niece." He turned and nodded toward a modestly beautiful woman dressed in a mismatched outfit suitable for travel, her only grace being the correctly chosen inconspicuous hood that covered it all.
With ease, she noticed her anxiety. "You need to take better care of her. She looks concerned."
"Well, we lost the Capital, and my parents aren''t exactly easy to work with." Paulos'' expression turned sad for the first time. "Poor girl, she must''ve wished to enjoy a carefree life in the Officials Quarters, playing with blue-eyed cats, chatting by the koi pond, or lounging in the vast Imperial garden."
"No," Sagarius disagreed with him. "She''s lucky to be here. If she were still in the Capital, she''d be in a far worse position."
"Do you think so?" Paulos turned to her with genuine curiosity.
"Of course. Stop feeling guilty about it and be happy that you escaped the fall."
Paulos smiled and nodded happily. "So, why are you asking about the map?"
"There," she pointed at a marked area on the map.
"Vin... de... bona," Paulos tried to read the small, blurred words, evident that it was just an unimportant site.
"Vindebona," Sagarius confirmed. "There was an Imperial storage there during the beastmen war."
"Not anymore, I think," he mumbled, then added, "I don¡¯t remember that name at all; it probably didn¡¯t make the list of important cities or towns. It must have been abandoned after the beastmen war, and its storage redistributed," he noted, oblivious to her unusual knowledge.
"Then there''s a higher chance that the secret stash is still safe," Sagarius pondered aloud without thinking it through.
"Secret stash?" Paulos raised his brow.
"I mean, there''s a probability that what''s now a secret stash is safe," she babbled, trying to cover her slip.
"Oh, I see," Paulos replied, convinced yet still harboring a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
"You better take care of your wife; she needs you. Also, let me borrow the map for a bit. I''ll talk to the chief for permission," Sagarius suggested, creating a diversion. Afterward, they went their separate ways, each preparing for the next day''s departure.
This time, Sagarius had a concrete destination for her growing group. Instead of just heading south, they were going to the forgotten city of Vindebona.
***
Eastern Mansion
Three days had passed since Ingrid''s incident with the earring, and the educator was now recovering. Although she exhibited no ill side effects, Lansius and Audrey insisted she take it easy for at least a week. As for the earring, nobody dared to touch it, fearing unknown dangers.
Sir Harold suspected that the earring had broken from excessive use, while Farkas was curious about the involvement of the other party and whether they posed a risk. Despite the potentially sad end of their experiment and their contact with Paulos, life in Korelia continued.
This evening, Lansius held a feast to welcome several prominent noble guests who had recently joined Korelia from their respective hometowns.
In the hall of the Eastern Mansion, a lively small feast unfolded under the warm glow of candlelight and a fiercely bright oil lamp. The lamp had returned to Korelia as a staple after the Lord had secured an oil reserve. Unknown to them, its main ingredient was leftover oil from the filter, considered too dirty for use in the airship furnace.
The hall resonated with the sweet strains of minstrel music and the rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced pies. Guests mingled and laughed, their voices harmonizing with the melodious sitar tunes and bursts of hearty laughter.
At the high table, somewhat secluded from the rest of the gathering, Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey shared a private world amidst the public revelry. They leaned close, their whispered words lost in the swell of festivity.
"How about that one?" Audrey, with a mischievous glint in her eye, nudged Lansius toward a guest.
Lansius turned and noticed that one of the guests had brought his daughter. He chuckled softly, observing the daughter''s slightly revealing clothes that highlighted her full-figured body, and remarked, "What a curious wardrobe choice. But, I''m happy for her future husband."
His jest made Audrey stifle her giggles. "I think the father wants you, not some other guy," she quipped.
Lansius continued to chuckle, the wine had gone to his head. "It takes more than just a big bosom to keep me happy."
Audrey''s giggles mingled with his. "Perhaps you need a closer look. Why not invite her to join us?¡± she teased further.
"Here or straight to the bedchamber?" Lansius countered boldly.
The two stifled their laughter, both becoming flushed from it.
"I don''t want to risk losing a barony," Lansius said jestingly, before gazing into her eyes that were mostly serene these days. "And I surely don''t want to lose you."
Audrey hid her smile by playfully slapping his arm, then took a sip from her goblet of water. The two then surveyed the crowd, half-expecting their jests to be overheard, but the hall was so lively that their words slipped unnoticed.
Suddenly, murmurs arose as an unexpected but welcomed development unfolded in the hall. Capturing everyone''s attention, a group of nine half-breeds entered, led by Francisca and the guards. Their arrival ignited a sparkle of murmurs and delight among the guests. The crowd graciously parted, giving the newcomers the floor, with some guests displaying wide eyes, and others offering subtle nods of respect.
The half-breeds made their way toward the high table, one of whom, taller and more beastly-looking than the others, was clad in ringmail.
"Male half-breed," Audrey commented as they rose to their feet. Lansius noticed Sir Harold, Farkas, and their men at the table, along with Carla and her guards standing nearby, all subtly assessing the newcomers. It wasn''t a matter of trust but rather what professionalism demanded of them.
"My Lord, My Lady, my kin have arrived to fulfill your invitation," Francisca announced.
The newcomers then greeted the Lord and Lady with deep bows, their presence a striking contrast to the usual attendees. "On behalf of Lord Beatrix of Umberland, please accept our greetings," a female half-beast formally addressed them.
"On behalf of the Shogunate, welcome to Korelia," Audrey declared proudly. Lansius noticed there was little suspicion or animosity in her voice, despite last year''s ambush at the hill fort.
He then added warmly to everyone in the hall, "Please enjoy the feast. We will extend the merriment until every guest has had their fill."
His words were a command that prompted the mansion staff to act accordingly. They quickly prepared an additional long table, chairs, and servings of meals and drinks, while the kitchen readied more dishes.
The music resumed as Francisca and the female who had greeted them stepped forward to speak.
"My Lord, my Lady, we numbered nine¡ªeight females and one male," she reported, her voice and countenance reminding Lansius of Beatrix.
"Nine new friends," Lansius remarked, much to their delight.
"We were more numerous when we set out, but six of our kin have decided to mingle with the nomads along the way," she explained, eliciting surprise from both Lansius and Audrey.
The two exchanged glances and chuckles. Lansius then reassured them, "I shall raise no issue with it. Everyone is free to choose where their soul leads them."
The half-breed leader looked pleased with the answer.
"You haven''t told us your name?" Audrey asked.
Her question caused the leader to glance at Francisca, who giggled and wagged her tail, before saying, "This one also wishes to be named."
Lansius and Audrey couldn''t resist smiling, amused by the exchange. "Looks like another task for Sir Harold," Lansius said.
"But you''re the one who came up with the name Francisca," Audrey reminded him.
"That''s why it''s overdue for Sir Harold to pick one," Lansius replied in jest.
As laughter lingered in the air, Francisca found it appropriate to add, "My Lord and Lady, you might want to know that Batu married one of my kin who decided to stay with the tribe. He wanted little Lancius to have a powerful little brother or sister."
Lansius grinned, and he knew Audrey did too, though perhaps for a completely different intention. "Then I should send a congratulatory gift. What would be appropriate?" he asked.
"Spiced wine," Francisca suggested immediately, while the other female sheepishly added, "And some mead."
Lansius turned to Audrey for her input. "I''ll arrange for our finest to be delivered tomorrow," she replied.
Servants brought snacks while the meals were still being prepared, providing enough for the feast to continue. The guests found themselves seated again, enjoying plates of assorted cheeses, slices of smoked meat, and an array of fresh and dried fruits, nuts, and small rye bread loaves with pickled vegetables.
"What do you think of them?" Audrey asked inquisitively as the two returned to their seats.
"A reason to celebrate," Lansius replied happily. "I dream of integration and peaceful coexistence. Managing peace between the nomads and the citizens was challenging, and I dare not think about the half-breeds. But they managed it themselves. Life indeed finds a way."
Truthfully, he had always advocated for such integration, but witnessing it unfold so organically was a sight he had scarcely anticipated.
Audrey nodded and murmured, "Marry and be merry," while caressing her belly where their child grew.
Lansius smiled, feeling the warmth spread through his soul as everything turned out just right. Audrey looked at him once more and asked, "Shall I arrange a meeting with the two old lords?"
"Absolutely, but make sure neither chooses a wife from among the newcomers. We can''t risk a House rift so soon after the shogunate''s inception," Lansius replied with a chuckle, thinking of Lords Robert and Galdia, who would be delighted by the presence of the half-beasts.
Once mythical and forgotten, the half-beasts were now emerging, making themselves known and enhancing the charm and allure of Korelia.
***
Korelia market
A few days after the Lord''s banquet at the Eastern Mansion, Korelia woke to a bright morning, and the market was a flurry of activity. The air was filled with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares and the murmur of a crowd bustling through the narrow alleys between stalls.
Vendors lined the streets with stalls brimming with goods. Piles of colorful fabrics waved slightly in the gentle morning breeze, beckoning passersby to touch and admire them. Tables were laden with trinkets that glistened under the morning sun¡ªsilver ornaments, intricate combs, beaded necklaces, and wooden toys for children.
The scent of spices filled the air, a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves, drawing customers closer to the stalls heaped with vibrant powders and dried herbs. Nearby, loaves of freshly baked bread enriched the fragrance further.
Amid the crowds of shoppers, a woman with a basket in hand browsed through the stalls, purchasing bread and some sweet treats.
Suddenly, a figure approached her from behind. She noticed, turned, saw the face under the cloak, and spared a smile. They walked off together, with him trailing behind her, away from the crowded market.
"When did you arrive?" the woman asked.
"Two days ago. Couldn''t find you yesterday," he replied.
"It''s a big market," she said. "How was the journey?"
"Sore in the butt," he responded bluntly, then added, "It''s fortunate they don''t really check people from the east."
"True, they''re well-guarded against people from Midlandia but mostly turn a blind eye toward those from Edessa," she confirmed, then teased, "So, what guise have you adopted this time? A dishonest and bankrupt merchant?"
"No, a bastard son of a fallen noble," he replied nonchalantly without a smile.
The woman formed a satisfied grin and led the way to a secluded alley, a shortcut to her inn. "That brings us to three," she continued.
"I''m the last one," the man stated. "I have the guild''s order and confirmation of payment. Edessa has paid."
The woman sighed heavily. "For Midlandia and Edessa to send two of us, and even a mage. They really want him dead."
"I care not for the nobles'' squabbles or their petty reasons," he said indifferently. "We lost so many in the Elandia forest. We need fresh funds to recruit, train, arm, and replenish our ranks; otherwise, many will be in peril."
"For our Order to remain faithful despite the fall of another Imperium," she murmured, then began to chant in whispers, "The guild is father¡ª"
"The guild is mother," he followed, and their eyes momentarily glowed¡ªa sight that would frighten both beast and human alike. To them, the Order, masquerading as a guild, represented parents, lovers, siblings, and even future children. And now, it demanded the elimination of one: Lord Lansius of Korelia.
***
Chapter 188 : Riverstead Blue
Chapter 188
Riverstead Blue
Korelia
It was nearing sundown in Korelia, and people gathered in the newly finished plaza beneath its many palm trees. Some came to draw water from the fountain, while others reveled in the bustling evening market with its plentiful food stalls. A guildsman strolled carefreely toward his inn. He had been in Korelia for several weeks, formally employed by a guild but never appearing for duty.
He didn¡¯t need to. He had been sent here to spy on the Lord of Korelia, his true person of interest.
The Lord of this city had been marked as troublesome by the new powers in Midlandia. However, the operation was actually financed and orchestrated by the Lord of Edessa and a few powerful guilds in Midlandia.
The guildsman in disguise cared not for the reason; he just needed money¡ªplenty of it to fulfill his desire to be rich and influential. Rich enough so he didn¡¯t need to work but could rely on his laborers. And influential enough that people in nearby towns and villages wouldn''t talk ill of him and his reputation.
He didn¡¯t believe he was asking for too much.
Often, he compared himself to the nobles, who could barely do anything but whine and groan, completely dependent on their servants for everything. In comparison, he was a mage. Surely, it was only just for highly skilled individuals like him to attain the same level of luxury. He believed this was the natural order of things and thus set himself on this ambitious path, unlike his more simple-minded peers.
That drive initially made him a favorite of his mentor, but later, an outcast as he defied the guild''s wishes for formal employment with a noble. He reneged, joined the underworld, and sold his services to the highest bidder.
His preferred work was elimination. It was the fastest and most rewarding; it also afforded him plenty of downtime, during which he could relax and enjoy the finer things in life.
Having become accustomed to living in Midlandia or the Capital area, he initially turned down the job in Lowlandia. Nobody wanted to go to Lowlandia. He recalled telling his contact to send others to do the job, but his contact insisted that the big names wanted the most competent. They even tripled his pay, which was enough to make him reconsider.
After passing several shops that did little to interest him, he arrived at the inn in the better part of the city.
It was a reputable establishment, but to him, it was bland, drab, and inadequate. Despite all the fresh coats of plaster and several minor advancements, Korelia remained in his eyes a backwater region, unworthy of all the attention it received.
As he entered the premises, the innkeeper greeted him warmly, "Return from work, maester?"
"Yes, when will dinner be served?" the mage in disguise replied, matching his kindness without sounding fake.
"Same time, we''ll have a lamb chop this evening," the old man revealed proudly.
"Lovely, then I''ll meet you at supper," the mage said, then climbed the stairs to the second floor where the expensive suites with actual rooms and furniture were located, rather than just a communal wooden hall for sleeping.
As he reached the floor and headed to his chamber, he detected faint magical traces¡ªa rare ability that set him apart. He feigned ignorance, casually continuing with a lowered gaze until a woman waved her hand to him.
She was his contact for this job, a hunter and poison master as well. Standing next to her, he spotted a well-built man whose inconspicuous appearance stemmed more from his casual attire and overly friendly smile than from his physique.
"Don''t worry, he''s with us," the woman reassured the mage and motioned for the two to head to the corner where a glass window was located.
The two men glanced at each other briefly before following her without question.
The corner was only several steps away but offered a secluded spot surrounded by their rooms. There was only one staircase, reducing the worry about intrusion. The woman started first, explaining to the mage, "He''s an acquaintance. He brought details from Edessa and will be joining us on this mission."
The man simply waved his hand, and the mage did a double-take. Despite possessing only small traces of magic, at this close range, even a glance revealed just how absurd his physique was. Unlike mages who used their source to enhance their muscles and bones temporarily, the man must have used a vastly different method.
"I''ve never met a hunter-assassin before," the mage remarked.
"And nobody will. They don¡¯t exist," he replied casually, dropping his silly smile. "They are just myths perpetuated by foolish nobles. I''m just a hunter on an errand."
The mage turned his gaze to the woman. "I was never informed or agreed to this. I thought they only sent two of us."
"Will this be a problem?" the hunter asked.
"No. Your strength will certainly be a great addition; however, in this line of work, trust and communication are paramount, and we have never met or worked together before."
"I just arrived. We have plenty of time to prepare," the hunter reassured him.
But the mage shook his head. "There¡¯s not much time."
His words tensed up the other two. "What do you mean? Is there a new development?" the woman asked.
"Words have yet to get out, but at least nine half-beasts have just joined the lord¡¯s ranks."
The hunter licked his lips and dropped his facade completely, showing a cold, calculative gaze as he turned toward the window, observing the busy road below.
"This will not be pretty," the woman exhaled deeply, hinting at their unwritten code to make it look natural or, at the very least, like a freak accident.
"It''s the least of our worries now," the mage said.
"If you''re here, I guess infiltration wasn''t successful?" the hunter asked as he turned around to face her.
"Unfortunately, unlike in other places, they don''t need a physician, herbalist, or educator. They''ve got it all covered," the woman explained. "And when we tried to take them out, we learned it was usually for the staff and not the lord and lady."
"Mm, they''re quite resourceful," the hunter commented.
"They have capable people," she confirmed, then added, "I wish I could just apply as a cook so this would be over very soon."
The men were amused. It was well-known that cooks were selected through a thorough vetting system and kept under scrutiny. They would be required to work for years cooking for the staff before they were allowed to touch the food prepared for the lord and lady. This was before even considering the food taster''s ability.
"How about a direct approach?" the hunter suggested, hinting at an assault.
The woman turned to the mage, who explained, "It''s impossible to hit the target at his home. Even at night, the place is crowded with guards. Moreover, I saw faint traces of magic. And they also have half-beasts prowling the vicinity."
The hunter stroked his chin. "Then our best bet is when the lord is traveling. Do we know when he''ll be out of town?"
"This is exactly the plan I''m going to propose," the mage responded. "Unlike other nobles, he often travels incognito with a light escort. He uses a modest carriage like guildsmen or guests use, but I have memorized his carriage''s features."
***
LansiusEnjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Today, Lansius traveled to the market. Something had recently piqued his interest, but he had never had the time to pursue it properly. Now, with the telegram earring on pause because of an unknown accident, he had the time to explore this curiosity. One of the new stalls at the market offered something that resembled pasta. The last time they traveled with Audrey, the squire had brought one to appease the lady¡¯s curiosity, and Lansius took a keen interest in it.
It was pale white, thick, and broadly cut, visually more akin to thick lasagna skin, yet it tasted similar to pasta, more so than the one he had in Riverstead.
Lansius knew, sooner or later, he had to develop pasta. Not because of a culinary breakthrough, but to enhance the Shogunate¡¯s food security and resilience.
The importance of pasta lies not only in its taste but also in how it was stored dry, significantly extending its shelf life and making it resistant to mold and spoilage. Unlike wheat, bread, or even hard biscuits, dry pasta can be stored almost indefinitely. They just need to boil it in water to make it edible again.
Now, with the existence of such a shop, Lansius felt that half of the work had been done. While he knew, theoretically, how to make pasta, he had never kneaded the dough himself and didn''t know what durum wheat looked like compared to other types. He also didn¡¯t know whether it used eggs or not. He could try to work with the kitchen staff, as he had done with the croissant-like pastries, but he felt it would require a lot of his time and effort.
For the croissants, the chef at least had significant experience with pastry and could recreate the layers to a degree even without a refrigerator. The chef had even experimented alone to make the skin crusty. But pasta was a different matter. Nobody knew what it looked like or how it should taste. They had nothing to compare it to, which made it difficult. Until now.
So, Lansius was looking forward to visit the stall, observing their craft, and seeing whether they actually made it the way he knew. Ideally, he would just summon them to Eastern Mansion and let his chef study their craft, but that would likely invite gossip and attract the guild to start sniffing around.
He didn''t want to spoil the guild with another invention, not when he already had them hooked on the southern trade. Moreover, the Lowlandia Office of Works was already busy dealing with spring beds and the new carts with leaf spring suspension. Those two were beginning to generate significant profits for him. Each spring bed sold netted him almost three gold coins in pure profit, while modifications to carriages with suspension earned him a solid five gold coins each.
As for pasta, Lansius wasn¡¯t seeking profit but rather protection against bad harvests.
However, just like other inventions, this would require his presence, and in such a busy market, that would draw too much attention. Fortunately, Lansius had a new tool at his disposal. At Audrey¡¯s behest, Lady Astrid had brought an artisan from White Lake to make several wigs for Lansius.
It was rather itchy and hot at first, but he got used to it. At least he was reassured that the brown hair was selected from clean, noble-born individuals and boiled thoroughly to prevent any issues.
Armed with a new wig that caused his entourage to grin suspiciously, Lansius stepped down from the carriage. Today, he was wearing his old blue tunic, the same one he had bought second-hand in Riverstead. It was still comfortable but now felt tight against his body.
Must be from all the spring riding and the firewood I''ve chopped.
The blue tunic reminded him of what the old tailor had once said, "You can wear it until you''re too old to work."
It wasn¡¯t directed at the blue tunic he wore, but Lansius felt nostalgic all the same.
Wish we could meet again, Keith. This time, I''ll buy that red tunic. He mused, making a solemn oath, though unaware of the old tailor¡¯s fate.
His nostalgia didn¡¯t alter his state of mind as he walked toward the busy street, nervously glancing left and right, pleased that nobody looked at him with reverence. Carla and another guard in normal clothes blended in at his front and rear, while another pair of guards walked a distance away.
He hadn''t expected that looking ordinary would be so liberating. Nobody scrutinized what he was doing, where he was heading, or what he was observing.
...
"This is good," Lansius remarked to Carla as the two munched on the hot food that resembled pasta. Originally wide and flat, the stall owner had cut them thin, making them resemble broad fettuccine. They enjoyed it with a white gravy sauce and a slice of brown bread.
Lansius paid extra, so they also got some cheese, which unfortunately wasn''t shredded on top but was cut into cherry-sized pieces and placed in a corner to be eaten separately.
There were no tomatoes or garlic, but there was plenty of butter and salt from diced salted meat.
"Jans," Carla called, using his alias. The brown-haired Lansius nodded, signaling her to continue. The commotions from the street masked their voices from the rest customers despite their proximity in the small stall.
"You seem to enjoy it; how about bringing several bowls home?" she asked.
"Do you carry two bowls?" Unlike in the modern era, they had no access to easy packaging; even waxed parchment was not inexpensive compared to the price of the meal, making takeaways troublesome if one didn''t bring their own bowl or linen wrap, especially if the goods weren''t dry.
Carla showed four wooden bowls inside her wicker basket. "Jean told me to bring extra."
Lansius could only chuckle. His wife''s preparedness was evident. "Then order for her," he said, placing two copper coins on the table for Carla to take. "Also," he added as he put down two more coins, "get some of the ingredients and a portion of the uncooked meal. Tell them we want to try to make something out of it."
Carla nodded readily. "Do you want me to ask about the egg as well?"
Lansius nodded and gave a thumbs up. They had discussed beforehand the need to secure the flour and a dough sample for the chef to experiment with. In his era, this would be considered corporate espionage. Carla should have seen enough to explain the process to his chef and recreate it to a certain extent.
If things went well, and the chef successfully developed a dry pasta, Lansius would credit the stall owner for his invention and provide financial support. Under his rule, he vowed that no inventor would ever descend into poverty.
***
Lansius rode home in his unassuming carriage, accompanied only by two riders who shadowed them from afar to avoid attracting attention. Inside, he cradled a carefully prepared pasta meal for Audrey, anticipating a warm welcome. Seeing her eat heartily was one of his greatest pleasures. The ride was enjoyable as the carriage had undergone several modifications to its suspension; almost every week, someone from the workshop attempted to implement new ideas, and Lansius gladly lent his support.
They were halfway to the mansion, passing through the newly developed noble quarter, which was still largely empty and quiet. As they rounded a bend, a large tree sprawled across the road, its roots unsettlingly fresh as if it had been felled only moments ago. The guard beside the coachman leaped down to inspect.
"Just a fallen tree," the guard remarked, finding no signs that it had been chopped down.
With no way around on the narrow road, the coachman steered the horses onto the grass to circumvent the obstruction, when an eerie stillness penetrated the air¡ªthen shattered into chaos.
With explosive force, a figure burst from the underbrush, his movements blurred by unnatural speed. "We''ve got company!" the coachman called out as he deftly spurred the horses into action.
The guard who had inspected the tree launched himself toward the assailant. However, despite the coachman¡¯s best efforts to accelerate, the masked man quickly closed the gap and slammed into one of the horses with the force of a battering ram, sending the beast sprawling into the grass and panicking the other.
The panicked horse veered the carriage further from the road onto uneven ground, trapping those inside from leaving.
The assailant gave chase, sprinting with an unnaturally long stride. The guard might have given chase too if not for a dart that struck him in the back. He turned, brandished his sword, and after several attempts, managed to pull out the dart, the tip so fine it penetrated his ringmail. The odd burn he felt confirmed it was poisoned. Realizing it was a well-planned ambush, he stood his ground instead of pursuing, knowing another attacker was likely aiming to finish him off.
The guard calmed his nerves as he reached into his inside pocket. Expecting an attack, he sidestepped a sudden flash. Instead of charging toward the source, he calmly twisted the item he had retrieved¡ªa small, waxy paper container. Initially, nothing happened, but then an oily liquid seeped out, igniting to produce rich, blue smoke.
Watching this, a woman emerged from her hideout, charging toward him. The guard recognized her clothes. She was the same woman who had brought flowers and carrots to their horses at the market.
The realization that they had been blindsided didn''t dishearten the guard; instead, he sported a wide, threatening grin. He might have been tricked, but he knew he had disrupted the assailants'' plan. The fact that the woman charged at him proved he was doing something right. "Come," he taunted, his throat feeling dry and suffocated from the poison. "You shall see what the Black Lord has taught us."
The lone guard prepared his stance, his form immaculate and precise. Soon they clashed, trading blows that sent sparks flying from their finely honed steel blades. One protected the smoke signal with his life while the other tried to take it out.
Meanwhile, inside the carriage, the situation had turned worse. Lansius felt the world lurch as the horses panicked, their cries piercing the inside as they reacted in terror. The warm pasta he had carefully packed was now splattered everywhere.
"Can you see anything?" Carla shouted as she and the other two guards tried to find the assailant through the window, but their world soon turned upside down.
"Hands over your heads and curl up," Lansius shouted to his men, bracing themselves for the worst.
"My Lord." Carla grabbed him tightly while the carriage began to roll. One of the guards also reacted instinctively, wrapping his arms around them and using his body as a human shield. The carriage tumbled, slamming them against the side. The world outside turned into a dizzying blur of earth and sky.
A crushing thud marked each impact, accompanied by sharp, piercing shrieks as Lansius and the others were jostled mercilessly. The wooden frame of the carriage groaned and creaked under the enormous stress. The sensation was overwhelming; pain and wooden dust assaulted everyone¡¯s senses.
Finally, the carriage came to a shuddering halt, lying on its side amid a chaotic sprawl of wooden debris.
Inside, there were wild coughs and groans, but all Lansius could see was red.
Outside, the assailant, muscles bulging and eyes wild with bloodlust, paused to observe the wrecked carriage. He had exerted tremendous force and then sprinted a great distance to chase the running carriage.
A rider approached him, wielding a steel bow. He had been the one who took out the coachman and the second horse. "I saw no other threat," he said from atop his saddle, calm and in control despite the carnage. "No knight, no mage, and no half-beast."
"That we know of," the first assailant replied, breathlessly.
The rider smiled, looked around, and commented, "I''m glad we followed your plan. And the drug for the horses worked wonders." He glanced toward the two dead horses. The drug accelerated their heartbeats, pushing them into panic. This caused their hearts to race uncontrollably, bursting veins or damaging their brains, ultimately incapacitating or killing the beasts outright. The blunt force to their body also served as a great catalyst to spook them.
The two observed the silent wreckage. Nobody emerged.
The first assailant tapped into his magic source again and regained his breath. "Let''s finish this and flee the city. One must not tempt Fortuna."
***
Chapter 189 : The Shadow of Death
Chapter 189
The Shadow of Death
Assassins
The mage and the hunter advanced toward the overturned carriage. Mounted on his horse, the hunter accelerated, circling to cut off any escape attempt. As they drew closer, his attention was drawn to a plume of blue smoke billowing from the location of their ambush near the main road. "Colored smoke," he announced sharply, alerting his companion.
The mage cast a glance at the ominous signal and clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Cursed! No wonder the escort felt comfortable taking some distance," he muttered to himself, then shouted, "That¡¯s a signal. Expect a pair of riders."
Thunderous hooves came as expected. Two horsemen quickly bore down on them from the direction of the main road, their crossbows at the ready.
"Keep going, I''ll handle this," the hunter barked, readying his bow and arrow, and spurred his horse toward the new threat.
The mage tapped into his source and sprinted toward the carriage, but his focus now split.
The two mounted guardsmen divided their attack; one moved toward the hunter, the other pursuing the mage.
The hunter and the guardsman released their projectiles simultaneously, nearly hitting their horses. Clearly, there was no honor here, with both targeting the horses to ensure their opponents'' defeat. As they closed the distance, they did not break off but instead drew their swords, steel glinting as they prepared for a killing strike.
Both squared off, their gazes cold and murderous, and then they clashed. The hunter powerfully launched his swing, his heavy blade cutting through the air with raw strength. Sparks erupted as steel clashed against steel, and the mounted guardsman was hurled from his saddle by the sheer force of the blow. The impact was powerful enough that even the two horses staggered off the path, but a faint smile crept across the guardsman¡¯s lips¡ªhis instincts had been right.
He hadn''t trained with Francisca and Sir Harold to die like common guards. He had anticipated the opponent''s strength, suspecting that with such a small number of assailants, there was likely a mage involved. Thus, he had loosened his foot in the stirrup and relaxed his grip on the saddle before the clash. This maneuver prevented him from being fatally dragged by his horse.
Determined to fight even for a single breath longer to save his lord, the guardsman braced for the fall and rolled as soon as he hit the ground. Bruised and bleeding, he quickly knelt, dusted off his crossbow, primed it using the lever and fired a bolt at an unsuspecting target.
His aim was true, striking the hunter''s horse as it moved away, eliciting the beast''s shocked and wild reaction. Although the hunter managed to maintain control and pulled the bolt from the beast''s hind, another bolt whizzed too close, forcing him to turn and retaliate.
Despite the hunter bearing down on him, the fallen guardsman didn''t flinch; he cocked the lever, aimed, and released another bolt. His rapid-fire forced the hunter to pull his steed to the side to evade¡ªnot out of fear for himself but to save his mount. He couldn''t afford to lose the horse, should his main target run away.
"How can he fire so many bolts so quickly?" the hunter cursed, trying a different approach.
The guardsman unleashed bolt after bolt, but the hunter regained his composure. He had faced worse monsters. With eerie calmness, he directed his steed into a circling gallop and drew his steel bow to full draw, aiming with the accuracy befitting a master marksman. He then released two well-aimed arrows that pierced the immobile guardsman¡¯s shoulder and chest. The heavy arrows, typically used for hunting large game, penetrated his ringmail and threw the guardsman aside.
As the guardsman felt his life ebbing and blood seeping from deep wounds, he crawled back, sat in the grass, and with labored breath and shaky hands, cocked the lever. But the hunter was prepared and released another arrow, striking the guardsman''s chest just below the neck.
Before he lay dead, his final bolt took flight and struck the hunter''s right wrist. Despite his toughened body tissues, the sharp bolt head painfully grazed the skin. It wasn''t deep but was enough to cause blood to stream out. He cursed his carelessness but wasted no time in proceeding to his main target.
Riding to assist the mage, he found that his ally had just dispatched the mounted guardsman heading his way.
Breathing raggedly, the mage had used a powerful static charge to kill both the horse and the rider from afar. Although he drew the charge from an external power source¡ªa dwarven gemstone¡ªit still strained his body immensely, almost reducing him to crawling.
Seeing the hunter, the mage shouted, "Go, go to the carriage! I see three climbing out, at least two with those crossbows."
The hunter didn''t need to ask and spurred his horse toward the wreckage. Despite a trail of blood on its hind, the beast complied energetically. He had paid a good price for this horse, and it was quite ironic to use fine Lowlandian horses to hunt down their own lord.
From a distance, he saw the carriage door was already open, and three figures had positioned themselves behind their overturned carriage, using it as a makeshift wall. As the hunter approached, they unleashed a flurry of bolts without hesitation.
The hunter reacted quickly, already familiar with the quick-firing crossbows. He dodged as two deadly steel bolts flew by, while another two screamed toward him. It would have been fatal had he not noted how quickly they could fire and maintained his distance.
Even with bolts flying toward him, he pressed on, aiming to circle to the enemy''s rear. His horse labored heavily beneath him, its sides heaving with fatigue from the relentless gallop, yet it kept going. Finally, after dodging two more bolts that whizzed dangerously close, they managed to circle behind the enemy. Without hesitation, the hunter drew on the strength of his steel bow, taking full advantage of his position, and released two rapid arrows at the exposed defender.
He had managed to injure one of the guards, pinning his shoulder to the carriage, and was about to deliver the final blow when another guard persistently fired bolt after bolt at him, while a third took over the injured guardsman¡¯s crossbow. Consequently, the hunter widened his circle and returned to his ally¡¯s position.
"Change tactics, keep the horse safe," the hunter commanded as he dismounted, preparing to sprint on foot when the mage grabbed him.
"We''ve spent too much time on this. I fear more are coming."
"Then I''ll be quick," the hunter replied.
"Let me help you," the mage insisted. He channeled his source toward the carriage area and drew energy from the gemstone, instantly unleashing a blinding white flash.
A violent thunderclap followed, its ear-splitting sound shocking everyone; even the horse reared up, ready to bolt if not for their effort to hold it down.
Afterward, the mage collapsed into a seated position, his face sweating profusely. He knew he had overexerted himself.
"Take the reins, or escape if you have to," the hunter commanded, then sprinted toward the carriage to finish the job.
Even from afar, he could see smoke rising from the overturned carriage. At full power, the static charge was akin to a lightning strike. Witnessing it closely, he couldn''t help but feel envious of such a versatile ability.
Out of the blue, a distinct buzzing sound sliced through the air, catching him off guard. It was distant but pronounced enough to make him pause. "Bolts?" he readying his bow, his eyes glowing golden as he scanned the landscape. Yet, he saw none.
Screams from behind alerted him to turn; he saw the horse galloping away, a projectile protruding from its back. Meanwhile, his ally was on the ground, pierced by another bolt. It was a lapse; they hadn''t seen the threat coming. Now, the mage crawled and maintained his ethereal shield, but his wounds suggested he might not last long.
More buzzing sounds filled the air and one landed near the hunter''s position. It was only then he realized they were arrows, with several more in the air aimed at him.
"Where are they? Why can''t I see anyone?" the hunter muttered irritably as he dashed toward the upturned carriage, dodging random hails of mysterious arrows. Unlike mages, he had no ethereal shield to block projectiles. Based on the poor accuracy, the bowman was likely shooting from afar, but the speed and strength required to do so at such an extreme range, beyond his sight, boggled his mind.
He scanned the cluster of trees, but even with his enhanced eyesight, he found nothing. Faced with the unnerving reality of unseen assailants, he steeled himself to fight under a hail of mysterious arrows. The mission in Korelia had proven deadly, and despite the involvement of three assassins, success was still elusive. But he wouldn''t allow it to fail.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Mere arrows wouldn''t dissuade him from his prize. He pumped his legs and made a huge leap straight onto the top of the overturned carriage.
He landed with a creak from the wooden structure. Drawing his dagger, he glanced at the three guards outside, finding them either unconscious or dead. He was about to search inside the carriage for a person with black hair when his instincts alerted him to three small figures in the distance, sprinting on all fours, moving fast. "Half-beasts¡ª"
"Guh," he grunted, recoiling from the bolt that struck his stomach. He was only momentarily distracted, but it was enough for the guard to sneak in that bolt. "How are you still alive?" he demanded.
The guard remained silent and pumped the lever on his crossbow. Enraged, the hunter snapped the bolt shaft in half and dove into the upturned carriage. He intended to kill the Black Lord first and deal with the guard at his leisure, but instead, he found only an unconscious woman. This fueled his fury even more. With all his might, he leaped from inside the carriage, the force of his exit rocking the carriage so violently that it shocked the surviving guard.
He landed nearby, deflecting a bolt in one swift motion as he unsheathed his heavy sword and charged. "I''ll kill you all. One of you must be him!" he bellowed, lunging at the guard with ferocious intent. But the man was not easily subdued; with a desperate heave, he slammed his crossbow into the hunter''s face.
The hunter smacked the crossbow away with a flash of his sword, but the guard in the blue tunic was ready with his sword. Without hesitation, the hunter lunged with a powerful thrust; sparks flew, but the man blocked him.
The exertion made blood seep from his wounded stomach, and then the hunter realized his opponent had unique traces of magic on him. "A gemstone of might, the champion''s secrets," he muttered. His attention briefly shifted to the pack of half-beasts charging toward him, and behind them, a towering cloud of dust¡ªlikely raised by galloping horses¡ªloomed. "Fuck," he cursed.
"Who sent you?" the lone guard demanded, but the hunter had already launched into a flurry of strikes aiming to overwhelm him. One strike aimed at the head was parried before the guard countered with an equally vicious strike toward the hunter''s leg.
The hunter blocked it smoothly. A smile formed on his lips. "Does it matter?" he retorted, his eyes glowing with a golden hue that could petrify even the fiercest animals. The guard flinched, and the hunter advanced, poised to strike, but instead, he took a firm fist to the face. The blow smashed his nose, rattled his brain, and wounded his pride.
"Why you!" he stumbled back, blood trickling from his nose, but quickly regained his footing and parried another near-fatal blow. Enraged, he overpowered the parry, turning it into a grapple. He surprised his opponent with his raw strength, surpassing even that of mages.
As they wrestled with their swords, the hunter suddenly leaned in, disrupting their balance, and headbutted the guard. The impact sent the man reeling back, revealing a hint of black hair under his helmet. A smile of realization spread across the hunter''s face. "My Lord, I apologize, I didn''t know¡ª"
His mockery stopped as the Lord sent him an uppercut from a blind angle. A sharp pain to the head almost made him stumble, but it wasn''t the end. The Lord of Korelia gathered his strength, intertwined his fingers, and hammered down a ferocious double-fisted blow that jolted his opponent''s skull.
The man finally went down, grinning, blood trickling from his lips and streaking down his battered face. Yet, against all odds, he stood up, his blade still secured in his hand, and challenged, "Come at me, O famed lord! Is this all you can do?"
In response, the lord launched a powerful overhead slash. The hunter parried with all his might; the clash of their swords rang sharply in the air. The force was so great that the lord''s blade chipped and was flung aside. Meanwhile, the hunter''s sword was directed against the lord''s stomach but was deflected by a swift hand.
The hunter tried to capitalize on his advantage to end his target for good, but the lord, defying any conventional tactics, lunged forward, sweeping the hunter''s legs with both arms. Both men tumbled to the ground hard, with the hunter taking the worst of it. He barely regained his breath when the lord attempted to maneuver on top of him.
The hunter resisted fiercely, and both exchanged brutal punches. The lord finally gained the upper hand by slamming his fist onto the broken bolt shaft in the hunter''s stomach. "Guhh!"
A lapse was all the lord needed to secure a dominant position, pinning the hunter down. He rained down a flurry of punches. "Who sent you?"
The hunter managed to block a dozen of blows, then found an opening. With a powerful punch, he struck the lord''s face, breaking his nose and causing blood to gush from a nostril. "Gold sent me," he spat as he scrambled to his feet and drew a dagger.
But his triumph was short-lived. A gargantuan half-beast burst onto the scene, swiping its wide arms and sharp claws toward the hunter, who desperately blocked each attack with his dagger. The creature¡¯s onslaught was relentless, driving the hunter back. Yet, he remained standing, cleanly parrying each blow, until, at last, the beast paused, panting heavily to catch its breath.
Despite his injuries, the hunter stood defiantly before suddenly scrambling toward the upturned carriage.
"He''s retrieving his bow," the Lord warned, and the beast leaped to chase.
The hunter spotted his steel bow and several arrows scattered from his quiver. He dashed forward, drawing with all his strength. As he nocked an arrow and lay down to aim, the half-beast, as expected, charged blindly toward him. "You''re just a beast!" he mocked, releasing the fully drawn arrow straight into the beast''s face.
The beast groaned, but instead of whimpering and retreating, it pounced with vengeance.
"Oh fuck!" the hunter exclaimed as a giant fist crashed into his chest. His vision blurred red, his lungs gasped for air, and the last thing he heard was, "Don¡¯t kill him, we need him alive. I want to know who¡¯s responsible for this."
***
Lansius
Amid the green scenery and beneath the blue skies, Lansius was carried by Francisca, who tried her best to keep him comfortable while maintaining her speed. Sir Harold rode at their side, with twenty more surrounding them, accompanied by a large male half-beast that had taken an arrow to his left cheek.
The strength provided by the gemstone had depleted, and Lansius felt all his bruises and wounds sting him mercilessly, jolting him awake. His head was dizzy from the burst of strength that had heavily taxed his body. "The man is beyond a mage," he muttered, recalling the fight that was still fresh in his mind.
"Conserve your strength, My Lord," Francisca replied, her breath ragged from sprinting to reach him.
"How are the men? How''s Carla? Did she...?" Lansius asked, pressing a bloodied piece of cloth to his nose to stop the bleeding.
"She''ll make it, I''ll ensure she makes it," Sir Harold reassured him.
Turning to the knight, Lansius asked, "Who''s in charge of the capture?"
"Sir Omin and the guards are currently handling it. Sir Michael will soon arrive with his cavalry," Sir Harold reported.
As they reached the Eastern Mansion, everyone in Lansius'' group appeared fatigued yet relieved. His attention was then captured by the tall wooden tower where a bronze parabolic dish was mounted. Atop it stood a figure with a bow, her posture as regal as if she were a guardian spirit of the realms. The sight caused murmurs and whispers of awe among those nearby.
"Who?" Lansius began, but before he could finish, he recognized the silhouette and the kimono. "Why is the baroness standing there? It''s dangerous," he exclaimed.
"My Lord," Francisca called gently, "My Lady is the one who truly saved you. The arrows that landed near your position were hers. She saw the blue smoke and climbed up with quivers of arrows, assisted by several of my kin, whom I ordered to stay."
Lansius was stunned and gazed at the angel of his life. "You mean she, at such range, with a bow?"
"She even managed to take down one," Sir Harold reported. "One of her arrows protruding from one of the assassins we captured."
Lansius was stunned to hear it. He knew Audrey had remarkable eyesight, likely amplified by magic, but he had never realized it was that good. Now, he was curious about what bow she used, because he didn''t recall they had one capable of reaching such a range without breaking.
He was still mulling this over as they crossed the courtyard and entered the hall. Then, they closed the gates and began to barricade everything.
"As of right now, Korelia is on lockdown!" Sir Harold announced to the worried staff, who crowded around to see the lord. "If they have accomplices in the city, or even here, we''ll find out."
"Don''t spread panic," Lansius urged, forcing himself to stand despite the painful sensations throughout his body and the still-bleeding lacerations on his wrist and arm.
His staff noticed the lord''s blue tunic was bloodied and tattered, yet it only enhanced his heroic appearance. Lansius approached his seat, grimacing from pain as he settled down. His gaze was deep and solemn as he looked around at those gathered. "Hear my order," he commanded in a clear, authoritative voice.
"My Lord," they all responded, surrounding him with looks of deep concern, care, and renewed respect.
***
Korelia
As the first mark of blue smoke curled into the sky, all city gates clanged shut. The sight of blue was rare and ominous; to those in the chain of command, it signaled one thing: their Lord was in danger. No one else had access to this specific smoke color except the Lord''s bodyguards. The response was immediate and formidable: every available dragoon and man-at-arms was mobilized.
The sudden surge of horsemen and men-at-arms throughout the city took everyone by surprise. Rumors flew, compelling residents to barricade themselves inside their homes. Soon, even more patrols filled the streets, including the famed Black Knights.
As the hours passed, the air thickened with anxiety. The city, gripped by concern, wondered: Was this an attempted coup or something more sinister? As suspicion and fear enveloped the city, the uncertainty stretched on.
Finally, the Lord''s knights, acting as heralds, brought news: the Lord had been attacked by unknown assailants but had survived with only minor bruises.
Upon hearing this, the Korelians breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yet, their initial fear quickly turned to anger as they demanded to know who was behind the attack.
In taverns, baths, and the city plaza, people gathered and debated. Such a brazen attack on their leader and the nascent Shogunate stirred something within them¡ªan ember, long unrealized, now burned brightly. To them, the shogunate was more than just some lord''s plan. It was the dream that bound them, a hope of a peaceful future in Lowlandia, an era of no more strife over the Great Plains.
To them, the shogunate was the glue that united natives, migrants, and nomadic communities alike.
To them, the shogunate was the new identity.
And now, this dream was desecrated by an act as shocking as an assassination attempt. The attack on their leader mocked every Lowlandian''s hope. It was as disrespectful as dishonoring the graves of their fathers, sons, husbands, and relatives who had died in countless previous conflicts. Such an outrage turned their collective grief into burning anger.
That night, as the initial shock gave way to a smoldering fury, the people of Lowlandia steeled themselves. A solid resolve was born, and with it, an equally strong craving for one thing: retribution.
Everyone openly wished to contribute to the war effort. And when morning came, they got what they had yearned for.
The entire military had been mobilized. The vanguard, the main army, and the reserves had received their commands. Korelia was now on a war footing. Someone had cast the dice against their Lord and the Shogunate, and now all of Lowlandia would rise.
***
Chapter 190 : Burning Within
Chapter 190
Burning Within
Lord Jorge
Flanked by his Black Knights, the Lord of Three Hills, clad in a striking black and silver-trimmed brigandine, arrived at the ambush site a mere hour after it was secured. He passed this place almost every day on his way to supervise the construction of his new house. "To think something so sinister could happen in such a serene place," he muttered.
Jorge dismounted and approached the gathered men-at-arms. The air was heavy with grief. Tears streaked even the toughest men''s faces and no one spoke above a whisper. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling his knights for silence, forgoing the need for a herald to announce his arrival.
As they approached, the Korelian guardsmen noticed and quietly stepped aside, creating a clear path for them. The men''s expressions were painted with sorrow but also profound respect.
There, Jorge encountered an unexpectedly poignant sight: a guard clung to a woman in a dark-colored brigandine. Both had departed from this world. The woman''s empty gaze was fixed on the fading sky. Their bodies bore the brutal marks of combat¡ªsword cuts, lacerations, and stab wounds, all highlighted by dark blood stains. Their fingers and nails were caked with soil, and grass was strewn around them, indicating a fierce struggle.
But those details were not what held everyone''s attention. What drew the whispers of everyone, even Jorge''s Black Knights was the deceased guard''s face. It had turned deep blue¡ªthe sign of a potent poison¡ªbut an unmistakable, peaceful smile lingered on his lips. The guardsman knew he had performed his duty well. Even in death, he held the assailant tightly in his final embrace.
"A beautiful death," Jorge praised solemnly, moved by the loyalty and duty displayed.
"Aye, my Lord," the senior guardsman replied. "He was one of our instructors and one of the Arvenians who followed Lord Lansius from Midlandia. He will surely be missed."
The somber mood was only interrupted when Sir Omin returned to the site. "Please step back, my Lord," he advised. "The woman had traces of poison on her; it¡¯s best if we wait until someone with medical or alchemical expertise can determine if it¡¯s safe to move them."
Jorge nodded and asked, "Did you capture anyone alive?"
"We captured two. Both are critically wounded; one probably won''t make it, but who knows," Sir Omin sighed. "We''re dealing with mages here."
"Multiple mages..." Jorge muttered, feeling the weight of the words on his lips before turning to his former enabler. "This is beyond any Lowlandian lord''s ability. Unless someone¡¯s suggesting that the Royal Assassins are selling their services cheaply due to the Imperium''s demise, I think there''s only one name."
"I''m sure Lord Lansius will know," Sir Omin replied.
"And the Shogunate will back him," Jorge gave his assurance.
With those words hanging in the air, the two men left the site to retrace the events.
¡°They must''ve struck one of the horses,¡± Sir Omin said, pointing to the drag mark in the grass. ¡°The poor creature was dragged until the harness finally snapped.¡± Jorge nodded as they walked under heavy escort. Sir Omin continued, "With only one horse left, likely stressed, and the rough, uneven terrain, the carriage veered to the south."
Jorge observed, "From the tracks, it looks like the coachman tried to head east."
"Indeed. He must''ve been racing toward the Eastern Mansion for safety, but alas, he took two arrows. Thrown from the carriage, and without his guide, the horse likely panicked and the carriage crashed."
Jorge spotted the upturned carriage further down the path, now surrounded by dozens of armored men. He noticed Calub, the Tarracan-born alchemist, alongside Sir Michael and his cavalry.
"Have you seen Lord Robert?" Jorge asked as they continued their approach.
"He went straight to the Eastern Mansion," Sir Omin replied. "As for the Lord of Galdia, he remained at his inn. We''ve sent more men for protection."
Jorge exhaled deeply. "The Old Lion must be worried sick. He looked at Lord Lansius like the son he never had."
Sir Omin''s gaze softened. "And what about you, my Lord?"
"Yes, the Lord of this city is dear to me. I''ve called him cousin on many occasions."
"Even his former enemies speak of him with such regard..."
Detecting a subtle shift in tone, Jorge glanced at him, "What do you mean by that?"
"Talents like him are rare¡ªone in a hundred generations. And everyone sees the fruit of his works and generosity," Sir Omin replied. "So for someone to attempt an assassination..." He sighed briefly and muttered, "I pity the one who orchestrated it. They''ve just given the Lowlandians, for the first time, a common enemy."
"Do you think we can take them if Midlandia is behind this?" Jorge asked.
"United and enraged like this, we could raid to our heart¡¯s content. Winning, however, won¡¯t be easy." Sir Omin replied, but then his face broke into a faint smile. "But that''s before we factor in Lord Lansius'' abilities."
Jorge chuckled. "The might of the entire Shogunate under Lord Lansius. This will be phenomenal to see."
"Aye. We''ll need more resources to build the Shogunate, and someone just volunteered themselves."
The former lord''s remark made Jorge stifle his laugh. Soon, the gathering crowd began to notice their approach. From among them, Sir Michael and Calub offered their respects, "My Lord, Sir Omin."
"Measter Calub, Sir Michael," Jorge and Sir Omin greeted in return, and then Jorge added, "I apologize for being a nuisance. I merely wanted to see the scene with my own eyes."
"Understandable, my Lord," Sir Michael replied, gesturing for them to approach the wrecked carriage. Meanwhile, Calub and Sir Omin separated, heading toward a different area.
"How many perished?" Jorge asked, his tone heavy as they walked through the chilling remnants of the attack.
"One guard near the road with the woman, the coachman, one mounted guardsman, and another guard next to the carriage. We lost four and three barely clinging to life," the one-eyed knight reported.
Jorge inhaled sharply. "I''m glad Lord Lansius survived. They must''ve fought courageously," he remarked, trying to find a sliver of hope amid the tragedy.
"Indeed, but it wasn¡¯t enough." Sir Michael¡¯s tone darkened.
"Not enough?" Jorge raised an eyebrow.
"By the time the rescue party arrived, the lord was alone."
"Alone?" Jorge''s eyes widened, struggling to grasp the implications. "Then?"
The knight gazed firmly and said, "Lord Lansius fought the assassin, likely a mage, mano a mano."
A mixture of disbelief and admiration swept over Jorge. "A truly terrifying situation, but also, what a feat of strength."
"I don¡¯t know what gave him the strength¡ª"
"We don¡¯t need to know," Jorge interrupted. "The fact that he survived is proof enough."
The knight gave him a questioning gaze, prompting Jorge to explain. "Even I, an outsider, am aware that people cherish him. Not only the Korelians, but also the defeated people of White Lake, Korimor, South Hill, and even the Nicopolans adore him."
Sir Michael listened intently.
"Winning wars only makes one a warlord. But to be loved and respected by so many, even former enemies¡ªthat is a quality beyond mere nobles." Jorge paused to examine the scorched marks near the upturned carriage, a clear sign of unnatural power. "Allow me to indulge myself and think that I wasn''t defeated by Bengrieve''s henchman. Perhaps the Coalition, and even the Lion, were defeated by a higher power."
Sir Michael''s lone eye darted, trying to grasp the implication of Jorge''s words.
"I won''t be the only one who thinks so. Soon, everyone will know that Lord Lansius survived a mage assassin''s attack with nothing but his strength." The Lord of Three Hills turned to Sir Michael, his gaze proud, but with a hint of fear. "It will be seen as proof. The commoners will undoubtedly believe this is the work of the Ancients¡ªa sign that the Lord of Korelia is destined for something far greater, perhaps even beyond the confines of the Steppes."
Sir Michael, perturbed, whispered, "My Lord, you can''t possibly suggest¡ª"
Jorge patted the knight''s arm. "I fear this is just the beginning."
***
Ingrid
The educator was still on leave due to the accident with the magical earring when a carriage, accompanied by a guard and a maid, arrived at her doorstep. Horrified by the news, Ingrid quickly packed her bag and left for the Eastern Mansion. In great haste, the horse-drawn carriage spirited her to the mansion, now filled with armed men, patrols, and checkpoints.
Ingrid waited for a while until Sir Harold arrived and personally led her to the makeshift hospice in the mansion¡¯s west wing. There, she found two guardsmen and Carla, all unconscious and being treated by the physician and his assistants.
Sir Harold cleared his throat to gather attention. "Please take a break and leave them to us."
His words prompted the physician and his assistants to prepare to leave the chamber. Before departing, the old physician gave his report: "I searched everything, but I cannot find the cause for the two. There are no traces of poison on their skin. I fear the issue is likely magical." He sighed and muttered, "I wish Lady Hannei were with us."
"Certainly, her presence would be of great help, but please allow the educator to try. She may find something we¡¯ve missed," Sir Harold responded, gesturing toward the educator.
The physician and the educator bowed their heads as a gesture of respect.
The knight continued, "She might be able to find something based on her knowledge, and then we can try something."
"Then I wish you luck. I''ll return later with stronger smelling salt to try." After that, the physician and his assistants left the hospice.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Ingrid wasted no time and immediately began examining the patients. The first guardsmen had a clear arrow wound. The wound dressing was sufficient, and she noticed that the arrows had penetrated cleanly through. Despite the puncture, it was easier to treat such a wound than extracting a lodged bolt head.
Meanwhile, the other guardsman, dressed in riding attire, had no wounds. Similarly, Carla also had no discernible wounds aside from some bruises. "This looks like an accident."
"Indeed, the carriage was attacked and upturned while they were fleeing," Sir Harold replied.
"By the Ageless," she muttered softly and began to check Carla¡¯s head. Naturally, she suspected head-related injuries, but she found nothing except light bruises. Then, she noticed something peculiar: burn marks marred Carla¡¯s extremities, and some of her hair stood unnaturally upright.
Her face filled with concern as she checked the other patients and found similar markings. These findings confirmed her suspicions. "This is Static Charge," Ingrid said, turning to Sir Harold. "It¡¯s a rare mage skill."
"It is as we suspected. Maester, you¡¯ve just confirmed that the assassins are mages."
"Mage assassins," she muttered, feeling conflicted. It went against the core tenet of the Mage Guild. "Based on this, at least one of them is powerful. Do we have any of them alive?"
"Are you willing to identify them? Perhaps one is familiar to you."
Ingrid took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "I¡¯d be glad to. My Guild doesn¡¯t engage in this kind of thing. Besides, my loyalty is to this House."
"We''ll call for you when the time comes for interrogation. For now," Sir Harold¡¯s gaze fell on the three patients before them, his voice thick with concern, "can you treat them? The physician could only treat the burn marks but found nothing else to address."
"There¡¯s no real treatment, but I''ll be damned if I don¡¯t try," Ingrid replied, hurriedly picking up a wooden stool and sitting between the guardsman and Carla to treat them both. She began her chant, knowing this would require her full concentration.
...
Sir Harold left Ingrid to manage the aftermath of the assassination attempt. By now, news of the attack had spread, and he was needed in his role as acting Marshal of the ruling House. His first duty was to deploy his troops to ensure security and order. The Lord had also sent a herald to calm the populace.
Like it or not, Korelia had grown into a capital, with a large populace that included nobles and wealthy individuals who needed both protection and attention. Meanwhile, he also needed to form a hunting party. Farkas and his Black Bandits were already scouring the city''s underbelly for information regarding the assassins.
It was near sundown when Sir Harold returned to the makeshift hospice, and he was greeted by a pair of beautiful eyes and a weak smile. "Carla!" he exclaimed, hastily approaching the bedside.
"Sir," she whispered. "How¡¯s the Lord? Is he recovering well?"
"He¡¯s fine," Sir Harold replied vigorously, heartened by her recovery.
"My apologies for the interruption," Ingrid said while tending to the other two unconscious guards, "but it¡¯s best to get her to her chamber for rest. Also remember to ask someone to gently clean and treat the burn marks¡ªnot with water, but with salve or apothecary¡¯s oil. Let them not fester, and watch for signs of inflammation. No bloodletting. Eat and drink in moderation."
"No wine?" she meekly asked.
"Just a sip," Ingrid replied with a smile.
Carla grinned and tried to rise from her makeshift bed. "My limbs feel stiff," she remarked, but Sir Harold quickly stopped her.
Ingrid quickly added, "Please, don¡¯t try to walk for at least two days." Then, turning to Sir Harold, she said, "I¡¯ve called for Francisca to carry her upstairs."
"No need," Sir Harold responded. "I¡¯ll carry her." With one swift scoop, the knight gently lifted her as if she were as light as a child. "Is this comfortable?" he asked gallantly.
"It¡¯s too much, Sir," Carla replied, her face reddening.
Ingrid smiled, pausing her healing to drape a blanket over Carla. "Go on. You¡¯re fortunate your condition is better than the others. Get some rest. With all that¡¯s happened, I believe everyone will be busy in the coming weeks, or even months."
...
When supper time came, Sir Harold returned with the physician and his team to take over the treatment. Ingrid was relieved of her duty and escorted to dine with the other staff. The Eastern Mansion was now packed with more people, and there were guards at every entrance. A glance outside the window revealed several groups of armed men with lanterns periodically patrolling the mansion''s grounds as extra security.
There were also horsemen on patrol, along with even a few half-breeds. After she had her meal, Francisca had been waiting to take her to the Lord and Lady.
"Are you feeling better?" the half-breed asked as they walked down the long corridor.
"Well, I feel fine after that day, but the Lord and Lady insisted," Ingrid replied.
Francisca smiled, her maw forming its usual cute expression, accompanied by an equally pleasing "ha ha" sound, almost like a happy dog¡ªbut Ingrid would never say that out loud. Still, she knew she wasn¡¯t alone; half of the staff here wanted to pat Francisca¡¯s head and hug her silly.
"I¡¯m glad to hear nothing happened because of my earring," the fluffy beast said.
"That¡¯s a precious heirloom. I hope I didn¡¯t break it. You know, I can¡¯t wait to give it another try."
"I doubt the Lord will allow it," Francisca teased, glancing at Ingrid. "They like you too much to risk you again."
"Oh, you," Ingrid replied, finding an excuse to hug her, much to the half-breed¡¯s amusement. She then noticed the happy, yet envious, eyes of the guardsmen, servants, and maids around them.
Half-breeds like Francisca had a certain scent to their fur that made them unexpectedly pleasant, if not entirely odorless, unlike horses or other animals. She often joked that humans must have only chosen female half-beasts who didn¡¯t smell to marry. However, she also said it was only natural for them to be odorless, as they relied on their noses to hunt and survive. A smelly half-beast, after all, would be easy to track, even deep in the woods.
Moreover, it was a known secret that this particular fluffy woman loved to bathe frequently, and the bathhouse manager allowed her to do so for free because her presence attracted women and girls to the bathhouse. They even supplied her with flowers and scented oils, but what she liked best was ale.
They arrived on the second floor, where Margo spotted them, and the guards opened the door for them. Only then did Ingrid realize that she had forgotten to ask about the lord¡¯s condition and now felt anxious to meet him.
"Go on," Francisca encouraged. "I¡¯ll have to take care of my new kin¡ªthey¡¯re still adjusting with many things."
Led by Margo, Ingrid entered. Inside, she saw the Lord resting on the daybed. Linen bandages covered his right arm and several other places. His face was bruised, especially his nose, which looked like it had been broken. The Lady sat beside him, her gaze momentarily suspicious of Ingrid, as befitting the situation.
"My Lord, My Lady, I was horrified to hear the news," Ingrid said, keeping her distance and trying not to gesture too much.
"I¡¯m alright, Ingrid," Lord Lansius replied warmly. "Your gemstone has saved me again."
Ingrid smiled at his response.
"Maester Ingrid," the Lady called, "if you aren¡¯t too tired, I would like you to check the Lord¡¯s injuries. Just in case the physician missed something."
"Certainly. May I approach?"
Lord Lansius motioned for her to come without hesitation. "All this added security is unfortunate. The sooner we return to normal, the better."
"I hope ¡®normal¡¯ includes adding Sir Harold and Francisca to your security detail," Lady Audrey commented.
"Yes, as the baroness wishes," he reassured her. "With more half-breeds, I can be sure that you and the Mansion are protected."
Ingrid noticed that the Lord looked surprisingly energetic, his gaze defiant, and he had even retained his sense of humor. "My Lord, pardon the discomfort, but I¡¯ll need to check your limbs and fingers."
"Why? They¡¯re mostly fine," he replied, raising both hands and wiggling his fingers.
Ingrid was momentarily stumped. "Pardon my words, but I just treated Carla and the guards¡ª"
"How is she?" the Lord interrupted, his spirits lifting. "When Francisca carried her out, she looked like she was just asleep."
"She has awakened and is now resting in her chamber."
The Lord heaved a big sigh of relief. "And the guards, are they recovering?"
"They are, My Lord. The physician and I are doing our best to treat them," she replied without hesitation.
The Lord nodded, and the Lady seemed pleased.
Ingrid continued checking the lord''s fingers but found no burn marks, letting out a sigh of relief. That didn¡¯t go unnoticed.
"What''s the matter?" the Lady asked.
"Well, as I mentioned, I just treated Carla and the guards. It appears they were likely affected by a mage''s technique called Static Charge, or Static Shock. However, it seems the Lord was fortunate enough to avoid it."
"I was hit by it too," the Lord refuted. "All of a sudden, a flash enveloped us, and I was paralyzed, dropping like a lifeless log. The crossbow I was holding even hit me on the chin," he added, gently touching his chin and wincing at the sting.
Hearing this, Ingrid was puzzled. "My Lord, if you were hit, how were you able to move? Carla believes she had it easier than the other guards because she was inside the carriage and likely more protected by it."
"Static charge, huh?" The Lord mulled over the term. "It felt like being struck by lightning."
"It does. One of my mentors could perform it, and we always heard a thunderclap," Ingrid confirmed, still puzzled about how the Lord hadn¡¯t fainted on the spot. Not even the gemstone of strength could have healed him that quickly.
"Indeed," the Lady murmured as if recalling the event.
"Oh yes, you must have seen it. What did it look like from afar?" the Lord asked.
The question made Ingrid raise an eyebrow. Noticing her expression, the Lady explained, "When I saw the signal smoke, I climbed the tower." She casually pointed toward the wooden tower outside the window. "From there, I could see the ambush and the fighting."
The Lord¡¯s face showed both concern and admiration. Ingrid wanted to ask more, but the Lady continued, "All I saw were small, faint flashes. Nothing like a thunderstorm." Her voice grew somber. "Then I saw you and the guards fall. I thought you were dead." Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"Now, now, let¡¯s not revisit that moment," the Lord consoled her, taking her hand gently. "I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m strong, and I have this magical gemstone to protect me."
"My Lord, may I?" Ingrid interrupted, afraid she might forget. "I need to maintain the gemstone again."
"Oh," he mumbled, then turned to his wife. "Audrey, help me with it."
"Right," the Lady helped to unlatch the necklace and handing it to Ingrid.
"I shall reward you and the Guild for this," the Lord promised. "It has saved me twice now."
"Gratitude for the kind words, My Lord," Ingrid replied, bowing her head.
"I hope we don¡¯t need a third time," the Lady remarked. Then she turned to Ingrid, "So, this Static Charge¡ªcan you perform it?"
"It¡¯s quite complicated. It also drains a significant amount of magical energy. Even one use can tire the body, making it difficult to access the source again afterward."
"I see. Then the assassin must be skilled. I saw him use it at least twice," the Lady remarked.
"If you''re interested, I could describe it more fully. It¡¯s in some of the books I¡¯ve studied," Ingrid offered.
Before they could continue, there was a knock at the door. "My Lord, My Lady, Captain Farkas is requesting an audience," Margo reported from outside.
"I asked for him, let him in," the Lady responded.
Farkas entered, clearly having been in a hurry. His clothes were dusty, and his face showed signs of exhaustion. "My Lord, My Lady, Maester, my apologies for interrupting, but we¡¯ve managed to treat one of the assassins. He¡¯s ready to speak and there¡¯s reason to believe he might not survive the night."
"I¡¯ll come," the Lady said firmly.
"It will be gruesome," Farkas warned.
"I expect no less," she replied coldly.
"Audrey," the Lord pleaded. "You have a baby in your womb. Let others handle this."
"No," she said, turning to him. "I need to see the person who tried to kill my husband and have a little chat."
Ingrid didn''t want to intervene but felt the need to warn her. "My Lady, it¡¯s dangerous. He might be the one who can use Static Charge."
"That¡¯s why you¡¯ll be coming with me," the Lady said, looking directly at Ingrid. "Don¡¯t you want to uncover the mastermind behind this?"
"At your service, My Lady," Ingrid said, her voice steady with resolve.
***
Eastern Mansion, West Wing
The Lord and Lady resided in the East Wing, so they had repurposed a cellar in the opposite wing to serve as a temporary holding cell. Ingrid had reunited with Francisca, and the two walked ahead of Lady Audrey. Upon seeing the prisoner, Ingrid immediately confirmed he was indeed a mage.
Even Francisca seemed to sense it, her posture growing guarded. The prisoner had been stripped down to a simple tunic, with basic wound dressings to stop the bleeding from an arrow wound. An iron pillory clamped around his neck and hands, chained to the wooden beam above, forcing the prisoner into a kneeling position.
Farkas had informed them beforehand that the arrowhead was lodged inside the prisoner¡¯s chest. From experience, they knew it would likely be fatal. An operation might save him, but it was just as likely to kill him outright, given how close it was to vital organs.
Sir Harold had decided that only this prisoner would be kept here. The other captives had been taken to the Great Keep under the supervision of Sir Michael and Sir Omin.
"Fascinating," the prisoner muttered weakly, struggling for breath. "To see two mages in this backwater city."
The jailers were quick to raise their rods, but Audrey was faster. "Hold," she ordered.
The jailers stopped and bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Wasting no time, Francisca quickly approached the prisoner with a terrifying grin. "So, we meet again. Shall I tear you apart, limb by limb?" She knelt and used only the tip of her finger to slowly trail along the man¡¯s thigh, barely grazing his skin. Yet even that light touch drew blood.
The prisoner¡¯s face betrayed his fear. Like many who had never faced a half-breed up close, he was overwhelmed by the sight of her claws and fangs¡ªsharp, large, and capable of easily tearing apart limbs.
Behind them, Ingrid carefully scanned the area, ensuring there was no neutral ground, which would be necessary for any attempt at using Static Charge. The Lady, clad in a gambeson that also protected her belly, moved forward. Her movement made Farkas and Francisca grip the prisoner tightly, preventing him from attempting anything.
The prisoner looked at the lady, confusion spreading across his face.
"How does my arrow feel? Do you like it?" the Lady asked, prompting the prisoner to show a flicker of anger. But suddenly, his expression changed drastically¡ªhe began to shrivel and tremble.
Ingrid and everyone else saw it: The lady¡¯s eyes darkened with a frightening intensity.
The prisoner trembled harder, but Farkas and Francisca held him tight.
"Tell me, who ordered you?" the Lady demanded.
Instead of answering, the prisoner trembled harder, his shouts turning into desperate wails. The Lady¡¯s patience visibly snapped. Suddenly, something radiated through the air, so alarming that Ingrid involuntarily stepped back. Only then did she realize this was far more than just a Hunter''s gaze.
A shudder ran through her as she sensed the prisoner''s magic¡ªhis source and soul¡ªburning from within. Even from a distance, she could feel his pain radiating like scorching heat. Yet Farkas remained oblivious, while Francisca seemed aware but unbothered. Ingrid¡¯s hands, however, shook uncontrollably¡ªshe had just witnessed something far beyond anything her training had ever prepared her for.
***
Chapter 191 : The Beginning of a Dance
Chapter 191
The Beginning of a Dance
Ingrid stood in the damp cellar, clutching her hands as she witnessed the exchange between Lady Audrey and the prisoner. The air felt suffocating, though she couldn¡¯t tell if it was from the physical space or something more sinister. As if possessed, the prisoner screamed in terror, his body writhing in agony while Francisca and Farkas held him fast against the iron pillory.
And all that, to most, would seem caused by a mere stare. A Hunter¡¯s Eyes, they believed. But Ingrid knew it was something far beyond that¡ªsomething even a trained mage like her couldn¡¯t fully comprehend.
Whatever it was, the prisoner¡¯s reaction was evidence of immense pain. The way his back arched, his entire body convulsing as if struck by lightning, was beyond faking. His screams tore from his throat¡ªhigh-pitched and animalistic, filled with the fear of someone losing everything.
Ingrid¡¯s heart pounded, fearing the man would drop dead at any moment. Something was tearing at his source, burning from within.
Suddenly, the prisoner¡¯s body sagged forward, his limbs going limp, his face utterly drained, his breathing shallow and ragged. The arrow wound in his chest seeped blood through his tattered tunic.
Ingrid¡¯s heart raced as she glanced at Lady Audrey, who stood unblinking, her gaze now returned to normal.
The prisoner, slumped and broken, continued to heave shallow breaths. The look in his eyes said it all¡ªhe would tell them everything, anything, to stop the pain. He tried to mutter something, prompting Ingrid to step forward. The prisoner had been injured in the chest, and his source was likely compromised, making it unlikely for him to wield magic¡ªbut there was always a risk. For any seasoned mage, taking air from someone''s breath at close range was child''s play¡ªone reason why they were, ironically, the better assassins.
Certainly, Lady Audrey could hold her own, but Ingrid wouldn¡¯t allow such a thing to happen to her.
¡°Speak,¡± the Lady commanded, her voice chillingly cold.
The single word sent the prisoner shivering and trembling uncontrollably. "I¡¯ll answer, I¡¯ll answer, anything."
The staff exchanged glances, surprised and amazed that the Lady¡¯s stare had broken the prisoner¡¯s stubbornness.
Farkas had told them that the jailers had already tried a few techniques to convince the mage to speak, but they had proven useless. The man was defiant, clearly conditioned not to answer upon capture. Despite being injured and stuck in the pillory, he could evidently still draw strength and offer resistance. As a result, the jailers requested permission from Farkas to employ stronger measures.
However, they were also concerned they might kill the prisoner outright, especially with the arrowhead lodged inside him. This was why Farkas consulted the Lady directly, leading to the current situation.
Now, against all expectations, just as the prisoner was about to speak, Lady Audrey redoubled her efforts. Her eyes glowed once more, and instantly, the prisoner recoiled, trembling in fresh waves of pain.
"My Lady," Ingrid urged, feeling compelled to intervene, "he¡¯s willing to speak."
¡°I heard,¡± the Lady replied, her gaze still locked on the prisoner as his screams filled the cellar. ¡°But just in case he tries to lie.¡±
The iron pillory rattled as the prisoner desperately tried to escape, his screams growing louder. No matter how strong he might have been, Francisca and Farkas held him firm. His eyes, wide, reddened, and filled with agony, seemed frozen¡ªunable to close, no matter how hard he tried.
"My Lady, you''re hurting his source," Ingrid tried again.
"Then there''s less chance of him hurting one of us," the Lady replied with scorn, but relented, stopping her stare.
The prisoner, as before, slumped, his body limp and drenched in sweat. Without pausing for breath, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. His eyes darted frantically around the room, briefly landing on Ingrid. She could see the raw fear on his face, pleading to be freed from the pain. There was no fight left in him, no pride.
Suddenly, he found his voice. "I''ll answer. I''ll answer." His words were slurred as if his tongue were too heavy to articulate properly.
The Lady clicked her tongue. "You''re probably going to feed me lies and make me ask twice. Maybe a little more of this will help. It¡¯s just a stare, after all¡ªit shouldn¡¯t hurt."
The prisoner''s face contorted, his chest heaving, more blood seeping into his tunic, tears streaming down his face. He was clearly breaking.
Ingrid noticed something more: the man¡¯s source was flickering like embers losing their flame. She wondered if this was the cause of the pain and the ethereal burning heat she felt.
Then it hit her¡ªshe had been struggling with her own magic for some time. Her source had become harder to wield, more elusive, and scarce. She¡¯d thought it was because of her age or the natural limits of her source. But now she remembered that it had first happened in Umberland, the night of the half-beast ambush¡ªthe same night she¡¯d seen the Lady¡¯s eyes glow for the first time. A chill ran through her.
"My Lady, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯ll be in the corner," Ingrid said as calmly as possible, not wanting to offend the Lady.
The Lady turned to her and nodded. "You may wait outside if you wish."
Her eyes, once terrifying, were now warm and caring. It seemed her control over them had improved since studying magic under Ingrid, and that realization filled Ingrid with both pride and relief.
Ingrid bowed her head and reassured her, "No, I''ll stay right behind."
"Please," the prisoner¡¯s desperate plea filled the chamber. "Please," he repeated, offering nothing more as if that word was all he could manage.
"Fine," the Lady said, and Farkas promptly brought her a chair. She sat down, leaving Francisca to hold the prisoner.
"Time. Slowly. My tongue... hard to speak," the man struggled to explain, his effort palpable.
"Fetch him a drink," the Lady instructed, sitting back in her chair.
They gave him several minutes and two cups of water before the Lady heaved a sigh. The man¡¯s back jolted in response. "I-I''m being ordered by the Lord of Edessa. I''m a mage for hire. I do things for money. I came with a hunter, a woman. Then, a male hunter joined us several nights ago. That man is the one who fought the Lord of Korelia."
The Lady raised an eyebrow. "You said, the Lord of Edessa?"
"Yes, I met his steward directly. He paid me."
"How much?" she inquired.
"I-I received seven gold coins, and he promised me eleven more after the job was done."
"Eighteen gold coins!" the Lady snapped. "You tried to kill my husband for eighteen gold coins?"
Only then did the mage realize who he was facing: the Lady of Korimor. It was as if a part of his soul left his body. His eyes lost focus, his mouth hung open, frozen in fear. The sight was disturbing enough that Farkas shook him until the prisoner mage blinked back into reality, trembling.
"My Lady, My Lady," he stammered, and in a moment of desperate genius, he added, "Your humble servant was a fool to accept. But they paid the hunter more than me. It¡¯s worth far more than just eighteen¡ªprobably if combined, closer to a hundred gold."
Somehow, the mention of a higher price on the Lord¡¯s life seemed to appease the Lady.
"It was a bad, bad deal. I feel deceived. I¡¯d never consider it again, not even for a thousand gold and a manor." His tone carried a hint of honesty.
The Lady smirked. "It seems you''ve found your voice. Now, my good canary, sing me a song. Tell me who¡¯s truly responsible for this grave mistake, because I''ll plan a visit."
The mage gulped and quickly said, "It''s the ruling House of Edessa, no doubt."
"Try again. Simply uttering a name isn¡¯t the tune I¡¯m looking for," the Lady replied, her tone bored.
"They... they never gave me a reason, but I know! I know," he stammered, terrified of failing her. "Edessa heard about the new southern trade route from the guilds. They want to protect their monopoly on trade to Navalnia."
His words prompted glances among the group. Ingrid noticed Farkas seemed ready to ask something.
"Go on, ask him," the Lady said, gesturing to Farkas.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Farkas stood next to her and asked, "Tell me, why would the Margrave of Edessa be concerned about the new trade route? The southern trade passes through his land and will benefit him greatly."
"They are not separate entities," the prisoner began. "The Margrave¡¯s House and his family are tied to Midlandia. Every noble in the region knows that their wealth comes from joint holdings in Midlandia¡ªdozens of exclusive workshops whose goods are transported to Edessa and sold to Navalnian traders." He paused for breath, the effort taxing. His wound was deep, likely close to puncturing his lung.
The arrow wound puzzled Ingrid. After all, the Lady said it was her arrow. Was she present during the fight? But considering the Lord''s condition, it seemed impossible. Everyone who knew the Lady understood that, even while pregnant, she would have fought right at the front. So how did she use an arrow if she hadn¡¯t been with him?
Ingrid stopped her pondering as the prisoner continued, "Imagine if the goods now come from another place¡ªLowlandia, or even from Baronies or Earldoms beyond Nicopola. Yes, the Margrave would profit from taxes, but it would be nothing compared to the lost sales."
"I''m curious," the Lady said. "Why does the Margrave set up workshops in Midlandia, not on his own land? Surely it costs a lot to transport the goods."
"That¡¯s his protection against Navalnia."
Everyone''s eyes grew curious, and the mage explained, "If the workshops and talents were in Edessa, there¡¯s a risk that Navalnia would conquer it. Navalnia always pays handsomely for artisans, craftsmen, or other talents."
"To enslave them," the Lady said, her voice filled with veiled anger.
The mage dared not say more and simply waited.
"Is Midlandia involved in this?" the Lady asked.
"Y-yes. The new Lord is involved. While the Margrave of Edessa orchestrated this, I know the funds and connections come from Midlandia."
"How can you be so sure?" Farkas asked.
"The Margrave is powerful, but he¡¯s not exactly a High Noble, and his land is on the edge of the border. He has no access to assassins. If this was solely his doing, he would have sent only me, a rogue mage. But he also sent two Hunters¡ªnot the ones who handle hawks, but hunter-killers, assassins. Even for me, they are as elusive as the fell beasts they¡¯re rumored to hunt."
"The old order," the Lady muttered, as though she were familiar with it.
The man dared not question her and simply said in a weak and faltering voice, "That is all I know. Please, I''ll not betray your generosity."
Perhaps intrigued, the Lady asked, "And what do you ask in return?"
"I dare not," he replied, his expression frail and pale. "I wish only to repent until my last breath."
The sudden declaration could have been seen as a desperate attempt, but for those who had witnessed his agony, it was clear that the man feared the Lady¡¯s gaze more than any torture device. Somehow, it was far more powerful than the jailer''s tools.
...
Farkas
After the short interrogation, the Lady instructed Ingrid and the physician to tend to the prisoner. She believed he might still be of use, or at the very least, the Lord could question him personally to uncover other important insights. Her staff agreed. It wasn''t a difficult decision¡ªthe man was condemned, and even if they commuted his death sentence, he would likely rot in a dungeon.
While the Lord often showed leniency by sending prisoners to work for the Nomads in the Great Plains, the mage was clearly too dangerous to be given such an option.
"How about the Hunter?" Lady Audrey asked as they walked down the long corridor, returning to the east wing under escort.
"Sir Harold has departed to personally oversee his interrogation," Farkas replied.
His answer surprised both the Lady and Francisca. "He didn¡¯t die?" the Lady asked.
"He didn¡¯t, My Lady," Farkas confirmed.
"His ribcage was caved in. He took Big Ben¡¯s full-force blow to the chest," Francisca muttered, and the three exchanged uneasy glances.
Farkas added, "Despite all the wounds he took, he¡¯s still breathing."
"What else do you know?" the Lady asked.
"The bolt wound in his stomach healed faster than the physician thought possible. His nose and jaw are recovering as well. Based on his recovery, we suspect he¡¯s one of the fabled assassins."
"A Ranger," the Lady muttered, drawing attention from the others.
"You seem to know about them?" Francisca asked innocently, what Farkas dared not.
"Yes, my master befriended one," she revealed, prompting wide-eyed disbelief from the others.
"I used to hunt with them," the Lady added, to their amazement.
Farkas, unable to contain his curiosity, asked, "My Lady, forgive me, but what kind of beasts do Hunters like that chase?"
"Bears," the Lady said without hesitation, betraying Farkas'' expectations of exotic animals or fell beasts. "Sometimes others," she added, though she seemed unwilling to elaborate, before quickly continuing, "but mostly different kinds of bears."
Francisca, who was usually quiet on escort duty, seemed to enjoy the conversation. "My Lady, since you¡¯re familiar with them, is there anything else you can tell us about such Hunters?"
"I never called them Hunters. My master used to call them Rangers or Scouts... or lazy bastards," she added with a faint smile. "They¡¯re strong, physically strong. Stronger than my master, who was a mage, and far more durable in a fight. They can survive fatal blows, deep wounds from claws, even bites, and keep fighting¡ªall while only wearing gambeson."
Farkas gulped. He was a hunter, but this was a completely different kind of fighter.
"How do you think one would fare against me?" Francisca asked, grinning.
"I can¡¯t be sure until I fight you in a spar," the Lady said with a smile, prompting Francisca to laugh adorably. "Perhaps after I¡¯ve given birth."
"I¡¯m looking forward to that, but let¡¯s not use the eyes against me," the half-breed teased.
"Why?" the Lady asked.
"It¡¯s too scary! I don¡¯t want to be seen writhing in agony," Francisca giggled, wagging her tail happily.
The Lady chuckled softly as they reached the wooden stairs.
Farkas stood straight and bowed his head. "Please look after the Lord, My Lady," he said, more out of formality, without expecting an answer.
"Rest assured, I will not fail," the Lady replied firmly. With Francisca''s assistance, they ascended the stairs.
Her words caused Farkas to take a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. Then, one of his assistants, a Black Bandit member, reported, "One of our affiliates recognized the dead woman. They traced her to an inn. The innkeeper confirmed there were only three of them. Two had been renting rooms for more than a month, and the other just arrived."
"It fits," Farkas remarked. "Perhaps there are only three, and they acted alone without support."
"Is it possible to do something like this without a support group?" the assistant mused aloud.
"They¡¯re either overly confident in their strength, or they worked alone to prevent leaks."
"A frightening opponent," the assistant muttered.
"Indeed." Farkas turned to him and said, "You¡¯re smart, born into an esquire¡¯s family, and talented with a gittern."
"Captain, why do you speak like that?" the man asked, troubled and suspicious.
"The guards let not one, but three assassins into the city," Farkas replied grimly.
"But Captain, you''re not to blame. We weren¡¯t dealing with that."
"Still, I feel responsible," Farkas shrugged. "The Lord might forgive me, but¡ª"
"You talk shit for someone I picked," a clear voice called from the entrance. The two guards and others turned to see a stalwart man in flamboyant attire and a young girl beside him.
"Captain Sigmund!" they all shouted in surprise, moved by his presence.
"Yes, I¡¯ve returned," the skald replied cheerfully. "And it seems my services are urgently needed."
Behind him, two men in bright troubadour clothing, their muscles concealed beneath the fine fabric, stepped forward. One had a beautiful gittern strapped to his back, and the other carried flutes, but both had blades discreetly hidden. Their easy, confident smiles were charming, and often used to distract others from their keen, observant eyes.
Farkas recognized them¡ªthey were his tutors. Their return signaled that the Orange Skald, a cross-province spy network, was ready for action.
***
Lansius
Even with everything that had happened, Lansius kept his calm. Against even his own expectations, it wasn''t difficult, as he had seen how his wife and retainers reacted and knew that justice and vengeance in the name of honor were beyond question. His position as their leader demanded that he act rationally. Ironically, an army needed a cool head to direct both his and his men''s anger in a precise, effective, and orderly fashion.
Because anger alone didn¡¯t win wars. Victory required immense preparation. "Veni and Vidi, before Vici," Lansius muttered as he walked, with some effort, to his desk. His brown wig was placed nearby. It would need delicate hands to clean out the pasta flour and repair it.
He groaned softly as he sat down, his broken nose bleeding again. He carefully pressed a cloth against it, wincing as the pain stung. The swelling had also blurred his vision somewhat.
As the discomfort subsided, he returned to his thoughts, focusing on Midlandia. Though investigations were still ongoing, he had enough written evidence to believe Sir Reginald was likely responsible.
"Responsible," he repeated, feeling the word on his tongue.
Truthfully, the letter alone provided enough justification. Sir Reginald was either a fool or too arrogant to consider the consequences. But Lansius could understand. It was simply unthinkable for a mere power in Lowlandia to challenge the might of Midlandia. Even at the height of the succession crisis, it was a laughable idea.
Lansius glanced at the window, wanting to crack it open, but the aching in his body made him relent. Still, he couldn''t help but notice some of his men outside, standing guard, their X-bow ready. He sighed. "To be drawn into war again," he lamented.
Midlandia was on a different scale compared to his previous campaigns. Compared to Lowlandia, the province was vast, wealthy, and heavily populated. It boasted dozens of cities, hundreds of towns, and likely thousands of villages. It would be a massive undertaking.
While he had better training, superior doctrine alone didn¡¯t win battles. Campaigns were won by skilled commanders, courageous soldiers with high morale, and, most importantly, a sound, robust, and flexible logistical chain.
Without those, one or two battles might be won through experience, feats of strength, or bravado, but the campaign would eventually be lost. The greatest work in war, therefore, lies in the humble yet complex art of logistics. As they say, an army marches on its stomach.
This was the reality of large-scale war and campaigns.
The Veni part of the campaign would be the hardest, but it was often overlooked. What troubled him most, however, was that victory didn''t always manifest when one side claimed it. In a war against a large population, even after he secured a victory, he could still face serious resistance. Resistances that his small force couldn''t possibly handle in the long run.
Even the Shogunate was small compared to Midlandia, with limited resources and manpower.
He sighed and pushed that train of thought aside¡ªit was going nowhere. Opening a drawer, he found what others might consider unimportant writings, but to him, they were his prized war plans. He had created them during moments of idleness, constantly revising them with new knowledge or changes in the situation. Like the great generals he admired, Lansius believed in having a plan for everything¡ªeven for his allies.
Be polite, be courteous, and have a plan to kill everyone in the room.
He couldn''t help but recall the famous quote. As he read his notes and carefully reviewed the latest report on his realm, he drew a long, deep breath. "The numbers don¡¯t lie," he concluded.
All his efforts since taking Korelia and preparing her for war had come to fruition. He had enough provisions for a short campaign.
Even without him knowing, the preparations had already been completed. Sir Justin, Calub, and Cecile had proven themselves capable administrators. Moreover, Lansius had underestimated the strength of a united Lowlandia, with its growing but powerful horse-driven trade routes and caravans.
As a result, the Veni part he had been worrying about turned out to be a non-issue.
With his heart beating faster, Lansius pulled out another parchment from the drawer, filled with scribbles, markings, and scratched-out notes. It looked like a child''s drawing, but it was his latest strategy against Midlandia.
He looked at his writings and focused on two words he had circled. "Decapitation Strike," he read, as he began to visualize the movement of his armies: the vanguard, the auxiliaries, the logistical component, and the special forces. Someone had cast their dice against him, likely expecting him to play along, but Lansius wasn''t planning to join. Instead, he planned to upturn the table¡ªand while he was at it, burn the entire gambling house down.
***
Chapter 192 : A Step to Follow
Chapter 192
A Step to Follow
Eastern Mansion
Soft knocks pulled Lansius from his work. He glanced up from his desk, expecting the usual¡ªa report from Margo about an important matter or someone requesting an audience. Instead, he saw Audrey peeking in from the hallway. He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you knocking?"
"Well," Audrey said, still standing outside, "you looked busy, and I didn¡¯t want to be a bother."
Lansius chuckled softly. "You''re my wife, My Lady, and soon to be the mother of my child," he said tenderly, motioning her inside.
Audrey smiled, pushing the door open and stepping into the chamber. "I may be your wife, but I¡¯m still a squire at heart. I don¡¯t want to interrupt my lord while he plans his war."
"War, you say?" Lansius replied, amused.
Audrey closed the door behind her and pulled a chair closer to sit beside him. "You said it was just your musings, and that I could read them if something caught my interest."
"True. But I did warn you that my writing is terrible. I think better while doodling half the time."
She leaned in closer, a playful smile on her lips. "Since I¡¯m not a bother, how are you? Any aches or pains? Are you tired?"
Lansius smiled softly and let out a sigh. "Just a little," he reassured her, though his mind momentarily drifted to the loss of his four guards. They had been more than mere security details; they were comrades-in-arms, even friends. He had treated them like seniors or uncles; in return, they treated him like a favored nephew.
"Are you sure you don¡¯t want that duck egg broth?" Audrey¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts.
Her words prompted a groan from him, and then he noticed the teasing grin on her face. At that moment, the physical pain from his injuries, the lingering fear of death, and the mental weight of losing his men all collided. Without fully understanding why, he leaned in and kissed her deeply. He almost lost her and everything. Despite the deaths and the chaos swirling around him, his mind craved comfort.
Audrey¡¯s eyes widened in surprise at first, but it didn¡¯t take long for her to respond with equal passion. As their lips met again and again, the weight of his near-death experience flooded him. If the assassin hadn¡¯t been toying with him, if Audrey hadn¡¯t made that impossible shot, if one of the guards hadn¡¯t sacrificed himself; he would¡¯ve been nothing more than a cold corpse.
After several more kisses, his mind finally began to calm, but by then, Audrey had taken charge, her usual fiery self fully reemerging. As the haze of emotion lifted, Lansius began to realize her sudden shift in attitude. Not because it was unexpected, but because of how smoothly it had happened. There was no more hesitation, no lingering confusion. It was effortless.
It seemed that Audrey had succeeded in mastering a public persona. A mask, much like his own. Whether this mask had come to her naturally or from observing him, he wasn¡¯t sure. After all, she had been there when Sir Callahan taught him the importance of concealing one¡¯s true self. Lansius never brought it up, allowing her to grow into her role on her own.
He himself had two masks. One, rarely used, was that of a crazed conqueror, meant to confuse and deceive his enemies. The other was the mask of a benevolent ruler, shown to his inner circle and allies.
Audrey¡¯s mask, however, was more pragmatic. It reminded Lansius of modern businesses, where personal and professional selves had to be kept apart. Sometimes, to lead effectively, one had to be cold, calculating, and even heartless. He couldn¡¯t recall exactly where he had worked in his past life, but he remembered the feeling of a role where friendship had no place.
The softer Audrey was her lady persona, but the real Audrey was hot-tempered, brash, and fiery. When the mask was removed, only in front of him, she reverted to the girl he had first met in Bellandia and then Toruna.
Now, the Baroness of Korimor stood before him, her cheeks slightly flushed, her hair taking on a bronze hue in the light of the three lanterns. Her skin had a new fairness with hints of sunspots from their recent campaigns, and her eyes were as captivating as they were dangerous. She was more beautiful than ever, and even her body had changed¡ªher chest had grown noticeably.
Audrey gently lowered herself onto his lap, facing him, and the black lady from Toruna whispered, "I¡¯ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, and you can¡¯t stop me."
"I won¡¯t," he replied, inhaling her familiar scent.
"Then it¡¯s settled."
Lansius blinked. "Wait¡ªwhat''s settled?"
"I¡¯m going with you," she declared, cutting off any protest with a kiss that left him breathless.
Despite his wounds, he felt desire stir, but he kept his focus. "Drey, you''re pregnant."
"We¡¯re traveling with physicians," she countered cheerfully. "And Midlandia has even better ones."
"But it''s war," he tried to reason.
"Our seventh if you count Riverstead as two," she retorted effortlessly.
"Mm..." he mumbled, unable to argue that they had been living in a constant state of war. Still, in a last effort as blood rushed and clouded his mind, he argued, "But you''re not pregnant at that time."
"Quiet," she whispered with a mischievous grin. "You failed to guard this body of yours that belongs to me. Now, surrender and prepare for punishment."
"Mercy," Lansius chuckled. "I¡¯m wounded."
...
It was near dawn when Lansius awoke. His wife had already donned her traveling attire, signaling that she was ready to march at a moment¡¯s notice. "Is this for real?" he asked.
"Either you let me join you, or I''ll join the SAR team," she quipped.
Lansius massaged his temple. Despite her insistence, he could have ordered her to stay, but he knew it would only make her wither away. He extended his left hand and said, "Then help me get dressed. I can''t look bad next to you," he quipped.
After washing his face, Audrey helped him dress with the skill of a seasoned squire. As she worked, they spoke freely.
"I believe Margo told you that Sigmund arrived aboard one of the airships?"
"Indeed," he confirmed. "I''m surprised they were able to take Kapua and defeat such a large mercenary army." He added, "I''m glad to see some semblance of order and governance restored in Nicopola. And the way Lord Avery and Sir Morton handled the team¡ªthat''s beyond belief."
"That surprised everyone. Your SAR earned great honor and made a name for themselves. Be sure to reward them properly."
"I''ll see to it that each of them gets a house," Lansius reassured her. There was enough plunder to afford such a gift. "But why is Sigmund here?"
"Just a quick visit. He brought his two minstrels to assist us."
"Ah, the Orange Skald," Lansius muttered, referring to his covert spy network known for their distinctive bright clothing. Internally, he¡¯d nicknamed them his Neon Ninjas.
"Yes, they have capable agents, and some have naturally infiltrated our neighbors, including Midlandia."
"They¡¯ll be perfect as our eyes and ears," Lansius remarked.
"Indeed." She took a deep breath before continuing. "The investigation points to Midlandia and Edessa. The men are ready¡ªthey spent the entire night preparing. But where will you point the sword?"
Lansius paused momentarily. "I¡¯ve consulted with Lord Robert. He and the Lord of Galdia will head east and send an envoy to Edessa to demand answers while preparing a joint force in case of a conflict. We¡¯ll send a token column as support."
"And the rest of the troops?" she asked.
"To Midlandia," Lansius replied without hesitation. "They¡¯ve sent us an invitation we can¡¯t refuse."
Audrey gazed at him. "And what shall we do to Midlandia?"
"There are several plans, and more will likely form. I intend to stay flexible," he explained.
She paused and repeated, "I mean, to what end?"
"To see it fall," he confirmed, his eyes firm, even though he knew her gaze could undo him.
Audrey smiled, likely satisfied by his determination, and prepared his doublet. "Which route will we take?"
"All routes," he replied. "We won¡¯t burden the communities and lands we pass through. As much as we carry supplies, it¡¯s better to buy food locally."
"It¡¯ll also help confuse the enemy," Audrey commented.
"Exactly. We might even maintain the element of surprise. And it could serve as bait if they¡¯re foolish enough to take it."
She nodded and checked the fit of his doublet, frowning slightly.
"Why is it so tight?" he asked.
"You''ve grown," she replied.
"My belly?" he ventured.
"No, your arms and shoulders." She frowned. "You''re starting to look like a lumberjack."If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"That''s good," he replied, proudly.
"How unbefitting of a lord. You should eat more," she complained unexpectedly.
Lansius laughed and countered, "These arms saved me from assassins."
"Well, I''m not saying I don''t like it," she said in a mischievous whisper before shifting to her usual tone, "So, when do we leave?"
"The vanguard and select elements of the army depart today with a token supply train to establish camps. As for us, we¡¯ll wait for the knights and nomads, then move together with the main army. Besides, I need to take care of a few things."
"Something important?" she asked, intrigued.
Lansius nodded, his eyes sharp and focused. "Yes, a few tasks and two important letters to guarantee victory."
***
Korelia
An hour after dawn, the Korelian army was already prepared and eager. There was no need for a bannerman¡¯s call to assemble them; the Lord¡¯s army was always active, their lives centered around training and study in their billets or the Great Keep that served as barracks.
The Captain of the Vanguard returned from the Eastern Mansion with his officer staff. Having received their orders, the troops began their march. It was no ordinary march¡ªit was a merry procession, each step met with the Korelians'' spirited cheers and pride as they headed toward the main plaza.
The Vanguard was the pride of the people. They were the column that had stood firm against the Coalition Army and saved the city. They had also loyally followed through the Korimor campaign, South Hill, and Umberland. While the main army would not depart from the city, they were present in today¡¯s march. Only the knights were missing from the ranks, as they would march separately with the cavalry.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the city, the plaza buzzed with excitement. Citizens lined the streets, their murmurs turning to shouts as Lord Lansius stepped out of one of the carriages. Beside him was the Lady, flanked by other notable nobles¡ªLord of White Lake, Lord of Three Hills, and the recently joined Lord of Galdia. Their presence alone stirred awe.
Joining the ranks were Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Sir Omin, Sigmund, Farkas, Francisca, Calub, Cecile, Sterling, and Claire, among many others. There were also several half-breeds, the city''s honored guests, and symbols of pride in the golden era they were living. Their arrival, like the airship, brought an air of development and myth to the burgeoning Shogunate.
The forward element reached the plaza, where the marble white fountain stood. The water fountain, adorned with duck ornaments alongside statues of the lord and lady, had become a beloved landmark. And there, in the flesh, stood the Lords and Lady, surrounded by powerful allies and trusted retainers.
The Vanguard¡¯s faces, composed of the bravest from all over Lowlandia, beamed with pride as they marched past, their eyes fixed on their leaders. Just yesterday, their peace had been shattered by the news of an assassination attempt. They had heard of three mages involved and that four of the lord''s most loyal guards had been killed. To see him now, standing with a bandaged right arm and bruises on his face, gladdened them beyond measure.
Everyone present in the plaza knew in their hearts that the foreigner with black hair was the anchor behind the vision of a united Lowlandia. Without his guidance, the province would likely descend back into endless blood feuds. Thus, their respect, hope, and love for him transcended the normal servant-master relationship. Many even carried small wooden carvings of him, each marked with his distinctive black hair.
His arrival, his endless victories, his powerful allies, the half-beast''s friendship, the airships, the saint candidates, the city''s abundance of food, his innovations, his care for the people, and lastly, his survival against the assassin mages had solidified his status as the Ancients'' favored son.
Now, as they approached, Lord Lansius, the Shogun¡ªthe man on whom they pinned their hopes¡ªraised his hand and commanded, "Men, break formation and circle around me."
With military precision, the army followed his command, eagerly gathering around the leaders. The plaza wasn¡¯t large enough to hold everyone, but enough contingents were present that any message spoken would eventually spread through the ranks.
"Gentlemen," the Shogun addressed them warmly. "I don''t have the heart to send you off without speaking to you at least once. And drop your bags¡ªI don''t want to tire you out."
The army responded with grins and cheerful murmurs. Suddenly, someone shouted, "My Lord, we pray for your fast recovery."
As if those words had broken a dam, an overwhelming surge of emotion followed. Men from every rank raised their voices, faces filled with fierce loyalty and concern. "Who dared harm you, my Lord?"
"Just give the word, and we¡¯ll make them pay!"
"Direct us to the ones who wronged you, my Lord."
"Revenge for the fallen four!"
The last shout burned their spirit further. The chorus swelled louder with a mix of love and rage. The men surged forward, their fists clenched in fierce determination. "They want war, we¡¯ll give it to them!"
"Tell us where to go, and who must answer for this insult!"
It was clear they were ready for war. Not just for honor, but for revenge and survival. To them, the fallen guards and Lord Lansius embodied the dream of a united, peaceful, and prosperous Lowlandia, a dream they were determined to protect at all costs.
The Lord''s allies exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring the men''s fervor, equally moved by the raw display of loyalty and affection.
"Gentlemen, gratitude for your concern, but make no mistake that this war will not be easy, and we may end up facing a siege," the Shogun began, his voice wavering under the weight of this outpouring of support.
"Guide us, my Lord," the men insisted.
"We were ready for sieges since Umberland. That didn¡¯t work out, but Midlandia is as good as any," someone quipped, garnering hearty chuckles and laughter.
Lord Lansius enjoyed the response and waited for the crowd to calm before walking to a tall, pristine marble pillar. He patted it for all to see its solid thickness. "This marble is currently empty, but I¡¯ll have craftsmen and artisans to create a marvelous work of art," he began, capturing their attention.
"However, my face will not grace this stone. It will be sacred." He turned to them and declared, "On one side, the names of the four bravest who fell yesterday in the line of duty will be etched into the stone. Their names and acts of gallantry will be remembered forever."
The men nodded in solemnity. The fallen guards were well-known to them¡ªsome had even been their instructors.
"As for you," the Lord continued, tapping the other side of the stone. "This side will bear the names of those who have shown the utmost courage and valor in combat. Their names and deeds will be forever carved into this stone, to be honored by every generation of Korelians who passes by."
The idea of a monument dedicated to bravery stirred the men.
"But that¡¯s not all." The Shogun smiled, his eyes gleaming, earning expectant grins from his men.
The Lord then took what looked like a silver crown, brought by Sterling, the squire who had returned victorious from the Nicopola campaign, and handed it to the Captain. "Inspect it and tell the troops."
"It''s heavy," the Captain remarked to his men. "Must be more than the weight of a great helmet."
"It''s made of iron, so everyone will recognize your resolve," the Lord declared. "I shall present it to the bravest first who successfully scale the wall on a siege. The winner can use it to weigh the silver prize they will receive as a reward for their valor."
The idea of a silver as heavy as the iron crown brought greedy grins to their faces. It was a sum worth dying for.
"Make no mistake," the Lord repeated. "This will be a hard campaign. And even if we win, what comes after may also be filled with hardships. Now, are you still with me?"
The Captain briefly turned to his men, gathering their responses, before answering, "My Lord, on behalf of the men, please command us. We shall not fail."
With the weight of everyone''s expectations upon him, the Lord finally revealed, "Midlandia."
The men, the army, the entire crowd¡ªall erupted in a deafening roar. Even the mention of the vast province¡¯s name failed to deter them. Instead, it unleashed a different raw emotion that surged through the ranks. Men banged their weapons against their shields, fists raised high, voices rising in unison.
The Lady, sensing the rising momentum, took the Lord¡¯s arm in quiet support. With a commanding tone, Lansius gave his order: "March north, and we¡¯ll meet again in Midlandia."
***
Lansius
After the army had marched out, the area around the plaza was swept and cleaned in preparation for a solemn procession. After a ride through the city, the four coffins arrived at the plaza, carried by honor guards¡ªmany of whom were their comrades-in-arms. The crowd watched in silence; today had become an unofficial holiday as everyone gathered to witness yet another important event.
The families of the deceased were welcomed by Lansius and Audrey, along with the remaining staff members still in the city.
This was one of many reasons Lansius had chosen to delay his departure. He felt compelled to give the last rites for the fallen. Two of them were Arvenians, and the other two Midlandians. These hardened men, with gentle souls, had followed him since the battle against the Lion of Lowlandia.
They were among the first to place their trust in him, and their loss was as heart-wrenching as the loss of Sir Callahan. They were more than mere guards; they were his seniors, his confidants, who had never failed him¡ªin peace or war, in keeping his secrets, and in protecting him.
The coachman had been a dear friend, and Audrey was especially fond of his service. A gentle soul with an endearing care for the horses, he was also a capable cavalryman. Meanwhile, the three guards had been with Lansius in every battle, fighting shoulder to shoulder with him, drawing blood on many occasions.
Sigmund, who was present, lent his skills by playing a ballad of their bravery. As the coffins were temporarily laid to rest in the plaza, to honor them and allow them their final hours under the sun, Lansius and Audrey placed a wreath of flowers on each one.
Knowing it would be too difficult for Lansius to speak, Audrey gave the eulogy. She had known them well, having worked with them as part of Lansius'' security detail during her time as a squire.
As she read, Lansius stood silently, his eyes fixed on the four wooden caskets. He tried to listen, but his mind wandered, recalling their faces and the last meal they had shared¡ªa simple pasta-like dish. It was unfamiliar to them, and two of his closest guards hadn''t really liked it. Now, those memories were forever burned into his mind.
"You were all the most courageous I¡¯ve known," he muttered, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
His gaze shifted to the white marble, soon to be a monument to courage. Many more would die in the war, and he knew he might come to regret his choices¡ªbut the die was cast. Just as these four had made their choice long ago, so too had Lansius. He was their lord, and he had a duty to honor their deaths, their dreams, and the dreams of everyone who depended on him.
"Rest easy. Korelia will take care of your family," Lansius said softly before their caskets. And then he vowed, "I''ll find those who wronged you. The sky will be my witness. They''ll know our wrath."
...
After the funeral, Lansius returned under heavy escort. He had several matters to attend to, one of which was to visit the airship hangar. Lord Avery had lent them an airship to transport his share of trophies from the campaign, and Lansius knew the crew would be eager to return home.
"Sterling," he called, sharing a carriage with Audrey, Claire, and the squire.
"My Lord," Sterling replied.
"My apologies for not giving you and the crew a victory celebration."
The young couple exchanged an amused glance before Sterling responded, "Not at all, My Lord. We had enough in Dawn and at South Hill. To ask for more would be wasteful."
Lansius chuckled at his squire and observed, "Somehow we ended up marrying mages."
"Beautiful mages, too, My Lord," Sterling smoothly added, earning approving smiles from the ladies.
Their banter would have continued if not for the sudden halt. Guards mounted quickly, and Francisca stood alert beside the coachman.
"Please excuse us," Claire said, rising to shield Audrey from the window, while Sterling instinctively positioned himself to protect Lansius.
Lansius caught Audrey¡¯s nod of approval, but a feeling of unease lingered. He made a mental note to rotate the guard duty. While he had allowed the young couple to participate in the Nicopola campaign, he couldn¡¯t bear the thought of them coming to harm to protect him.
Unexpectedly, Sigmund and Farkas appeared at the window. "My Lord, there''s an urgent message," Farkas said before Sigmund leaned closer and whispered, "It''s from Lord Bengrieve."
Everyone inside exchanged glances.
"A verbal message, My Lord. Only two riders," Sigmund continued. "We allowed them entry as they insisted on seeing you immediately."
"Bring them to me," Lansius instructed. "With assassins lurking, there¡¯s a risk they could be silenced."
"But it''s risky¡ªthey might attempt poison or use some kind of gas like Calub¡¯s," Sterling warned.
"I can search them, and I¡¯ll be thorough," Farkas assured, putting their worries to rest. With a nod from Lansius, the two riders were soon brought before him.
"My Lord," the riders greeted him, their faces haggard, lips dry, skin leathered from the relentless sun, and their clothes dust-covered from the road.
"You¡¯ve requested my audience, invoking the name of Lord Bengrieve, but even if I hear your message, how do I know you speak the truth?" Lansius questioned.
"My Lord, Lord Bengrieve said that once you hear the news, you¡¯ll understand," the messenger replied.
Lansius nodded and instructed, "Speak freely."
"My Lord, Lord Bengrieve dictated this: The fall of the Capital was not in anyone''s plans. He now must abandon Midlandia, even amid crisis, to return to Elandia. His goal is to unite the lords of Elandia to hold their border and prevent Lord Gottfried from claiming the title of Emperor."
Lansius exhaled heavily, understanding his benefactor''s motives. Audrey leaned in and urged the messenger to continue.
The messenger hesitated, looking around as though wanting privacy. Lansius noted this and said, "Speak openly. I am in the company of trusted people."
The rider nodded. "Lord Bengrieve also said that Arryn and Tanya from Bellandia are in Cascasonne."
Lansius¡¯ eyes widened, and Audrey placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Leaning close, she whispered, "You have my support. And I believe all of Lowlandia will stand with you."
***
Chapter 193 : A Measured Advance
Chapter 193
A Measured Advance
Lansius, for the first time in years, heard news of his family. It had been several winters, but their names had never faded from his mind. Yet, the news came as a complete surprise; he had long since stopped expecting Bengrieve to keep his promise. With the succession crisis and the war in the north, everything had seemed too chaotic for such matters.
He swallowed and turned to Audrey, who met him with a reassuring gaze. He then glanced at his retinue¡ªSterling, Claire, Sigmund, and Farkas¡ªall of whom nodded, likely grasping the significance of the names to him.
Sensing the shift in his favor, the messenger pressed on. ¡°Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan request your reinforcements to liberate Cascasonne.¡±
Lansius saw the bait in the request and understood why his benefactor had sent a messenger rather than a letter. He feigned frustration and replied sharply, ¡°You can¡¯t possibly expect me to relieve a siege and risk my retinue and troops just to save three souls that were promised to me.¡±
¡°My Lord is right,¡± Sigmund interjected. ¡°By agreeing to this, Lord Bengrieve would secure Cascasonne, but Lord Lansius would only secure the few already promised to him. Unless you grant us the right to loot the city for three days, this offer has no merit.¡±
The two messengers exchanged glances before one spoke. "We saw the army moving to Midlandia. Surely it is beneficial to face a common enemy? Moreover, you are an ally to House Bengrieve and relative to House Stan."
"Do not mistake my issue with Sir Reginald will involve Cascasonne," Lansius warned. "Moreover, it''s such a bad taste to use relationships to interfere with war settlements. Surely you must be in agreement that merit alone should be the measure of honor and reward."
"But My Lord, the besieger army in Cascasonne will eventually block your way. Surely you''ll be better off fighting with the city and Sir Stan on your side."
"If it is, then there''s no point in your request," Lansius countered. "If my movement against Sir Reginald will eventually pull the besieger army out, then Cascasonne will undoubtedly benefit without me having to liberate it."
The two could only exchange glances, knowing they couldn¡¯t refute the logic. The senior of the pair nodded before turning to speak. ¡°My Lord, in exchange for this great assistance, Lord Bengrieve is prepared to offer his blessing for any land that did not originally belong to our camp.¡±
The mention of such an offer turned heads, and a ripple of murmurs spread through the group. The air seemed to hold its breath as they weighed the simple yet powerful proposal: any land not belonging to our allies is yours to claim.
Many understood that while the Shogunate could raid and attack at will, they lacked the legitimacy to rule the province. Without recognition, the elite could easily sway the population into resistance, risking widespread unrest that could escalate into open rebellion. But with Lord Bengrieve¡¯s backing, they would gain a crucial stamp of legitimacy.
Even amid the succession crisis, the commoners still respected the Seneschal of Midlandia and his long-standing House. His support would offer powerful leverage and solidify their authority.
Moreover, the stretch of land promised was vast. With half of Midlandia rising against Lord Bengrieve, Lansius was potentially looking at control over at least a third of the province. It was an astounding offer, on top of ensuring his family¡¯s safety.
Lansius did not immediately agree, instead, he put on an indifferent expression and clicked his tongue. The absence of a letter and the way the messenger had hidden the offer did not sit well with him. ¡°If Lord Bengrieve offers me such a proposition, then Midlandia must be a lost cause.¡±
¡°My Lord¡ª¡± the messenger began to protest, but Lansius waved him off. From his side, Audrey¡¯s hand pressed upon his arm as she leaned closer. ¡°Let me handle them," she offered.
Lansius gave her an immediate nod, grateful. Audrey exited the carriage with Sterling and Claire. From above, Francisca leaped down swiftly, accompanied by two of her kin. One of them unfurled an umbrella to shield the lady from the sun. Her commanding presence, coupled with the fierceness of her retinue that included half-beasts easily overwhelmed the pair, who had never expected to encounter such a creature.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± Audrey addressed the messengers, her tone cool and controlled. ¡°I apologize for my impatience, but my brother and Lord Bengrieve seem to have made many promises. Now, tell me¡±¡ªher eyes gleamed, and her voice grew resonant, carrying a power that transcended mere words, ¡°what else have they offered us?¡±
...
The carriage arrived safely at Eastern Mansion without incident. The two messengers had joined them as guests, and Lansius planned to meet with them again after gathering his thoughts and adjusting his plans. There was no doubt that he would march to Cascasonne. His vengeance against Sir Reginald could wait, as Lansius would prioritize his family''s safety. Moreover, the messengers had mentioned that Hannei and Tia were also there.
"The problem is whether the castle still holds," Lansius said as he and Audrey slowly ascended the stairs to their chambers.
"The messengers seem confident," Audrey replied.
"How many months has it been? At least six?" Lansius exhaled deeply.
"Have some faith. It''s Bengrieve we''re talking about," Audrey reassured him.
Lansius nodded. "I can''t believe we''re relying on Bengrieve''s acumen now."
"They have Sir Stan too," she pointed out. "Even if you don''t trust Bengrieve, Sir Stan is more than capable."
"Indeed. He''s eccentric, but a great rider and knight."
They reached the second floor, where Margo promptly opened the door. Francisca entered first, ensuring everything was safe.
"I''ll be making my rounds then. I need to see Carla, Ingrid, Lady Astrid, and the rest," Audrey said.
Lansius gazed at her warmly. "Don''t overexert yourself."
Audrey smiled. "You too. You''re still recovering."
"I know," he reassured her and then headed to his chamber. It was close to midday, and Lansius expected a hot, humid room¡ªthe reason he disliked working with papers at noon. However, he found the chamber comfortably cool. The change was so unexpected that he stepped back when Margo opened the door.
"What''s the matter, My Lord?" Margo asked, alert. Francisca quickly approached.
"Is it too cold?" someone asked, prompting Lansius to turn toward the speaker.
"Claire, you can do that?" Lansius asked.
Claire gave an awkward smile. "I''ve done it several times, My Lord. My apologies if it¡¯s not as good as My Lady¡¯s."
"No, no, you''re doing fine," Lansius reassured her, while internally wondering why he had never noticed if Audrey had done that before. Suddenly, he recalled why their winter hadn''t been so frigid.
I never knew I had an air conditioner...
Lansius chuckled at the thought, prompting Margo, Claire, and Francisca to exchange questioning glances.
"No, don''t worry about it," Lansius reassured them. "You''re doing fine. Please, take a rest. I''ll be writing a thing or two."
"Should I summon the scribe, my lord?" Margo offered.
"Yes, Margo, that would be helpful. Also, please summon Calub for me." While waiting, Lansius headed to his chamber and began drafting letters at his desk. The first draft was addressed to Lord Avery, congratulating him on his recent victory and campaign. Lansius also extended well wishes and proposed future cooperation. He finished the draft after several tries, and, as if on cue, Margo knocked lightly, announcing the scribe''s arrival.
Lansius gathered his parchment and headed to the study chamber. There, they settled into a quiet rhythm, the scribe transcribing Lansius'' words onto finer parchment and occasionally offering suggestions. After some time, they sealed the letter with wax, pressing Lansius'' crest into the still-warm seal. The wax had barely cooled when Calub arrived, carrying a bundle of fresh, leather-bound parchment notes.
"You come prepared," Lansius said with a grin.
"I''ve worked under you for quite a while now," Calub responded lightly.
Lansius approached him and gripped his arm firmly. "Work with me, Calub," he corrected. "I owe you too much to think that you''re working under me."
Calub smiled proudly. Even the scribe, observing their exchange, seemed pleased.
"So, as you know, I''m going on another campaign." Lansius heaved a heavy sigh.
"It can''t be helped, and I''m ready if you need my assistance."
"I always want you on my side, but I have nobody in Korelia. Unless you have some business in Midlandia?"
"I have business there, but it can wait until the conflict ends," Calub reassured Lansius, who nodded in understanding.
"So," Lansius motioned to the chair, and they all sat. "First, before I forget, have you tasted what our fellow half-breeds call yam?"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
"How could I forget? Cecile loves them," Calub replied, then quickly understood Lansius¡¯ intent. "My Lord, do you want us to grow them?"
"Indeed. Can we do it?"
"Of course. The fact that Francisca could grow them here is proof enough. Moreover, we have a half-beast community now."
Lansius leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "One thing. I don''t intend to grow them as a delicacy for the rich and nobles. I see them, especially the unsweet, starchy variety, as a future staple."
"Staple?" Calub frowned, deep in thought, while the scribe beside them also appeared intrigued by the statement.
"Yes," Lansius replied confidently. "There are some differences, but I recognize their taste. In my homeland, we call them pomme de terre. Many cities consume them in great quantities, even more than grains. They''re good-tasting and versatile. You can puree them, boil them, fry them with tallow... the possibilities are endless."
"Such a shift toward them will require a lot of work," Calub muttered, unsure.
"We''ll start small¡ªbut not too small. I¡¯m telling you this now so you can grasp the scale. That yam has a higher yield than wheat. I want my people to have a variety of food. And even if Korelia can''t grow them, we can introduce them to Korimor, South Hill, or White Lake."
Calub nodded in agreement. "That would be a tremendous boon for the Shogunate members," he commented.
"Indeed. The only challenge is how to promote them. I believe the commoners may be reluctant to grow or eat them."
"Not at all, my lord," Calub disagreed. "Francisca has brought it to the tavern and bathhouse she frequents and shared it with them. So, people are aware of it and might be willing to try it."
Lansius stroked his chin, realizing how fortunate he was. It reminded him of the story of King Frederick II of Prussia, who struggled to convince his people to grow potatoes. The king eventually resorted to planting them under guard, sparking so much curiosity that people began to steal and cultivate them. Lansius had thought he might face a similar challenge, but his situation seemed far better.
Calub, noticing the pause, leaned in slightly. "My Lord?" he asked.
"Yes," Lansius replied, "we''re fortunate if the populace is willing. In my homeland, it took decades to convince people to grow them. At first, many were simply suspicious of it."
"Not here," Calub said, shaking his head. "The people of Korelia love change, especially if it means more food on the table." The two of them, along with the scribe, chuckled in agreement.
Afterward, Lansius spent the next hour outlining his other plans for Korelia. At the top of the list was securing the Southern Trade Route, which would require at least fifty cavalrymen and an equal number of nomads as protection. Second, they discussed the various needs of the Lowlandia Office of Work. Lansius emphasized to Calub that he wanted them to keep experimenting and that failure was a natural part of learning.
With help from the two, Lansius also formulated several new laws, including stricter regulations regarding the river. He wanted to ensure that the city¡¯s growing populace would not foul the water, allowing the nascent fishery to thrive.
"With the city growing, we''ll also face a higher risk of plague. We need to promote better hygiene, including public restrooms with working sewers to avoid polluting the river," Lansius instructed.
"I¡¯ll bring it to the Office of Works. They can start drafting something," Calub replied.
"Also, beware of body lice; they spread disease easily. We may need separate bathhouses for travelers and require them to bathe and clean their clothes on arrival."
"Are you proposing a traders-only area?" Calub asked.
"A travelers-only area," Lansius clarified. "And only for hygiene and disease prevention. I know it might not be popular, but if we make it attractive and well-designed, the area might grow on its own. Besides, our current market is packed, so I don''t see why we can''t expand."
Calub nodded and glanced at the old scribe, who chuckled. "A new market means more tax revenue. And if body lice are a concern, we could add regulations for lodgings to improve cleanliness."
"If needed," Lansius agreed. "But make sure someone monitors it. I don¡¯t want a rule that no one enforces."
Calub and the scribe jotted down his instructions.
"Next is the fire watch," Lansius continued. "How is their extra training going?" Last winter, Lansius had ordered them to focus more on building safety.
"As we agreed, I''ve tasked them to learn about building inspections. Now, the day group monitors buildings for fire or collapse risks," Calub reported.
"How skilled are they?"
"Not as qualified as masons, but many have a background in carpentry."
Lansius nodded, pleased. "I hope they can detect fire risks. We can¡¯t have a fire wiping out large parts of Korelia."
"Indeed, with summer approaching," the scribe muttered.
"The three new fountains should provide good access to water in case of a fire," Calub pointed out.
"Yes, they¡¯re strategically placed to serve the most populated areas and assist the fire watch," Lansius confirmed, glancing at his list. "Lastly, the orphanage and school. Any issues?"
"They¡¯re doing well. We have many young talents, and last year we sent some graduates to work in the library and castle as assistants for training."
A satisfied smile crossed Lansius¡¯ face. "Are they still under Lady Astrid and Cecile?"
"And Eleanor, Sir Justin¡¯s daughter," Calub added.
"Oh, right..." The name sparked Lansius'' memory. "How is she? I promised to look after her, but I rarely find the time."
"She¡¯s fine. She seems happy as Lady Astrid¡¯s lady-in-waiting," Calub reassured him.
The scribe added, "There¡¯s no need for concern, my lord. Lady Audrey meets with her daily."
Lansius was relieved. He had known about Audrey''s shadow court, which assisted in running their House, but only now did he begin to grasp the full scope of its responsibilities. It covered a wide range of duties, including matters he often overlooked. The court, humorously named something like the "Hot Water Club," allowed Lansius to focus on larger issues.
At that moment, Francisca entered the study chamber and met his gaze, though her expression was uncertain.
"It¡¯s all right; we¡¯re finished. What is it?" Lansius inquired.
"My lord, you may wish to intervene." She motioned to the window.
Lansius frowned. "Excuse me," he said to Calub and the scribe, rising to follow Francisca. When he looked outside, he was taken aback. "That¡¯s my wife riding, isn¡¯t it?" he asked, noting Francisca''s awkward smile.
He sighed as Calub joined him at the window, squinting. "My Lord, that looks dangerous."
Lansius rubbed his forehead. "The physician said her pregnancy was far enough along for light activity."
"No noble physician would allow that," Calub replied, his brow furrowing.
Lansius shot him a look, visibly concerned. "Really?"
The alchemist leaned closer to the window. "Is¡ is that a bow?"
Lansius turned to Francisca. "Can you stop her, gently? Tell her I want to share lunch with her."
"Of course, my lord." With impressive agility, Francisca opened the window, leaped out gracefully, and landed smoothly, drawing the awe of several guards. She then made her way toward Lady Audrey.
"My lord," Calub began as they watched the scene unfold in the courtyard.
Lansius glanced at him. "Speak."
"With the airship under maintenance after that long journey, how will you travel?"
"Carriage," Lansius replied. "The workshop recently completed something remarkable, and I intend to test it."
***
The following day, preparations for their departure progressed steadily. Lansius attended to every last detail that required his approval or consideration. This included the humble but highly important pasta. He had tasked Cecile and Carla, who was still declared unfit for duty, with developing a method to create pasta, allowing them to experiment with flour blends, dough consistency, eggs, and drying techniques.
However, he couldn¡¯t devote too much time to this, as another matter of greater importance awaited his attention. Since last season, Dame Daniella had maintained a steady correspondence with him, sending questions, reports, and updates on establishing the Moneylender Guild.
After several exchanges, they were finally ready to launch their services in Three Hills. As Lansius penned his letter of approval to open an account, effectively becoming member number one and founder, a nervous smile tugged at his lips. He held in his grasp something far more formidable and dangerous than armies: banking.
Thomas Jefferson believed that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies.
Yet Lansius knew this was largely a misquote and did not refer to a modern banking institution. Still, concern weighed on his mind as he finished his letter with a final stroke of the quill. With the seal of his House¡ªeffectively, that of the Shogun¡ªthe Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank, or SKY Bank, had come to life.
The scribe, fully aware of the letter¡¯s significance, accepted it with reverence and personally saw to the rider and escort. Such a letter wouldn¡¯t travel by small, rolled hawk mail but would be entrusted to an official messenger.
The rise of this banking institution would ultimately secure funding for future military campaigns and countless innovations. It would, hopefully, allow local businesses and entrepreneurs to thrive. However, Lansius wasn¡¯t naive enough to think he could control such an entity. But he believed that understanding them was the first step toward regulating their power.
He recognized that, in a century or two, banks could disrupt kingdoms and empires even more than nobles and their petty wars. His world¡¯s history was filled with examples of great economic crises brought on by unchecked and reckless practices.
One might even argue that World War II had its roots in banking crises. He exhaled deeply, recalling his knowledge of these matters. Contrary to popular belief, the Weimar Republic post-World War I hadn¡¯t been impoverished. Germany had regained its economic status after the war. However, due to poorly understood currency exchange phenomena, the republic faced bankruptcy when it attempted to purchase pounds sterling to pay for war reparations.
Hyperinflation severely devalued the German mark. Despite a strong economy, the currency and the republic itself became pariahs as prices soared uncontrollably. Eventually, thousands of marks were needed to buy necessities like bread, eggs, and milk.
This artificial economic crisis caused immense suffering for the German people. Just as the situation began to improve, however, the US stock market crashed, ushering in the Great Depression. Driven by greed and highly unregulated practices, this devastating crash had global repercussions. Overnight, many Germans, having invested their savings in the US, saw their wealth vanish. This second blow further damaged the already crippled German economy. With purchasing power lost, businesses began to close, people lost jobs, and the nation was left bitter and resentful, paving the way for radicals to seize power.
Lansius drank his water, absorbing the weight of his reflections. Despite the risks, he understood that banking institutions fueled growth like no other invention. The availability of funds enabled inventors, entrepreneurs, and businesses to flourish, heralding the birth of the modern era. He only hoped that his rules and regulations would be enough to prevent the worst from happening.
Soft knocks sounded on the door. "Yes?" Lansius said, and Margo opened it just a crack to report, "My Lord, the two messengers from Bengrieve request an audience."
Lansius smiled. "Did they tell you their reason?"
"They said they need to deliver your reply to Sir Stan immediately. They even purchased two fresh horses to speed their journey home."
Lansius chuckled, pleased to have competent and motivated people on his side. "Tell them there¡¯s no need to ride alone. They should join me tomorrow, as I¡¯ll deliver the answer to Sir Stan myself in five or six days'' time."
***
Late Spring, 4426
In the aftermath of the failed assassination, the combined might of the Shogunate marched out of Korelia, heading in three directions.
Two hundred Vanguard troops had marched north, led by Sir Harold and Sir Omin, toward the Ornietia Barony, still believed to be under their benefactor''s control.
One hundred Shogunate troops and the Black Knights headed to Korimor, led by Lord Jorge and Sir Michael. There, they would await five hundred reinforcements from Three Hills, including the famed Crimson Knights. Although more men could have been provided, the Lord Shogun chose to keep an adequate reserve within his realm.
Another one hundred Shogunate Troops marched east, led by Lord Robert and the Lord of Galdia, to strengthen their defense in case of provocation from Edessa.
Each force was further bolstered by another hundred voluntary troops¡ªarmed, trained, and equally motivated.
The herculean task of managing the supply lines fell to Sir Omin, who had proven remarkably capable and efficient. Once the central figure in the last Western Lords'' Coalition, he was now working for the Shogunate¡¯s cause. His shrewd leadership, diplomatic skills, deep understanding of merchants, and deft calculations were all crucial in keeping the supply chain moving rapidly and seamlessly.
Meanwhile, the Lord himself had set out for Cascasonne Midlandia, commanding:
Approximately 100 Knights
500 Light Cavalry, Dragoons, and elite Cranequiniers
500 Men-at-Arms as the main army
700 voluntary troops armed with spears, swords, shovels, barbed wire, and crossbows
Under House Lansius and the Shogunate, Lowlandia had transformed from the backwater province it once was, and so had its army and doctrines. Almost everyone was equipped with a backpack and had trained extensively with it, enabling them to march at incredible speeds and easing the burden on the traditional baggage train.
In total, no fewer than 3,000 souls were mobilized, not including the nomads and the supply chain.
The Shogunate¡¯s swift reaction and rapid marches would soon shock Midlandia, which had never anticipated the full might of a united Lowlandia bearing down upon them.
And so, the war for Midlandia began.
***
Chapter 194 : The Blitz Counterturn
Chapter 194
The Blitz Counterturn
Sir Stan
The rainy season had ended, and the fighting around Cascasonne grew fiercer by the day. Lord Bengrieve¡¯s much smaller relief force, led by Sir Stan, was doing its best to support the besieged castle. Through surprise attacks and flanking maneuvers, they¡¯d dealt the larger enemy force a bloody nose. Yet, it was only in a hit-and-run fashion, as they lacked the numbers to offer a pitched battle.
After all, it was two hundred against nine thousand. Lord Bengrieve, however, had entrusted them with an alternate plan. Knowing that an army of that size required a massive amount of food, he instructed them to target the supply lines.
The supplies likely came from Sir Reginald¡¯s staunch allies. Thus, Sir Stan focused his efforts on stalking and ambushing the weaker supply convoys that followed predictable routes.
Early on, he achieved great success, capturing two convoys and, when heavily outnumbered during a third encounter, destroying the supplies by dumping them into a nearby river. Now, after five days of risky stalking, Sir Stan¡¯s men had tracked down another grain transport, moving near an abandoned village.
This would be their fourth, but they knew it would be different from the start. The enemy was better prepared this time, with a heavy escort accompanying the transport. The ambush quickly devolved into a brutal, grinding battle. What should have been a swift, decisive strike turned into a bloody slog as Sir Stan¡¯s men were unable to break the ranks of the four hundred who defended the supply carts.
Knights and foot soldiers hacked through mud and grit. The two sides had once fought under the same banner, but now they were their worst enemies. Any hesitation had long since turned to hatred, each side convinced that their cause was worthier than the others.
Blood soaked into the earth, and the once-peaceful village became a grim battlefield.
"Sir Stan!" an aging lieutenant shouted, stumbling through the chaos, his battered armor weighing him down as he pushed through the thinning line of his allies. Up ahead, he caught sight of his commander directing his forces, trying to regain the momentum.
"Sir Stan!" he called again. This time, the baronet of Toruna turned toward him.
"I hear you. Say your piece," Sir Stan ordered amidst the sound of fighting nearby. He was preparing to rejoin the fray, his squire standing by with his helmet, freshly cleaned except for smudges of blood.
"We can¡¯t keep this up," the lieutenant reported breathlessly. "Our flanks are buckling. We''re far too outnumbered!"
"We¡¯re always outnumbered," Sir Stan replied dismissively, preparing to rally his men. He had fought on foot, unwilling to risk one of his few remaining horses in case of a counterattack.
The lieutenant gripped the baronet¡¯s armored arm, which, like the rest of his gear, was filthy, stained with blood, and battered. "Sir, the new recruits will break and flee at this rate," he urged his voice tight with urgency.
The tone halted Sir Stan. He paused to scan the battlefield and cursed at what he saw. "Damn it!" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. The ambush was unraveling, and they hadn¡¯t even managed to take or destroy the precious grain. "Where are our reinforcements?" he complained, more to himself than anyone else.
Misinterpreting, the lieutenant replied, "There¡¯s been no word from our allies."
Sir Stan stood with his face twisted in frustration and fatigue. He knew he couldn¡¯t win this ambush; not without breaking his men. He looked at his soldiers, their eyes fixed on him with expectation. Gritting his teeth, he finally relented. "Pull back," he called, his voice cutting through the battle noise. "Pull back!"
The order swept through the ranks, and the exhausted force of barely two hundred began their retreat into the cover of the woods, abandoning the grain transport and bloodied escort.
***
Lubina Castle
A knight, his hair damp with sweat, wearing an equally damp arming doublet, approached the corridor with a hurried stride that seemed to herald bad news. The guard recognized him and quickly allowed him entry. As he stepped into the hall, the sounds of heated debate washed over him. A dismissed scout was heading his way, so he motioned for him to report his findings.
The scout obliged and whispered, "The Lowlandians have reached Krasna."
The knight exhaled sharply and nodded, signaling for the scout to leave the hall. Meanwhile, the council continued their debate.
"Radima, Yarosla, and now Krasna. What is our border garrison doing?" shouted another knight who looked as if he¡¯d never fit in a saddle. He was there because he was a close ally of Lord Reginald.
"What is our border garrison strength? I assume they¡¯re likely holding out but being bypassed by cavalry," Lord Reginald commented calmly, seemingly unfazed by the Lowlandian incursions.
"The border defense should have a hundred men-at-arms, along with another hundred from the local garrison and forty riders. Surely they can at least delay, if not prevent, an outbreak," the newly appointed Seneschal replied from his seat.
Lord Reginald turned to his ally. "The garrison should hold. We can probably expect them to break out and start their counterattack."
"My Lord," the newly arrived knight interjected.
"Sir Edmund," Lord Reginald greeted, "Glad to have you joining us."
"What news do you bring?" the Seneschal asked, motioning for Sir Edmund to take a seat.
"There¡¯s no need for that; I¡¯ll be departing again shortly. But let it be known: the situation is dire."
"We¡¯ve assessed it," replied the Seneschal, "and we believe sending Sir Waller with a contingent to the border should¡ª"
"There is no border anymore," Sir Edmund interrupted, his voice rising. "I was three towns away from the border when I found our garrisons in Ostra and Letwana retreating, leaving the towns to the enemy."
The council¡¯s eyes widened in shock, their faces a mixture of disbelief and dread.
"We¡¯ve been flanked from both east and west," Sir Edmund continued somberly. "And worse, we don¡¯t even know where their main force is. Their army advances as rapidly as their cavalry, leaving our garrisons confused. One group from Kornika hailed them, believing them to be allies and asking for directions, only to be ambushed."
"By the Ageless," muttered the large-bellied knight beside Lord Reginald, slumping into his seat.
"That¡¯s exactly how a cavalry-based army moves. Don¡¯t be disheartened; it¡¯s just a large-scale raid," Lord Reginald reassured the hall.
From outside the hall, the guard let in another man under escort, his hurried footsteps echoing as he breathlessly announced, "My Lord, a report from the front."
"What is it this time?" Lord Reginald asked, bracing for bitter news.
"Luka. They¡¯ve surrounded Luka. The city requests your immediate assistance," the soldier pleaded.
The news sent a ripple of murmurs through the council.
Sir Edmund stepped forward, asking the soldier, "Luka? Then they¡¯re not heading for Cascasonne?"
The soldier could only shake his head, unable to answer, and was soon escorted out, his plea left unanswered.
"It¡¯s too far east; it must be a diversion," another knight commented.
"Toruna," the Seneschal remarked, drawing attention to the map of the realm. What they saw unnerved them. The fact that the Lowlandians had managed to encroach on Toruna, a barony loyal to Bengrieve, in just a few days of fighting was a dire development.
"Tell me, what¡¯s their end goal? Think! We can¡¯t have a plan if we don¡¯t know their aim," Lord Reginald pressed his council.
"From Toruna, they could follow the river into Lubina, passing through settlements rich with crops," the Seneschal replied grimly. "They must be heading here," he concluded, and the chamber fell silent.
Sir Edmund placed both hands on the table. "We need everyone here. We must prepare to defend Lubina."
"No," Lord Reginald replied, his voice firm, almost emotional. "Cascasonne must fall," he exclaimed strongly. "With stout heart, Lubina can withstand any siege." He echoed a famous line spoken hundreds of years before.
The council members exchanged unsatisfied glances but decided to comply. "How about pulling garrisons from our northern side?" the Seneschal suggested. "If we''re lucky, we could even hire hired swords from Feodosia."
The council began to hatch a plan to reinforce Lubina while maintaining their stranglehold on Bengrieve¡¯s bastion.
***
Lansius
After their arrival in Orniteia, which had decided to pledge loyalty to Bengrieve, the Shogunate army used it as their staging ground. From there, Lansius launched his Vanguard, Dragoons, and main army in three directions.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Before his main push to Cascasonne, he aimed to paralyze the enemy''s defense by bypassing well-defended places and advancing as deeply as possible, spreading panic and pressuring towns to surrender or forcing their garrisons to flee.
What he encountered, however, was a disorganized defense followed by a major collapse. Against his three-pronged advance, Midlandia¡¯s southern border crumbled like a house of cards. However, this fortunate development concerned Lansius, especially after confirming reports of the 9,000-strong fanatical army besieging Cascasonne. He had naturally expected heavy resistance.
"Ostra and even Krasna," he muttered, naming the small towns that had just surrendered. "This is progressing too smoothly for my liking. I never imagined we¡¯d be advancing this deep in just a few days," he said to Audrey as they rested in their tent after a weary day of travel. Margo was preparing additional amenities inside the newly erected command tent as they settled in for the evening.
"You fear a trap somewhere?" Audrey ventured, studying the map on the table. Lansius didn¡¯t respond, instead leaning over the table and gazing at the map, his chin resting on his right hand.
"Perhaps it¡¯s because of the succession war," he speculated, trying to find a reason.
"No," Audrey responded firmly. "I think we¡¯re simply too good."
Her seemingly oversimplified explanation left Lansius perplexed.
Margo silently brought over a plate of green grapes that Francisca had tested earlier, her instincts keener than any human¡¯s.
"Our brigades are moving so swiftly that it must look as if we¡¯re everywhere at once," Audrey clarified, taking a bite of a green grape.
It was one of the goals he had hoped to achieve, but Lansius was still troubled. "Don¡¯t the Midlandians fear the Lowlandians?"
Audrey frowned. "I thought you¡¯d planned for this, with all the drills and the speeches." She mimicked his firm voice, "Do not damage the farms or the people¡¯s livelihood, or else your blood and soul will fertilize this soil."
Lansius was amused. "I didn¡¯t say the blood and soul part. Who made that up?"
Audrey giggled softly.
"But really, I haven¡¯t prepared for this." Lansius sat back, more relaxed. "Indeed, I¡¯ve kept discipline high so the populace will be more likely to support us. But they should only realize this after they¡¯ve opened the gate, not before."
"Ah, you forget that, above all, they fear your punishment," she said, a teasing glint in her eye.
Lansius chuckled but countered, "I did not eat the souls of the living."
"Well, you did dock my pay last year, remember? Your troops remember it well," Audrey retorted smoothly.
"How does that even help make the Midlandians more compelled to surrender?" Lansius asked, at a loss. Lingering anxieties about ambushes, reports of enemy movements, and constant adjustments to war plans had mentally drained him.
"Our men haven¡¯t faced heavy resistance, so there¡¯s little reason for them to mistreat the populace. Meanwhile, on the other side, you¡¯re quite famous among the Midlandians."
"Famous?" Lansius looked genuinely surprised, which drew polite chuckles from Margo and Francisca nearby.
Audrey turned to them, clearly enjoying the chance for some fun. "It seems the Lord of Lowlandia is completely unaware of his own reputation."
Instead of a grin, Lansius was frowning, shifting uncomfortably. "You mean the ''Black Lord¡¯ who flogged old Servius three times? That hasn¡¯t died out yet?" he asked weakly.
Audrey laughed, as did the others, leaving him even more perplexed.
"The Great Lord Shogun of the Steppe hath forgot his great deeds," Audrey continued, ramping up her teasing. "The victor of four battles, the salt giver, the liberator of Korimor, the grain provider of South Hill, the champion of the Nicopolans, and the savior of Umberland."
"Well..." Lansius tried to keep a firm expression, but a smile broke through. He hadn¡¯t realized he had such a strong reputation.
Audrey took another grape before continuing with a proud smile. "Farkas¡¯ men and the Orange Skalds have confirmed that your reputation precedes you."
"But how?" Lansius asked, curious. "It all happened far from Midlandia."
"You forget that most of your troops were recruited from Midlandia¡¯s lowest ranks," Audrey replied, picking another grape.
"Ah," Lansius realized, feeling a bit foolish.
"Many who joined us in Toruna were once cutthroats, drunkards, and gamblers. Their families had no hope for them. And then they returned as reformed men, clad in fine surcoats, rich tunics, and sturdy boots, their jaws hardened, their eyes softened, their tongues filled with tales of valor, while their purses were heavy with coins. Imagine a hundred of them in towns, cities, and villages."
Lansius nodded, listening intently.
"They will undoubtedly attract attention. Even less interesting stories have spread far. I imagine they become the darlings of taverns, with minstrels flocking to them for tales. Farkas told me he¡¯s already heard at least five songs about you. Not all are flattering, but at least you¡¯re well-known," she added with a sly grin.
Lansius refrained from giving a response, allowing Audrey to continue in a steady tone, "The Midlandians may fear you and distrust the Lowlandians, but they¡¯re also intrigued by your reputation. Besides, we¡¯re not invaders. We¡¯re loyalists to Lord Bengrieve."
He looked at her tenderly. "Your insight is invaluable, My Lady."
Audrey smiled proudly, enjoying his praise, and gently caressed her belly. "I must be getting some help from my son. He¡¯s smart, like you."
"Don¡¯t you mean our son?" Lansius corrected.
"No, he¡¯s mine," she retorted playfully and tossed another grape into her mouth.
Lansius couldn¡¯t resist her teasing anymore; he rose just enough from his seat and kissed her quickly, sucking the juicy grape from her mouth.
"Noo, that one was sweet," she complained, finally realizing what had just happened. Lansius chuckled and left the tent. He wanted to see Sir Omin to oversee their logistics and consult the Hunter guildsman in case of any issues with his hawks.
He had tried to establish a connection with the secretive side of the Hunter guild. They couldn¡¯t afford to be ambushed by another group of assassins. As he walked, the sunset breeze stirred around him, as if beckoning him to admire the golden tapestry of clouds in the sky.
Francisca and several guards were with him. The half-breed was now his personal escort; otherwise, Sir Harold refused to leave his side or take a separate command, reasoning that they were now in a hostile land.
"Hostile land, eh?" he muttered to himself as he walked through the large encampment. With Midlandia crumbling like a sandcastle, Lansius knew he had the chance for a bigger victory. There was truly no longer a reason for a decapitation strike; he knew he could break Reginald and force him to live with his shame.
So heading to Cascasonne is the right choice.
But the issue remained: how to maximize his gain. He needed to capture the people¡¯s support and keep the populace intact.
That very thought stopped him.
"What is it, My Lord?" Francisca asked on behalf of the guards.
Lansius turned to her, knowing she would give an honest answer. "Is it overly ambitious and crazy for me to think of ruling more land?"
Francisca looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "My lord, it would be even crazier if you didn¡¯t. You have a pretext, legal support, and an army that is currently striking fear into the garrisons. I''ve heard the locals singing your name. What more do you need?"
Lansius chuckled. "As you know, I can be foolish at times. Do you think I¡¯ll make a good ruler?"
"You already are," the half-breed replied, then opened her maw to let out a hearty laugh, drawing the attention of his weary men and guards, who watched them eagerly, smiles on their lips.
...
"My Lord," Sir Omin greeted Lansius as he approached his tent, accompanied by Francisca and several guards. Inside, a few men in fine clothing also greeted him with polite bows.
"At ease. I''m just checking things around, but it seems you have company," Lansius remarked casually.
"This is an impeccable timing. Please, allow me to introduce you to the esteemed families of Varsovia." Sir Omin motioned to his guests warmly.
"It¡¯s an honor to meet you," they greeted Lansius.
"I assure you, the honor is all mine," Lansius responded, then got down to business. "I apologize for my army¡¯s intrusion. What I¡¯m doing is regrettable, but alas, your new lord is forcing my hand. Still, on behalf of Lord Bengrieve, please accept our heartfelt apologies."
"My Lord, you don¡¯t need to." Their voices and smiles showed they were thrilled to hear such empathetic words from him. "It is indeed a regrettable situation, but we¡¯re confident we can find a middle ground to resolve this unfortunate issue."
Lansius had long known that humility from a man in his position opened doors more effectively than a haughty appearance. Using Bengrieve¡¯s name, guild connections, and a mix of honeyed words and bribes, they had secured considerable cooperation.
"Gentlemen, I¡¯m all ears," he encouraged them to proceed.
The esquires, likely local landlords, shop owners, and wealthy merchants, exchanged glances before one continued, "As Sir Omin advised us, we wish for Varsovia to declare neutrality in this conflict."
The term "neutrality" was music to Lansius'' ears. It was merely a white pretext to shield them from potential repercussions. In reality, they would offer him anything he needed and more. He had even heard reports that some of his troops had been welcomed into inns, as the city¡¯s hospitality was extraordinarily friendly.
While Sir Reginald claimed to be backed by the educated elites, Lansius had grassroots support. This wasn¡¯t due to his reputation alone but also to House Bengrieve''s centuries-long legacy.
"What wonderful news," Lansius remarked with genuine amusement. "Then, gentlemen, how do you think we should proceed? Perhaps some supplies for my troops? A bit of wine, medicine, and footwraps? We¡¯ll pay upfront and be pleased to inform Lord Bengrieve of your support when he returns."
The esquires¡¯ faces lit up as they considered the proposal. They had likely come risking their lives to protect their city, and in return, they were securing a favorable deal.
Yet, it was also a great deal for Lansius. As the war stratagem stated, a pound of enemy supplies was worth twenty pounds of your own. By purchasing supplies rather than raiding, Lansius depleted his opponent¡¯s resources while preserving his own. This approach also allowed him to gain the locals¡¯ trust and support; a boon too good to pass up.
The money spent was almost insignificant compared to the cost of besieging town after town, losing precious time, and risking troops¡¯ lives before the upcoming battle for Midlandia''s supremacy.
With their business concluded, Lansius assigned horsemen to escort the esquires back to Varsovia.
"The fool conquers the land; the wise conquer the mind," Sir Omin recalled, turning to Lansius as he praised, "I must say, it is an excellent plan, My Lord."
Lansius smiled at the praise as they watched the esquires depart. "You did all the brewing; I¡¯m merely pouring it into a goblet. The question is, who¡¯ll enjoy the goblet?"
The former Lord of Korimor chuckled softly. "It wouldn¡¯t be Bengrieve; preferably the baroness."
Lansius chuckled before commenting, "These people clearly adore Bengrieve more than the Saint Candidate."
"Aye, the border and southern parts of Midlandia are like that. But as we go northwest, we¡¯ll be more likely to meet the tip of a spear than open arms," Sir Omin warned.
"That is only natural," Lansius replied, undeterred. "After all, we don¡¯t come in peace."
With Varsovia declaring neutrality, Lansius would begin his pivot toward Cascasonne. It would be three days of forced march for his main army, while his cavalry would remain behind to sow chaos as a smokescreen. Their situation was now precarious, as they had moved deep into Midlandia with no reliable allies but opportunists and turncoats.
***
Sir Stan, Cascasonne
The baronet and his weary troops had just returned to their hidden camp in the woods. It was their tenth or so campsite, as they had to keep moving to avoid capture. They were up against an enemy force of ten thousand, with at least two thousand dedicated to hunting them down. Because of this constant threat, Sir Stan¡¯s once-fierce surprise attacks on their flanks had been severely diminished.
Now, they had to operate from a greater distance, slowing their response times and limiting their flexibility, with the fear of traps lurking everywhere. Moreover, their strategy of harassing the enemy¡¯s food supply had failed. Not only had their last attack fallen short, but Sir Stan had also learned that their opponents were accustomed to hunger and showed no sign of rebellion despite dwindling rations.
The enemy was evidently giving their best, even so far as to dedicate three saint candidates to accompany the army, rallying the soldiers daily with sermons that preached poverty and hunger as the swiftest path to salvation.
Sir Stan had barely reached his tent¡¯s entrance when one of his captains, along with several men, found him. "Sir, you¡¯d better come with us to the front. The situation has changed," the captain said cryptically, though concern was evident.
The mood immediately grew tense. "What¡¯s happened?" Sir Stan asked.
"They¡¯ve intensified the assault since yesterday. We''ve seen it ourselves, and we fear the castle may fall today," the captain reported grimly.
Sir Stan was immediately alerted and asked, "And what about our men in the south? Any movement from our allies?"
The men exchanged glances and shook their heads weakly. It was a question born of desperation. Everyone knew there was simply no way for even the Lord of Korelia to reach Cascasonne this early. Even if he received the messenger on time and reacted spontaneously, without considering gathering the banners or stocking supplies, the march alone would take at least fifteen days, just to reach the outskirts of the province.
Sir Stan looked to the sky, recalling Hannei and the maids he had once flirted with. His throat felt parched as he exhaled deeply. Never before had he felt so powerless. It seemed Cascasonne would fall before reinforcements could ever arrive.
***
Chapter 195 : A Spin of Fate
Chapter 195
A Spin of Fate
Cascasonne
The guardsmen burst into the gatehouse, breathless and bleeding, their eyes wide with panic. Inside, crossbowmen kept releasing bolt after bolt through the arrow slits, their shouts mixing with the clash of steel as more enemies reached the battlements.
¡°Are you the last ones?¡± the lieutenant roared, eyes darting as chaos erupted around him. ¡°Answer me!¡±
¡°We¡¯re the last!¡± a guardsman wheezed from the floor.
His confirmation sent his allies scrambling to bar the door with a thick wooden plank. The metallic scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, while the shouting grew louder outside. It was clear the enemy had taken the battlements. After enduring a siege that lasted through the entire winter and almost all spring, Cascasonne¡¯s defenses had finally been breached.
Amid the chaos, two men sat in a shadowed corner of the room as if detached from the ongoing battle. The senior guard stroked his thin beard, observing the scene with calm, tired eyes. ¡°It seems we¡¯re losing it,¡± he said to the steward, his voice unnervingly steady.
¡°Well, it can¡¯t be helped.¡± The old steward turned to meet his friend''s gaze. "Ever since our alchemist ran out of supplies, the result was inevitable.¡±
¡°Indeed, it can¡¯t be helped,¡± the old guard echoed with a resigned nod.
It was unfortunate that their whole defense had been built on the liberal use of burning sands. The fine white powder caused a debilitating burning sensation to the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, and worse if inhaled. They depended on it so much that the alchemists assumed the role of defense coordinator, as they knew best the spread and limitations of their potent weapons.
It was the only thing that prevented a mass assault and made their situation controllable despite being greatly outnumbered. But even with the alchemists working day and night, scrambling to create fresh batches from any ingredients they could get their hands on, they had depleted the stockpile.
Nearby, Hannei sat on the floor, still clad in plate armor splattered with blood and grime. Surrounding her was a ragtag group of courageous individuals: kitchen assistants, gardeners, and even servants who had taken up arms in desperation. As expected, many were injured, even in their roles as reserves. The brutal toll of combat had reached everyone. Their stares were now empty, aimless, tired, and in pain.
The Frenchwoman''s hair was now short-cropped and matted, and her face was streaked with sweat and blood. She had fought tirelessly, leading her makeshift force and joining the guardsmen repeatedly, only to see them pushed back and cornered, barely surviving a desperate stand. Hearing and absorbing the nonchalant exchange between the two old men finally ignited her frustration. Rising to her feet, she approached them. ¡°What can¡¯t be helped?¡±
The two turned to her but were slow to respond.
Hannei slammed the table with her bandaged hand, raw and aching from wielding her sword. ¡°What can¡¯t be helped?¡±
The steward tried to reason. ¡°Please, Lady Hannei¡ª¡±
¡°Do not advise me as if I were a noble! We are losing the castle,¡± Hannei howled, her voice driven by anger at Bengrieve''s seemingly botched plan and the fear of torture and certain death. By now, the enemy must have learned that the defenders employed mages, and what besiegers did to captured mages was always brutal. Worse, she knew there was no way out for her.
Mages couldn''t escape from sieges; they would have to surrender, or the enemy would kill everyone suspected of magic out of fear of assassination. Thus, for Hannei, losing would mean facing the certainty of torture that made her skin crawl.
Meanwhile, the two old men did not answer but slowly rose from their seats. The wounded servants, gardener boys, kitchen assistants, and guardsmen at their posts looked on, except for the crossbowmen who were frantically reloading and firing through the arrow slits.
With moist, reddened eyes, Hannei was about to press further, but the steward raised his hand. ¡°Patience. We¡¯re still following our lord¡¯s orders.¡±
That failed to stop Hannei. ¡°You know I have a lot of respect for you, but any moment now, they¡¯ll come with axes and hammers to tear down this door. If you have something, do it now,¡± her eyes glowed an unnatural golden hue.
The steward, suspecting her intention, quickly tried his best. ¡°Please, calm down. We can still avoid this."
¡°Avoid? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re going to surrender?¡± she asked, her eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. She had no intention of allowing herself to be tortured. It pained her to recall that mages couldn¡¯t suffocate themselves by drawing air from their lungs; they would lose focus and faint before succeeding. Yet, the thought of using her knife on her own throat was unthinkable. Suddenly, the old dread of being mutilated and eaten by goblins resurfaced. She had seen several explorers end that way. Her breathing quickened, and the air felt suffocating. Her mind raced as she struggled to recall the familiar faces of Calub and Felis.
¡°No. We¡¯re not surrendering. There¡¯s always a plan, even when losing,¡± the steward exclaimed firmly, trying to reassure her.
¡°What plan?¡± she pressed, regaining control of herself while reminding herself that she still had Tia. The little girl needed her. Moreover, she had taken it upon herself to be responsible for Lansius¡¯ family.
Instead of answering, the steward and the senior guard motioned for the guards to help move the large wooden cypress table they¡¯d been using for maps. The men rushed to help, revealing that underneath the table, the wooden planking was removable, concealing a hidden trapdoor.
¡°Don¡¯t tell me it''s an escape route,¡± Hannei said.
The old guard chuckled, while the steward explained, ¡°No one would build an escape route here; it would be too difficult to construct or conceal.¡±
¡°Then?¡± Hannei asked as the men opened the trapdoor, revealing a storage space filled with wooden caches.
¡°They¡¯re coming with shields,¡± one of the crossbowmen warned, still firing tirelessly to keep the encroaching enemy at bay. Stacks of bolts and crossbow parts lay scattered around them, three crossbows had been broken from prolonged use since the start of spring.
¡°We have time; they¡¯ll be more focused on bringing ladders and climbing down into the castle yard,¡± the senior guard shouted to steady the men, as the others carefully pulled out the boxes one by one.
¡°Is that a weapons cache?¡± Hannei asked as they pried one open.
"More burning sand grenades?" another asked with great interest. It took several attempts; the lid was glued shut with a thick, tar-like substance.
¡°We¡¯ll soon find out,¡± the senior guard said. Meanwhile, the steward moved to another chamber, where large kegs of water were kept for fire emergencies. He ordered the men to remove several older, smaller kegs, each sealed with the same black, tar-like substance.
Hannei watched, her eyes darting between the men and the encroaching noise outside the gatehouse. Just then, they managed to pry open the wooden lid, revealing the contents: long objects carefully arranged on dried hay. The sight stunned her¡ªit wasn¡¯t the round clay or glass bottles she had expected. Worse, she recognized the shape.
¡°It¡¯s just an old prop,¡± one man commented to his friend with a frown. They recognized it too.
But the old steward suddenly exclaimed, ¡°You know this. You¡¯ve been trained with it. Now, it¡¯s time to use it for real.¡±
...
Sir Stan
In great haste and with the ever-present fear of patrols hunting them, Sir Stan and his men advanced closer to the besieged castle. They crept from the edge of the forest, where their scouts had been keeping watch. It wasn¡¯t the most advantageous position, but it was relatively safe, and they had secured the area.
Immediately, Sir Stan¡¯s eyes caught sight of dozens of ladders propped against the walls, with steady streams of attackers scaling them. The ferocity of the assault was staggering. His heart sank as he surveyed the scene, quickly realizing the dire state of the defense. Since his departure to attack the supply convoy, the deep defensive ditch had been completely filled in, and the attackers had brought forward wider ladders.
The counterattacks from crossbow bolts were sporadic, coming only from the tall towers, and no attackers fell from the battlements anymore. It was clear that several wall sections had been overrun. The assault was so overwhelming that, even with Hannei, two other mages, and an alchemist armed with a healthy stockpile of potent items, the defenders were losing their hold on the battlements.
Now, the attackers had secured a foothold, and more swarms of men climbed the ladders unimpeded.
¡°What do you see?¡± one of their hidden men whispered.
¡°The castle¡¯s west battlements have fallen,¡± the lookout beside Sir Stan replied.
Several men turned, their faces marked by shock. ¡°What?¡±
¡°Cascasonne has fallen,¡± Sir Stan stated, the bitter words leaving a sour taste in his mouth.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
A stunned silence swept through the gathered men, broken only by sharp intakes of breath and disbelieving murmurs.
Sir Stan struggled to place the blame. Was it on himself? Yet, he recalled that Bengrieve had never explained anything about Cascasonne¡¯s defense, only insisted that it would hold. ¡°Where is his master stroke?¡± he muttered, clenching his fist until his knuckles turned white, aching to strike something.
¡°Sir, a scout has seen us," the lookout warned. "We must retreat.¡±
But Sir Stan was still conflicted. Losing Cascasonne would be the final nail in the coffin for him. All the effort and blood of his men would be in vain. Worse, his Toruna barony, held by his family for generations and built with his father''s hard work, would be confiscated.
¡°Sir,¡± the man urged again, this time with more urgency, as horsemen began to close in on them.
¡°I hear you,¡± Sir Stan said, his voice strained as he wrestled with the reality before him. He couldn''t fathom that he couldn''t save the maids he had shared a bed with or that he would have to abandon Hannei. Even bold, condescending, and fierce, the mage was more than just a friend.
The captain emerged from a different spot and grabbed Sir Stan¡¯s arm, pulling him back. ¡°We must leave. There¡¯s nothing we can do here.¡±
Staring at the captain, the baronet asked, ¡°Bengrieve said Cascasonne would hold. You heard it, right?¡±
The captain¡¯s face was somber as he continued to tug Sir Stan toward the rear. ¡°I heard it,¡± he said. "I heard it clearly," he repeated, preparing their escape.
Suddenly, piercing screams and strangled shrieks erupted along the battlements. It was so abrupt and chilling that Sir Stan and the captain exchanged a stunned look before scrambling back to their observation spot. They saw a sickly green fog rolling over the attackers'' ranks on top of the battlements, spreading like a living, corrosive tide.
Wherever the green gas crept, chaos followed. Men clutched their throats and fled in panic, their bodies convulsing, limbs twisted in unnatural spasms. Some clawed at their eyes and faces, gasping as if their very nerves had ignited with fire. A few, maddened by pain, threw themselves from the battlements, while others were too paralyzed to move, vomiting or choking on air that seemed to burn them from the inside.
"Green miasma," Sir Stan muttered, recognizing the weapon, one even more potent than the burning sands.
"Is this a clever trap?" the captain asked, his spirits rising.
"No," Sir Stan shook his head. "Green miasma is better used near the ground, where it lasts longer. On top of the battlements, it¡¯ll easily scatter in the wind."
The captain glanced at him. "So this is desperation?"
Sir Stan clicked his tongue. He knew even the green miasma wouldn¡¯t be enough. It might cause panic and accidental deaths, but it would only buy the defender a small amount of time. They would still need to wrest control of the battlements with spears and swords.
Out of nowhere, loud, jarring cracks filled the air. The sound was sharp and unlike the clash of swords or the dull thud of arrows striking wood. It made even Sir Stan and his men cower in surprise.
¡°What was that?¡± the captain asked.
¡°It¡¯s nothing like alchemist bottles," Sir Stan commented, eyes wide. They scanned the castle walls just as the noise reverberated again. From their vantage point, it wasn¡¯t clear what caused the sound, but panicked shouts and screams erupted from the contested battlements.
"By the Ageless," the captain muttered as a tense pause settled over the battlefield. Confusion had spread among the attackers. Even the advancing group halted, their horses skittish and agitated.
Thin trails of white smoke coiled up from the battlements. Suddenly, red-golden flashes erupted, coloring the smoke as piercing sounds shattered the air again. Attackers fell from the battlements, and mass confusion broke out as those on top frantically tried to climb down. To their horror, more flashes and piercing sounds erupted. Blood and bodies rained downward.
Even from a distance, Sir Stan could see the carnage unfold. He was about to speak when a tremendous explosion erupted somewhere beneath the wall, right in the thick of the enemy¡¯s formation. The blast and shockwave flung dirt, splintered ladders, and dismembered limbs into the air. Against all odds, unearthly powers had been unleashed by the castle defenders.
Sir Stan didn¡¯t understand why the defenders had waited to employ such a weapon¡ªwhether it was a ploy to break the attackers¡¯ spirit, or a last resort¡ªbut he knew it meant the castle still had a fighting chance. He locked eyes with his captain, who quickly nodded in agreement.
¡°Bring the horses!¡± the captain shouted to his men. ¡°The wind favors us.¡±
¡°Men, the time is nigh! We shall join in this carnage!¡± Sir Stan rallied his men, who quickly took to the field. They knew it would be like a cat against a lion, but even a small bite might give their side a fighting chance.
***
Battlement
The smoke had yet to dissipate when the female mage led her men in a rush against the remaining survivors. Their arrival at the harrowing scene struck terror into the attackers. The tide had turned, and now they were the prey. Yet nobody wanted to surrender their lives. In a great struggle, they gathered their courage and brandished their arms.
"Come and take it!" the new Midlandia army roared. Their lives were not yet forfeited.
"Saint Nay will save us from this wretched life," echoed another, as they regrouped to form a cohesive line. However, their effort was fraught with hardships as many were debilitated by their wounds and the terror-inducing green miasma.
To the defenders, the new Midlandia army''s shouts rang hollow. Clad in full plate, the female mage charged head-on at the front of her men, a force half composed of guardsmen, half a ragtag group. Her sword style matched the men she led: bold and reckless, without finesse or honed skill, yet deadly. Her movements were basic, almost a mockery of formal sword styles, but none could deny their bloody results.
The mage believed she was granting her opponents a merciful death, as inhaling a great deal of green miasma led to a slow, agonizing end. More importantly, their survival depended on this fight, and she had no reservations left about taking lives. She wielded her magic to the fullest like when she¡¯d fought fell beasts in the labyrinth, and with every blow, thrust, and strike, she pressed the enemy further into a corner along the narrow battlements.
Advancing much further than the rest of her group, she fought like a possessed spirit in the thick of the enemy¡¯s ranks. Her armor turned red from the blood of her opponents.
Deafening screams did not make her pause, and none of the spear and sword tips brandished against her could dissuade her from claiming lives. What finally stopped her was a splatter of blood that seeped through the gaps in her visor. Only then did she realize that hot blood had leaked into the crevices of her armor, soaking into her arming doublet and dripping uncomfortably down her neck.
She stood poised for another attack, her sword ready, while the panicked Midlandians shrank back, pointing their spears like cornered men facing a red-clad monster. Their shield-bearers struggled to protect them from bolts that still raining down from the towers.
The mage noticed that the stone floor had become dark and slippery beneath her feet. Her eyes were blurred, her breath ragged, and she felt the stifling heat building inside her armor. After several attempts, she opened her visor, revealing a fierce yet feminine face with golden hair peeking from beneath her helmet.
Her opponents gasped; they had never expected to see a blonde knight¡ªlet alone a mage. One soldier clutched his wooden rosary necklace, beginning to pray to Saint Nay.
¡°I hear your murmurs,¡± the blonde mage addressed them in a clear, cutting voice, while her own group formed at her back, brandishing swords, spears, crossbows, and their new accursed weapons.
The attackers dared not respond. ¡°Your hearts beat with false conviction,¡± she said, continuing. ¡°Sons of Midlandia, listen to me. There is no salvation to be found here, only death. Go home, return to your wife¡¯s embrace. Don¡¯t follow your brethren to their tragic fate.¡± She nudged toward the bodies strewn across the floor, limbs missing, wounds gaping, and eyes empty.
¡°Don''t listen to her!" one of the men insisted from the crowd. "Saint Nay will save us!¡±
¡°Blasph¨¨me!¡± the mage responded harshly in her foreign tongue. ¡°Your Saint is nothing but a false god. That¡¯s why you¡¯re losing¡ªeven after months of fighting against women and children.¡±
Only then did the attackers realize that among the defenders were young and feminine faces.
Suddenly, noises from below caught their attention, and both sides looked to see a surprise cavalry charge tearing through the encampment, wreaking havoc and causing great destruction. For the first time in months, the forces loyal to Lord Bengrieve finally committed to an all-out attack. The surprise attack finally forced the remaining attackers to throw down their weapons.
¡°We yield,¡± some declared, and when the fanatics tried to protest, they shoved them forward, pressing them toward the blonde knight.
¡°Do you yield?¡± the mage asked the three fanatics.
¡°Never,¡± one spat. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than betray my Saint¡¯s teachings.¡± Grabbing her sword, he lunged at her.
Her men rushed to her aid, but none could approach. An ethereal wind formed around her, holding everyone back, including the fanatic¡¯s blade. She took his sword from his hand with her left hand as effortlessly as a maiden plucking a flower.
The fanatic was about to try again, but shouts and tremors from below caught his attention. He looked down to see the cavalry, which had wreaked havoc across the field, now turning toward the wall, forcing the remaining attackers to abandon their ladders.
Before anyone realized it, the mage had placed the tip of her sword on the man¡¯s chest. ¡°If you wish to die for your faith, be my guest.¡±
The man finally relented, shrinking back in fear, marking the end of their struggle.
¡°Lady Hannei, we¡¯re victorious!¡± one of her men shouted, tears streaming down his face as the defenders rushed to secure the remaining attackers.
The mage turned to him, offering a faint smile before beginning her walk back toward the gatehouse. She knew that this victory could only be attributed to the Lord of this castle. She had only taken a few unsteady steps when she collapsed into the waiting arms of her men. They carefully carried her to the gatehouse, where many gathered around, calling her name in reverence.
¡°That¡¯s not my name,¡± she whispered, feeling the heat radiating from her body, which kept rising. She wasn¡¯t like Sir Morton, who had trained all his life. Her last reckless action had taken an extreme toll on her body.
¡°Tanya and Tia, take good care of them,¡± she said urgently to the people who grasped her hand. Suddenly, fresh blood came from her nose, alerting everyone who hurriedly undid her armor to look for wounds.
¡°She has a fever,¡± one shouted.
¡°Get me a sharp knife,¡± another replied, preparing for bloodletting.
She was in pain, yet oddly, she had no regrets. For the first time in her life, she was doing it for someone else. She fought at the front not for glory or fame, but to ensure no more losses on her side. Her eyes became unfocused, and her voice turned faint. ¡°My birth name. It¡¯s Valerie.¡±
While many hastily tended to her with gentle care, outside, the defenders seized the opportunity. With the battlements firmly in their grasp and the ladders left unguarded, they, in a stroke of ingenuity, pulled them up, capturing dozens. This secured a critical advantage, delaying the enemy¡¯s supremacy for several more days.
The steward stood at the tower overlooking everything. One of his men stood next to him, resting the new weapon against the window.
¡°You¡¯re trained for this, yes?¡± he asked.
¡°Trained?¡± The man looked uncertain. ¡°I thought it was just a prop for play. I never knew it was actually real.¡± He offered a nervous grin.
The steward chuckled dryly. Only a few of the most trusted knew about the dwarven weapon brought to life again. It was one of House Bengrieve¡¯s secrets. They hadn¡¯t maintained a costly relationship with explorers simply to fill their collections like mindless nobles. In truth, they were gathering samples to study and replicate. The musket and the gray powder were among their creations, constantly improved upon.
¡°A prop for play,¡± the steward mused as he headed downstairs through the stone spiraling staircase.
For three generations, the men of the castle had been trained for a play unique to Cascasonne. They learned to use these dwarven weapons and were taught to handle them as if they were real. They practiced with sand in place of gray powder and metal balls as projectiles, even using loud metal clashes to simulate the noise.
They hadn¡¯t known until now that the real weapon existed. It was only to be used if the castle were overrun. However, they had never anticipated facing the full force of Midlandia. Sir Reginald¡¯s rise to power, along with his alliance with the fanatics they had originally introduced, was beyond their wildest imagination.
The new concept of organized religion had been intended to counter the Ageless One¡¯s influence, to prepare Midlandia to separate itself from the Imperium. Instead, it had turned against them. Now, even with these new weapons, the steward wasn¡¯t sure if they could hold out.
With the abundance of forest nearby and likely thousands of men remaining, siege ladders could be rebuilt within days. Worse, the castle certainly didn¡¯t have ten or twenty thousand bullets and gray powder to fend off all the fanatics. They were running out of options.
***
Chapter 196 : The Final Flourish
Chapter 196
The Final Flourish
Lansius
House Lansius¡¯ vanguard continued advancing deeper into Midlandia, moving in the general direction of Cascasonne. They bypassed enemy strong points to encircle and destroy token garrison forces if the opportunity presented itself. Their main objective was to probe and break through the opponent¡¯s lines of defense, confusing the garrisons, and making it difficult for them to respond.
Following the training instilled by Lansius, the vanguard operated differently from traditional armies, which still adhered to established, unspoken rules. The vanguard made decisions independently to reach their objectives, including when to eat, rest, and march. And after they incorporated two half-breeds as honorary members, even movements in the dark were possible.
As a result, their movements were unpredictable and difficult to follow. To the enemy, it appeared as if several hundred troops were appearing everywhere, alarming and confusing the garrison commanders.
What Lansius demanded of them was, in essence, a coordinated lightning warfare, or what allied commanders referred to as blitzkrieg.
In support of this strategy, Omin had been busy, since Korelia, pulling strings with the guilds and now currying favor with the Midlandian lower nobility. These efforts were finally bearing fruit. For the guilds, aligning with the Shogunate was the wisest choice. They cared only for growth and wealth accumulation, and Lord Bengrieve had been a generous patron¡ªone they hoped to see restored.
Lansius capitalized on that sentiment to move unimpeded, avoiding unnecessary skirmishes, buying supplies freely, and generally not needing to pacify every city and settlement.
Moreover, he had prepared a solid diversion. In the east, Lansius had ordered his Dragoons to advance toward Toruna, trusting Farkas to lead them. Although the detachment numbered only 300 riders, each carried a soldier mounted on a spare horse, effectively doubling their manpower.
Their last message had been favorable: they had managed to liberate Toruna after several skirmishes. Lansius instructed the skirmishers, more famously known as the Black Bandits, to defend the barony, while allowing the Dragoons to press forward, sowing chaos deeper into enemy territory.
Meanwhile, Lansius, with his main Tercio formation, marched rapidly, bypassing towns and cities and garrisoning several neutral ones to secure his supply lines.
Though he didn¡¯t use the airship, Lansius was in prime condition, as was Audrey. Their journey in a carriage with an improved chassis and suspension had been surprisingly agreeable. Somehow, they had found a way to make it comfortable. It all started when the group of smiths and craftsmen struggled to find the right suspension for the upcoming campaign. There were several factors to consider, but it boiled down to comfort, handling, speed, and durability.
Too much comfort would sacrifice handling. Great durability meant slower speed, harsher ride, and less maneuverability. However, lower durability increased the risk of breakdown or catastrophic failure.
Instead of selecting one solution, they proposed accompanying Lansius on the campaign, reasoning that they could assist with repairs for all carriages and carts, especially Lansius¡¯ own. He quickly saw parallels to a modern off-road rally and gave his full support. Thus, on this march, he had a dedicated team of mechanics who checked, fixed, and adjusted the carriages at every stop.
For Lansius and Audrey, crossing the Great Plains felt like a rally: the Korelia-Midlandia Rally.
Because of their great efforts, sometimes working from dusk to dawn to replace or tune the undercarriage, Audrey could sleep comfortably along the road. This was also thanks to the scouts'' diligence in providing the best paths for the carriages and informing them of road changes so adjustments could be made. They traveled at a good speed, able to keep up with the main army¡¯s rapid march across the Great Plains and Midlandia.
However, their progress was finally stalled.
The vanguard was but a day¡¯s march from Cascasonne when they were bogged down by marshes. The fanatics had demolished the only bridge in the area, forcing them to construct a pontoon bridge. When Lansius and the main army arrived, the bridge was still under construction.
Observing the progress, Lansius decided to let his army rest early. ¡°Keep patrols. I don¡¯t like the situation,¡± he said to Sir Harold, who accompanied him.
¡°You suspect foul play, My Lord?¡± asked the tall, ever-reliable knight and champion of his House, as he watched a few townsfolk observing them from atop a hill.
¡°What exactly did they say about who destroyed the bridge?¡± Lansius asked.
¡°They mentioned a group of unknown men in dark robes working behind their backs, and that they found the bridge already broken when they looked the next day.¡±
"Dark robes," Lansius muttered, considering it likely a convenient lie as he observed the remains of the bridge. ¡°Do you believe them?¡±
Sir Harold, a Midlandian, shook his head. ¡°I rarely come here, but I know it¡¯s a fairly old wooden bridge. However, I think it would take at least a hundred men to do this.¡±
Lansius nodded in agreement and instructed, ¡°Pick smart, capable, but unassuming men, and go quietly into the town. See if children are playing or women working.¡±
¡°If not?¡± The knight caught on.
Lansius gazed at him. ¡°If not, it means the townsfolk are the fanatics themselves.¡±
The knight turned to the townsfolk observing them from atop a hill. ¡°What do you want us to do if that¡¯s the case?¡±
¡°Nothing except to keep our guards up. We can¡¯t afford to confront them. My concern is blades in the dark or saboteurs among them. Alert the staff, and tell them not to accept food or buy ale or supplies from there.¡±
¡°Acknowledged, My Lord.¡± The knight then left with his staff, leaving Lansius with Francisca and the guards.
As Sir Omin had warned, the farther they went, the harder the resistance became. Several towns had barricaded themselves and even set fires to some villages. Worse, Lansius had heard reports from his agents that the granaries in the neighboring towns and villages were nearly empty. He had to admit that the situation had deteriorated rapidly.
His army was now exhausted; despite good boots, their feet were blistered from the long marches, and their shoulders were burdened by the straps of their backpacks. They had lost count of how many villages and towns they had crossed. The spirits of the Lowlandians were only buoyed by the Midlandians among them, who were all too happy to return despite the circumstances.
Lansius observed the marshes again and studied the long wooden bridge stretching from one patch of solid land within the marshes to another. He made estimates based on the partially constructed pontoon bridge and didn¡¯t like what he saw.
It would take at least two days, even if he put his small corps of trained military engineers to work day and night.
The marshes were deep and wide, effectively isolating several towns and villages from one another. The map hadn¡¯t shown this, and the scout hadn¡¯t anticipated that anyone would destroy such a remote bridge, far from the main route. Right now, they were scrambling to find another crossing, but they knew it was futile. If another suitable spot existed, the locals would have built a bridge there long ago.
Despite the failure, Lansius didn¡¯t place the blame on them. He knew such oversights were fatal but unfortunately common. Still, he hadn¡¯t expected the situation to be this bad. Gazing at Francisca, he said, ¡°If the enemy advances from the rear, we¡¯ll be in big trouble.¡±
¡°But, My Lord, your army is eager and could easily turn around to face them,¡± Francisca replied.
¡°Yes, but our only chance is to strike them hard and fast. We can¡¯t afford to hold out here for more than three days.¡±
Francisca was alerted. ¡°How come?¡±
"The water,¡± Lansius explained. ¡°With the marshes this deep, finding fresh water will be difficult. We have nearly two thousand men, and I doubt the wells in the town and nearby villages can sustain us.¡±
¡°Then we should make haste and move to a better spot,¡± Francisca suggested.
¡°Backtracking will cost us a four-day delay,¡± Lansius heaved heavily. ¡°For them to destroy the bridge... This is a competent, well-informed, and desperate foe. We¡¯re not just up against Reginald; the Saint fanatics have a mind of their own.¡±
Francisca could only nod. Not wanting to dishearten her, Lansius said on a lighter note, ¡°Well, at least now we know that Cascasonne is still safe.¡±
The half-breed looked surprised. ¡°Was the Hunter guildsman able to make contact?¡±
¡°No, he wasn¡¯t. His hawk was from Nicopola, so it¡¯s unfamiliar with Midlandia,¡± Lansius explained.
¡°Then how do you know about Cascasonne?¡±
¡°The bridge,¡± he replied. ¡°If Cascasonne had fallen, they wouldn¡¯t need to break the bridge. Breaking it indicates that the city is still resisting, and they¡¯re trying to delay us.¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
After a pause, Francisca said, ¡°My lord, I¡¯ve been thinking.¡±
¡°Yes?¡± Lansius replied.
¡°Since you¡¯re with Sir Harold, I believe two of my brethren and I should make the crossing and run toward Cascasonne. I can still make it tonight. Even with just three of us, we can disrupt the enemy¡¯s camp and spread terror.¡±
Lansius smiled. He wanted to pat Francisca on the arm but refrained, unsure whether it was appropriate. ¡°I admire your courage, but I won¡¯t let you risk yourself on such a reckless mission, especially without adequate support.¡±
Francisca bowed her head at his praise.
Lansius inhaled deeply and said, ¡°I¡¯ve already told the army to rest, but I think it¡¯s prudent to move another detachment to bolster our rearguard.¡±
Just as they were about to head back to camp, a wave of activity rose from the direction of their rear.
¡°Something is happening,¡± Francisca warned the group.
Two riders galloped toward Lansius, prompting Francisca and the guards to form a human barricade. Their swords and Xbows ready.
¡°State your intentions,¡± one of the senior guards called toward the newcomers.
¡°My lord, we¡¯ve spotted movement,¡± one of the riders reported as he dismounted.
¡°What movement? Who?¡± Lansius demanded, stepping toward them.
¡°Cavalry approaching from the other side of the marsh,¡± the other rider reported.
Lansius frowned. ¡°On the other side of the marsh?¡±
Nobody welcomed this news. Building the pontoon bridge alone would be difficult, and now they would likely have to fight their way across. Things had gone from bad to worse.
***
Korelia
It was nighttime when Sigmund invited Sir Morton for a late dinner in the Great Keep. The knight was about to board the airship, which had just finished its much-needed maintenance after the long journey to Nicopola. Tonight, they would be heading to Korimor and then on to Midlandia to participate in the campaign.
¡°Gratitude for this fine meal, and I apologize for not taking you back to South Hill,¡± the Black Knight captain said as they enjoyed a pale ale after dinner.
¡°The gratitude is all mine. Thank you for your help in South Hill and the ride,¡± Sigmund replied.
¡°It¡¯s going to be a long ride back,¡± Sir Morton said as a matter of fact.
¡°Not an issue. I¡¯ll be enjoying my leisurely ride to South Hill through the new postal route.¡± The skald then added humorously, ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone, but frankly, I¡¯m not in a hurry to return. Governing a city is a mess.¡±
Even the usually stoic Sir Morton chuckled, amused by the honest remark. ¡°I don¡¯t envy any man in such a position.¡±
¡°That is wise. Aside from South Hill¡¯s less-than-merry nobles, I also have this new pirate issue brewing in the Three Hills coastal area, and I don¡¯t know what to do with them.¡±
Sir Morton didn¡¯t express anything on his face but said, ¡°If Corinthia is behind it, then¡¡±
Sigmund nodded. ¡°The ride will give me plenty of time to think about it.¡±
Sitting straight without looking weary, the black knight captain did not respond but listened attentively.
Sigmund continued, "Pirates aside, I''m quite excited to see the upcoming South Trade caravan."
"With most of the retinues heading to Midlandia, I think it''s only proper for you to take charge of the caravan''s security," Sir Morton suggested.
"The Lord has already appointed someone else. And I''m only too happy not to take on more burdens," Sigmund quipped.
His statement piqued Sir Morton¡¯s interest. "My stay in South Hill has been limited. How much trouble is there?"
"I fear the region will remain challenging for several years. As the Lord Shogun has told me, it¡¯ll be hard to change people¡¯s habits¡ªespecially when it comes to asking spoiled Houses to endure hardships." He smiled, finding the notion ironic.
"The Lord Shogun seems knowledgeable in broad matters."
"Indeed, he is," Sigmund replied with a hint of pride. "That''s why I''m grateful for your brief stay; it¡¯s helped stabilize things."
"I''m not sure how, but I''m glad my presence helped," Sir Morton replied, his tone steady.
"It really has. The look on the nobles'' faces as you arrived on the black airships was beyond satisfying," Sigmund confirmed, amused. "They fear the Black Knights. And to see a gargantuan airship, they must be thinking it could easily bring a contingent of Black Knights to their doorsteps. That¡¯ll put more mental hurdles in place, keeping them from trying anything foolish."
Sir Morton offered a stiff yet satisfied smile at the praise.
Amid their conversation, Sterling and Claire appeared in the hall, dressed in fur clothing, ready for their flight.
"There goes our evening," Sigmund remarked, pouring more ale into their goblets. "I can''t keep you any longer, but please, let me honor you with one last toast for your safe flight to Midlandia."
"A pleasure," the knight replied, lifting his goblet in a toast. "Till we meet again, governor," Sir Morton said as he stood.
"I look forward to receiving news of your victory." The skald extended his hand, and the two rising figures clasped hands firmly.
***
Kapua, Nicopola
After securing Kapua, the Dawn and Free Legion quickly cleaned up the surrounding area. The Mercenary Army had dispersed, but there were always remnants who tried to hide and turn to banditry. Thus, the two armies marched out to find and eliminate any potential trouble.
In the following week, the combined forces liberated two more cities, seven towns, and dozens of villages. It was but a small fraction of the province. Lord Avery burned one town to the ground, as the mercenaries there were steadfast, and he couldn¡¯t afford to slow down with limited resources or risk a counterattack.
Fortunately, after much struggle, the neighboring area around Kapua was finally liberated, giving them much-needed breathing room.
With Kapua safely in Dawn''s control, Sir Servius finally departed to the area between Kapua and Elandia. Both Lord Lansius and Lord Avery had entrusted him with establishing his own base to sustain his supporters. There, his Lowlandian riders and Nicopolan men-at-arms encountered some resistance but found that most were willing to capitulate.
Sir Servius had yet to assume any official title, but he was now de facto ruling over a hundred villages, a dozen towns, and cities. Ruined as they were, it was still an area as large as Umberland and more populous than Three Hills.
As the situation improved, Lord Avery and Sir Servius acted quickly, welcoming the willing populace into their domain. To ease any lingering fears, they paraded their armies from town to town, marching in good order to show that civil order had returned.
Streams of refugees and locals came to them, nervous yet hopeful. The two leaders swiftly allocated land, farming tools, and seeds, urging the newcomers to plant as though their lives depended on it.
Despite their victory, the entire campaign remained a risky gamble. Several thousand commoners had joined their ranks, and soon there would be tens, if not hundreds, of thousands to feed. If they failed, riots would erupt again, and the cycle of hatred would continue.
Several weeks had passed as the populace worked tirelessly to prepare and cultivate the land. People from all social classes¡ªesquires, mercenaries, craftsmen, and traders¡ªlabored in the fields. However, not all were merry.
Peace was still threatened from within, as many continued to harbor hatred from old feuds. There was a constant fear that someone might accuse them of involvement in past crimes. Any serious accusation could lead to lengthy interrogations, time in cells, or even torture, as many who had lost family members demanded answers, closure, or revenge.
The brutality of the Nicopola campaign would continue to haunt everyone¡¯s peace for the foreseeable future.
With the heart of the Nicopola region still untouched, suspicion remained rife, especially toward non-Nicopola natives, whose loyalty was seen as questionable. However, the two leaders were prepared and handled each case as amicably as possible. After several weeks, all signs pointed to progress: the streets were calm, and accusatory whispers among the populace had lessened.
The biggest contributor to this calm was the functioning market. Fueled by captured grain from the mercenaries¡¯ caches, along with small but steady supplies of grain from Umberland and the barony of Dawn, the availability of food¡ªalbeit limited¡ªquickly instilled confidence.
In light of this, more and more community centers outside their territory surrendered as armed refugees from Centuria and Sarmatia, unwilling to join the new order, began their withdrawal, fearing reprisals from the two rising powers.
Calm fostered reconstruction as towns and villages were repopulated. As the people labored, the late spring rains finally came, washing the land anew. Only then did they receive news of the assassination attempt against the Lord of Korelia and the possible campaign to Midlandia. Many were troubled. Although the conflict was distant, they understood that its repercussions could easily reach Nicopola.
Amid this uncertainty, a large noble delegation arrived in Kapua from the west, bearing lavish gifts, among them a ruby-encrusted golden scepter fit for a king.
***
Sir Stan, Cascasonne
After their last attack, which had dealt a hard blow to the opponent, the loyal Midlandians and volunteers retreated deeper into the woods. They were severely weakened; even Sir Stan''s best retinue had their stamina drained. They had fought too many skirmishes and had yet to recuperate properly between engagements.
In comparison, the enemy could still absorb casualties and stubbornly continued their siege. Thus, on the grand scale, despite their great efforts, nothing had really changed.
Sir Stan¡¯s original two hundred had dwindled to slightly more than a hundred. Many were riddled with wounds, and medicine was scarce. Worse, a dozen of his men, including one of his captains, had been captured. His diligent squire had died as well, having fallen from his horse and been dragged into a crowd of angry fanatics.
By now, the novelty of the fearsome weapons wielded by the defenders had worn off. The situation had gotten so bad that Sir Stan refrained from taking any more chances. Now, he sat in his dilapidated tent deep in the woods, thinking their days were numbered. They were so low on personnel, and fewer and fewer townsfolk were willing to answer their call. Everyone was too afraid to oppose the new ruler and the popular Saint Order.
Their only salvation was their robust provisions. Their first and second successful raids had given them an ample supply to sustain themselves; otherwise, everyone would have deserted by now.
Sir Stan was considering allowing most of his men to retreat and recuperate. Only he, his elite guard, and the remaining volunteers would stay until the city fell or reinforcements arrived. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that men from Elandia would arrive first, as there had been no word from Lowlandia.
He couldn¡¯t help but lament Bengrieve¡¯s confidence, recalling his words: ¡°My original plan is to wait for Reginald¡¯s army to go hungry. The incompetents on their side will rely on numbers to win quickly before our return. This is why I emptied all the big granaries for our campaign in Elandia. I deliberately kept the records as they were, to confuse them.¡±
The baronet closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. The plan hadn¡¯t worked. Bengrieve had further explained, ¡°Once the rains come, they¡¯ll go hungry in no time as all transport bogs down in the mud. If they try to confiscate food from the surrounding nobles, then those nobles will flock back to us. With us moving behind their backs, supporting the populace, I¡¯ll lead an open revolt to dethrone that usurper by summer.¡±
Sir Stan sighed, feeling the irony. When he first heard it, the plan had seemed nothing short of brilliant. Reginald, the usurper, was already checkmated before he¡¯d even launched his coup. Bengrieve had laid his traps carefully, but as they say, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.
¡°It should have worked against a normal army, but we¡¯re facing fanatics,¡± the baronet muttered.
The trap had been sprung, but the beast was too large and had gone on a blind rampage. Somehow, their opponent was able to continue the siege despite being so low on food. Even the neighboring city had been abandoned as the populace was left with nothing to eat.
Sipping his water and slouched in his seat, he ran a hand over his rough jaw, realizing he needed a shave. He had also developed rashes from sleeping in the damp, wooded region.
Hurried footsteps approached the tent¡¯s entrance, making him turn. Sir Stan was wearing only his arming doublet, but his hand was already on his sword¡¯s hilt. Yet, when he heard his guard calmly greet the newcomer, he relaxed again.
¡°Sir." The familiar face of his scout appeared.
¡°Anything to report?¡± Sir Stan asked.
¡°Reginald''s men have completed ten assault ladders.¡±
Sir Stan could only nod; there was nothing they could do about it. ¡°It could be a trap intended for us,¡± he ventured, hoping not to dishearten his men.
¡°I see,¡± the scout replied, his tone flat.
The lackluster response prompted Sir Stan to ask, ¡°Do you have something else to report?¡±
¡°I¡¯m... not sure,¡± the scout replied, a trace of hesitation in his voice. ¡°You won¡¯t believe me.¡± He rummaged through his inner pocket and pulled out a small banner. ¡°I was observing alone, and when I finished and turned to leave, I found this lying behind me, held down by a stone. I didn¡¯t hear a thing.¡±
Sir Stan¡¯s eyes widened. Rising from his seat, he took the banner and carefully unfurled it. A white shield with a black horse stared back at him; a clear mark that Korimor had arrived.
***
Chapter 197 : The Return Waltz
Chapter 197
The Return Waltz
Sir Stan
A hundred men moved in tight formation through the forest, each step cautious and quiet. Leather boots and linen tabards brushed over damp leaves, muffling their passage as they stayed close to thick tree trunks for cover. Dark cloaks further blended them into the late spring green foliage.
Their leader, Sir Stan, had decided to trust his instincts and rallied his troops once more, leading them toward the forest¡¯s edge where they could observe without being seen. They knew they were pushing their luck; after the havoc they¡¯d wrought, the fanatics likely had eyes scouring the woods, anticipating another strike.
Where the trees thinned, they could see the vast open field where the enemy camped, laying siege to the castle.
Suddenly, from an unseen direction, a clear voice rang out: ¡°You¡¯ve come too early.¡±
The voice startled the men, who immediately drew their swords, eyes darting through the shadows. Tense murmurs rippled through the group as they gripped their weapons and glanced around, searching for the source of the unexpected words.
¡°Please, friend. Don¡¯t be afraid.¡± There was subdued laughter before the feminine voice added, ¡°I¡¯ve taken care of the pesky ones. Your hunters should be able to locate a few survivors.¡±
The friendly claim reassured them only to a point. Sir Stan stepped forward and spoke openly, ¡°If we¡¯re friends, then why hide? Show me your face.¡±
Soft, distinct laughter drifted through the woods before the voice replied, ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯d be alarmed.¡±
¡°Why should I be alarmed?¡± Sir Stan replied, signaling his best men to fan out in both directions, eyes sharp.
¡°Because the House I serve employs not only humans but also half-breeds and horsemen.¡±
The response sent a chill through the group, murmurs rippling as the men exchanged uneasy glances, many suddenly realizing that the voice didn¡¯t sound entirely human.
As the discussion continued, one scout, intrigued by movement at the forest¡¯s edge, couldn¡¯t contain his curiosity any longer. He crept forward, eyes narrowing before he pointed confidently toward the shifting shapes beyond the trees. ¡°Look, horses.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± the voice acknowledged. ¡°My husband and his horsemen have arrived.¡±
A low rumble rolled through the ground like distant thunder, growing louder with each passing second. Shapes began to emerge across the open field, moving with a fluidity that defied their numbers. As they came closer, the figures sharpened into ranks of light cavalry, but in style unlike anything seen in Midlandia. Soon, more than they could count surged forward, a sweeping wave of horses cresting over the landscape.
Even from afar, the enemy encampment showed signs of panic. Men who had been collecting water and firewood scattered, abandoning their carts. Meanwhile, on the castle walls, the defenders came alive, shouts echoing as they waved their banners, rallying at the sight of the approaching riders.
The riders advanced with fierce grace, clad in iron, layered linen, and fur, each figure merging seamlessly with the powerful beasts beneath them. Braids and feathers caught in the wind, while bows rested across their backs, and the gleam of curved blades flashed at their sides.
Flanking the cavalry were knights riding beside skilled horse archers, banners flying the colors of Korimor.
It was then that a few riders broke from the formation, steering their horses toward Sir Stan¡¯s scout.
¡°You should meet the one-eyed knight,¡± the voice suggested.
Sir Stan¡¯s eyes remained on the advancing riders, a flicker of doubt lingering on his face. He turned and nodded to his men, a cautious smile surfacing. ¡°Men, this might be the reinforcements we¡¯ve been waiting for.¡±
His men, though nervous, were gladdened by this unexpected support. As the riders grew nearer, Sir Stan and his troops moved to the edge of the forest; they no longer needed to stay hidden.
When Sir Stan, the knight, and the nomadic warriors finally met, some groups of riders split off to reconnoiter the area, much to the horror of the New Midlandian army.
¡°Well met! To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?¡± Sir Stan greeted.
¡°I''m Michael, knight of White Lake,¡± the leading knight introduced himself. ¡°And next to me is Captain Dietrich, the leader of this expedition. And¡ª¡±
¡°Let me do the honor,¡± a voice from the woods interjected. Suddenly, a blurred figure moved with the swiftness of a panther, landing gracefully beside the leading nomadic horseman, whose grin widened with pride shining in his eyes.
The sight of a half-beast, clad in ringmail with wolf-like features, sharp eyes, and fangs, sent murmurs rippling through Sir Stan¡¯s men. Yet the newly arrived allies seemed unfazed, though their horses stamped and shifted uneasily.
Undeterred by the reaction, the figure from the woods, now revealed as a half-beast, spoke again. ¡°He is Belgutei, Batu Noyan¡¯s Champion, the leader of the brave Lowlandia warriors, and also my dear husband.¡±
¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± said Belgutei in a friendly, almost humble manner. ¡°Pardon my wife¡¯s boldness; we¡¯re newly married, and she¡¯s still getting used to our ways.¡± From the care in his words, it was clear he was more than just a warrior. He was also a diplomat by nature.
¡°Gentlemen, the pleasure is all mine. I¡¯m Stan, the baronet of Toruna. On behalf of Lord Bengrieve, I welcome you to Cascasonne.¡± Sir Stan extended his arm with a sweeping gesture, dramatically indicating the besieged castle and city.
The three visitors exchanged a glance and a nod. Together they dismounted and Sir Stan eagerly approached, clasping each of their hands in turn.
¡°I will not forget that you¡¯ve come in my hour of need. No matter what, I¡¯ll honor you as guests and brothers," Sir Stan declared, gratefully.
The sentiment pleased the three allies.
¡°Then, while the enemy is in disarray, let¡¯s test their defenses together. Your men can follow my¡ª¡±
¡°Sir Stan, that¡¯s unnecessary for now,¡± Captain Dietrich interrupted, his seasoned face and commanding presence leaving little room for argument.
¡°Do you prefer to rest first?¡± Sir Stan ventured.
¡°No, but we¡¯ll need to wait,¡± the captain insisted.
¡°Any specific reason?¡± Sir Stan asked, concerned. ¡°We¡¯ve caught them off guard, and we can still strike decisively.¡±
Sir Michael and Belgutei exchanged knowing smiles, and the nomad answered, ¡°Sir Stan, I understand your thinking, but we must wait¡ªbecause the great sovereign will soon be here.¡±
***
Lansius
The lingering stench of stale, putrid water and composting earth clung to the mud smeared on the outside of their carriage after a minor mishap during the crossing had made it float like a boat, much to everyone¡¯s laughter. The laughter had long faded, but the stench lingered, mingling with the faint breeze from outside.
Yet, unbelievably, Audrey acted as if nothing were amiss, not even using her magic to shield them from the foul odor. She merely cooled the air occasionally. The thought that his wife seemed immune to such trivial discomforts was both humbling and endearing.
There she sat beside him, propped with pillows to ease the bumpiness of the ride¡ªnot for her own comfort, but for the baby¡¯s. Astonishingly, she was reading a book with enviable focus.
I really did marry a warrior lady, he mused, watching her in admiration.
But did I spec¡¯d her correctly...? Adding INT so late to an AGI / STR build? That''s bad for min-maxing.
Lansius¡¯ playful thoughts put him at ease as they marched on. Then a new thought struck him, softening his expression.
Actually¡ maybe more INT will be good for the baby.
Outside, the road had turned to cobblestone, marking their entry into the town¡¯s vicinity, and the army moved forward with renewed speed. Their rapid progress owed much to good leadership, and a stroke of luck.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The blitzkrieg tactics had thrown South Midlandia into disarray. His vanguard had pushed deep into enemy lines, while the Dragoons in the east had joined forces with Toruna, leaving the defending garrisons in a state of shock. This chaos allowed the Korimor forces to slip through the western sector largely undetected.
Rather than launching an immediate attack, Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael recognized that they had gained a surprising advantage and chose to stay hidden. They relied on scouts, set up camp in remote clearings, and marched in secrecy.
They advanced farther than Lansius had expected. He had assumed the Korimor column would encounter strong opposition and had primarily counted them as another distraction. However, his merit-based military structure and goal-oriented leadership had paved the way for an unexpected yet welcome surprise.
The Korimor column, seeing an opportunity, decided to push into Cascasonne independently. Their leaders, having learned from the Dragoons'' success, adapted their cavalry tactics so that each rider carried an infantry soldier on a spare horse, making the three-hundred-strong column fully mounted.
Another factor Lansius hadn¡¯t accounted for was the nomads. He hadn¡¯t expected them to participate in great numbers, yet they were not only fully supportive of the campaign but also thirsting for vengeance after Reginald dared to raise hidden blades against their Noyan.
All these uncoordinated actions, guided by intuition and executed without communication due to distance and speed, led them all to converge at the opposite end of the broken bridge.
This opportunity arose because Dietrich and the nomads trusted their instincts and listened to the advice of their Midlandian-born troops, who believed that an obscure bridge could play a critical role. The bridge could possibly be used by the main army to advance toward Cascasonne. And they were right.
Arriving at the bridge, they discovered it damaged but were astonished by their fortune when they saw that Lansius and the main army had chosen this exact route.
Dietrich, Sir Michael, and the nomads quickly put their infantry to work. Without the necessary tools, equipment, or know-how to build a pontoon bridge, they simply attempted to repair the bridge from their end. Meanwhile, Lansius directed the rest of the forces to continue advancing toward Cascasonne.
Knowing their allies had secured the other side of the bridge, they worked in peace, managing to assemble the pontoon overnight while the other group repaired a short section of the bridge. By morning, the vanguard had begun crossing, with the rest of the force following close behind. Now, just past midday, after the minor accident and several hours of riding, they finally caught sight of the white towering spires of Cascasonne Castle peeking above the treeline.
¡°Cascasonne,¡± Lansius remarked, drawing Audrey¡¯s gaze to the carriage window beside them.
She sighed, her expression a blend of emotions. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡±
Lansius turned, curious. ¡°Why do you speak as if it¡¯s home?¡±
¡°Well, like it or not, I did spend a month there. And Bengrieve did give me a name.¡±
¡°I wish I could still call you Stefi.¡± Suddenly, he felt a faint tickle in his throat that made him straighten involuntarily. He turned to her with a raised brow. ¡°Hey, stop that.¡±
¡°What? I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± Audrey replied, though a mischievous smile betrayed her innocence. Her control over her magic had grown enough to summon a playful, ticklish breeze.
Lansius chuckled, feigning innocence as he leaned over and buried his face in her belly, tickling her in return. ¡°Don¡¯t, don¡¯t!¡± Audrey protested, laughing. ¡°Or we¡¯ll have to make another stop¡ªI¡¯m going to need to pee again!¡±
The carriage rocked slightly, but the coachman and Francisca in front only exchanged amused glances. Ahead of them, Cascasonne came fully into view.
***
Cascasonne
By the time Lord Lansius and his main army arrived, the vanguard had already set up camp at the forest¡¯s edge, while the nomads continued to harass the enemy, keeping them contained without fully engaging. They had also quietly secured the only other access point to the town, cutting off the enemy¡¯s retreat if needed.
The Blue and Bronze banners, alongside the Black Horse, fluttered in the wind as the shogunate honor guards escorted the carriage with pride until it came to a halt.
Francisca jumped from her seat next to the coachman, landing with ease at the carriage door to secure it, while Sir Harold, Margo, and the guards quickly formed a perimeter. It might have seemed excessive for a baron, but the recent assassination attempt warranted such precautions. Besides, Lord Lansius had come to be seen as more than just a baron. With the fall of the Imperium, people in Lowlandia had come to regard him almost as a sovereign, and a growing number of intellectuals in his employ quietly wished for him to declare independence.
As the area was secured, Lord Lansius disembarked, followed by Lady Audrey, greeted by his knights and officers.
¡°My Lord, my Lady,¡± Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael greeted them.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± Lord Lansius replied, turning briefly to gaze at Cascasonne Castle.
¡°Do you wish to meet them today?¡± Lady Audrey asked softly, her eyes steady.
¡°I intend to, but it can wait a moment,¡± Lord Lansius replied. He turned toward the assembly in front of him and spotted the baronet of Toruna.
Noticing his gaze, Sir Stan offered a warm, genuine smile. ¡°Lord Lansius, Lady Audrey, long time no see. And congratulations on your pregnancy.¡±
His words and smile brought warmth to their hearts. Both knew Sir Stan was a force to be reckoned with. His financial backing and combat prowess were formidable, even unnerving. The only drawback was that he was often given a leadership role, which prevented him from fighting as fiercely as he could. He was better off let loose on his own, with someone else overseeing the entire battlefield command.
¡°Brother," Lady Audrey called warmly. "How¡¯s the old man?¡±
¡°Father? Last I heard, he¡¯s still planting that sour cherry tree. He¡¯s that stubborn, he''ll survive this,¡± Sir Stan reassured her. ¡°Gratitude for your concern.¡±
Lady Audrey smiled and turned to Lansius. ¡°Shall we go inside?¡±
¡°Certainly,¡± Lansius replied, and they made their way to the command tent prepared for them, situated at the center of hundreds of surrounding tents.
Meanwhile, the main army had not rested after their march; instead, they had immediately taken up their axes and iron-tipped spades and set to work. The vanguard had already laid out the camp, and the men began digging ditches, chopping wood, and preparing palisades. Their training in the Hill Fort had proved invaluable, and the men were eager, for unlike Lowlandia, Midlandia was rich with good timber.
Once inside the command tent, with only their closest staff present, Lady Audrey continued, ¡°As much as I hate to admit it, your House has treated me well. For that, I¡¯m forever grateful.¡±
Sir Stan¡¯s gaze softened. ¡°You¡¯ve changed, my Lady. Tell me, does motherhood do that to you?¡±
The Lady gave a faint smile. ¡°My role has forced me to change. And, of course, there¡¯s the expectation of the man who chose me as his wife.¡±
Lord Lansius smiled with pride as he helped her to her seat. Despite sitting all day in the carriage, the solidity of the ground beneath their feet was a welcome change.
¡°The journey must have been exhausting,¡± Sir Stan acknowledged. ¡°I apologize for requesting reinforcements, but the situation has grown dire.¡±
¡°Think nothing of it,¡± Lord Lansius replied. ¡°If Midlandia falls to Sir Reginald, it will be dangerous for us as well.¡±
¡°I heard about the assassins from Sir Michael. I¡¯ll be sure to send a messenger to Elandia to report this to Lord Bengrieve. Perhaps he can exert some influence over that guild.¡±
¡°My gratitude,¡± said Lord Lansius, hesitating for a moment. ¡°Duty calls for war briefings. The enemy is yet to be defeated, and with nine thousand men, we can''t afford to be careless. Yet, despite all that¡ my heart is elsewhere today.¡± His gaze drifted toward Cascasonne Castle, where he knew his family was waiting.
¡°I understand.¡± Sir Stan¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°We should be able to visit without provoking an all-out war. Cascasonne Castle is vast. Currently, Reginald¡¯s men have abandoned the outer edges of their encirclement, so we should be able to move a column to the southern gate and secure it. I shall escort you there myself.¡±
***
Tanya
The sun was low, casting long shadows across the castle¡¯s tall walls. Yet the young Arvenian-born lady continued diligently working in the vegetable garden, weeding and watering seasonal greens, carefully ensuring each plant grew properly. They would need every bit of fresh food, as supplies were dwindling.
Once, Tanya had been groomed to be a castle maid, receiving an education. But the siege had changed all that¡ªher tutor was called to the war effort, and she was working in the garden instead. She didn¡¯t feel downhearted, however; in fact, she was grateful not to be directly involved in the fighting. Everyone she knew had taken up arms, training with crossbows or spears.
Meanwhile, Tanya remained with her mother, tucked within the inner courtyard where life felt sheltered, almost cloistered. With a cheerful heart, she continued her work without complaint. Her modest gardener¡¯s dwelling had become a haven from the brutalities of the war outside. Yet the occasional screams from the hospice, especially piercing at night, were constant reminders that the war still raged on.
During the day, distant war cries and echoes of battle continued to haunt them. Several days ago, it had grown so terribly loud that they cowered inside their house, huddled beneath the table. If the castle were breached, would they be spared? They were only gardeners, but there were rumors of everyone inside a castle being sold as slaves. With whispers of the fall of the Imperium, everyone was secretly frightened.
Mother Arryn was deeply troubled but kept herself mostly occupied with work to keep her mind off it. Being confined within the castle walls while enemies outside sought to kill them was a new and terrifying experience. Yet there was little they could do but carry on. So, despite the mortal threat, they tended the garden as usual, helped with extra cooking, laundry, and every sort of cleaning.
The workload had only increased, as much of the castle staff had joined the war effort, and many were injured or exhausted. Recently, they had been tasked to help boiling linen bandages and hanging them to dry. Many were no longer white, darkened by bloodstains.
Despite everything, they did not dwell on their misfortune. In time, they grew grateful for the protection of the tall walls. Cascasonne was a massive fortress, and they didn¡¯t feel so trapped. They even found themselves admiring the defenders¡¯ valor, sharing a quiet sense of camaraderie with them.
¡°Mother, I¡¯ve brought you cabbages. Some are ripe enough,¡± Tanya said, holding a wicker basket filled with four pale-green cabbages.
¡°Bring them here. I¡¯ll wash them later,¡± Mother Arryn replied, stirring the ladle in a pot of gruel simmering for dinner. She didn¡¯t know exactly who would eat it, but she would make it as palatable as she could.
A knock at the door startled them. ¡°Goodwoman, are you inside?¡±
Turning toward the door, Arryn replied, ¡°Just a moment.¡± Then, glancing at Tanya, she said, ¡°Here, take this,¡± offering her the iron ladle.
Arryn wiped her hands on a cloth and muttered, ¡°It¡¯s still early. The gruel isn¡¯t ready¡ª¡±
She stopped mid-sentence as the door opened, revealing the usual youngster draped in an oversized gambeson. But beside him stood a man in lordly armor, flanked by several equally imposing figures. Even she, with her limited knowledge of armor, could tell by the engravings, styling, and ornaments that he was a high-ranking lord. Instinctively, she wanted to curtsy, but something about his face struck her as familiar.
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back as she caught sight of his jet-black hair. Her mouth went dry, and her lips trembled slightly. She recognized some of his features, yet the man before her looked so much stronger than she remembered. His build was broader, and his neck and face bore chafed skin and bruises¡ªthe markings of armored combat.
And in his deep brown eyes was a commanding charisma, something possessed only by those with authority¡ªa stark contrast from the gentle teacher she remembered.
¡°I apologize¡ªdid I interrupt?¡± the man asked tenderly.
Arryn wanted to speak his name, but her tears came first. Suddenly, the sound of a basket hitting the ground startled her. She turned to see Tanya, wide-eyed, staring at the guest. The sight of her precious cabbages scattered at her feet, forgotten, confirmed Arryn¡¯s intuition.
¡°Mother!¡± Tanya¡¯s voice, thick with disbelief, broke the silence.
¡°Come here,¡± Arryn said softly, her own voice laden with emotion.
¡°Tanya?¡± the man at the door asked. ¡°You¡¯ve grown,¡± he added cheerfully, dispelling any remaining doubt. His voice was as familiar as his black hair. At that, Tanya¡¯s eyes filled with tears, the name she had tried so hard to bury rising to her lips like a powerful chant. ¡°Lansius!¡±
***
Chapter 198 : The Paused Rhythm
Chapter 198
The Paused Rhythm
Lansius
Tanya shouted his name, and Lansius knelt, arms outstretched as he had done many times before. Seeing this, Tanya ran toward him without hesitation, flinging herself into his embrace. They held each other tightly, warmth flooding through them despite the cold iron of his armor. Arryn stood nearby, tears streaming silently down her face as she fought to keep from breaking into sobs.
¡°You¡¯ve grown,¡± Lansius murmured, lifting Tanya effortlessly, just as he used to. ¡°Tell me if the armor hurts.¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t care. If it¡¯s you, it¡¯s fine,¡± she whispered, her voice catching in sobs as she clung to him, unfazed by the unyielding steel.
Lansius found solace in the tenderness of his family and glanced back at his entourage, who nodded with satisfied expressions. He entered alone. ¡°Sorry for the boots¡ªI¡¯ve come straight from outside.¡±
¡°Please don¡¯t worry; it¡¯s just a wooden floor,¡± Arryn replied, forgetting the siege as she was too caught up in his return.
Still carrying Tanya against his chest, Lansius approached Arryn. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you again. Sorry, it took so long.¡±
Arryn wiped her tears and forced a smile. ¡°Are you really the same man I helped in Bellandia?¡±
¡°I am Lansius,¡± he confirmed gently.
Arryn could no longer resist; she embraced him, pulling Tanya into the hug. Their family, long scattered, was finally reunited.
¡°Can I get some water?¡± Lansius asked after a moment, his tone light to ease the tension. ¡°And oh, that gruel is boiling over.¡±
Arryn let out a chuckle, wiping her tears again as she returned to the cauldron, stirring the bubbling gruel and adding more water. Meanwhile, Tanya slipped from his hold, quickly pouring water into a cup. But as she approached to offer it, she hesitated, noticing it was just a simple wooden cup¡ªnot even a pewter goblet. Meanwhile, the man before her wore the most dazzling armor she had ever seen, rivaling the finery of Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan, whom she had only glimpsed from afar.
¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Lansius asked.
Tanya shuddered, then knelt, offering the cup of water with respect. She had learned enough to know her place. ¡°Please, accept the water, sir.¡±
¡°Tanya, you still don¡¯t believe that I¡¯m your brother Lans?¡± he asked as he gently pulled her to her feet.
Tanya looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. ¡°I dare not call you brother.¡±
Arryn, still stirring the gruel, added softly, ¡°I¡¯m proud of you; to see you wearing such fine armor, with men-at-arms in your company, and even a gold belt buckle. It¡¯s clear that you¡¯re now above my humble station.¡±
Lansius glanced down and noticed the gold buckle for the first time; it had come with the armor. He thought back to his days as a clerk when he could barely afford a simple sword belt.
¡°How should we address you?¡± Arryn asked again, her tone polite but distant.
¡°Mother¡¡± Lansius said softly, with a faint sigh, sounding just like the man they used to know. The two women giggled.
Finally, Tanya¡¯s curiosity got the best of her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me you were noble-born? But I¡¯m glad you remembered your family and home.¡±
¡°I still don¡¯t remember.¡± Lansius crossed his arms, giving her a brotherly grin. ¡°I was never noble-born.¡±
Tanya glanced at him, puzzled.
¡°I only gained all this recently.¡± He took a sip of the water, which tasted sweet and more refreshing than anything he¡¯d had all week. Setting the cup down, he glanced at Arryn. ¡°I went south on an errand, and they made me their leader,¡± he added, downplaying his achievements as much as he could.
Arryn and Tanya nodded, feeling much more at ease now, believing his story.
¡°Lower the fire a bit and come outside with me,¡± Lansius said. ¡°I want to introduce you to a few people.¡±
Arryn and Tanya exchanged glances. ¡°But we¡¯re not dressed for it,¡± Arryn murmured, a hint of worry in her voice.
¡°Anything is fine. I¡¯ll get you something better later,¡± Lansius reassured her, moving to the fire and helping her settle the cauldron. He extended his hand, and Arryn took it, a bit hesitant.
With Arryn at his right and Tanya at his left, Lansius led them toward the door.
¡°But who are they?¡± Tanya asked as they stepped outside.
¡°Just my retinue, the baroness, and Sir Stan,¡± Lansius replied, amused, as he pushed the door open. The golden sunset cast a warm glow over the garden, and a gentle breeze, scented by the herbs growing in the corner, was refreshing.
"Retinue? Sir Stan?" Arryn gasped, but Lansius had already guided them out to a waiting crowd of knights and attendants, with Sir Stan standing just beyond, watching with a polite, respectful smile.
Arryn and Tanya curtsied, feeling the weight of so many eyes upon them.
¡°Gentlemen, this is Arryn and her daughter, Tanya. They are the family who saved me when I was nothing but a lost soul in Arvena. I owe them everything, and now that we are reunited, I ask that you hold them in the same esteem you would to me or my House.¡±
¡°Yes, my lord,¡± came the firm yet gladdened response from Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Margo, and the guards. Others in attendance also offered murmurs of approval, overpowering the gasps from the servants and maids watching from afar. Some exchanged pleased glances, while others simply nodded, smiles breaking through as they shared in the joy of this reunion.
¡°A lord?¡± Arryn covered her mouth in surprise, while Tanya grinned and whispered to her mother, ¡°Mother, he''s rich!¡±
Lansius chuckled, overhearing her. He said to them, ¡°I promise to treat you as family. Unless you¡¯d rather stay somewhere else, please join me and let me repay some of the hospitality you¡¯ve shown me.¡±
Arryn could only nod, still taken aback, while Tanya found it hard to conceal her joy.
Just then, a young woman approached gracefully. Her soft, chestnut-brown hair was cut in a sleek, chin-length bob, framing her hazel eyes, which radiated with a hint of gold¡ªbeautiful, enchanting, yet carrying a hint of danger. She wore an elegant black doublet intricately embroidered with gold patterns, giving her an air of noble refinement. Her belly was noticeably rounded, suggesting she was several months pregnant, yet she still carried an arming sword at her waist.
Lansius readily extended his hand to her. ¡°Mother,¡± he called to Arryn, ¡°there¡¯s someone I want you to meet.¡±
Audrey curtsied, and Arryn and Tanya quickly did the same.
¡°Mother, Tanya, please meet Lady Audrey, the baroness of Korimor, and the mother of my future children.¡±
Arryn and Tanya let out soft gasps, followed by joyful murmurs. Audrey smiled gently, understanding how significant the title must be. ¡°You may not recognize me,¡± she began, ¡°but I was the squire who recruited Lansius in Bellandia. So, please, there¡¯s no need to be too formal.¡±
Sensing the intimacy of the moment, their retinue quietly motioned for onlookers to step back, giving them some privacy.
¡°Especially when we¡¯re alone,¡± Lansius added with a hint of playfulness.
¡°We couldn¡¯t possibly do that,¡± Arryn said, clutching Tanya¡¯s hand, who added, ¡°Maybe we could do that with you, but not with her. She¡¯s noble-born.¡±
¡°Well, technically, I wasn¡¯t born noble,¡± Audrey reassured them, placing a protective hand over her belly. Tanya¡¯s attention was quickly drawn to it.
¡°Is little Lans inside?¡± Tanya couldn¡¯t resist, stepping closer to Audrey.
Audrey nodded, allowing Tanya to caress her belly while Lansius chuckled, pleased that his family was getting along well.
"Tanya, isn''t it?" Audrey asked. "You have such beautiful hair. I¡¯m truly glad to meet you properly. Lansius is always worried sick about you,¡± she added, earning a pleased nod from the girl.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
¡°Audrey,¡± Lansius called, and she glanced over. ¡°We should get them out.¡±
Without needing to ask, Audrey understood. Although they and Cascasonne were technically allies, there were still lingering doubts about Bengrieve''s motivation, and they preferred to remain in control. With a quick gesture, she signaled Margo, who approached, ready to assist.
¡°Good ladies, I''m Margo, your squire. My crew and I will be helping you pack.¡±
¡°But we¡¯re needed here to cook, clean, and help,¡± Arryn replied.
¡°No worries,¡± Lansius assured her. ¡°We¡¯ll be sending more men to the castle, so there shouldn¡¯t be an issue anymore. Help has arrived.¡±
...
Arryn and Tanya, with Margo¡¯s help, went inside the hut to pack their belongings. Meanwhile, a group from the inner court approached, prompting Lansius'' entourage to stand ready. Francisca and her kin, concealed under large traveling cloaks, moved closer, shielding Lansius and Audrey.
"At ease," Lansius instructed as he spotted Sir Stan and the steward walking at the head of the group.
¡°Lord Lansius,¡± Sir Stan called urgently. ¡°I need you to see this¡ª¡±
¡°Sir, we can¡¯t. It¡¯s restricted, not even accessible to all House members,¡± the steward interrupted, casting a wary glance.
¡°Our allies need to know,¡± Sir Stan insisted, his tone unwavering, puzzling the onlookers.
Sir Harold cleared his throat, his gaze turning predatory as he locked eyes with the steward. In his view, no one held more authority here than Lansius. Not even Bengrieve, who was, for now, merely a minor lord after losing his seneschal role.
¡°Master Lansius,¡± the old castle¡¯s steward greeted.
¡°Lord Shogun,¡± Sir Harold corrected him firmly, gathering everyone¡¯s attention and bringing a few satisfied smiles. ¡°Lord Shogun of Lowlandia,¡± he repeated, his expression serious.
¡°Lord Shogun of Lowlandia,¡± the steward echoed, quickly amending himself.
"That¡¯s alright,¡± Lansius signaled to Sir Harold, his voice calm. ¡°So what do we¡ª¡± He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on the object in Sir Stan¡¯s hands. The baronet held it vertically, gripping it in the middle as if it were an oversized staff. But wood covered only the lower half; the upper part was metal, shaped like a barrel that ended abruptly without a point.
Though there were differences in style, the overall shape and the presence of a trigger mechanism left Lansius with no doubt¡ªhe was looking at a musket. The sight struck him like a physical blow. Turning to Audrey, he said, ¡°Can you escort Arryn and Tanya out? I¡¯ll join you soon."
¡°With pleasure,¡± Audrey replied, noticing how serious he¡¯d become.
Then, to the steward, Lansius said, ¡°My family will be taking their leave.¡±
The steward inclined his head respectfully, a look of regret in his eyes. ¡°I regret that I cannot provide them the hospitality they deserve. I hope they¡¯ll forgive the circumstances.¡±
Lansius felt a slight grudge at why his family was treated like mere servants, but he chose to be magnanimous, reasoning that it could be another layer of protection. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with secret guilds and all; we can¡¯t be too careful.¡±
Sir Stan handed the weapon to Sir Harold, who inspected it closely. At one point, he looked to Francisca, and the half-breed remarked, ¡°There¡¯s a lot of burnt residue inside. It¡¯s a fire weapon.¡±
Lansius waved to Arryn, Tanya, and Audrey as they were escorted to the safety of their camp. Afterward, he turned to the others and declared, ¡°I know of it.¡± He struck first, gathering their attention.
Bengrieve, you bastard! How could you create something like this?
He approached and took the musket from Sir Harold, determined to investigate without raising suspicion. The steward was overly guarded, so Lansius asked casually, ¡°Where¡¯s the projectile ball and the powder?¡±
The steward swallowed hard, signaling to his men to comply with Lansius¡¯ request.
Under the watchful eyes of Sir Harold and the others, one of the guardsmen produced a round lead ball from a small leather bag and a powder horn.
¡°What do you call this? A dwarven artifact?¡± Lansius asked casually.
¡°Yes, we call it that, My Lord,¡± the guardsman answered without hesitation.
So it wasn¡¯t Hannei, but the Dwarves...
Deep down, he knew Hannei wasn¡¯t capable. Furthermore, he wasn¡¯t entirely surprised that the Dwarves had muskets; after all, he had seen their ball bearings, which indicated a mastery of precision engineering, including boring and lathing. Gunpowder-based weaponry, then, was not an unexpected development.
¡°My birthplace has a similar weapon,¡± Lansius said, making his case as he handled the musket with ease, finding similarities to large crossbows like the cranequin or windlass. He set the stock on the ground, keeping it vertical, and drew the ramrod from beneath the barrel.
He put the correct end with the cloth and pushed it into the barrel, twisting it twice before pulling it out and securing it. This step wasn''t strictly necessary, but he wanted to be thorough since it wasn¡¯t under his care. Turning to the guardsman, he took the powder horn and poured a small measure into the barrel. ¡°Is this enough?¡± Lansius asked.
¡°Yes, that much is adequate,¡± the guard confirmed.
Lansius followed with the ball, then used the opposite end of the ramrod to pack everything down firmly.
He ensured the muzzle was pointed at the sky before tackling the flint-based mechanism. Though it differed in style, it was still a spring-loaded hammer. ¡°Is this how you prime the mechanism for this one?¡± he asked the guardsman, who nodded, impressed.
¡°It¡¯ll be ready once it¡¯s tensioned,¡± the guardsman confirmed.
¡°No safety mechanism? No cover or anything?¡± Lansius asked, just in case.
The guardsman shook his head, allowing Lansius to pour a small amount of powder into the priming pan where the flintlock would strike.
Lansius raised the musket to his shoulder, feeling awkward with the cumbersome stock, far less refined than his crossbow. He aimed at an empty section of the wall where no one stood and called out, ¡°Everyone, cover your ears. It¡¯s going to be loud.¡±
He squeezed the trigger, finding it stiff and unyielding. A metallic click echoed, and then the muzzle erupted violently in a burst of fire and thick smoke. Lansius was briefly overwhelmed, enveloped by the dense smoke, but he let out a grim smile, proud that he¡¯d managed to hold steady despite his unfamiliarity.
Despite his warning, the noise startled many of the onlookers. ¡°Everyone alright?¡± he asked.
His men nodded, some visibly shaken. Lansius handed the musket back to Sir Harold, commenting, ¡°It¡¯s safe now. But be careful, it¡¯s hot.¡±
Then Lansius turned to Sir Stan, who watched him with a satisfied, knowing grin. ¡°Why did I have a hunch you¡¯d know about this?¡±
¡°An old hunter in town used this to hunt big game,¡± Lansius replied, downplaying the musket¡¯s significance.
He then looked to the steward, who appeared dazed, still processing what he¡¯d just witnessed. ¡°Steward, how many of these can you produce in a month? We¡¯re going to need them if we¡¯re to win back Midlandia.¡±
He was lying. He didn¡¯t need it. But if he treated the musket like a wonder weapon, the steward would likely guard it like treasure. By acting as if it were just another tool he was familiar with, and removing any sense of secrecy, Lansius had a better chance to extract information¡ªand, more urgently, to acquire as many as he could.
¡°Lord Shogun, unfortunately, all who knew have been moved to Elandia.¡±
Lansius snorted, feeling a bit foolish for expecting Bengrieve to be so careless.
¡°That¡¯s him, all right¡ªalways a step ahead.¡± Sir Stan stroked his chin. ¡°No wonder we brought so many blacksmiths and artisans.¡±
Lansius nodded and turned to the steward again. ¡°Sir Stan¡¯s men will be moving inside to bolster your ranks. As for me, I¡¯ll be happy to exchange some supplies should you need them.¡±
"On behalf of my master, please accept my sincere gratitude," the steward said.
¡°Meet me in the command tent for supper," Lansius continued. "We¡¯ll discuss our battle plan and Midlandia. And don¡¯t forget to bring a cache of any weapons you can spare. I could use a few for a ruse.¡±
The steward bowed his head, giving Lansius hope that he might secure enough of the weapons to eventually manufacture them on his own.
¡°Wait,¡± Sir Stan said grimly. ¡°We still have another problem.¡±
¡°Pardon?¡± Lansius asked, uncertain.
¡°It¡¯s Hannei. She¡¯s been unconscious for days.¡±
Lansius sighed deeply. "Sir Stan, I have a skilled healer. Please, let me take care of her."
The steward almost spoke, but Sir Stan had already given his word. "I¡¯ll carry her myself."
Just as he spoke, a sharp metallic clanging echoed from the tower, cutting through the castle''s quiet hum. The men stilled, eyes lifting toward the sound as shouts and hurried footsteps broke the silence.
¡°The enemy is on the move,¡± Sir Stan announced, his expression hardened, prompting Sir Harold and the rest of the entourage to prepare to move out.
"But at this hour?" the steward was gravely concerned.
Meanwhile, Lansius looked at the reddening sky and calmly remarked, "That''s too brash."
***
New Midlandia Army Camp
The crowd stirred, their eyes wide and captivated as the three Saint Candidates appeared before them. This was usually the time for sundown mass, followed by supper. But today, tension hung heavy in the air. News of new enemies advancing from the south had spread, their overwhelming numbers striking fear into the minds and souls of the gathered faithful.
Sensing the growing unease, the Saint Candidates had decreed a fast, forbidding the evening meal. Instead, they tasked their underlings with delivering speeches to shame the crowd for their fear. For an hour, the faithful endured ruthless lectures and scathing sermons. Then, as the last glimmers of daylight bathed the camp in crimson hues, the three Saint Candidates ascended the tall wooden platform at its center, each cloaked in flowing gray robes that shimmered in the waning light.
The sunset cast a blood-red hue over them and the first Saint Candidate, a wiry figure with a voice like thunder, raised her hands to the sky before slamming them dramatically to the wooden platform. Dropping to her knees, she screamed, ¡°Repent! Repent! Repent! I have seen salvation slipping from our grasp. We were so close, yet your fear has defiled it! All your prayers and sacrifices are now for naught!¡±
¡°Taints! Shameless taints!¡± the other two Saint Candidates echoed in unison, their cries ringing out like a judgmental chorus. The crowd erupted into sobs, falling to their knees in waves, their tears streaming freely as guilt and despair consumed them.
¡°There is no salvation for you!¡± the wiry Candidate continued, her voice rising with unrestrained fervor. ¡°The Living Saint Nay will not grace your dreams, nor your deathbeds, nor will she care for your tainted, unworthy souls! No, you and your lost loved ones will never be accepted into her heaven. Instead, you¡¯ll be condemned to be reborn in Navalnia, forever fated as slaves to the eastern humans, who will eat your sons¡¯ livers and sell your daughters to the highest bidder!¡±
The words fell like a hammer blow, shattering the crowd¡¯s composure. From the wreckage of their despair, a desperate zeal emerged. They shouted, cried, and screamed for salvation. In a dramatic display, the Saint Candidates raised their arms to the darkening skies and chanted fervent prayers, beckoning the throng to join their feverish cries.
Thousands of voices merged into one rhythmic chant. Swords and makeshift weapons clanged against shields and armor as the crowd worked themselves into a frenzy, their eyes blazing with the hope of redemption.
Inside a nearby command tent, the knight-commander watched the scene with a smirk, his staff standing behind him in uneasy silence. One officer hesitated before speaking. ¡°Sir, with sermons like these, even our seasoned captains and lieutenants won¡¯t be able to control them.¡±
The commander chuckled, dismissing the concern with a wave. ¡°No need for that. Just let them kill anyone who isn¡¯t one of them.¡±
The officer frowned, glancing back at the roaring mass of fanatics. ¡°But¡ what if they can¡¯t recognize who they¡¯re killing in this failing light?¡±
The commander¡¯s gloating smile widened. He had no intention of allowing his column to take part in this madness. ¡°We''ll let the Living Saint do her work.¡±
Leaning back, he savored the chaos about to unfold. Truthfully, the New Midlandian army cared little for the lives of these fanatics¡ªthey were expendable, and their deaths were even preferred. Lord Reginald had never intended to include them in his plans.
As thousands of torches lit the night, six thousand fanatics, consumed by fervor and blind zealotry, divided into three massive columns. They advanced toward the Lowlandian camp, heedless of who their enemy was or why they were there. To them, it was all irrelevant. The Living Saint Nay demanded their destruction, and they would deliver her judgment.
***
Chapter 199 : Encore
Chapter 199
Encore
The Shogun''s Camp
¡°Man the walls!¡± Captain Dietrich¡¯s voice cut through the clamor as men-at-arms and volunteers scrambled to their posts. The palisade groaned under the weight of the defenders pressing against it, their jagged silhouettes stark against the fiery sky. Beyond the horizon, the enemy¡¯s torches flickered like a restless sea, growing brighter as the fanatics surged closer.
The camp wasn¡¯t fully fortified; only the side facing the enemy had been completed. The flanks remained exposed, with no gate installed. Aside from the ditches, the camp might as well have been open ground.
The Korelian volunteer watched as knights dismounted, joining the men-at-arms at the west and east, fortified only by makeshift barricades. Meanwhile, the elite cranequiniers took up positions at the west, the most vulnerable side, while the east was nearly connected to the castle.
Crowding along the palisade, the defenders squinted into the failing light, where shadowy forms in formation steadily marched toward them like a restless tide, half-obscured by the dimming horizon.
¡°Have you heard? They say our enemy numbers as many as all of Korelia,¡± one volunteer muttered uneasily.
¡°That many? By the Pregnant Lady,¡± another whispered.
¡°Are you sure?¡± a younger man asked, keeping his eyes on his crossbow, resting atop the palisade.
¡°I didn¡¯t march this far into Midlandia to die here,¡± a spearman murmured bitterly.
"You won¡¯t. Lord Lansius has never been defeated,¡± an older man replied, though his voice betrayed his nerves.
¡°How many are we again?¡± another asked, his voice filled with anxiety.
A grim silence followed until a lieutenant, who had been quietly standing among them, finally spoke. ¡°Last I heard, roughly two thousand. Lieutenant Farkas took the Dragoons and 300 skirmishers, so we¡¯re short a few. But we¡¯ve joined up with Captain Dietrich¡¯s Korimor column, so it evens out.¡±
¡°Two thousand,¡± someone muttered. ¡°But why does it feel like so little?¡±
¡°Because our opponents are much larger,¡± the lieutenant replied casually, a smirk playing on his lips.
¡°Lieutenant, don¡¯t scare us,¡± another begged, prompting the officer to chuckle.
¡°We still have the nomads, you know,¡± the lieutenant reassured them, but his words felt rather hollow, given that the nomads were camped farther away.
The volunteers exchanged uncertain glances until one asked, ¡°But¡ I doubt even the nomads can ride in the dark.¡±
¡°Oh, right. None of you were in Korimor,¡± the lieutenant muttered, his tone cryptic, leaving the men looking puzzled.
Before they could press for answers, their attention was drawn to the arrival of several prominent figures at the center of the camp. Lanterns and long torches flared along the paths, casting flickering light on the men in gleaming plate armor who moved purposefully through the gathering. The crowd parted to make way, their faces illuminated in the warm, unsteady glow.
From the center, the figures turned toward the corner where the captain stood guard, the firelight dancing across their polished armor. First to emerge was Sir Harold, his tall, imposing frame sharply defined by the torchlight. Then came Sir Michael, his expression sharp and focused, followed by the formidable Francisca and her kin, shrouded in oversized traveling cloaks that swayed with each step.
Finally, the Lord Shogun appeared, his dark silhouette stark against the lantern¡¯s glow as he moved alongside Maester Ingrid, whose deep blue robes shimmered faintly in the flickering light. Together, they ascended the wooden stairs toward the tower, their presence on the battlement commanding the attention of everyone nearby.
¡°It¡¯s Lord Lansius,¡± one of the men murmured. The name spread through the ranks like a calming wind.
From their post, they could overhear the conversation between Captain Dietrich and the Lord Shogun.
¡°They¡¯re getting close, My Lord,¡± the Captain reported, his tone steady but urgent.
¡°Have you prepared the markers in time?¡± the Lord asked.
¡°Yes. I¡¯m glad we worked on them in advance.¡±
¡°Good. Then at 200 steps, let¡¯s ask our new members to light up the field,¡± said the Black Lord, his voice calm, as though the advancing sea of enemy formations was of little concern to him.
Hearing his words and seeing him stand resolute among them eased the tension on the volunteers¡¯ shoulders. Their fear started to melt away.
But just as they found a measure of comfort, the Lord did the unexpected. ¡°Sir Harold, Francisca,¡± he called.
¡°My Lord,¡± the two greeted, stepping forward.
¡°Take the knights and half our vanguard. Proceed with the plan.¡±
The two exchanged a glance. ¡°But, My Lord, that would leave you with only one mobile column,¡± Sir Harold said.
¡°I understand your concern,¡± Lansius replied in a steady tone. ¡°Half the vanguard, yes, but I still have the main army. Rest assured, this is the best plan we have. Besides, I¡¯ll have Dietrich and Sir Michael with me, not to mention Sir Stan and the nomads.¡±
¡°It¡¯s still too risky. At least allow me to stay by your side,¡± Sir Harold pressed.
¡°I¡¯m honored by your concern, but the plan needs you. I cannot let such an opportunity slip away,¡± Lansius said firmly. ¡°This is a calculated risk I¡¯m willing to take.¡±
Resigned, the two nodded and saluted before turning to carry out the command.
The volunteers watched with growing unease as the knights and half the vanguard were pulled from their posts and led toward the castle. Whispers and murmurs broke out among the defenders. Now the volunteers made the bulk of the defense¡ªroughly 700, supported by 200 cranequiniers and two columns of men-at-arms, just over 1,000 against 6,000.
No matter how they tried to rationalize it, the situation seemed mad. Had the Lord underestimated the enemy¡¯s strength? Or worse, had he miscalculated entirely? Nervous glances passed between them, and some whispered to their lieutenants, who could only offer forced smiles in response.
Questions lingered on their lips, but no one dared voice them. Many, however, drew courage from Lord Lansius¡¯ presence, standing with a calm authority among them, his top retinue by his side.
Nearby, a group of carpenters frantically worked on a wooden structure. More and more materials arrived from the castle, briefly piquing the defenders¡¯ interest. But their focus quickly returned to the enemy''s march as the thousand entered their shooting range.
***
Lansius
At several thousand strong, the enemy¡¯s formations moved like a living tide against them. Their armor glinted in the torchlight like tiny flashes of embers scattered across the plains. Aside from several banners, there were no instruments to signal their movements, like horns or cornu, only the sound of feverish chants. The thought staggered Lansius.
¡°Just how are they going to coordinate their attack?¡± Lansius muttered to Dietrich.
¡°I was wondering the same,¡± Dietrich admitted. ¡°I see no fire signals or anything to guide them. Could they really be rushing us blindly?¡±
¡°They can¡¯t be that incompetent,¡± Lansius replied, stroking his chin.
Dietrich hesitated before locking eyes with him. ¡°My Lord, I can command this. You should return to your family¡ªthey need you.¡±
Lansius let out a sigh. ¡°No worries. I have several Skirmishers and Sir Omin protecting them. Still, I feel bad bringing them out of the safety of the castle to this half-finished camp.¡±
Dietrich chuckled softly, but Ingrid¡¯s voice cut through the moment.
¡°200 steps,¡± Ingrid reported to Lansius, gazing through the Ekionia optics at the painted stone marker the enemy column had just crossed.
Her words prompted Dietrich to look at Lansius, who gave a nod. As captain, he signaled his men. ¡°Let the fire bottles fly.¡±
At his command, the slingers, employed by the alchemist from Ornietia, swung their ordnance into action. One by one, the volatile mixtures inside the clear glass bottles soared into the darkening skies before crashing to the ground and erupting into small puddles of flame.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Meanwhile, at the center of the camp, carpenters worked tirelessly. Sir Michael had arrived with more materials and additional workers. Under a cluster of lanterns, they labored to construct a simple wooden platform, like a scaffold, designed to house a device Lansius had "borrowed" from the castle. The device itself wasn¡¯t a weapon, but it would be spectacular in this kind of battle.
Lansius turned to Ingrid. ¡°Go to Sir Michael and assist him. Or, if the battle becomes too much for you, you may return to the Lady¡¯s side.¡±
¡°Yes, my Lord,¡± the educator replied with a nod before hurrying off.
Outside, the fires at first appeared insignificant; some enemy soldiers even kicked dirt and grass onto them. But the flames persisted, licking hungrily at the ground and spreading as if alive, their orange glow casting a haunting light over the battlefield.
The constant barrage of fire bottles hurled by the slingers caused multiple injuries but did little to slow or panic the enemy. At their size, and in this darkening hour, even a hundred deaths were a mere drop in the river. Still, causing deaths was beside the point.
¡°Now we have light,¡± Lansius muttered to himself. The fire bottles acted like flares, giving his crossbowmen the distance reference and depth perception they needed.
Then he turned to face his men. ¡°Men,¡± Lansius addressed them, his voice firm, dispelling some of the tension in the air.
His troops looked at him with eager eyes, but the dim, swaying light of torches and lanterns betrayed their fear and nervousness.
¡°Do not hesitate,¡± he began. ¡°These Reginald''s underlings are not to be trusted. First, they sent threats, then assassins, and now they haven¡¯t even extended the courtesy of a messenger. They don¡¯t see any of us as honorable enough for discussion. They want us dead or shackled for Navalnia. And they won¡¯t stop until they have all of Lowlandia under their foot.¡±
Having reinforced their purpose, Lansius signaled Dietrich to proceed.
¡°Crossbowmen!¡± Dietrich roared, and the men snapped to readiness, gripping their weapons tightly. Meanwhile, the slingers continued hurling their fiery payloads.
¡°Aim to Kill! Aim for the torchbearers! Loose!¡± Dietrich barked.
Immediately, the air filled with the sound of snapping steel prods and thick strings whipping back as the crossbows unleashed their fury.
¡°Shower them! Let them taste Lowlandian bolts!¡± the lieutenants shouted. Hastily, the men reloaded. The first volley landed in the dark, black bolts whistling faintly over the pounding chants of the advancing enemy.
But struck true they did. Torches fell as their bearers crumpled to the ground, and the rhythmic chants faltered, interrupted briefly. Another salvo took flight, then another.
Despite the cover of darkness, the bolts found their marks. Faint cries emerged from the masses, but it wasn¡¯t enough. The fanatics pressed on, stepping over their fallen comrades with wild fervor. The smell of blood and the wails of the injured only seemed to fuel their advance.
Another volley was loosed, faster this time, yet the relentless tide surged forward, closing in as they reached the western entrance.
¡°My Lord, permission to join the fight,¡± Dietrich asked, intending to join his tercio¡¯s mobile column.
¡°Go with my blessing,¡± Lansius replied. Then, turning to his men, he commanded, ¡°Keep sending those bolts into the air! The more we fire, the more likely they are to retreat and end this madness!¡±
His men obeyed, launching bolt after bolt, but the sea of torches below steadily surrounded them. Some attackers carried ladders and, despite heavy casualties, navigated the moat to begin their assault.
Some brave but foolhardy men climbed the walls fearlessly, their shouts rising with the chaos, only to be met with staunch resistance. Lansius watched as his Korelian volunteer troops engaged in their first battle. Fighting erupted along the palisade wall, but it was nothing compared to the western entrance, which bore the brunt of the assault. A large mass of fanatics was hammering themselves against the barricade.
Lansius wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His mind was heavy with concerns. First, his palisade wall had yet to be reinforced with rammed earth; if those thousands attacked methodically, they could potentially dismantle it. Moreover, his men were exhausted¡ªthey had just finished a long march, built the fort, and managed only a quick supper before the attack began.
Yet, like it or not, the most decisive part of the battle was about to unfold.
***
New Midlandia Army
Erratic light atop the palisade gave the six thousand bearings on where to go. Now, closer to the camp, they could see the opening. With each step, the exposed side of the camp drew nearer. Despite the hail of crossbows that felled many of them, especially the torchbearers, they stubbornly advanced across the uneven ground.
Another wave to their left went directly to the walls, attacking with ladders. After enduring a relentless barrage of bolts, they finally engaged the Saint''s enemies, invoking her wrath against the intruders who dared to defy her holy plans.
More bolts landed among them, peppering them like a rain of iron. Yet even those wounded, with bolts protruding from their bodies, forced themselves up again and kept advancing. With faith burning in their hearts, there was no retreat.
Each death only made their chants grow louder. "Healing for the living, salvation for the dead!"
Their throats, raw from relentless shouting and hard marching, rasped cries of devotion to the 150-year-old Saint, who still looked ever youthful. Her believers claimed that her holy hands could heal any sickness.
As the foremost column charged with spears brandished high, the rest followed breathlessly, hurling themselves into the unfinished side of the camp.
Then disaster struck.
The front ranks suddenly vanished, swallowed by a ditch they failed to notice. The darkness had concealed it until it was too late. Bodies tumbled into the pit, while others, caught unaware, tripped and fell atop their comrades. Bones snapped, and the weight of the fallen crushed those below, leaving them to die in suffocating screams.
¡°Moats!¡± they collectively warned as more attackers stumbled upon the ditches where their brothers had fallen. Some faltered at the edge, trying to stop, but the mass of bodies behind them shoved forward relentlessly. More tumbled in, still clutching their weapons, which undoubtedly drew blood in the panic.
More horrifyingly, the barrage of bolts was now directed at them. Agony rippled through the attackers, momentarily overpowering their chants.
¡°Push through!¡± bellowed one, echoed by others. Driven by sheer desperation, the survivors clawed their way out. The trench, now shallow from the mass of bodies, had become a grim bridge of the dead. Those who managed to climb out desperately tried to regroup on the other side, only to find the wooden barricade looming directly before them.
The cheval de frise stood at chest height, bristling with sharpened wooden spikes. Bound together with stakes or ropes, this simple wooden structure was a formidable obstacle. No fewer than ten barricades blocked the western entrance. Some attackers immediately tried to scale it, but the defenders'' spears welcomed them mercilessly.
Blood sprayed, and the pungent stench of guts filled the air. Only when brothers with shields joined the fray did they manage to hold, forming a crude shield wall. All the while, bolts whistled through the air, causing wounds or snatching lives seemingly at random. But worse still was the fire attack, which kept even the bravest among them on edge.
Yet they pressed on, their orderly chants driving them forward. Before long their numbers swelled as more climbed over, and the assault began anew.
Like madmen, they surged toward the barricade; the final obstacle blocking them from unleashing the Living Saint''s fury.
But then, they encountered something entirely unfamiliar.
"Brother!" one cried amid the assault. "I''m stuck!" His voice was strained with pain as hundreds surged toward the wooden barricade. And he wasn¡¯t the only one. Many more were trapped, tangled against something unseen. The feeble light from torches, whether ally or enemy, failed to reveal the source. Something clung to them, gripping like a predator¡¯s snare, tearing into flesh and refusing to let go. The more they struggled to free themselves, the worse the pain grew.
¡°Cut it! Cut it down!¡± shouted many, but striking blindly in the dark was futile. Worse still, their cries only drew the enemy spearmen, who attacked mercilessly, striking down those immobilized at the barricade.
Ensnared, there was little they could do. The debilitating pain sapped their strength, leaving them helpless. Their brothers climbed past or over them, unintentionally crushing them further. Wails of agony pierced the night as their faith and courage dissolved like vapor.
Yet their sacrifices were not in vain. Amid the bloodbath, the attackers managed to cut loose a barricade and gain an opening. In great ecstasy, the first wave surged toward the defenders¡¯ men-at-arms. At last, they entered the camp.
They fought fearlessly. Hundreds poured through the gap with shields raised and weapons brandished. They clashed with the defenders, seemingly gaining the upper hand. They thrust, they struck, and they fought with a near-frenzied zeal.
However, their triumph was short-lived.
Fearless as they were, exhausted and disorganized, they were no match for the battle-hardened veterans of Lowlandia. Wild thrusts and erratic strikes were parried with ease, their crude formations shattering against an unyielding wall of spears and swords. For every fanatic who charged with blind courage, a veteran¡¯s blade awaited with cold precision.
These were the troops who had fought in multiple battles over two brutal years. They understood the rhythm of war and the value of resilience. They neither faltered nor wasted energy, cutting down their foes with grim efficiency. Their formation held firm, stepping back only to counter in a deadly dance of blades.
Soon, the assault devolved into a bloody stand.
Then, slowly, the attackers'' first wave was ground to a bloody end.
As the front ranks were slaughtered, those in the rear began to falter. Chants lingered on their lips, but their momentum slowed, and their steps grew shaky. Bravery gave way to dread as they witnessed the fate of their brothers. By the light of fallen torches and the defenders¡¯ lanterns, the horrifying aftermath lay bare before them.
The first wave was gone, leaving behind a mass of broken bodies and silenced chants.
The ditch overflowed with bodies, limbs twitching as flames and shadows danced across the carnage. The barricades told a similar story¡ªbodies hung, stuck, or scattered in unnatural poses. But the worst was beyond the barricades, where the ground was littered with the unmoving remains of the first wave.
No fewer than five hundred of their brothers had reached the camp¡ªonly to be slaughtered to the last.
"Midlandians!" a defender bellowed from atop the wall. "We come for vengeance. This puddle of blood ain''t nearly enough. Send more!"
The taunt triggered a roar of laughter from the defenders'' camp.
So many had died, only for the enemy to laugh. This unnerved those in the rear ranks, halting them in their tracks. Many scattered, seeking cover or gripping their shields tightly overhead. Many hesitated, but the chants from the rear grew louder¡ªpressing, pushing them to take action. Desperation and Saint Nay''s promise of salvation drove many forward despite the horrors ahead.
But for others, they had seen enough. They turned and fled into the woods, knowing that brutal deaths were not salvation.
...
New Midlandia Army''s Encampment
Thick incense filled the large opulent tent, its cloying scent mingling with the faint metallic tang of sweat and iron. Ten men in black-painted ringmail knelt on the ground, their heads bowed in reverence beneath the flickering light of oil lamps. Shadows danced along the canvas walls as smoke from the burning incense swirled lazily in the air.
¡°You and your brother are the chosen ones. Your faith equals your martial prowess,¡± the wiry Saint Candidate declared softly from her seat.
The men merely nodded, accepting the blessing in solemn silence.
¡°You shall lead your people to salvation,¡± intoned a younger Saint Candidate, her ethereal voice cutting through the haze as she stepped forward, carrying five clay bottles carefully wrapped in woolen bags.
¡°This is the alchemist¡¯s burning sands,¡± the wiry Saint Candidate explained as he rose to stand before them. ¡°Remember what it did to your brothers. Now, we have the chance to return the favor.¡±
The leading man accepted the gift with steady hands, distributing the bottles to those he deemed most capable without a word.
Another Saint Candidate stepped forward, this time carrying a golden chalice cradling a gem-crusted necklace. The wiry Saint Candidate¡¯s hands trembled with reverence as she took it and presented it to the leading man.
¡°Behold,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°This necklace belonged to the Living Saint herself.¡±
The men stared in fervent awe, their lips muttering gratitude incessantly. With ritualistic care, the wiry Saint Candidate placed the necklace around the leading man¡¯s neck.
¡°This will grant you the Saint¡¯s power when you need it most,¡± she said. ¡°Use it wisely¡ªand return with it in victory.¡±
¡°Yes, blessed Sister,¡± the leading man replied, his voice filled with conviction.
¡°Now, join your brother,¡± she instructed. ¡°They have paved the way for your arrival. It is time to fulfill the Living Saint¡¯s will. Kill the enemy¡¯s reinforcement leader¡ªwe have a castle to conquer.¡±
***
Chapter 200 : The Last Bow
Chapter 200
The Last Bow
Lansius
Lansius kept his gaze fixed on the western part of the camp. Despite the relentless assault, they had withstood the first wave, and the situation remained under control. The combination of ditches, cheval de frise barricades, and barbed wire was proving its strength.
Deep down, Lansius pitied the fanatics who fought against the coiled barbed wire in the dim light, unaware of what they were up against. For them, it was certainly a nightmare. The sharp barbs clung to fabric, pricked, and tore the skin. The wire, intentionally kept loose in coils, was bendy and refused to snap.
The more they tried to climb, the more they became entangled, until pain eventually halted their movement, trapping them in place. While some fanatics managed to breach the barricades, it came at a great cost. And those who broke through were met by Lansius'' mobile column, comprised of his battle-hardened veterans.
In the end, the mobile column held the western entrance with only light¡ªif any¡ªcasualties, not needing reinforcement from the main army.
The palisade wall also held firm. Despite Lansius'' concerns about its unfinished construction and the absence of rammed earth for support, the volunteer troops, armed with crossbows, spears, and swords, managed to repel the assault. Moreover, they had greatly thinned the first wave, forcing the attackers to reel back from their wall.
Now, Lansius watched as Dietrich sent his men to secure the loose barricade and add several more strands of barbed wire¡ªthey would need it for the next attack.
Everyone understood that despite their early success, this was only a taste of the main attack.
¡°Get more bolts! Don¡¯t let the quivers run dry,¡± the lieutenant barked to the men below, who hurried to refill the spent ammunition.
With the main assault seemingly waiting in the dark beyond the range of their crossbows, Lansius turned his gaze toward Cascasonne and beyond but thought it too early to see any movement there. From the castle gate, he noticed Sir Stan personally overseeing the delivery of the borrowed item from the castle.
Lansius shifted his attention to the carpenters and Sir Michael, who were finishing the wooden platform for the borrowed device. He also spotted Lady Ingrid there, accompanied by three others¡ª
A streak of fire tore through the sky, leaving a red trail in its wake before arcing overhead. It landed with a sharp crack of clay shattering.
Lansius held his breath, and soon enough, a small but violent fire erupted from the impact site.
¡°Alchemist bottle! Bury it!¡± the nearest lieutenant howled, spurring men into frantic action. But as they scrambled, a puff of white smoke hissed ominously into the air.
¡°Burning Sands!¡± Sir Stan shouted as he sprinted toward it. ¡°Bury it now, or it¡¯ll spread!¡±
¡°Put dirt on it!¡± Lansius added, descending the stairs two at a time.
¡°My Lord, it¡¯s dangerous! Let us handle it,¡± one of his guards warned, rushing toward the growing blaze.
Before they could act, another projectile streaked through the sky, landing inside the camp with a fiery burst, followed by another that slammed into the palisade wall. The last impact sent shards of clay and flaming liquid outward, igniting a section of the wall in a smoky blaze and forcing the crossbowmen to reel back.
"Move away from the smoke!" Lansius called out, moving toward them. Tens of men hastily abandoned their posts, frantically searching for water to douse their stinging eyes.
"Wash your eyes and face, and remove your clothes if they have the white dust on them," Lansius added before returning to check on the first bottle. As it turned out, his men had buried it, and the smoke had fizzled out.
Elsewhere, Sir Michael and his men scrambled to deal with the second. Lansius had barely sighed in relief when noises from the western entrance caught his attention. There, he saw Dietrich''s men facing the same threat. One of the burning sands had ignited somewhere in the barricade, cloaking them in a choking cloud.
With pained breaths and teary eyes, the vanguard and men-at-arms stumbled back from their position, coughing violently. Some clutched their throats as if trying to expel the burning sensation.
The sight unnerved Lansius as he frantically searched for Ingrid, but his gaze caught Audrey and Margo instead at the center of the camp. Audrey was using her magic to summon wind, forcing it toward the enemy''s position in an attempt to scatter the suffocating fumes.
This might work, Lansius thought.
But clashes and shouts erupted from the opposite side¡ªthe east. Lansius spotted a daring surprise attack and knew instinctively it could undo all he had worked for. "Guardsmen, with me. It''s time to join the fight!"
There was no hesitation in Lansius'' tone, prompting his four guards to follow without question, each carrying a different weapon suited to their preference. To Lansius, they were as good as his Varangian Guard: exceptionally talented in combat, royally paid, and fully devoted to his cause.
***
The Living Saint''s Side
Two brothers acted as diversions, hurling their burning sands into the enemy camp. The first throw sailed cleanly over the wall, shattering somewhere inside, but his second throw arched too low and struck the palisade, scattering sparks across the ground. The second man sprinted toward the western entrance and hurled his clay bottle at the column beyond the barricades. It erupted into a choking cloud of gas, spreading chaos among the defenders as they reeled from the sudden attack.
Meanwhile, the leading man, Andras, led seven of his brothers to the east, where a column of men stood in defense behind wooden barricades. He smirked; it was easy to see that the defenders were overconfident in their proximity to the castle, believing that the crossbowmen stationed there and the dreaded new weapon would protect them. They relied too heavily on their allies and grew careless.
One bottle of burning sands was all it took. The clay shattered within the column, and panic seized them as acrid smoke billowed. The defender''s formation unraveled as they stumbled back, abandoning their position. That was the opening Andras and his men had been waiting for.
Familiar with the cheval de frise, they began their climb with practiced steps. However, they were caught off guard by the sharp, barbed wire coiled around the structure, which quickly ensnared many of them. With cool determination, they used their small numbers to their advantage, assisting one another to break free. Moreover, unlike their common brothers, they were better equipped.
Their ringmail was crafted with tightly woven, riveted rings, fine enough to stop even a metal toothpick. As a result, the jagged metal thorns around the barricade could do little more than slow them down. And they had ample time, as the burning sands worked in their favor.
After leaping over the barricade without losing anyone, they pressed forward into the dense gas cloud without hesitation.
"Andras," a brother called out, his voice muffled by the mask, ¡°May the Saint¡¯s blessing reach your deceased family!¡±
¡°Her teachings will save us all,¡± Andras replied, smiling faintly behind his mask. ¡°What she did for my brother, she will do for us all.¡±
While the defenders had little experience with such weapons, the attackers were all too familiar with often being on the receiving end of that vile gas. Through harsh lessons, they had developed some methods to counter its effects. The brothers under Andras had slathered their limbs and faces with a thin coat of tallow and wore masks dampened with a posca-like concoction of water and wine vinegar.
Well-prepared and experienced, they pushed through the choking fog as it burned their eyes and nostrils. Soon, the gas began to thin, and with great fervor, they launched themselves at the column, blades first.
Earlier, the column was bristled with spears and shields, their formation tight and disciplined. But now, their ranks were scattered and relaxed. Men gasped for breath, helmets discarded, splashing water from their waterskins over their faces in a desperate attempt to soothe the burning. Suddenly, eight men in black ringmail broke through the fog.
One Korelian soldier never saw Andras coming. His sharp, curved steel blade swept in a tight arc, slicing deep into the man¡¯s jugular. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as the soldier¡¯s mouth fell open in shock. To his left and right, Andras¡¯ brothers charged the startled defender, delivering the Living Saint¡¯s wrath upon the unbelievers.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
But their opponent were not levied troops. Amid the chaos, a blade thrust toward Andras. He sidestepped with the agility of a man forged by countless fights. His eyes locked with his attacker¡¯s for the briefest moment before he drove the rondel dagger in his left hand deep into the man¡¯s ringmailed chest. The ice-pick-like nail pierced through, striking the man down. Nearby, one of his brothers swung an axe, cleaving a soldier¡¯s arm in a single, brutal motion.
The defender''s column was completely unraveled. Its members fled in panic, disoriented by the gas and unsure of the number of attackers. They tripped over one another in a desperate attempt to escape the black-clad killers, who seemed immune to the smoke. Shouts and screams filled the air, the chaos working to Andras'' advantage as he struck down another man and slipped deeper into the camp.
But the cost was steep. One brother fell¡ªa crossbow bolt struck him point-blank before a spear finished him off. Another was captured, wrestled to the ground by sheer numbers. Yet, the remaining brothers were more than enough to sow chaos, cut down commanders, and make their escape. Andras led the charge, his black-painted ringmail melding seamlessly with the shadows of the night.
Amid the flickering light of lanterns and torches, Andras spotted a figure clad in fine armor, standing taller than the rest. His gilded breastplate marked him as a nobleman, while his commanding presence and the several men flanking him left no doubt that he was the commander.
The target shouted orders, seemingly directing his men to move a mule-drawn cart out of the way. Andras launched himself toward him, sprinting. His brothers followed without question, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
Suddenly, Andras felt the Living Saint¡¯s blessing surge through his veins. The strength was so overwhelming that, for a moment, he faltered, unsteady on his stride. But with his next step, he found himself moving faster, each pump of his legs propelling him forward with inhuman power.
The Living Saint had saved Andras'' brother, who was badly burned¡ªhis skin, even his hair and eyebrows, completely scorched in the house fire. Now, the recovering boy was a devout gardener in the Saint''s monastery. When the Saint learned that his mother and father had also perished in the blaze, she said she would find their souls and bring them to the Garden of the Ancients.
Since that moment, no clouds had lingered in Andras'' soul. The former street brawler turned cutthroat had found his purpose. He lived now as the Living Saint''s blade of justice.
"Watch out! The leading one is a mage," a female voice rang out. Her warning unintentionally sparked further panic, giving Andras a good opening.
One of the nearest guards who moved to intercept hesitated. Without breaking stride, Andras hurled the rondel dagger in his left hand with all the strength he could muster. The weapon flew blindingly fast, hitting the guard¡¯s shoulder with such force that it sent him stumbling backward.
The surprised nobleman and his remaining men readied their sword stances. But Andras had the momentum. "In the name of the Living Saint, I command you: Perish!" he roared as he pounded his heavy boot on the ground and brought his blade down in a vicious overhead slash against the nobleman. His brothers were close behind him, flanking from both sides.
***
Lansius
He saw only five or six figures, all clad in black armor. Such a small number, yet they had wreaked havoc on his column stationed behind the barricade. Still, nobody had expected burning sands attacks, and certainly not with this level of ferocity.
"One of them is a mage!" Ingrid warned from the crowd behind, surprising Lansius.
"Good!" Lansius bellowed without hesitation as he kept his pace. "I¡¯m getting bored."
His four guards broke into smiles at his words and quickened their pace toward the intruders, who were fixated on Sir Stan and his guards.
"In the name of the Living Saint, I command you: Perish!" the likely assassin mage roared, launching toward Sir Stan.
A sharp whistle pierced the air. Lansius caught sight of the arrow as it momentarily distracted the attacking mage. It lasted only a blink, and the arrow strayed harmlessly, but the broken focus was enough. The two blades clashed with a resounding ring, and Sir Stan swiftly followed with a sly counter aimed at the opponent¡¯s face. His blade nicked the cheek, smearing first blood across the black mask.
"What¡¯s with the mask? Did Saint Nay say you¡¯re ugly?" Sir Stan taunted with a childish grin. His answer came in the form of a powerful diagonal blow, which the baronet was forced to block.
The duel had begun when Lansius and his guards arrived, just as more black-armored men appeared on the other side. Two of Lansius'' guards leaped into the fray, while the others moved to intercept anyone attempting to target him. Reinforcements began to converge, but one attacker slipped through and charged directly at Lansius.
Lansius readied his stance, but another arrow sliced through the air, striking the attacker. It failed to penetrate the ringmail but staggered the man just long enough for Lansius to quickly step forward and deliver a swift sword strike to the side of his head.
The attacker¡¯s ringmail coif protected his scalp, but the blunt force was enough. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, preventing Lansius from delivering a follow-up strike.
Nearby, one of Lansius'' guards had fell another attacker, while the men gathering around had overpowered a second. A third lay pinned to the ground, choking from suffocation¡ªlikely Ingrid¡¯s handiwork.
The black-clad killers were strong and experienced, but the Shogun''s men proved to be their equals. Worse for the attackers, Lansius'' personal guards had been handpicked and trained by Sir Harold, outclassing the killers in nearly every way. Their fatigue soon became evident, and the guards cornered them as their fight grew increasingly desperate.
Fierce fighting continued, but the center of attention was the fight between Sir Stan and two guards, against the mage assassin. For the first time, those outside the Toruna household witnessed Sir Stan¡¯s prowess. Physically, he was a first-rate knight, and his connections to Bengrieve likely afforded him rare artifacts or relics that few could rival.
A powerful parry by the guard, followed by Sir Stan''s swift counter, sent their opponent stumbling backward. Meanwhile, the other attackers were being cornered as more defenders converged, cutting off their escape.
"It¡¯s not a mage," Ingrid corrected as she approached, a squire by her side. "It¡¯s a gemstone of strength."
A smirk spread across Sir Stan¡¯s face. "Leave him to me," he said to the guards beside him.
"But Sir¡ª"
Sir Stan did not respond. Instead, he lunged forward, wielding a spear taken from a fallen man. Sparks flew as the spear clashed against the assassin¡¯s blade in a fierce duel.
The assassin unleashed powerful parries and masterful counters, but Sir Stan dominated the exchange. There was a certain beauty in his near-reckless fighting style. He didn¡¯t bother dodging shallow cuts, allowing grazes to land on his full plate armor without hesitation, completely ignoring them to maintain his edge in attacking. In this way, his speed, feints, and superior technique allowed him to control the fight.
As the duel raged on, the remaining black-clad killers were defeated. Yet Lansius couldn¡¯t afford to let his guard down. The western entrance was under heavy attack. A few hundred enemies had already swarmed through the barricade, with likely another thousand advancing behind them. Their chants now drowned out all other noise from the west side.
Lansius¡¯ mobile column, still wary and reeling from the effects of the burning sands, fought fiercely to plug the gap. Crossbowmen and cranequiniers fired relentlessly in a desperate attempt to halt the onslaught.
Lansius dared a glance toward Sir Michael, who was frantically assisting the carpenters in installing the device brought by the mule cart. He felt a flicker of relief that they kept working despite the chaos surrounding them.
It¡¯s almost ready.
A cry erupted, drawing Lansius'' attention back to the duel. Sir Stan had struck a spear into the opponent''s belly. The man knelt, clutching the spear to prevent it from penetrating deeper.
"All that extra strength, and what did you achieve?" Sir Stan asked, his tone half-mocking, reminding Lansius of their training days in Toruna. "You seem poorly trained for this kind of fight. Tell me, is this your first time using the necklace of strength?"
When the man gave no response but a pained grunt, Sir Stan, in a show of dominance, lifted him off the ground with his spear. Then, with a wide vertical swing, he slammed the man several steps away, crashing to the ground.
Everyone was stunned by the feat of strength, and Lansius seized the moment. "Don''t just gawk! Return to your stations. We have a war to win!" he shouted.
Driven by Lansius'' command, the men hastily returned to their posts, leaving the failed assassination attempt behind.
The man began to gurgle blood from the impact and the wound in his belly. Slowly, he reached for the spear tip, but the pain was so excruciating that his muscles refused to obey.
"Don''t even try. That spear is the only thing keeping your guts from spilling out," Sir Stan said, stepping closer.
The man stared up with bloodshot eyes as Sir Stan knelt and forcefully removed the lower part of his black ringmail coif.
"Be careful. He''s still powerful," Lansius warned.
"Not to worry," Sir Stan replied calmly. "The gemstone is working hard just to keep his vitals up. Right now, he''s as harmless as a dying man."
Lansius recalled his own experience with his gemstone of strength. Sir Stan seemed to know much more, suggesting he likely owned one and had secretly trained extensively with it. While Lansius trusted Ingrid, it appeared the gemstone of strength wasn¡¯t as rare as she believed.
But then again, Bengrieve even had muskets...
"Oh, what do we have here?" the baronet mused aloud, removing the necklace from the man¡¯s neck. As soon as it left his body, the man convulsed violently and vomited blood.
One of Lansius'' guards drew his dagger while two others stepped forward. "My Lord, we¡¯ve captured three alive," one reported.
Acknowledging the request and the dagger, Lansius silently observed the dying man for a moment before giving a single nod. At once, the two guards grabbed an arm each and hauled the man into a sitting position. The lead guard unfastened the straps of the black ringmail coif, removing it along with the padding and mask beneath, then asked, "What''s your name?"
The man''s strength was nearly gone, but he muttered through bloodied lips, "Andras, son of Varsovia."
"Well met¡ªand goodbye," the guard said as he delivered a merciful stab to the back of the neck. Andras slumped forward, his struggle finally over.
"Lord Shogun," Sir Stan called. Lansius turned to see the baronet holding out his palm, revealing a gem-encrusted silver necklace.
"Not the prettiest, but it¡¯s still a functional gemstone of strength," Sir Stan commented. "Have you heard of it?"
Lansius opened his mouth to deny it, but Sir Stan already continued, "Well, you have a mage who sensed it, so this will be easy."
"What will be easy?" Lansius asked, resting his sword on his shoulder.
Unexpectedly, Sir Stan held the necklace up, offering it to Lansius.
Lansius frowned. "But you won it in a duel."
"It¡¯s a gift, take it!" he insisted. "You raced all the way from Lowlandia to save Cascasonne. And I even heard you sent a detachment to free Toruna. For that, I¡¯m grateful."
Amused, Lansius sheathed his sword and quickly accepted the necklace. "Gratitude for this remarkable gift."
"Don¡¯t be. We¡¯re in-laws, remember?" Sir Stan quipped, unfazed by the deaths around him.
However, there was little time for respite. The western entrance had been overrun, and the wooden barricades were pushed aside. Meanwhile, the enemy had renewed their assault on the palisade walls, where more fanatics were scaling them, swarming the defenders¡¯ positions like endless waves of ants.
"Any brilliant ideas on how to survive this mess?" Sir Stan whispered, leaning closer. "Or do we need to use the new weapons?"
"No," Lansius replied confidently, though a hint of nervousness crept into his voice. "The plan is ongoing. Now, it¡¯s time to turn the tables on them."
***
Chapter 201 : Curtain Call
Chapter 201
Curtain Call
Western Barricades
The white burning sands gas had dissipated, leaving only thin trails of a choking, acrid stench. Its absence acted like a signal. The fanatics, led by one of Andras'' brothers, launched a renewed assault on the western entrance. With a furious push, they forced the barricades aside, widening the gap. A wave of righteous fury surged through them as they poured into the breach, torches in one hand and swords in the other.
"Salvation! Salvation!" they chanted in unison as they charged into the defenders'' line.
The brother in black climbed over the barricade and shouted, "The Living Saint is watching! Take it! Salvation is in your enemy¡¯s blood!"
His voice rallied the fanatics further, who swung their swords or thrust their spears with fearsome determination. Blind courage made up for their lack of skill, and when their brave but clumsy attempts failed, they hurled themselves forward, clutching knives or any other weapons they could find. Their faces twisted with wild enthusiasm, eyes blazing with the desperate hope of salvation¡ªfor the loved ones they had already lost or those still clinging to life, yearning for the Saint''s gentle, healing hand.
The shrieks and cries of women and young boys in their ranks pierced the air, adding to the madness. Their screams of encouragement and chants drove the column forward, transforming it into a stampede. There was no sense of order, and soon many died from being crushed, unable to breathe as they were pushed from all sides and trapped within the crowd. Bodies fell, trampled beneath the crush of unforgiving feet.
Yet even this animalistic assault was not enough. The defenders¡¯ column fought on like madmen, unflinching despite the odds. They delivered puncturing wounds, deep slashes, and severed limbs like butchers carving meat. There was no remorse or guilt, only vengeance to serve and more men to kill. They stepped back only because of the growing piles of bodies they had slain.
The true killer, however, was the bolts in the dark. Crossbowmen and cranequiniers wielding improved designs unleashed a relentless rain of steel against the onslaught. They spent an enormous stockpile of bolts to hold the line.
Their sharp whistling might have been drowned out by the chants, but their deadly impact was unmistakable. Each bolt struck with a sickening thud, piercing flesh through the gambesons the fanatics wore. The wounds rarely killed outright, but they caused tremendous pain, draining their wills and strength with every crimson drop.
Many could have been saved with proper care, but within a stampeding horde, their fate was sealed. Like hundreds of other victims, they drew their final, laborious breaths, collapsing with bolts protruding from their bodies, only to be crushed beneath the relentless press of their allies.
Before long, the ground grew slick with blood, and the air thickened with the stench of iron, guts, and piss. Despite the darkness and dim illumination, it became clear to everyone that the charge had claimed more lives among themselves than the defenders. The assault began to falter. The relentless bolts had done their grim work, leaving the mass thinned and reduced to a sea of broken bodies.
While the front of the assault struggled to grapple with the brutal reality, the situation at the rear was entirely different. There, the remaining four thousand fanatics were still in high spirits. Darkness had shielded them from the bloody carnage and the horrific demise of several hundred of their comrades. Worse, their impatience was growing.
The crowd had heard of the salvation promised at the front, and rumors that the Living Saint was watching them. This belief elated them beyond measure. They were eager, almost ecstatic, to take part in the attack. Their chants rose louder and louder, but it wasn¡¯t enough. They yearned for action, pushing and shoving in their frenzy, completely unaware that their impatience was causing the deaths of their brothers at the front.
Blissfully ignorant of the stampede and the death of so many, they wore bright, eager expressions, their jubilant chants rising unwavering amidst the sea of torches. So, when a sudden, brilliant white light broke through the darkness, illuminating the area in an otherworldly glow, the crowd erupted in euphoria, convinced that the Living Saint herself had descended among them.
¡°It¡¯s the Living Saint¡¯s Blessing!¡± someone shouted.
¡°Your Holiness!¡± others called.
The fanatics fell to their knees en masse, arms stretched toward the direction of the light, ignoring the fact that it came from the defenders¡¯ encampment. Their faces were lit with awe and joy, their voices trembling with reverence. Some wept openly, while others clutched their chests as though feeling the Saint¡¯s presence within them.
But instead of a beautiful choir, a strange sound emerged from the opposite side.
"Hrrruuuummm..."
"Whee-oooh..."
"Yiii-oooii..."
From the direction of the woodlands, a low, reverberating hum cut through the air like a living presence. Its guttural tone seemed to rise from the very earth, a deep vibration that resonated in their guts and rattled their resolve. They had never heard anything like it.
"What is that?" one muttered to another, but not even the most zealous had an answer. The sound was too bizarre to explain.
Then, all of a sudden, the hum turned into a high, piercing melody that shattered the night.
The fanatics quivered, their chests tightening with uncertainty, and nothing could have prepared them for what came next. Hundreds of arrows shrieked through the air, streaking toward their exposed position, illuminated and bathed in light. Within moments, the sickening thuds of arrows piercing flesh echoed across their lines, and pained screams quickly blanketed the area. The surprise attack and sudden deaths of so many turned the crowd into frightened animals.
Primal fear took hold. The crimson blood that gushed from their fallen comrades had shattered their beliefs. Worse, the brilliant illumination forced them to witness the full horrors of war, ironically the very spectacle they had blindly craved before. Routed, they fled in all directions, avoiding the woods and the camp.
The woodlands were now lit with lanterns. Those who dared to look caught sight of men clad in fur and leather, their rugged outerwear concealing the faint glint of ringmail beneath. Their voices roared out with raw, powerful war cries.
With precision honed by years of guarding their flocks against marauding wolves and the predators of the great plains, the nomadic archers continued to rain down accurate shots from their recurve bows. As the fanatics¡¯ column collapsed, Belgutei launched his general attack.
Having sung throat-singing praises to their khan and brimming with vigor, their warriors took to the field. The thousand-strong force, led by Belgutei, had waited patiently in the forest for this ambush. Their signal to strike had been the brilliant white light.
As they joined the fray, they immediately noticed that the light from the camp was capable of moving, guiding them, and showing exactly where to aim and strike.
"Lansius Khan has shown us the light," Belgutei shouted in jest despite the carnage, prompting laughter from his ranks even amid the opening of the fight.
As if things couldn''t get any better, Lord Lansius sent his fresh main army out of the camp. Marching in order, with bugles blaring and swords and armor gleaming under the bright light, it was clear that the main counterattack had begun.
"Brothers! The Sky watches our fight," Belgutei''s voice thundered through the air. He raised his sword high before pointing it toward the scattered enemy. "Now, drive them into the earth!"
His warriors'' expressions turned savage, their eyes gleaming like Great Plains wolves as they dove into the panicked foes, cleaving the routed thousands in two. Together with the Shogunate''s main army, their joint maneuver crushed any chance of regrouping, trapping no fewer than a thousand for capture. The Khan had led them to another glorious victory.
***
Lansius
Standing on top of the wooden platform attached to the palisade walls, Lansius observed the deployment of the massive, human-sized gemstone that they had raided from Cascasonne''s Great Hall. It was one of House Bengrieve''s heirlooms. Certainly, the steward and castle staff had strongly opposed its removal, but they ultimately bowed to Sir Stan and Lansius'' wishes.
To Lansius, this was a military operation, and even an artifact of such magnitude paled in significance compared to the ongoing battle.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Installing the gemstone on the hastily constructed wooden platform had been no easy task. Castle craftsmen had been employed to help with the work. Using ropes and pulleys, they hoisted the large and heavy object into place. When the work was finally complete, the illumination it produced was staggering. The light emitted from it flooded the entire area with a beam of bright white light, enabling the nomads to begin their deadly attack.
Just how many lumens does it produce...?
He had first encountered this type of gemstone during his stay in Toruna, though in much smaller and more hidden forms. Later, on his visit to Cascasonne, he saw this exact gemstone in the Great Hall¡ªone of many wonders that mesmerized him. Yet he knew a dwarven artifact was far beyond his means. It was an object worth more than gold, and most were probably heirlooms.
This was why Lansius fondly recalled his inner joy when Ingrid gifted him the small gemstone of light, which became his House''s first dwarven artifact, now proudly mounted on their airship.
This crystal-shaped gemstone initially acted like a floodlight, scattering a soft glow across the field. However, Ingrid, who stood atop the wooden platform aided by several men, quickly gained mastery of it. She was able to tune it into a more focused beam, functioning like a spotlight.
The ability to control the light''s focus allowed Lansius and his staff not only to observe but also to give directions, influencing the battle from afar. Now, the continuous beam of light was guiding the nomads and their main army toward key positions and troubled spots on the battlefield.
This single device had effectively turned the tide of the battle. From the start, it had allowed the nomadic archers to showcase their full worth against foes many times their number, thinning their ranks and breaking their wills before the footmen entered the fight.
Lansius saw that his men and staff, like Sir Michael, were mesmerized by it. Even Sir Omin had left his logistical camp to witness the light. Feeling he had seen enough, Lansius climbed down the wooden planks on the palisade. With his four guards flanking him, he headed to the center of the camp, where he had spotted Audrey with her guards and entourage.
The baroness was wrapped in warm fur clothing, standing tall, her face softly illuminated by the lantern carried by her guards. Next to her stood Arryn and Tanya, both clad in new garments.
"My Lord," they greeted in unison as Lansius approached.
"Why are you here? You should be in the tent," Lansius asked tenderly, his gaze moving between Audrey, Arryn, and Tanya.
"No gratitude for my arrow?" Audrey replied playfully.
Lansius chuckled, then turned to his guards. "Give us some space."
Without hesitation, the guards directed the entourage to step away, giving the family some privacy.
Lansius turned quickly to Arryn and Tanya, who remained quiet. "Mother, I hope this hasn¡¯t frightened you."
"I saw you fight. Are you hurt?" Arryn asked.
"It¡¯s nothing; the guards keep me safe," Lansius reassured her.
Arryn nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, her nervous smile betraying the tension she tried to hide. Tanya added, "Brother, we¡¯re okay. If you have important matters to attend to, please don¡¯t worry about us."
Lansius smiled at her. "I wish you were still three years younger so I could pat your head."
Tanya smirked happily, seemingly unperturbed by the war. Lansius noticed that Audrey had wisely kept them away from the carnage. Here, in front of the command tents and under heavy guard with sturdy shields, they were safe. Even a beast-kin guard stood ready, her sole responsibility being to protect Audrey and the family. The fact that the beast-kin didn¡¯t jump to his defense showed she understood her assignment.
"So, how¡¯s the plan going?" Audrey asked.
"As you can see, it¡¯s working," Lansius replied, his gaze drifting toward the white light.
Arryn and Tanya watched the white light with wide-eyed reverence, its radiance seeming almost unnatural against the dark skies. The mother clutched her daughter slightly closer and murmured, "It¡¯s like the sun..."
Tanya nodded, then turned to Lansius, who seemed curious. "I saw this light in the castle corridors and halls, but I never thought... it could do this."
"Frankly, I¡¯m surprised too," Lansius said, his tone reassuring. "I didn¡¯t expect it to be this powerful."
A brief pause settled over them before Audrey asked, "Are our enemies routed?"
"Yes," Lansius confirmed firmly, much to his family¡¯s relief.
"Veni, Vidi, Vici," Audrey said proudly, quoting what Lansius had taught her on their journey.
Her words made Lansius snort in amusement. "I only hope Bengrieve doesn¡¯t charge me for the chandelier repairs."
"I doubt it. He¡¯s reasonable and not stingy with money. Otherwise, he¡¯d have already asked us about that salt debt," Audrey replied.
Lansius heaved a sigh but nodded. Despite all their suspicions, Bengrieve was reasonable. Moreover, he had never raised a sword against him and had delivered on his promise to get Lansius'' family out of Arvena. Lansius knew they were likely taken as hostages, a guarantee of his loyalty, but even he employed similar tactics in his Shogunate. To blame Bengrieve would be like the pot calling the kettle black.
Just then, the castle gate connected to their camp opened, allowing tens of cavalry to emerge, fully armored. Two of them carried lanterns casting bright white light, likely powered by smaller gemstones like the one they had mounted.
"Cascasonne is indeed rich in artifacts," Audrey commented as if reading Lansius¡¯ thoughts.
"I¡¯m tempted to take it over and loot it myself," Lansius joked.
"And I know how bad you are with temptations," Audrey quipped.
The two chuckled, with Arryn and Tanya smiling nervously at their exchange.
"My Lord," one of his guards called out, "Sir Stan is heading this way. I''ll have him to stop and continue on foot."
"Yes, do what you must, but avoid any incident," Lansius instructed. Then, turning to his family, he added, "You¡¯d best return to the tent. There¡¯s nothing good to witness on the battlefield."
"Indeed," Tanya exclaimed, turning to Audrey. "My Lady, we can¡¯t let the baby in your belly see such sad sights."
Audrey nodded readily, turning to Lansius. "Take care. I¡¯ll wait for you in the tent."
"Don¡¯t stay up for me; make sure you get some sleep," Lansius said to her.
As his family departed, Lansius waited for Sir Stan, who dismounted and approached.
"Lord Shogun," Sir Stan called with newfound confidence. He looked at the white light and mumbled, "Ain''t it a beautiful ray? Never thought it could be used like that."
"Sir Stan, you¡¯re in full harness. Do you intend to join the fight?" Lansius asked.
"Indeed, I do."
"It¡¯s an honor to have you join, but I can assure you it¡¯s not necessary. The nomadic allies and my main army are already dominating the battlefield."
"I¡¯m not heading west," the baronet explained. "I¡¯ll be going east. I believe your plan could use an extra distraction."
"I see," Lansius said, pausing in thought before murmuring, "That would indeed be helpful."
The baronet, as tall as Sir Harold but with a leaner build, smirked. "Gratitude for the opportunity. I just can¡¯t let the Korelians hog all the glory, you know?"
Lansius found it amusing and turned to the horse¡ªa powerful breed with a broad chest, intelligent gaze, strong legs, and a coat that gleamed like polished obsidian. Sir Stan¡¯s squire stood beside it, adjusting the reins with care. "I don¡¯t recognize that horse," Lansius remarked.
"It¡¯s Bengrieve¡¯s warhorse. She¡¯s restless, and I think it¡¯s a good reason to borrow her for a stretch," Sir Stan replied.
***
East Side
Everyone allied to House Bengrieve was well aware of its extensive collection of dwarven artifacts. The House¡¯s fascination with relics from the old continent was nothing new and had long been regarded as one of their more extravagant pitfalls. But such pursuits were often dismissed as harmless distractions from the labyrinthine politics of the court. After all, costly hobbies was all too common among nobles, and this was one of the least harmful and least notorious. Compared to some of the vile excesses that happened behind closed doors, it was even considered tame.
Since he was young, Lord Bengrieve had shown a fascination akin to that of his father and grandfather. He sponsored expeditions and maintained cordial relations with explorers of the old world; at first from his own allowances, and later from his inheritance. Yet, for all their allure and exorbitant cost, dwarven artifacts rarely offered practical benefits.
Despite the legends of their durability, six thousand years of abandonment had rendered most tools, devices, and even magical gemstones broken and inert. If he didn¡¯t know better, Sir Stan might have assumed that the Grand Gemstone of Light, which Lansius used spectacularly in this battle, was the House¡¯s crowning achievement. It was one of the few artifacts that made up a small list of functional relics.
However, after learning about the flame-bursting weapons, even Sir Stan grew skeptical. Just how much more was hidden, even to them, Bengrieve''s most trusted?
The horse neighed, pulling him back from his thoughts. His eyes darted left and right as the night breeze brushed his face. With a single firm thought, Sir Stan activated his dwarven gemstone. A gentle surge of power spread through his body, filling him with warmth and vigor. But the most important enhancement was his eyesight. His eyes now glowed a dim gold, allowing him to see clearly in the darkness.
Among the relics discovered, gemstones like this were the only ones that cavaliers like him truly cared about. Occasionally, explorers struck gold, finding one still sealed inside a dwarven storage. The one he wore was one of those, a fully functional dwarven gemstone miraculously intact despite the ravages of time.
Cousin Bengrieve had told him that there were several grades of personal gemstones. The lesser ones had only a healing effect, something the dwarves had issued to help their people survive accidents. Above those were the dual-function gemstones, which granted both healing and strength, allowing the dwarves to evacuate themselves in emergencies.
Even these dual-function gemstones, known as gemstones of strength, were rare. But there were higher-grade ones. For the dwarves who lived underground, it was natural for them to desire the ability to see in the dark. Even with the availability of gemstones of light, they were nothing compared to the ability to see in the dark directly.
For him this gemstone was even more special. The explorer Stan had sponsored on a whim¡ªthe one who found it¡ªwas none other than Hannei. The sum Toruna paid allowed her to leave behind the perilous business for good. Yet that path also revealed her identity to Bengrieve. It was a sad story, one that Sir Stan tried to mend.
Now, the strength embedded in the gemstone allowed him to guide his riders unopposed, approaching the enemy camp from an unguarded route. The horse neighed again as if wanting something, prompting Sir Stan to smirk. He reached toward the animal''s left side. There was a gap in her barding for his hand to reach inside.
He tapped it, aware of what Bengrieve had embedded in the harnesses, and said, "Come, it''s nighttime. Let''s see what you¡¯ve got."
The large intricate gemstone on the harness, positioned near the beast''s heart, emitted a gentle strength. The horse was familiar with its energy, unafraid as her vision sharpened in the dark. She could see clearly now and felt the surge of energy coursing through her. Her steps were light, her stamina seemingly endless.
With no darkness veiling her eyesight, the horse ran confidently, navigating the maze-like camp defenses with ease and guiding their small party of mounted knights behind her. They evaded patrols and confused groups of sentries who could barely see and were too slow to react.
Soon, they spotted what was likely a command tent, guarded by a column of rear guards who appeared to be in disarray, swords and spears clutched tightly as they tried to fend off an attack. Sir Stan turned to his knights behind him. "We found them. On my lead!"
They all closed their visors, intent on unleashing destruction. But destruction was already underway in the camp. Dozens of men had pinned down the rear guards with a volley of crossbow bolts. A group had nearly aimed at Sir Stan and his knights, but a beast-like creature recognized him, smirked wide, and waved off the crossbowmen, halting their attack.
It was clear that the Lord Shogun had already delivered his firm fist upon their enemy.
***
Chapter 202 : Auriga鈥檚 Whisper
Chapter 202
Auriga¡¯s Whisper
New Midlandia Army Camp
The three Saint Candidates sat together inside their large, lavish tent, murmuring nighttime prayers dedicated to the Living Saint. In their prayers, they honored her who had come to show another path to the Ancient''s paradise. The scent of incense lingered, strong despite having burned out moments ago.
Earlier, they had sent their troops and the Brothers in Black to war, hoping for success or even news of a decisive victory. Instead, troubling sounds seeped through the tent walls: clashing steel and distant cries.
"Sister, I hear a clash of swords," the youngest Saint Candidate whispered once their prayers ended.
"Yes, I heard it too," the wiry and oldest Saint Candidate replied, her tone cool and dismissive. "It must be the clamor of men hauling the wounded to safety. The noises we heard must be from the clatter of weapons and armor being hurriedly removed."
Her answer briefly reassured the two, but now the sounds of horse neighing, cries, and screams drew closer.
"Could we be under attack?" the middle Sister ventured.
"Impossible. Not even Bengrieve himself could triumph against 6,000," the oldest Sister snapped, though her expression betrayed her growing anxiety.
The clamor of battle grew louder as shouts, grunts, clashing steel, heavy thuds, and agonized screams filled the night. The three exchanged worried glances. Without a word, they retreated deeper into the tent, searching for hiding places behind their traveling chests and furniture.
"Get the lantern out," the oldest Sister commanded.
The middle Sister, skilled in magic, snuffed out the expensive oil lamp with a flick of her fingers from afar. Not a moment too soon, a guardsman crashed into the tent, his boots sinking into the ornate rugs. Despite his efforts to steady himself, he lost his footing and stumbled back, stopping just short of toppling the mahogany table the Sisters used for rituals.
Another guard was wrestled to the ground near the entrance. He groaned, still struggling, until the blunt side of an axe struck his helmet with a sharp, metallic ring. His body slumped to the side, motionless.
Then, a tall knight in full plate armor entered. His visor was up, revealing sharp eyes, a firm jaw, and a calm, almost gentle face.
The first guardsman struggled to get up, but the knight spoke firmly. "Don''t. Your hip is broken."
"I yield," the man muttered, before raising his voice, "I yield."
The knight lowered his axe and stepped further into the tent, his gaze scanning the interior. A lantern near the entrance cast flickering light on the Sisters'' ritual tools and scattered belongings. Finding nothing, he said, "Drop your weapons, and I, Sir Harold, will take you as hostages."
Meanwhile, the three Sisters crawled frantically. Their earlier hiding spot had proven inadequate, and now they scrambled to conceal themselves behind stacks of blankets and clothing taken from Cascasonne City.
But Sir Harold unexpectedly climbed atop the ritual table, his armored greaves thudding on the polished mahogany. He easily spotted the Sisters crawling on all fours from his elevated position, even in the dim light. "Well, well," he said, his tone cold and cutting, "what do we have here?"
Instead of attempting to talk, the oldest Sister pulled a bottle of poison from her inner pocket and hurled it at the knight. It wasn¡¯t meant for throwing, but she hoped it would harm him. At the same time, she barked at the middle Sister, ¡°Go at him!¡±
Sir Harold caught the small ceramic bottle mid-air with ease, tossing it out of the tent without so much as a glance. Then he descended from the table, axe at the ready.
But the middle Sister was undeterred. She tapped into her soul, her eyes glowing gold as magic surged through her. Gripping a golden ceremonial scepter, she charged at him with a defiant cry.
The knight raised his axe to block the strike, his arm jolting from the unusual force behind her attack. His smirk widened.
From outside, two men rushed into the tent, swords drawn. "Sir Harold," one called, their faces illuminated by the dim light of a single lantern.
"Search the other tents. This isn¡¯t the commander¡¯s," the knight ordered, his voice calm. "But I think I¡¯ve found the Saint Candidates." Without hesitation, the two men retreated, leaving him to handle the Sisters alone.
The middle Sister swung her scepter with relentless energy, her strikes fierce but unrefined. Sir Harold blocked every strike with practiced ease, his movements calm and deliberate, until she faltered, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
His gaze softened briefly as he took in her appearance¡ªflushed cheeks, loose, tumbling hair, and golden eyes filled with determination. She was not unattractive, and even in exhaustion, her calm composure commanded respect. Unlike her older Sister¡¯s frenzied, fanatical gaze, her eyes held a quiet intelligence that was impossible to ignore.
She lunged at him again, aiming for his head. He deflected the blow and blocked her follow-up strike with his armored wrist. His gaze flicked to the other two Sisters, who had armed themselves with a sword and spear scavenged from the tent. But they failed to notice the massive shadow looming outside.
Sir Harold smirked and caught the middle Sister¡¯s wrist mid-swing. She gasped in surprise as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, cradling her as one might carry a bride. Turning to the shadow beyond the canvas wall, he shouted, "Francisca, now!"
A deafening tear ripped through the air as two enormous clawed hands shredded the tent wall, canvas flapping like torn parchment. The other two Sisters froze, their eyes wide and mouths agape, before screams erupted from their throats.
Francisca stormed inside, her hulking form casting a menacing silhouette. With a swift, brutal motion, she slammed her massive hands onto the other two Sisters, pinning them to the carpeted floor as if they weighed nothing.
The wolf-like creature opened her maw, revealing sharp, glistening fangs.
"Oi, be gentle. Don''t break them," the knight warned.
"Can''t help it. I smelled magic." Francisca guffawed as she withdrew her hands from the trembling Sisters, rising to her full height with an air of dominance. The two gasped for air, clutching their limbs in pain.
Her sharp gaze lingered on them, and she commented with a smirk, "But only the girl in your embrace seems adept at it. This young one is still growing, and this old one has only faint traces..." Her voice turned ominous. "Now, what should I do with you?"
The sudden sound of gushing water made Francisca giggle as the scent of urine filled the air. "Scared, are you?" she mocked, eyeing the two who had wet themselves. "As you should be. Why challenge the Lord of Korelia? Not even mountain folk like us would risk it."
"You''re giving them too much information," Sir Harold remarked, striding toward the tent¡¯s entrance while still clutching the middle Sister. She remained limp in his grasp, too exhausted from the fight and too aware of their insurmountable gap in strength to resist.
"What should I do with them? I''m still needed elsewhere," Francisca asked, her tone casual, though her claws and fangs made the Sisters on the ground tremble.
"Take them to the nearest vanguard lieutenant. Tell them to bind them and treat them as mages," the knight instructed. "But keep them away from the mages from Cascasonne."
"Understood," Francisca replied cheerfully. She knelt, scooping the two frightened Saint Candidates against her broad chest, and sprinted outside with ease.
On his way out, the knight passed the man with the broken hip. "I''ll send a squire for you later. Do you have a waterskin?"
"I do, Sir."
"Good. I still have business to attend to," Sir Harold said, leaving the tent, cradling the middle Sister with one arm supporting her back while the other gripped his axe.
Outside, the sight of the battlefield struck her speechless. It was far worse than she had imagined. Tents burned in the distance, while men surrendered en masse under the watch of crossbowmen. Cavalry charges swept through scattered pockets of resistance, breaking what little cohesion remained. A column of soldiers moved systematically from tent to tent, leaving no room for anyone to hide.
"So, do you still want to fight after witnessing all this?" Sir Harold asked lightly, his tone casual, as though the chaos around them were nothing more than a fleeting distraction on a quiet evening stroll.
"I''m the Living Saint''s servant, not some man''s plaything," she replied firmly, her tone resolute yet free of arrogance.
"I''m not that kind of man," he said, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt.
More of his men emerged, lanterns casting flickering light over their raised shields and drawn swords, forming a small lance group. Behind them, a continuous beam of white light swept across the battlefield, revealing the crushing defeat of the New Midlandia Army. Cascasonne Castle loomed in the distance, its towering walls standing unconquered against the odds.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
***
Lansius
Touring the defeated camp under heavy escort, Lansius saw how his battle plan had succeeded. His encampment¡¯s last stand had been both a diversion and a trap. The half-erected defenses served as bait, while the nomads hiding in the nearby woodland were the snare. Yet, even with those measures, victory had been far from certain.
Lansius was aware that even if he routed the fanatics, they would simply regroup and fight again. With just two thousand men at his command, defeating the entire New Midlandian Army¡ªnumbering seven to nine thousand¡ªwas still a daunting task.
This was why he entrusted his best with a critical mission: a decapitation strike. Believing his crossbowmen, nomads, and the gemstone of light was enough to hold their ground, Lansius sent his hardest-hitting force under Sir Harold, Francisca, and two Cascasonne mages to the castle. At the right moment, using captured ladders, they scaled down from the castle wall unnoticed and made their way to the enemy camp.
They infiltrated the camp and began targeting every chain of command they could find. However, things didn¡¯t go as planned. There were multiple large tents, and the guards were competent, unlike the fanatic army. Additionally, their small numbers and the absence of light, while advantageous for stealth, made identifying their targets challenging.
Fortunately, Sir Harold was a fearless man, undeterred by hardships. He ordered his men to attack methodically, eliminating the need for guesswork. Personally leading the charge, he secured tent after tent. In the end, they succeeded in capturing not only the key commanders but also the three Saint Candidates.
Lansius could only smile when he heard the reports.
¡°With this victory, South and East Midlandia¡ªor perhaps more¡ªare yours, My Lord,¡± Sir Michael said as they rode side by side.
Lansius chuckled but replied, ¡°Is it, really?¡±
His words prompted a questioning glance from the one-eyed knight.
¡°Sir Michael, all I hear from the wind is a reminder: you are only a mortal and all glory is fleeting,¡± Lansius explained.
Sir Michael found the statement profound and nodded in contemplation.
¡°Besides, I don¡¯t feel worthy,¡± Lansius admitted, letting out his true feelings.
¡°With all due respect, My Lord, even modesty must know its bounds,¡± Sir Michael said firmly.
"What made you say so?" Lansius asked.
"The first thing that comes to mind is how you acted to resolve the Nicopolan crisis. Other lords would have stayed in their castles and turned a blind eye. No Lord of Lowlandia would send aid to Korimor against marauding Nicopolans. None would send his army to South Hill to feed the surrendering Nicopolans. And certainly, no lord would venture into Umberland to save another lord''s domain. My Lord, you are beyond worthy."
Lansius blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. Their words had left him warm, yet uncertain how to respond.
"You sowed good seeds, My Lord. Now you reap a good harvest," one of his four guards chimed in respectfully.
"Fortune always favors the brave, My Lord," another added proudly.
Lansius smiled faintly, muttering, "Is that so," as he spurred his horse forward. He was heading to oversee the security detail handling the captured fanatics. He wasn¡¯t willing to take any chances with fanaticism. If necessary, he was prepared to put them to the ground.
After all, he was deep inside enemy territory with unreliable allies and supply lines stretched thin to Korimor and Ornietia. Worse, the neighboring cities had empty granaries. Remembering Sun Tzu, he recognized this as ¡°deeply involved ground" or "entangling ground."
It was the kind of situation where one was deep in enemy territory, making retreat dangerous and survival precarious. To triumph over such conditions required strategic focus, secure supply lines, and discipline to avoid overextension.
On entangling ground, keep your forces together.
Lansius recalled the words as he came upon a large group of captured men sitting on the ground, surrounded by crossbowmen. With hundreds of them, there weren¡¯t enough ropes to bind them, but they had been disarmed. He stopped his horse and dismounted, his men following closely with long torches and lanterns.
He surveyed the captives: scared, exhausted, thirsty, and generally in pain.
"Behold, you are in the presence of the Lord of United Lowlandia," Sir Michael announced, his voice booming and commanding, much to the shock of the surrendered fanatics.
Lansius turned to Sir Michael, his gaze sharp, silently seeking an explanation.
¡°To them, you¡¯re as good as that,¡± the White Lake knight replied. ¡°Explaining the Shogunate would take too long, and it might weaken the impact.¡±
Lansius nodded in understanding and patted the knight¡¯s shoulder twice. He then approached the captives, his men instinctively stepping forward to form a protective line of shields in front of him.
His gaze met their weary, frightened eyes. He quickly noted that they likely weren¡¯t as fanatical as he had feared; there was no unyielding, blazing glare or crazed intensity. It wasn¡¯t surprising, given that no organized religion had ever truly taken root in the Imperium.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± he addressed them.
The crowd of men exchanged uncertain glances before replying, ¡°My Lord,¡± with little hesitation.
¡°I do not come in peace, but that doesn¡¯t mean I intend to kill, loot, or pillage. The Lowlandians under me are civilized people, we will not exact our wrath on innocents. Our issue is with Sir Reginald¡ªnot with commoners, nor with the good people of Midlandia.¡±
His words seemed to soothe the crowd. Lansius could see it in their expressions, the way they listened intently, their faces showing a glimmer of hope and longing.
¡°Years ago, I walked many of these roads on foot,¡± he continued. ¡°I even trained in Toruna for a time. I served as Lord Bengrieve¡¯s retinue before becoming a Lord in Lowlandia. This is why your behavior¡ªbesieging Cascasonne and looting the city¡ªconcerns me deeply.¡±
The captives collectively lowered their gazes, guilt and uncertainty filled their faces.
¡°Has Lord Bengrieve wronged you?¡± Lansius asked, his voice calm but probing. ¡°And who is this Living Saint I keep hearing about?¡±
He braced himself for angry replies, but none came. Their silence convinced him that these men were far from the zealots he had expected and were tame by comparison.
¡°Why does this Saint want Cascasonne to fall? Does she have a claim over this land? And who is she to Reginald?¡± he pressed further.
Still, there was no answer.
¡°This business of Reginald, Cascasonne, Lubina¡ªto me, it¡¯s all just a lot of horseshit," Lansius remarked, easing his tone. He noticed several of the captured men flash a faint smile.
Then he hit them with the cold reality. "Gentlemen, their horseshit caused two thousand people to die in just two hours. And many more are dying. Another two thousand are unlikely to see the morning sun. Don¡¯t you feel any regret for being involved in this?"
His words hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft sound of muffled cries here and there.
¡°If your leaders had backed down, none of you would have had to die. Instead, your commanders didn¡¯t even have the courtesy to send me an envoy to negotiate. They sent you to attack at the first chance, and now you¡¯re paying for their pride and arrogance. By dawn, you¡¯ll be burying thousands of your comrades. Let this be a lesson: blind faith leads nowhere!¡±
¡°But she promised us salvation!¡± someone shouted from the crowd, followed by a wave of nods and murmured chants.
¡°Can you heal our suffering family members?¡± another voice asked boldly.
¡°I have a healer in my ranks,¡± Lansius replied with unflinching honesty. ¡°It¡¯s no secret. I¡¯m going to task my healer to care for my men first. With so many wounded, it will likely take several hundred days if I try to tend to them all. So, even if I wanted to heal everyone here or your families, how long it would take? Three thousand days? How many years is that?¡±
The crowd fell silent, dumbstruck by the simple truth.
Lansius pressed on. ¡°Healing is not an act of faith. It is a skill practiced by mages and Saint Candidates. The problem isn¡¯t faith¡ªthe problem is scarcity. Too few healers, too many patients. Thus, it is reserved for emergencies. If one can wait for treatment, then it¡¯s unlikely to be an emergency.¡±
"But Salvation?" another repeated desperately.
¡°Salvation does not come from the outside,¡± Lansius countered emphatically. ¡°Salvation is on the inside. Search it in your soul. Be at peace with yourself. To do that, if you have a grievance with someone, apologize to them and take the fair penalty willingly.¡±
¡°What if they¡¯re already dead?¡± a voice asked hesitantly.
¡°Then make peace with the dead,¡± Lansius replied without hesitation. The men looked at him expectantly, their hope rekindled under the wrong belief that the Lord knew a way.
Lansius sighed. He didn¡¯t want to deceive them, but he needed to prevent rebellion. If a small trick could achieve that, he would bear the burden of the lie. ¡°You see that white light?¡±
They all nodded, captivated but also afraid.
¡°I¡¯ll ask my Saint to use the Dwarven Gem, made by the Ancients, to shine light to the Heavens above.¡±
A murmur of awe rippled through the crowd.
¡°Prepare your prayers,¡± Lansius instructed, ¡°the names of those you¡¯ve wronged or those you cherish. Do not expect an answer; it¡¯s just a one-way message to the Ancient¡¯s Everlasting Garden. But believe that, whatever your message, your loved one will smile back upon you.¡±
As Lansius turned to leave, he spoke to Sir Michael. ¡°Can you brief Ingrid on this?¡±
¡°Certainly. But who will be the Saint?¡± the knight asked, stifling a grin as he helped Lansius mount his horse.
Lansius let out a grin as he sat on the saddle. ¡°Certainly not my wife,¡± he said, though he couldn¡¯t deny that with her skill with the bow, she could easily pass for a goddess if he wanted to claim it. But bringing Hellenism and their pantheon was not on his plan.
...
The day after the battle, Lansius awoke sluggish and fatigued. Forcing himself to rise, he splashed water on his face and dressed quickly. Audrey and Margo were absent, as he had expected. He donned his brigandine and stepped outside, where his guardsmen promptly assembled to escort him.
"The Lady has already reviewed the morning report," one of them said.
"Good. Can¡¯t have urgent matters waiting on a sleepyhead like me," Lansius replied lightly.
His men let out a faint grin and followed him as he walked the short distance to another tent. Inside, he found Audrey playing a medieval tabletop game with one of the half-breeds, a scholar within her tribe. She was smaller than Francisca but equally skilled as a fighter.
¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Audrey greeted him cheerfully, rising from her chair and approaching him, while the half-breed bowed respectfully before quietly returning to her post.
¡°Sorry I wasn¡¯t there to help you dress,¡± she said with a soft smile.
¡°No, don¡¯t worry about that.¡± Lansius took her hands gently in his. ¡°How are Arryn and Tanya?¡±
¡°Tanya¡¯s still sleeping¡ªshe had trouble resting last night. As for Mother, she¡¯s at the field kitchen helping out. I hope that¡¯s alright¡ª¡±
¡°Of course,¡± Lansius reassured her. ¡°Arryn is a hard worker. If she wants to do it, then I don¡¯t see a problem.¡±
Audrey nodded happily. ¡°I¡¯ve sent Margo and a few of our guards to watch over her.¡±
¡°My gratitude, then.¡± He gently caressed her belly, clad in soft linen. ¡°And how¡¯s the baby?¡±
¡°I can feel him moving sometimes,¡± Audrey said with a satisfied smile. ¡°Care to join me for breakfast?¡±
¡°That¡¯d be great,¡± Lansius replied, sitting down with her for a meal.
As they ate, Audrey briefed him on the morning report. The beauty of having a corps of scribes was their ability to deliver reports in writing. Despite the ongoing chaos and lack of accurate numbers, even estimates were better than nothing. He needed casualty reports and the number of captives to better understand the extent of his victory.
There were also reports of stragglers and scouting parties. The war didn¡¯t simply end on the eve of victory; remnants of the enemy still posed a potential threat.
After breakfast, Lansius returned to the command tent and summoned his staff for a meeting. Most arrived with reddened eyes, still bearing the fatigue from last night¡¯s battle. Only Francisca seemed unaffected, thanks to her unique sleep pattern. Half breeds like her could fall into a deep sleep instantly, rest in short bursts, and stay awake through the night without issue.
"Where¡¯s Dietrich?" Lansius asked as he opened the meeting.
"He¡¯s still recovering from minor injuries," Sir Omin reported readily.
Lansius nodded, making a mental note to visit him in the infirmary. "Gentlemen, let it be known that I¡¯m planning to withdraw from Cascasonne and possibly end this campaign without besieging Lubina," he revealed. His statement drew surprised looks from his staff, who exchanged uncertain glances.
"But, My Lord, the opportunity is clear and present. We¡¯re victorious, our casualties are minimal and our supplies are enough. The road to Lubina is practically open," Sir Michael said. Meanwhile, Sir Harold, the acting Marshal, remained silent.
"Yes, I¡¯ve reviewed the reports," Lansius reassured his staff. "But this isn¡¯t about our strength. From this point on, we¡¯re dealing with a much more delicate issue. Believe it or not, taking Lubina now could very well mark the beginning of our undoing."
His staff¡¯s gazes sharpened as they tried to decipher what Lansius was thinking. They understood that his decision didn¡¯t arise from timidness but from considering things from far greater heights¡ªat the level of grand strategy.
***
Chapter 203 : Birds of a Feather
Chapter 203
Birds of a Feather
Lansius
The morning breeze brushed against the command tent¡¯s weathered canvas walls, giving it a pleasant, airy, and cool interior. Yet, the atmosphere inside was tense as Lansius¡¯ staff wrestled with the unanswered question: why had their lord refused to besiege Lubina and instead ordered a withdrawal?
Finally, Sir Michael, the charming one-eyed knight, pressed for an answer. "May we learn the reason, My Lord, why you do not wish to attack Lubina?"
"May I?" Sir Harold interrupted, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.
Lansius nodded at him. "Please," he said, motioning for his acting Marshal to continue.
"Is this because of our stretched logistics?" Sir Harold ventured.
"One of many reasons," Lansius confirmed. "First of all, Lubina is a nightmare to besiege. It was built with a stone bridge spanning a mighty river. This geography alone makes it challenging without a grand army. Any attempt to besiege it would require sending large groups to cross the river and conduct a siege on both sides, sacrificing flexibility and reaction time."
Lansius continued, "Not to mention, Eclipse Castle itself has outer and inner high walls with overlapping towers and a keep large enough to store ample resources. I¡¯ve even heard tales of it being fortified to the brim as if their lord vomits gold every morning."
His jest drew faint chuckles, easing the tension.
"And that is all assuming we have them on the back foot," he added. "Yes, we defeated a significant number last night, but they were not a proper army. We found only a small number of knights and several groups of men-at-arms. I believe our opponent still has a reserve, possibly equaling our numbers."
A few reluctant nods followed, but silence lingered as the staff sensed Lansius had more to say.
"And those are still not the main issue." His words gathered his staff¡¯s attention once more. "The main issue is trust¡ªor the lack of it."
"Trust?" Sir Harold echoed, his brows furrowing. The rest of the staff mirrored his reaction.
"Indeed," Lansius replied, his expression calm yet grim. "If we take Lubina, then it¡¯s just us and Bengrieve left as competing powers."
The staff began to grasp what Lansius had in mind.
"Inside Midlandia, we¡¯ll have Bengrieve to worry about. Outside, we¡¯re surrounded by Gottfried in Arvena, the hostile Edessa, unknown Rhomelia, and two Eastern Kingdoms." Lansius chuckled dryly. "I don¡¯t want to act as a buffer while Bengrieve enjoys a far more comfortable position in Elandia."
The mood turned somber as realization dawned on his staff. Sir Omin quietly retrieved a larger map from a lacquered wooden box and unfurled it across the table. The others leaned in, poring over the map, quickly finding truth in Lansius¡¯ words.
Sir Michael, reflecting on Lansius'' reasoning, ventured, "So, in your strategy, leaving Lubina means leaving an enemy for Bengrieve to worry about."
"Quite so," Lansius agreed.
"The enemy that unites," Sir Omin muttered from the side.
"As long as Lubina remains standing, Bengrieve and us will remain on the same side. Certainly, this situation won¡¯t last long, but I¡¯m hoping it buys us enough time to consolidate our gains."
His words were met with nods and silent agreement. To that, Lansius declared, "Gentlemen, our goal was to rescue Cascasonne. Now that it is done, I intend to collect the prize."
Sir Harold crossed his arms, a thin smile on his lips. "So, we¡¯re not going to besiege the famous Eclipse Castle after all."
"It¡¯s a bad gamble," Lansius replied. "Right now, we¡¯re winning and controlling a large swath of Midlandia. By attacking Lubina, we would risk it all. Moreover, as you said earlier, logistically our supply lines stretch to Korimor and Ornietia through towns and cities of questionable loyalty. Yes, many opened their gates and are willing to trade with us, but that¡¯s because we arrived suddenly, before they had time to prepare. Now, we might outstay our welcome."
"Certainly, they¡¯re not that foolish," Sir Michael argued lightly, glancing at the other staff. "I believe our victory here should dissuade them from any seditious thoughts."
"Remember that we¡¯re dealing with more than just commoners," Sir Omin warned. "We¡¯re dealing with dangerous crowds. Despite My Lord¡¯s light show to the night sky, I don¡¯t believe it fooled everyone."
Sir Michael nodded in understanding, then turned to Lansius. "Speaking of them, My Lord, what should we do with the captured? Feeding them¡ª" He left the sentence unfinished, assuming it wasn¡¯t necessary to elaborate.
Lansius inhaled deeply. "What¡¯s the latest tally?"
The two knights turned to Sir Omin, who reported, "Slightly over two thousand last night. But we captured more this morning from the woods and stragglers from the camps. Now, we¡¯ve reached well over three thousand. At this rate, it¡¯s possible to have four thousand by sundown as our forward scouts and mounted patrols push further."
Lansius stroked his chin before replying, "Leave that matter to me. I¡¯ll speak with Belgutei first, then I¡¯ll come to a decision."
"Still," Sir Harold remarked, giving another look at the map and directing his question to the others, "Lubina lies at the heart of this province. Is it possible to maintain control without taking it?"
"It¡¯s going to be hard," Sir Michael said, while Sir Omin and Francisca withheld their comments.
"In the meantime, it will have to do," Lansius replied. "Until the situation changes, that is. At least by choosing not to besiege Lubina, we can conserve our strength, maintain our dominance, and begin governing this vast land."
His staff seemed satisfied, but Francisca let out a sigh. True to her blunt nature, she muttered, "I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re just going to let Reginald go free."
"Who said I¡¯m sparing Reginald?" Lansius retorted so unexpectedly that all eyes turned toward him.
Francisca was taken aback and exchanged a glance with Sir Harold, who ventured, "My Lord, didn¡¯t you just explain?"
Lansius let out a faint smile and leaned back in his seat, signaling that he wanted his staff to reason it out for themselves.
Ever-perceptive Sir Omin chuckled, breaking the silence. "The Lord has been consistently mentioning Lubina¡ªnot Reginald. The power lies in the alliance of Houses that control Midlandia. Reginald is merely a figurehead."
"Indeed," Lansius answered with a faint smile. "The power in Lubina can stay, but Reginald..." He paused, his emotions welling up. "Let¡¯s hope our forces heading there will show him mercy."
"But that doesn¡¯t make much sense," Sir Harold voiced his doubt. "If My Lord intends to punish or capture Reginald, then Lubina is as good as ours."
"I doubt it¡¯s that simple. Even our SAR is unable to capture the entire castle," Lansius explained. "And if we only capture him, likely a figurehead, it will not give us the upper hand over Lubina. In the bigger picture, we simply lack a strong casus belli."
Sir Harold frowned. "But Reginald has tried to assassinate you."
"Yes, we have that pretext, but it¡¯s only against Reginald. The Houses in power will simply deny their involvement and reject our claim. Even if we win the siege, they¡¯ll bide their time, waiting for us to grow careless, and then try to retake the province. Gentlemen, they have deep roots here and will gladly fight us for generations to come."
"A tough situation," Audrey remarked, stepping into the conversation.
Her entrance drew everyone¡¯s attention, and they greeted her in unison. "My Lady."
"Please continue; don¡¯t let me interrupt the meeting." She took a seat next to Lansius. Despite her words, she added with a faint smile, "From their frustrated faces, I can see you¡¯re giving them a hard time."
Lansius smiled back. "I need my staff to scrutinize my thoughts; otherwise, I might make a blunder."
"I heard about the SAR, the casus belli, and the last bit, so what do you propose?"
"Well," Lansius began. "Inward, we¡¯re going to consolidate our gains in all the cities we passed through, sending garrisons in strategic cities. As for our outward policy, rather than chasing them into a hole where we cannot find them, we''re going to let them remain in the open, where all eyes can see."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A murmur of doubt hung in the air as the staff hesitated.
"Think about it this way: which is easier¡ªfinding men hiding in the woods or watching them inside a village?" Lansius leaned forward slightly. "Gentlemen, I want to accelerate our pacification of Midlandia. We can''t afford to play a lengthy game of cat and mouse. So, rather than waiting for them to move in the dark, I¡¯m allowing them to consolidate in the open and oppose us."
"It¡¯s against common wisdom," Sir Omin commented, "yet I can see its benefit."
"But aren¡¯t you risking the chance to take Lubina while it¡¯s at its weakest?" Audrey asked.
"Somewhat," Lansius admitted. "But it¡¯s preferable to being blind. We need Lubina under their control so Bengrieve remains aligned with us. Also, by letting it serve as our enemies¡¯ rallying point, the castle will reveal who our true opponents are. I want to see, aside from Edessa, who will ride to their defense."
He rose to his feet and studied the map on the table, pointing at it. "Lubina lies at the heart of Midlandia, and Edessa is in the far southeast corner. We¡¯re going to let them hold a salient where their survival is at our mercy. We¡¯ll reinforce our defenses in Toruna to hold off large attacks from Edessa. Meanwhile," his hand hovered over the area between Cascasonne and Toruna, "let¡¯s find a good city around here to serve as our away capital."
***
Tanya
Awakened by the rising sun, Tanya almost jumped, afraid she was too late for her duties. She glanced at the ceiling of a spacious tent, and the memory of reuniting with her long-lost brother, now a lord, came rushing back. Not just any nobleman, but a knightly one, she thought with a grin, fawning over the idea.
"I''m not dreaming, am I?" she murmured to herself. Yet the clean, soft linen bed and the thin but warm blanket were all the proof she needed. Everything around her looked classy and well-made.
She rose and walked toward the corner where a bronze basin waited for her. Leaning over, she washed her face with the cool, clear water. The sensation was refreshing.
What a luxurious way to clean.
The basin alone could fetch enough to buy several sets of secondhand clothes. Afterward, she dressed, finding three tunics neatly hung on a wooden pole: a blue one with silver trim, a green one embroidered with colorful vine, and a red one adorned with floral patterns.
They''re beautiful. Are they really for me?
She chose the blue tunic because it looked the least expensive. She worried she might ruin it and wouldn¡¯t be able to afford a tailor to mend it. Moreover, she remembered Lansius wearing blue in Bellandia and thought it might be his favorite color. She also noticed that the banners flown in the camp seemed to feature blue.
"Blue and bronze," she muttered, recalling how people described her brother¡¯s heraldry.
She never expected to have a family coat of arms.
Is this really okay?
She wondered, remembering she was just a peasant. Her only skills were dyeing wool, mending clothes with simple knitting, and making sauerkraut. She bit her lip and brushed the thoughts aside.
Tanya noticed a fine comb neatly prepared for her, likely placed there by her mother, and felt a wave of relaxation as she gently ran it through her hair. But suddenly, a pang of anxiety struck her. Before, it hadn¡¯t been an issue. Now, it loomed large. She had never told Lansius that she was married, and the thought of revealing it terrified her. She feared he might demand the marriage be dissolved.
Her brother was now a powerful lord, leading armies, commanding knights, and even beastly creatures. She reminded herself not to test his patience, knowing he could cast her out to the streets if angered. The thought of what kind of man her brother had become and whether he carried the wrath of feuding nobles sent a shiver down her spine.
Tanya inhaled weakly and muttered, "What comes will come."
She resolved to tell him. For better or worse, she loved her husband, even if she rarely saw him, and he had yet to lay his hands on her.
"If only I were as pretty as the castle maids," she said wistfully, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. "I have Lady Hannei''s hair but not her looks. Maybe my husband married another woman like one of those maids. Oh, poor me, a widow at my age."
She sighed deeply before heading outside.
"Good morning, young lady. Breakfast is ready," a soft but distinct female voice greeted her.
Tanya turned to meet wolf-like eyes, sharp and glinting with intelligence. Silvery fur shimmered in the soft morning light as its tall form was clad in fine ringmail.
Instead of responding to the wolf person guarding her, Tanya stared in awe. "You''re so pretty in the morning light."
The wolf lady giggled. "Gratitude, young lady."
"Can I touch you a little?" Tanya asked hesitantly.
"Of course," the wolf lady said casually, extending her arm.
Tanya¡¯s face lit up as she gently caressed the wolf lady¡¯s silvery-gray fur. "Where do you hide the claws?"
"You saw them last night?" the wolf lady asked kindly.
Tanya nodded, smiling brightly. The wolf lady knelt and raised her right hand, showing it clearly. Slowly, she extended her claw, revealing its sharp, gleaming edge.
Tanya¡¯s eyes widened in amazement. "They¡¯re beautiful! Tell me, tell me¡ªdo you file them?"
"Yes, we use iron files to keep them sharp."
"Can I touch them?"
"Just not the pointy end¡ªit might prickle," the wolf lady replied patiently.
Tanya carefully traced the wolf lady¡¯s hand, fingers, and claws, her movements gentle and reverent. But she soon stepped back and bowed deeply. "Gratitude for showing me, and my apologies for being a bother."
The wolf lady giggled again. "Don¡¯t worry, the honor is mine. It¡¯s good to see the young lady is respectful toward the retinue. You will go far as the lord''s sister."
Tanya tilted her head slightly, not fully understanding but grateful for the kind words.
"Shall I take you to the table for breakfast?" the wolf lady asked.
Tanya hesitated, wanting to ask about her brother, but she knew he must be busy. "I need to help my mother first before eating. Do you know where she is?"
"Certainly. Let me take you to her. She¡¯s in the field kitchen, cooking delicious pies to celebrate the victory."
***
Lansius
After the meeting ended and everyone had received their orders, Lansius was perusing a stack of freshly delivered reports. Cascasonne was now secure, but to the east, another battle group led by Farkas was still waging a diversionary campaign around Toruna. On top of that, Lansius had begun reviewing reports on promising cities or towns for his new base camp.
As he studied the map, his gaze kept returning to Eclipse Castle in Lubina. The name tugged at his thoughts. "Eclipse..."
It struck him as odd¡ªone of many mysteries of this world he still couldn¡¯t unravel. Chief among them was the absence of a moon in the night sky. He wasn¡¯t particularly surprised, having read that moons were statistically rare for planets. Yet Aqua Terra, with no visible moon but a history of solar eclipses, left him baffled.
Lubina Castle earned its name after being famously completed in the year of a solar eclipse. Lansius shelved the thought; he¡¯d need a real astronomer with a working telescope to make sense of it.
Glancing aside, he noticed Audrey lounging on a reclined canvas chair, pillows propping her comfortably. She was engrossed in a leather-bound book, one of Farkas¡¯ recommendations about Umberland and the half-beast.
He was about to return to his work when she spoke without looking up. "Thirsty?"
Lansius leaned back in his chair. "Not really, but I could go for some spiced wine."
"You¡¯ll need to wait for Margo for that," Audrey replied. "We¡¯re having a private family lunch at noon. Just us, Tanya, and Mother."
"Well, I feel a bit under the weather right now. Surely someone keeps a stash I can trade for or borrow from," Lansius said.
"Nobody would dare," Audrey commented flatly.
Lansius frowned. "Dare? Why not?"
She turned her gaze from the book and looked directly at him. "Only Margo, your cupbearer, has access to wine or ale at this time. And he¡¯s accompanying Mother."
"Okay, but I don¡¯t see why others don¡¯t have some ale," he said, perplexed.
She stared at him questioningly. "You mean you didn¡¯t know? We have a tradition of not drinking after victory."
"Huh?" Lansius raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"
Audrey giggled. "Oh, Lans. After every victory, you banned celebrations and drinks. Instead, you ordered everyone to stay alert for a surprise attack. Now the staff and army treat it as tradition."
Lansius chuckled, amused at the unintended custom.
"Do you want to change it?" she asked with a grin.
"No, it¡¯s a good tradition. A clear mind after a battle is invaluable," he declared.
"So, how about night-cooled, pre-boiled water?" she asked, motioning to the silver jug on the table.
"As long as it¡¯s not from the castle." Lansius headed to the table and poured himself a goblet.
"It¡¯s not, but what¡¯s wrong with the castle¡¯s water?" Audrey asked, her gaze fixed on him.
He took a sip before explaining, "It¡¯s noticeably sweeter, which means it¡¯s contaminated with lead."
Audrey¡¯s expression grew worried. "Contaminated? Are you sure? Then some of the occupants¡¯ sickness and Bengrieve¡¯s health..."
"Could be," Lansius said with a shrug. "But I¡¯m no expert, and I¡¯d rather not be asked to explain it. Besides, it would take years for serious health issues to arise from lead poisoning."
"I see," Audrey murmured softly.
"A small amount is alright, so there¡¯s no need to cause panic. And we¡¯ll be moving out soon anyway," Lansius reassured her.
Audrey nodded and shifted the conversation. "Remember to pick maids for Arryn and Tanya. I can¡¯t let you go without a squire by your side. Besides, sweet as he is, Margo is still a young man."
"True..." Lansius said thoughtfully. "I wish I could task Ingrid. She could educate Tanya, but all the records would end up in tatters without her."
"You can¡¯t take her away; you¡¯d drown in paperwork," Audrey lamented with a sigh. "I wish Carla were here."
He stroked his chin. "Carla... Do you remember that farmer¡¯s daughter who was with Sigmund?"
"Agatha? She was in Korelia with Sigmund when we left. It¡¯s a shame we didn¡¯t think of this sooner¡ªshe¡¯s probably already heading back to South Hill by now."
"That¡¯s too bad," Lansius muttered. "If only someone like Tia were here..."
A moment passed, and then their gazes locked, both recognizing the obvious at once.
"Lans," Audrey said, the surprise clear in her voice.
"I know," he replied firmly. "Tia is with Hannei, and they¡¯re in Cascasonne. They should be here."
"Where are you going?" Audrey asked as Lansius took his sword.
"To the castle. I still need to see Hannei as well."
"No, it''s too dangerous. Send a knight," she suggested.
"I''ll bring plenty of guards with me."
"Not with the new weapons they have in the castle," Audrey reminded him, her words forcing Lansius to pause and reconsider.
"You¡¯ve ousted the enemy, and now Bengrieve might not need you anymore," she added.
"True..." Lansius muttered, acknowledging the truth in her words. He sighed. "You know, I want to take a few things. At least some of the gemstones for the light lanterns, maybe borrow a few books. I might even study the castle¡¯s architecture while I¡¯m at it."
Audrey¡¯s curiosity was piqued. "Do you think they have more of those useful dwarven artifacts?"
"Of course. The last time I visited, there were so many unexplained things. He must have had working water pumps, possibly magic-powered air coolants or heaters."
Probably even a precision lathe or boring machines. Who knows? Maybe even something like a dwarven Gatling gun or cannons.
"I wish I could visit the vault," he said wistfully.
Audrey shifted in her seat. "We can return at a better time. Besides, I doubt they¡¯d let you in without the Master of the Castle."
"Right. I¡¯ll revisit the castle once we settle some issues with its owner," Lansius said. Then, with a sly smile, he added, "But just in case, I¡¯ll be taking collateral."
"What do you have in mind?" she asked, her interest evident.
"That large gemstone. I¡¯ll tell the Steward we need it in case of future attacks. We¡¯ll return it once the Lubina conflict is over."
Audrey giggled. "That¡¯s clever."
"Of course, my wife wouldn¡¯t marry me unless I were that clever," he replied proudly, in jest.
They were chuckling when Francisca appeared at the entrance, her large forearm holding the canvas door aside. "My Lord, apologies for the interruption, but Sir Stan is outside, carrying a blonde woman. He seems to be in a rush."
Lansius and Audrey exchanged glances before he said, "Let them in."
"How bad is she?" Audrey asked Lansius as he helped her to her feet.
"I have no idea. I haven¡¯t received any words about her. We need to get Ingrid," he replied.
Sir Stan entered, cradling Hannei in both arms, her weight resting gently against his chest. His face glowed with relief as he announced, "She¡¯s awake!"
***
Chapter 204 : Pandoras Shard
Chapter 204
Pandora''s Shard
Lansius
Sir Stan¡¯s entrance into the command tent, carrying a blonde woman wrapped in a blanket in his arms, startled Lansius and Audrey. Behind him, Francisca and Sir Harold watched closely, likely sensing something urgent was happening.
"She¡¯s awake?" Lansius asked, his gaze fixed on Sir Stan, who wore a nervous grin while cradling a pale blonde woman in his arms as if she were a fragile treasure.
The woman mumbled faintly, covering her eyes with one hand. "Put me down¡ and it¡¯s Valerie."
"Valerie?" Lansius muttered, his mind racing with questions, but Sir Stan¡¯s commanding voice cut through the moment. "I can¡¯t let you down; you can barely open your eyes. We need a healer." He turned sharply to Lansius. "Where¡¯s last night¡¯s mage? Maybe she can do what Cascasonne¡¯s mages couldn¡¯t."
Lansius turned to Sir Harold, his voice urgent. "Fetch Ingrid and the camp physician for us."
"Right away," Sir Harold replied before hurrying off.
Audrey stepped in, her tone decisive. "Francisca, bring my daybed here." Then, glancing at a guard stationed outside, she added, "Get someone to bring boiling water from the kitchen¡ªquickly!"
The guard ran off, and Francisca rushed to the inner part of the tent. With ease, she carried the daybed back in as Lansius helped her place it in the center. The blonde woman stirred, seeming to protest, but Sir Stan dismissed her concern. "We¡¯re not losing you again. Stay awake¡ªthey¡¯ve all been waiting for you," he said gently, easing her onto the daybed.
"Who...?" she whispered, her voice faint and weak, her eyes barely open to slits.
"Hannei, it¡¯s me," Lansius said without hesitation, too worried to reach for her hand.
"That voice¡ª" Her eyes lingered unfocused for a moment before her expression grew dazed.
"Not good. She¡¯s disoriented," Lansius muttered, touching her forehead and finding it cool to the touch. "We need honey and salt."
"I¡¯ll get them. We have those," Audrey said, moving swiftly toward the inner part of the tent.
"Can I help with anything?" Sir Stan asked while Francisca stood by, ready to assist.
"I don¡¯t suppose the castle has a device to transfer blood from one person to another?" Lansius ventured as he retrieved a clean silver goblet and spoon from his traveling chest.
"Wow, is that some high-tier magic or something? I don¡¯t know anything about that," Sir Stan replied, regret thick in his voice as he glanced away.
"Lans, what is--" Hannei murmured, her unfocused eyes darting across his face as she struggled to form the words. "What are you trying...?"
"Ideally, an IV transfusion, but we don¡¯t have that, so you¡¯ll need to drink sugar and salt," Lansius explained, glancing around. Spotting Francisca, he said, "I need someone to tell the cook to prepare tasty porridge for three people."
"Three portions, right away," Francisca said and exited.
"Why three?" Sir Stan asked.
"I assume you haven¡¯t eaten," Lansius replied. "And the other is for Audrey."
As if on cue, Audrey returned with her personal bag of supplies. "Here¡¯s the honey and salt."
"Good," Lansius said, taking the items to the table. He scooped a generous amount of honey into the goblet, added a pinch of salt, poured in some water, and stirred it vigorously.
"Hot water," one of the squires announced, entering with an earthen jug. Sir Stan took it and set it on the table. Lansius poured a measure into the goblet and stirred again.
"Not going to add anything else?" Audrey asked.
"No, this is enough for now." Lansius tasted the mixture, ensuring it was warm but not scalding hot. The sweet and salty flavor was just right.
He brought the goblet to Hannei as Sir Stan propped her head to help her drink. She hesitated at first.
"It¡¯s just honey and salt," Lansius assured her.
Slowly, she took a sip, struggling to suppress a cough.
"Drink it all," Audrey encouraged, gently holding Hannei¡¯s hand.
Hannei complied, finishing the drink and breathing heavily afterward, as if she had just run a sprint. Moments later, beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
"That¡¯s a good sign," Lansius said, glancing around for something else he could do, only to come up empty.
Sir Harold returned, bringing Ingrid with him.
"My apologies, I was assisting the physician," Ingrid said as she entered.
"No need to explain. Please check on Lady Hannei," Audrey urged, motioning for her to come closer.
Ingrid stepped closer, her eyes widening as she assessed Hannei.
"Sir Stan," Lansius called. "Perhaps¡ª"
"Yes, I get it. Guild stuff. I¡¯ll wait at the field kitchen," Sir Stan said, patting Hannei¡¯s arm twice before excusing himself.
Once he was gone, Ingrid spoke grimly. "She¡¯s a mage, and she¡¯s bleeding magic¡ªbadly."
"We heard that two Cascasonne mages tried to heal her," Lansius informed her.
"The relationship between a mage and the source is like a one-way river," Ingrid explained, still in shock. "The source flows into the mage, enabling magic. But for her, it¡¯s as if the flow is reversed¡ªit¡¯s bleeding away, draining her magic." She hesitated, her brow furrowing deeply as she placed a hand over Hannei¡¯s abdomen. "I believe the two mages who tried to help only ended up exhausting themselves." Her voice dropped. "This is critical."
Audrey¡¯s expression turned bitter, but she admitted, "That explains what I see."
"Is this fatal?" Lansius asked, his voice measured but strained, every syllable betraying his deep concern.
Ingrid glanced at him, her hesitation clear, her tone apologetic. "I¡¯m not equipped to handle this."
"Tell me," Lansius whispered, the words heavy with suppressed emotion. "Does being drained of magical energy cause death?" He couldn¡¯t afford to lose her¡ªnot when she was the only one who shared his memories of Earth.
"It shouldn¡¯t, but in her case, it¡¯s sapping her strength¡ªeven her body heat."
At the mention of body heat, Audrey took another blanket she had worn earlier and gently draped it over Hannei, adding another layer of warmth. She caressed Hannei¡¯s hand, trying to build up warmth through touch. Hannei responded with a faint smile, her weak fingers gripping Audrey¡¯s tightly.
"There must be something," Lansius pressed.
"I¡¯ll try sending what magic I have to calm her source," Ingrid said, focusing intently as she began building her magic. Lansius could feel the subtle disturbance in the air, like a faint ripple.
"Ingrid, that could be dangerous," Audrey said, her concern evident.
Ingrid turned her gaze to Audrey, then to Hannei, whose eyes were closed, before returning to Audrey. "How important is she to you?" Her sharp gaze demanded to know if risking her life was truly necessary.
The question wasn¡¯t directed at Lansius, but it troubled him. Audrey, however, was able to articulate what he had been thinking. "She¡¯s important, but even she wouldn¡¯t want you to risk yourself for her."
Ingrid exhaled deeply but didn¡¯t share her decision. Instead, she took Hannei¡¯s hand and said, "We need a full body check."
"I¡¯ll be outside," Lansius said, taking the cue. His eyes locked with Audrey¡¯s. "Let me know if you find anything," he said. She promised without a word.
"Lans," Hannei pleaded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as if caught in a dream.
"Just for a moment," he assured her softly.
"The name... you asked... it¡¯s Valerie," she murmured, her words trailing off.
"No, no," Lansius replied with a faint chuckle. "That¡¯s a death flag, you know," he tried a joke that only they understood.
For the first time, Valerie managed a faint smile. Their bond, forged by circumstance, was truly unique. With a heavy heart, Lansius turned and walked away.
...
The field kitchen bustled with activity, the clatter of pots and murmurs of conversation filling the air with a sense of warmth so far from home. There, Lansius joined Sir Stan, more out of respect than hunger. Having already had breakfast, he opted for a small bowl of stew. He spotted Mother Arryn and Tanya nearby, busy with their tasks. He waved briefly, his heart aching with longing, but duty came first.
Seated at a separate table surrounded by guards, Lansius, despite his deep concern for Hannei, decided to broach the topic of their situation. "How are Cascasonne¡¯s defensive capabilities?"
"The castle itself is in good condition. We¡¯ll start excavating the ditch and make some small repairs," Sir Stan replied, eating a hearty porridge with chunks of meat. "The most pressing issue is manpower. Lord Bengrieve puts too much faith in his walls and alchemist."
"Well, in his defense, nobody thought half of Midlandia could raise a 9,000-strong army," Lansius commented.
"The Saint¡¯s fanatics," Sir Stan muttered grimly. "That¡¯s this House¡¯s biggest blunder." He then gazed at Lansius, his tone firm and emphatic. "And now, it¡¯s your problem."
"Mine?" Lansius furrowed his brow.
"The Saint¡¯s headquarters, the hill monastery, is located in the land you now occupy¡ªseveral days¡¯ travel south of Lubina."
Lansius sighed deeply and then lamented, "Victory is beginning to taste sour."
Sir Stan chuckled. "Come on, it¡¯s not that bad. You¡¯re now a lord of half of Midlandia."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
"More like a third," Lansius corrected lightheartedly, not wanting to appear ungrateful.
Sir Stan snorted, the breeze stirring around them and fluttering the field tent¡¯s flaps overhead. Despite the heart-wrenching situation with Hannei, the day turned strangely pleasant. The encampment itself was largely insulated from the grim reality outside. Only the occasional gust carried the faint, lingering stench of death. Beyond the perimeter, captured men labored with grim efficiency¡ªdigging, stripping valuables, and hauling the dead to a mass burial pit at the edge of the forest.
The Midlandian native took another spoonful of porridge before leaning closer. "You know, Ornietia is as good as yours. Since you helped Toruna, I¡¯ll return the favor. I¡¯ll declare that Cascasonne urgently needs more men and order the Ornietia garrison here. Then, I¡¯ll transfer command of that barony to you instead of leaving it in a vacuum."
Lansius squinted, his gaze narrowing. "Are you sure? That¡¯s worth an entire barony."
"It¡¯s not free," Sir Stan said with a smirk. "Give me the land and towns around Toruna so the estate can expand."
"Ah, you¡¯re enlarging Toruna," Lansius remarked. "It¡¯ll be as large as a barony."
"It¡¯s been on my mind for some time. Bengrieve knows and will agree. And if he asks for compensation for Ornietia, I¡¯ll pay out of my own pocket."
Lansius nodded, understanding the offer but hesitating to commit, as it was likely against the rules. A fief was usually granted along with peerage; it wasn¡¯t something expanded but bestowed by the monarch.
"What do you say?" Sir Stan asked.
"I¡¯ll think about it."
"No rush." Sir Stan munching the last bite of his crunchy bread, now half-soggy from porridge. He washed it down with water and shifted topics. "So, what¡¯s the war plan? Tell me, do you intend to go against Lubina?"
Lansius mulled it over before answering, "Frankly, I¡¯m against besieging Lubina."
"I sort of expected that," Sir Stan stated calmly. "You came here to help, and your part of the deal is done."
"I have bad blood with Reginald," Lansius reassured him. "However, my logistics won¡¯t sustain a prolonged siege. Lowlandia isn¡¯t exactly grain rich after all the wars. On top of that, we¡¯ve discovered that most of the neighboring Midlandian cities have empty granaries."
Sir Stan nodded thoughtfully, his expression shifting as though he had something to add but decided against it. "So, if you can¡¯t pursue Lubina, what¡¯s next?"
"I¡¯ll find a new stronghold to watch over Lubina and the Saint¡¯s fanatics. I doubt we can let them run amok. I¡¯ll also send another battle group to Toruna to help with its defense."
"Gratitude, but are you sure you can spare that many?" Sir Stan asked, concerned.
"I have to. Toruna is the only place I trust to hold against Edessa if they attack."
"Edessa..." Sir Stan muttered. "You¡¯re right to read that far. They¡¯re going to be a problem."
"Toruna is going to play an important role," Lansius added.
"A roundabout way of saying it¡¯ll become a battlefield," Sir Stan smirked. "All the more reason to enlarge it. My neighbor has a castle commanding the provincial road. That would be a great place to prepare defenses."
Lansius nodded. "I¡¯ll send someone I trust to check it out. But what do you think are the chances of open conflict with Edessa?"
Sir Stan stroked his chin, his sharp eyes fixed on the walls of Cascasonne. "They¡¯ve been fat for too long. I doubt they¡¯ll waste this opportunity," he remarked.
Lansius massaged his forehead. "So I¡¯m looking at a war with the remaining New Midlandian Houses, Saint fanatics, and Edessa¡ª"
"Now I see why Bengrieve offered you so much," Sir Stan said with a chuckle. His tone shifted, growing serious. "That¡¯s why you shouldn¡¯t feel bad about taking over Ornietia." He paused before adding, "And it¡¯s also why I decided to give you the new weapons."
Sir Stan motioned to his entourage, who approached carrying two wooden boxes. The sight immediately drew attention in the field kitchen area.
Lansius watched as Sir Harold promptly escorted the crates with his men, exercising an abundance of caution.
"My Lord," they greeted Lansius before proceeding to open the boxes.
Lansius inspected the muskets carefully, admiring their fine craftsmanship. He examined the trigger mechanisms, ensuring there were no signs of sabotage. The set also included powder horns and maintenance toolkits.
"Do you want to try them?" Sir Stan asked.
"I¡¯ll test them thoroughly later," Lansius replied, setting the last musket back into the box, where it lay snugly cushioned in dry hay.
"Noted," Sir Stan said, motioning for his men to leave the crates, which were now under the care of Sir Harold¡¯s men.
"It¡¯ll be hard to accomplish much with only twenty pieces," Lansius commented.
"That¡¯s as many as the Steward was willing to part with," Sir Stan replied.
Lansius nodded, glanced around to ensure they weren¡¯t within anyone¡¯s earshot and leaned closer. "I need you to send a letter to Lord Bengrieve and ask him, strongly, to keep this weapon a secret."
Sir Stan raised an eyebrow. "So now it¡¯s not just my cousin putting secrets on all this, but you too. What¡¯s your reason?"
Lansius inhaled deeply. "As I told you before, in my homeland, we¡¯ve known these weapons for a long time. I fear they might bring sudden changes that could destabilize everything, especially with the Imperium already at its nadir."
"Lots of fancy words," Sir Stan replied with a soft smirk. "I need something more concrete to base my judgment on."
Lansius smiled, finding the request reasonable. "Sir Stan, what we have in hand is a weapon that¡¯s easy to copy. One in every five blacksmiths could produce a cruder version, and it would still be effective. It¡¯s less complicated than a suit of armor. With minor changes, it can pierce the best Centurian breastplates with ease. And we can train peasants to use it in just three days."
Sir Stan¡¯s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening.
"A world where everyone knows about this weapon," Lansius continued, "is a world where anyone with enough wealth and influence can topple a kingdom. In a place called Japan, fifty years was all it took for these to be produced in the hundreds of thousands, killing chivalry in the process. Who would train for ten years from youth, only to be struck down by a peasant who mastered this weapon in three days?"
Sir Stan stared at the table, silent for a moment before speaking. "I planned to take some to Toruna, thinking we might need them..." He turned to Lansius. "Is it that easy to reproduce?"
"It might look sophisticated, but the mechanism is simple. I could make it without even studying these," Lansius said, gesturing to the boxes. "I already have some parts prepared in Korelia, though no one knows what I¡¯m making."
Sir Stan frowned. "If you¡¯re making them, then why do you want Bengrieve to hide them?"
"The reason is simple," Lansius said firmly. "Survival."
Sir Stan¡¯s gaze lingered as Lansius continued. "The risk of upheaval is too great, especially if Gottfried or the other two Eastern Kingdoms get wind of it. We must prevent that. However, I cannot rely on Bengrieve alone to act responsibly. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to build a stockpile of my own. If Bengrieve ever resorts to using these, then the Shogunate will be prepared to confront the new reality."
Sir Stan drew a deep breath before nodding. "It seems you¡¯ve thought this through."
"Ever since I came to power, I¡¯ve been weighing this choice," Lansius explained. "I hope Bengrieve cooperates because the risk outweighs the benefit."
"I¡¯ll persuade Bengrieve and ask the Steward to seal these weapons again."
"Count for everything. Hide the powder. With your men as the garrison, Cascasonne shouldn¡¯t need them."
"Indeed," Sir Stan agreed. "With the city liberated, I can rally more men to keep the castle secure. Two hundred men should make it impregnable."
"Then we have an understanding." Lansius extended his hand.
Sir Stan took it, and they clasped hands firmly.
With this, Lansius mirrored the steps Tokugawa Ieyasu had taken in Japan after the Warring States period, which had seen a widespread proliferation of arquebuses and even cannons. Ieyasu implemented strict policies to regulate firearms. Production was limited to certain clans, and peasants were forbidden from using them. The goal was to prevent uprisings, as firearms were deemed too dangerous and could easily destabilize the government.
Lansius approached the issue as a preventive measure, hoping he wouldn¡¯t need to rely on it. But he knew it was foolish to expect others to act nobly. The genie was already out of the bottle, and he wouldn¡¯t be caught unprepared¡ªnot with Audrey, their child, and their allies at stake.
***
Nicopola
Late spring rains came with a vengeance, pouring down in torrential thunderstorms. The downpour turned roads into muddy quagmires, destroyed small bridges, and flooded riverbanks. The Dawn and Servius'' Skull Legion¡¯s cleanup around Kapua''s region ground to a halt as movement became impossible. Both forces returned to their new headquarters: the Dawn in Kapua and Servius in Skodra.
The situation persisted for nearly a month until drier summer winds arrived in Nicopola. Once the roads improved, Sir Servius fulfilled his promises and visited Lord Avery with a select group of troops.
The host was more than pleased to welcome him into the city of Kapua.
¡°Lord Avery,¡± greeted Servius, a man with a hook for a hand and a slight limp, as he arrived in the freshly renovated Great Hall.
¡°Sir Servius, please,¡± Avery motioned him to a seat across from him at a long table. ¡°How¡¯s the road leading here? Care for some refreshment?¡±
"Still muddy, but it won¡¯t stay that way for long," Servius replied as he scanned the table and spotted a bread pudding dusted with a sparkling white powder. ¡°Pardon me,¡± he said, using his left hand to pick up a knife and carve a portion.
¡°Oh, spare me the formalities. You could eat with your toes, and I wouldn¡¯t flinch,¡± Avery said, settling comfortably in his seat.
"Bless the Ancients that I still retain my hand," Servius quipped, amusing the host, while his squire finally arrived to assist.
The condottieri took a bite of the sugar-sprinkled pudding with visible pleasure, while Avery plucked a few raisins and had his squire pour him a pale ale. As they ate, the hall came alive with the clatter of utensils and the lively chatter of their retinues feasting merrily.
¡°This is extraordinary,¡± Servius commented. ¡°Buttery, rich, fragrant¡ªand this remarkable sweetness. Is this fine spice?¡±
Avery grinned. ¡°Indeed. I found crates of fine spice stored in the castle cellar.¡±
¡°These mercenaries were eating well,¡± Servius remarked.
¡°Only for themselves,¡± Avery replied, a hint of disdain in his voice. ¡°Meanwhile, the people in the city were left with scraps and leftover grains.¡±
Servius¡¯ eyes grew inquisitive. ¡°I assume we have enough confiscated supplies to ease the commoners¡¯ plight?¡±
"Certainly. I¡¯ve already distributed grains to the citizens. To conquer a city, you need to conquer people¡¯s hearts as well, and that usually comes from a full belly,¡± Avery remarked without a hint of sarcasm.
Satisfied, Servius replied, ¡°Forgive my curiosity, but what else did you find¡ªgold and silver?¡±
¡°You¡¯re welcome to visit for yourself after this. I haven¡¯t tidied up the vault. Mind you, I only took enough for Sir Morton, his men, and Lord Lansius.¡± Avery held his gaze on Servius, keen to see his reaction.
Servius found that funny and let out a smile. ¡°That is important. We can¡¯t afford to irritate that one."
Avery chuckled, pleased. The Lord of Korelia¡¯s daring air assault was legendary. No one could believe that eight men had managed to capture a walled city without a single casualty on their side. Naturally, rumors circulated that all eight were mages, fueling admiration and speculation.
¡°I heard you¡¯ve also been entertaining delegations from the south?¡± Servius asked, finishing his pudding.
¡°Yes, they rode here after their caravan arrived safely in Dawn,¡± Avery replied dismissively, deeming them irrelevant to their current issues.
Servius leaned back, his iron hook resting on the table. ¡°I heard rumors they were bringing you a crown.¡±
Avery snorted and laughed at the remark. "Words travel fast, indeed."
"Any truth to that?"
Old Avery put up a sly smirk as he leveled his gaze, reasoning, "If even the wise warlord of the desert, victor of many wars, doesn''t declare himself king, why would I?"
Servius was gladdened by the answer but couldn¡¯t help venturing boldly, ¡°Why not? With the fall of the Imperium, I think many would be open to such a suggestion.¡±
"I''m too old to be blinded by the shine of gold and emeralds. A crown doesn¡¯t interest me," the host explained. "All it would do is ruin my sweet position. Even with Kapua secure, I still have the Nicopola interior to worry about. Besides, I detest the risk of entering a three-front war."
Servius raised a brow, intrigued. "Care to elaborate?"
"Truthfully, the southern province is fraught with beastmen raids. Thus, they can¡¯t provide anyone with any help. If I were to accept, they¡¯d end up asking for my support instead. And that¡¯s not even the worst of it. To their west, sooner or later, we¡¯ll face nomadic incursions, which have grown deeper and bolder each season."
Servius nodded thoughtfully, stroking his whitened beard with his left hand.
"And lastly," the host continued, "I can¡¯t afford to manage the troubles that may be brewing in Elandia. Not to mention, my alliance with your Lord of the Steppes remains unproven until the caravan reaches Navalnia and returns safely."
"Mmm... Threats from the south, west, and north," Servius muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Avery¡¯s decision seemed only natural, and Servius appreciated his candor about the situation. "No wonder you''re granting me control over a large swath of land, including Skodra."
"Yes," Avery replied softly. "I want you to manage the Elandia border since your Lord is still nominally in good standing with Lord Bengrieve. Mind you, I also have a piracy issue on my coast, which might or might not be tied to the Corinthia Barony. It¡¯s still under investigation." He fixed his gaze on the horizon for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Then, turning back to Servius, he asked with a deceptively casual tone, "Sir Servius, while you¡¯re here, do you know why he needs another airship for his campaign in Midlandia?"
Servius¡¯ eyes widened, his pulse quickening. "I beg your pardon? Who is campaigning in Midlandia?"
"You didn¡¯t know?" Avery leaned back, clearly relishing the moment. "There was an assassination attempt on Lord Lansius. It failed, but blood was spilled. His last letter mentioned that the campaign had begun. Naturally, I gave him my support, but the airship departed without flaming naphtha. That made me curious about what he intends to do with it. Unless..."
"Two ships, full of his special groups," Servius ventured, his voice low.
Avery grinned, clearly entertained that Servius had reached the same conclusion he had. "Precisely."
"I pity the one who challenges him," Servius muttered grimly, shaking his head as Avery laughed heartily.
"I can¡¯t even begin to wrap my head around this madness," Avery admitted. "First the Sages in the Capital, and now the Midlandians. They¡¯re charging headlong into the fire. Like the Capital, this too will end in ashes for Midlandia¡ªand from those ashes, a young Black Lord will claim a land worthy of his talent. Tell me, Servius, doesn¡¯t that excite you?"
Servius blinked, taken aback. "Excite me, My Lord?"
"Indeed," Avery said, his lips curling into a faint smile. "We stand at the fall of the Imperium¡ªsomething our great-grandfathers dreaded and feared but never believed would happen again. I strengthened my soul to accept that, for generations to come, my descendants would be consumed by endless war over the Imperium¡¯s decaying body. But now..." He paused as if savoring the thought. "We might even live to see the Fourth Imperium raise its banner to the winds."
Servius¡¯ eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from surprise to scrutiny. His voice grew cautious, almost disbelieving. "You can¡¯t be ... considering."
"I am," Avery replied, his voice steady and resolute. "I¡¯m old. My only wish is to see my granddaughter live in peace. And right now, the only path to that peace is the birth of another Imperium. I will see my House rise with it, standing as close to the sun as it burns."
***
Chapter 205 : Hallowed Fangs
Chapter 205
Hallowed Fangs
Lansius
Waiting inside his command tent, Lansius leaned forward over the table, his hands forming a triangle¡ªthumbs resting under his chin, fingers pressed lightly against his lips. The table, unusually bare, was cleared of the usual maps and scrolls. Only a honey jar, a silver jug of water, and a package of salt remained, untouched. His gaze shifted toward the daybed, now pushed slightly into the corner. There lay Valerie, his only friend from his world.
After the examination earlier that day, she had fallen asleep again, worrying many. Despite Ingrid and the physician''s best efforts, she remained in this state, sleeping like the dead. Her breathing was so soft and shallow that he could barely see her chest rise or fall. Often overcome by worry, Lansius would check her in person, placing his fingers near her nostrils just to feel the faint movement of air.
The sun had long waned, and the soft glow from a lantern illuminated the tent. The air had grown colder, and Lansius had draped his precious nomadic shawl over her as a makeshift blanket.
He felt troubled like never before. Unlike Audrey, who radiated confidence and strength¡ªstrong as steel and hard as a tempered anvil¡ªHannei, or Valerie, her real name, was delicate. They were friends by circumstance, though their situations were vastly different. Lansius had arrived in this world with nothing, while Valerie had everything. She retained her memories, likely had a mentor, understood the spoken language, and even possessed magic.
Lansius suspected that, unlike him, Valerie had been summoned or transported fully intact to this world. Yet, there was a glaring gap in their practical knowledge and abilities. Magic alone wasn¡¯t enough to survive or live quietly in this turbulent era, though he had to admit she was close to achieving it.
He sighed heavily, the sound catching the attention of Francisca, who stood watch near the entrance. The half-breed turned to him and said, ¡°My Lord, you should join your family to rest.¡±
"I will, but maybe later," Lansius lied. Now that Stan had entrusted her to him, he would do whatever he could to find a solution. For now, though, he could only stare.
"My Lord, I can smell fear and sadness in people," Francisca said softly, her tone respectful. "And I know you care deeply about this woman."
"I do," Lansius admitted, leaning back. "She¡¯s special; like the sister I never had."
His words seemed to satisfy Francisca¡¯s curiosity, and the tent fell quiet again, save for the occasional sound of patrols passing outside.
I should be happy...
He had been reunited with Tanya and Arryn, yet even their shared meals and light discussions felt shallow. Guilt weighed heavily on him, rooted in his deep concern for this woman.
"What if I have a treatment for her?" Francisca¡¯s voice suddenly shattered the silence.
Lansius turned to her, his face startled. "Tell me," he instructed.
Francisca rummaged through a leather bag at her waist, its size looking small against her tall frame. She nimbly picked out a leather pouch using her claws like chopsticks and held it out to him.
Lansius stood and carefully took the pouch from her hands. Opening it, he found a woolen wrapping used to protect delicate items. Inside was a deep green vine-like object with sharp, milky-white ends. "Venomous snake fangs?"
"Indeed," Francisca confirmed. "Their fangs are hollow. Using them, I can transfer my blood to her through the bloodvine. It¡¯s a method known among the half-breed. Old Kaen spoke of it in his scriptures, and he claimed it would work even with humans because you have the blood of the Ancients."
Lansius¡¯ eyes widened as he gazed at her, excitement breaking through his usual composure. "I know this. I¡¯ve been searching for this!"
Francisca blinked, momentarily dumbfounded, but she sensed no lie. "My Lord knows about this method?"
"I know a similar method, but I¡¯m still worried about mismatched blood," he said, carefully placing the bloodvine on the table. "Do we need to boil the tip first? What does the scripture say?"
She let out a sigh of relief, having held it back out of fear of offending him. "It¡¯s already cleaned. But as for mismatched blood in humans, I¡¯m not sure," she admitted. "It¡¯s been years since I read it, but we can ask the Lady."
"The Lady?" Lansius squinted in confusion.
"Yes, the Lady. She¡¯s been reading the scripture."
Lansius frowned, suddenly recalling Audrey reading a book about Umberland and the half-breeds. "Then should I fetch the book for you?"
"That¡¯s not what I meant," Francisca replied sheepishly. "The scripture is messy, often jumping from one topic to another because it¡¯s mostly the ramblings of an old man. It¡¯s better to ask someone who¡¯s read it recently and still freshly remembers it."
"Then wait here. I¡¯ll bring the Lady," Lansius said, moving to leave.
"No need. She¡¯s¡ª"
Rustling from inside the tent cut her off. Lansius turned and froze as Audrey emerged from the inner part of their tent, wearing a gambeson like jacket over her plain white linen robe. In her hands, she held a book.
"You asked for me?" she said, her tone formal.
"But you said you¡¯re sleeping with Tanya and Arryn."
"I have the right to be with my husband," Audrey replied, slightly annoyed at having to explain herself. "No need to worry about the two; they¡¯re used to sleeping on time, unlike us. So, I went back to get some light to read."
Lansius raised an eyebrow. "But I didn¡¯t see you enter."
Her lips tightened. "Of course, you didn¡¯t. How could you? You were too busy staring..."
Lansius, felt a smile curve his lips, his earlier gloom lifting. "Is that jealousy I hear, dear love?"
Audrey frowned, shaking her head firmly. "That''s inappropriate. She¡¯s ill, and Valerie is a good friend. I could never... In fact, when she gets better, you could marry her, and I¡¯d support you."
It was a bold claim, but Francisca stifled a laugh, her shoulders trembling with raw amusement.
"You know she can detect lies, right?" Lansius said without any teasing.
Still, Audrey¡¯s face turned crimson as she shot a sharp glance at Francisca before turning back to Lansius. "She must¡¯ve misread something."
Lansius chuckled and took her hand, his voice softening. "Nine kids."
"What nine kids?" Audrey repeated, her gaze questioning.
"Before I ever marry again, I¡¯ll give you nine kids," Lansius promised.
Audrey¡¯s mouth dropped open. She whispered in disbelief, "You¡¯re crazy. I¡¯m not getting pregnant nine times in a row."
"I am, crazy, " Lansius said, smiling shamelessly. "Crazy for you."
Audrey blinked, momentarily losing her composure as a small giggle escaped. Nearby, Francisca muffled her own laughter. Though this was a private moment, they didn¡¯t mind her presence. To them, she was a protective shadow, reliable and reassuring.
"Enough," Audrey said, her tone dismissive as she regained her composure. "I¡¯m not here to be the blunt end of a joke."
"Right," Lansius said, turning serious as he picked up the bloodvine and the snake fangs attached to it. He held it up for Audrey to see. "This might save Valerie. Does the book say anything about this?"
"We¡¯re in luck. I¡¯ve read about it," Audrey said as she opened the book to a page with an illustration of the bloodvine. The drawing showed it being connected from one person to another at the wrists.
Lansius gently took the book from her and began reading. Meanwhile, Audrey turned to Francisca. "We¡¯ll probably need the physician again."
...
Audrey
Francisca returned to Audrey after arranging for a guard to summon the physician. "My Lady," she whispered, "the physician isn¡¯t asleep, but he¡¯s in the middle of a delicate operation."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"That¡¯s fine. We can wait," Audrey replied, imagining it was likely an amputation from a decaying limb. Her eyes flicked to Lansius, who remained engrossed in the book, furiously flipping pages and scribbling notes.
"Also, there¡¯s a little girl outside waiting to meet you," Francisca added, her voice quieter now.
"A little girl?" Audrey furrowed her brow, meeting Francisca¡¯s gaze.
"Yes," Francisca replied. "The guard mentioned that one of Sir Stan¡¯s men brought her here. She¡¯s asleep now. They say she¡¯s Lady Hannei¡¯s maid."
"A maid?"
Francisca nodded. Curious, Audrey adjusted her gambeson and stepped outside, leaving Lansius undisturbed at the table.
"My Lady," the guardsmen greeted her.
"Where¡¯s the little girl?" Audrey asked.
The stout-looking guardsman near the campfire smiled and gestured toward a figure bundled in a thick blanket, sound asleep atop a flat wooden box.
One of the nearest guards reported, "The men from the castle brought her, but it was late. We figured she could wait until morning."
The guard moved as if to wake her, but Audrey motioned for him to stop. Instead, she approached and leaned forward, her expression softening as she recognized the girl¡¯s face. "Francisca," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "bring her in. I¡¯ll vouch for her."
Francisca stepped forward and carefully picked up the girl, who stirred at the sudden movement. Her small body tensed, her blurred eyes blinking awake as she let out a suppressed yawn. "What¡¯s happening?" she murmured groggily. When her gaze fell on Francisca¡¯s wolf-like features looming above her, her eyes widened in alarm.
"Hey," Audrey called softly, catching the girl¡¯s attention. The familiar voice made the girl gasp. "Lady Audrey!"
"Everything is alright," Audrey reassured her. "Don¡¯t be afraid. We¡¯re taking you inside, but you¡¯ll need to stay quiet, okay? No commotion."
The girl nodded, wiping away her tears as she clung to Francisca¡¯s arm. The three of them entered the tent, leaving the guards outside, visibly relieved. They seemed fond of the girl¡ªlikely because she was polite, helpful, and didn''t cause trouble.
Lansius turned toward them as they entered. "What¡¯s going on outside?"
"Lans, do you remember this girl?" Audrey asked, nodding toward the girl in Francisca¡¯s arms.
"Tia!" Lansius exclaimed, rising from his chair, his eyes lighting up. The Korelian girl squirmed free, ran to him, and stopped a short distance away to curtsy. "My Lord," she said, her gaze darting briefly toward the bed.
"Go on," Audrey said from behind. "You can stay by your master¡¯s bedside."
Tia bowed again to both Lansius and Audrey before hurrying to Valerie¡¯s side. She sat quietly by the bed, her eyes fixed on her unconscious mistress.
"Sir Stan sent one of his men to deliver Tia to us," Audrey explained. "They said she¡¯s Hannei¡¯s maid."
"What a coincidence," Lansius remarked.
"Yes, and we were just talking about her yesterday," Audrey added.
Lansius nodded but turned serious. "And the physician?"
"We¡¯ll have to wait," Audrey replied. "It¡¯s the second night, and as expected, there are many issues to handle."
Lansius exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. The number of injuries on their side was minimal, so they had allowed the physician to assist the captured men, provided they cooperated. They even allocated some medical supplies, though sparingly, as Lansius needed to reserve them for future conflicts. For many of the injured, they knew it would only delay the inevitable.
Audrey stepped closer and took his hands, massaging them gently. "We¡¯ll get it done. Valerie will come back to us, just as Tia has."
Lansius nodded, then turned to Francisca. "I¡¯m going to take a short nap. Wake me when the physician arrives."
"Yes, My Lord," Francisca said with a slight bow.
Audrey followed him inside, saying, "You also need to meet Belgutei tomorrow morning."
"Yes. Once he¡¯s back from hunting, I need to solve the issue of captured people."
"To think you¡¯d allow them to hunt in Bengrieve¡¯s private forest," Audrey muttered as they entered their bedchamber.
Lansius flashed a grin. "We can¡¯t turn down their request to find fresh supplies, and we can always blame the fanatics. Besides, I suspect the forest is already depleted, given how desperate the besiegers were."
"That¡¯s why the nomads are moving deeper northwest," Audrey remarked. "Anyway, what are you going to do with the captured men? We have nearly four thousand."
"I¡¯m planning to send a third of them¡ªthe most docile¡ªto work near our away capital. It¡¯s early summer, so they should be able to grow vegetables or help with the roads, housing, and fortifications. As for the rest... that¡¯s what I need to discuss with Belgutei."
Audrey nodded. "Well, let¡¯s get some rest first. Francisca and Tia can watch over Valerie for a few hours. Now that we have a treatment available, you should be able to sleep more easily."
Lansius smiled faintly but said, "There¡¯s still an issue to solve. I don¡¯t think Valerie¡¯s blood type matches with any of us. I need to devise a way to test if the treatment will help her¡ªor harm her."
***
Sir Harold
The acting Marshal had just finished reconnoitering the camp area. There was reason to fear threats from both outside and within, from the captured men or their questionable allies. He had tasked additional men to patrol, who, fortunately, complied without complaint. Active patrols were essential to deter anyone from doing something foolish.
Previously, camping so close to the castle had seemed natural; they had shared a common enemy. But now, he feared it might tempt their allies to do the unthinkable. Fortunately, by tomorrow, they would likely begin moving. Marching through hostile territory with a horde of captured men was risky, but it was better than sitting idle and waiting for trouble.
Having completed his rounds, Harold confirmed that his men were rested and that the injured were ready to move. Tomorrow morning, he would ask the Lord to commit to the plan: sending a mobile group to occupy the neighboring manors and castles, securing them as they advanced. Another advance group would be tasked with locking down the city the Lord had chosen as their away capital.
Returning to his tent, Harold found no less than a lance group¡ªfour men¡ªguarding a woman with her hands tied.
"Let me guess, you¡¯re causing trouble again?" Sir Harold said, half-groaning as he addressed the woman.
"Sister Clementine refused to eat or drink until she met you," one of the guards reported.
The sister rose weakly but demanded loudly, "Release me and my sisters. We are servants of¡ª"
"I am a servant of House Lansius," Harold interrupted sharply, "and unless you stop demanding things, I¡¯ll bring you to him right now."
That silenced her. Even she knew the Black Lord wasn¡¯t one to be trifled with, especially at such a late hour. The squire, guards, and four jailers watched with barely concealed glee; the sister had caused them no end of trouble.
Sir Harold rubbed his forehead, then glanced at her. "I¡¯ll bring your request to tomorrow¡¯s meeting. In the meantime, you need to eat and behave. I don¡¯t want you fainting if the council or the Lord summons for you."
"Just untie me. I swear I won¡¯t do anything. I¡¯m not a rogue mage," she tried to reassure him.
Sir Harold studied her face for a moment before turning to the guards. "Untie her and get something from the kitchen. If we¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll have some gruel or cold bread."
"Yes, Sir." The guards complied, untying her.
Clementine rubbed her bruised wrists and noticed Harold¡¯s gaze. "They tied it too tight," she muttered.
"Of course, I told them to," Harold said matter-of-factly. "Your magic might be minuscule, but it can still harm people."
"I don¡¯t tend towards violence," she retorted.
Harold gave her a skeptical look. Clementine glanced away. "My older sister commanded it. What could I do but obey?"
"And now she¡¯s in Cascasonne¡¯s dungeon for cursing all day and trying to incite rebellion."
"I don¡¯t share her enthusiasm," she revealed without hesitation. "I think Healing Guild members shouldn¡¯t take sides in wars."
Sir Harold raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and remarked loudly, "So you can think independently and not just parrot your elders. Color me impressed!"
His squire and the nearby guards chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. Clementine pouted, her lips tightening, and spat to the side in defiance. The squire moved to intervene, but Harold waved him off.
Instead, Harold stepped forward, his tone cold and taunting. "Go on, try me."
Clementine was taller than average, but Harold easily towered over her. Up close, she had to look up to meet his gaze. Her right fist clenched and relaxed twice, but she held back.
"Bold, independent thinking, and not reacting on impulse," Harold remarked unexpectedly.
"I didn¡¯t expect praise," she replied, stepping back.
"No, that¡¯s an assessment," Harold clarified. "If you want to free one of your sisters, you¡¯ll need to pay the price."
Clementine frowned, her expression questioning.
"You¡¯ll likely need to plead your case and bargain with the shrewdest lord in existence. The Black Lord has charmed, tricked, duped, and outwitted nearly every cunning noble, deceitful lord, swindling guildsman, and cutthroat mercenary he¡¯s ever met. He¡¯s even impressed half-beasts to join him. Some say he could extort goblins or even fell beasts, and I¡¯m inclined to believe those rumors."
The men laughed at the remarks, clearly familiar with such tales.
Clementine blinked, her confidence wavering.
One of the guards returned with a bowl of gruel and half a piece of bread.
"Eat," Harold commanded as the guard offered her the bowl. "Any minute now, your stomach will growl."
"I''m not embarrassed by trivial things," she retorted, though she took the bowl and bowed politely to the guard.
"A growling belly means your head has less fire to burn. And you¡¯ll need plenty of it tomorrow," Harold said casually before stepping into his tent with his squire, leaving Clementine to eat by the fire under the watchful eyes of the four guards.
***
Sterling
High in the sky, Sterling observed their surroundings. Even with normal eyesight, he could see the shimmering lights of a large city looming ahead. Claire, his wife, sat next to him, both of them wrapped in fur-lined clothes over woolen garments to shield against the fierce and cold night wind. The rest of the crew huddled in their blankets, a necessity for enduring the chill of airship travel.
Yet Midlandia''s summer winds were mild compared to those of Nicopola or Lowlandia. The province was also easier to navigate from the air, with plenty of landmarks and roads clearly visible from above.
After their last proper rest in Korimor, the airship had embarked on a long flight through Midlandia, stopping only in unpopulated areas to maintain secrecy. Guided by the mages'' sharp eyesight and the best maps they could obtain, the crew managed to follow the provincial roads toward their destination.
Two days ago, they had traced a river until they came upon an array of stone obelisks atop a hill¡ªa striking landmark impossible to miss. There, they sent a small party to a nearby town, where as planned they located an agent of the Orange Skalds. The agent provided them with the latest intelligence and confirmed that Lord Lansius'' plan for them remained unchanged.
Additionally, they learned of several intriguing developments in Lubina. With only a brief pause to gather necessary items, replenish their provisions, and rest, they pressed onward toward the capital.
A magnificent walled city now stretched out beneath them. A mighty river divided the large settlement in two, connected by a grand stone bridge. On both sides of the waters, a castle stood guard, one smaller than the other.
"It¡¯s Lubina," Claire muttered to Sterling, having counted the number of towers and other distinctive features visible from above.
Sterling nodded, trusting her judgment. "Then let¡¯s prepare."
Claire turned and called for their captain. "Sir, I can confirm it¡¯s Lubina City and Eclipse Castle."
¡°Lubina City,¡± Sir Morton repeated calmly, his predatory gaze shifting to the crew. Many began to stir, warming up and flexing stiff muscles after the long journey. He smiled faintly. ¡°Then we¡¯re just in time for the finale of the feast.¡±
His men grinned, shedding their blankets to reveal outfits that looked fit for a gala, paired with improved X-Bow and swords.
Darkness veiled the two airships as they glided silently toward the famous Eclipse Castle, its countless windows glowing with warm, flickering light. From above, the castle¡¯s walls offered no protection from sight. The castle grounds and buildings appeared alive, their lanterns and torches illuminating the grand stone bridge that spanned the mighty river. Nobles in carriages and on horseback made their way toward the castle¡¯s welcoming embrace.
Even the city seemed to pulse with life, its market a colorful sea of lanterns. But all were oblivious to the chaos that would soon descend upon them.
***
Chapter 206 : Twin Shadows Over Eclipse
Chapter 206
Twin Shadows Over Eclipse
Eclipse Castle, Lubina City
A young squire walked briskly inside the lavish corridors lit by gemstones emitting a soft white glow, his bright doublet tailored for tonight''s gala fluttering with each step. The air carried the faint aroma of spiced wine and sweet ale, remnants of the ongoing festivities. Echoes of lively conversation, laughter, and the distant strains of stringed instruments drifted from the hall, blending into a warm cheerful melody.
Finely plastered walls flanked the corridor and intricately carved pillars adorned with gilded frames that reflected the shimmering light from above. Guards stationed at regular intervals recognized the squire as he passed, offering no resistance. The muffled hum of the gala lingered behind him as he ventured deeper into the quieter part of the palace, finally arriving at the resting chamber.
The chamber was designed solely for the Lord¡¯s convenience, offering a private space to rest between events in the adjacent Great Hall. It allowed him to change clothes, relieve himself, or refine his appearance. Previous lords of the castle had sometimes used it for less noble pursuits, indulging in sensual pleasures with guests, fueling whispers of debauchery and infidelity among the local elites.
However, only a handful of men occupied the space today, flanking a visibly worried Lord Reginald, who sat stiffly in front of a large mirror.
The squire entered quietly, the door opened for him by a guard on duty.
"Is he ready?" the squire whispered anxiously to the servant near the door.
"Not yet," the servant replied in hushed tones.
"But the guests have already¡ª"
"He¡¯s the Lord of this castle. They can wait," a senior guardsman interjected firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
The exchange near the door drew the attention of three nobles inside. One of the Lord¡¯s advisors, a large man with an imposing frame dressed in a purple doublet, finally urged, "It¡¯s time."
Another, wearing a white wig, quickly added enthusiastically, "Are you ready, My Lord?"
"Yes, I¡¯m ready," Lord Reginald replied, rising from his chair in a less-than-elegant manner.
"You understand why this is necessary?" the large man in purple demanded.
"I¡¯m aware," Reginald snapped, irritation flashing as he straightened his party clothes.
From the side, the white wig reminded gently, "We must reassure our allies of our strength and commitment."
"Yes, yes," Reginald said, waving a hand dismissively. "I¡¯ll keep them in line. This southern barbarians¡¯ attack is nothing but a diversion. The real issue remains Bengrieve, but soon, we should have good news from Cascasonne." His tone shifted as he recited what would become his talking points for the evening.
"Excellent. That¡¯s exactly what they need to hear," the advisor in purple exclaimed, his tone finally brimming with assured confidence. "Now go and charm them with your wits."
Reginald exhaled deeply. With a flick of his wrist, his expression shifted into one of regal composure. His men opened the door, allowing the Lord of the castle to step outside. His entourage flanked him immediately, escorting him toward the castle¡¯s Great Hall through the Lord''s private entrance.
The hall was more like a palace than a fortress. It soared high and airy, its walls adorned with busts of previous lords, sculpted from marble and bronze. Beneath their steps, the lustrous black marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of gemstone chandeliers. It was a magnificent space, crafted to awe and impress.
The throng of nobles gathered there was certainly impressed, bowing their heads low in deference to the Lord. Despite his status as a new ruler and largely a puppet of his allies, Lord Reginald moved gracefully among them, exchanging pleasantries. He smiled warmly at the crowd, offering calculated, reassuring words to those who needed them. His movements were deliberate, his intellectual charm wielded with precision as he made his way toward the high table.
Finally seated, flanked by his guards and entourage, Lord Reginald raised his goblet high and declared, "Let the feast begin!"
The guests, seated at several long tables divided along the left and right sides of the hall, erupted into merriment as they began their meal. Platters of pickled meats, roasted forest duck, and spiced venison adorned the tables, accompanied by an endless variety of bread, honey, jams, and an abundance of dried fruits.
The hall¡¯s expansive floor stretched between the high table and the rows of guests, providing ample space for entertainment. Lively music, played by a small troupe of musicians stationed in the corner, set a joyful rhythm. A dozen dancers twirled and leaped with infectious energy, their laughter and cheers blending seamlessly with the melodies and capturing the guests¡¯ attention as they feasted lavishly.
In contrast, the host barely touched his meal, sipping only from his goblet of spiced wine. Lord Reginald''s irritation was evident. Several of his strongest allies had abandoned him, chastising his decision to send assassins to Lowlandia. Unlike him, they failed to grasp the nuanced art of realpolitik. He sought to treat threats before they could fester like wounds, starting with Bengrieve and trickling down to the minor upstart, Lansius.
He viewed his allies as short-sighted, concerned only with fleeting security and immediate gains. He, however, was a visionary, imagining Midlandia as a dominant power, with its neighbors bowing in submission. Even the barbaric lords to the south would yield.
Unfortunately, the path forward was fraught with peril. His opponent, the so-called Black Lord, had rallied his barbarians in a counterattack, forcing Reginald to squander precious time just to regain his people''s confidence. He sighed heavily, whispering to himself, "The fools should just follow," before taking another deliberate sip of his wine.
...
The feast carried on until everyone was sated. Then, fulfilling his promise, Lord Reginald mingled with the crowd, forming an impromptu court.
A group of landlords and merchants wasted no time. "My Lord," one began, "we yearn to hear about the fighting. Rumors have been circulating¡ª"
"Unsubstantiated nonsense," Lord Reginald interrupted with a dismissive smile. "Have you seen their so-called army? A rabble of brainless barbarians," he sneered, pausing as soft chuckles rippled through the group.
He quickly added, "Reports of their advance are exaggerated, spread by spineless cowards placed in command by the last seneschal. Either they were disloyal or simply incompetent. We ought not to lend our ears to such drivel."
A merchant, emboldened by the atmosphere, ventured, "Then, My Lord, we should expect this trouble to fade soon?"
"Indeed," the Lord replied smoothly. "No amount of gold stored in Cascasonne could turn a band of goat herders into an army capable of standing against Midlandia¡¯s finest. Their primitive raids cannot challenge the mettle of our knights."
His words placated many, but a cluster of knight and esquire families remained unconvinced. Sensing this, the Lord turned to them. "This Lansius is nothing more than a name whispered to frighten peasants. A black-haired nobody who outwitted a band of dimwits made up of uneducated goat herders. He may be cunning in the wilderness, but he will crumble on the more complex battlefields of Midlandia."
The knights exchanged glances before nodding, their confidence seemingly bolstered.
Turning back to the crowd, Lord Reginald asked, "Have you heard? This so-called Black Lord even married his own squire."
His words drew soft chuckles and scattered giggles from the gathered nobles.
"He¡¯s nothing but an inelegant brute, hardly worthy of our fears," the Lord exclaimed, clearly pleased by their reaction.
When the mood strongly shifted in his favor, Lord Reginald straightened and declared boldly, "Let him come." The crowd stilled, their eyes fixed on him with growing intensity. "The southern roads are treacherous, the forests unforgiving, and our walled cities stand unassailable. By the time they reach us, they¡¯ll be battered and broken."
A merchant with a reddened face raised his goblet in mock celebration. "To their long and miserable march!"
Laughter erupted throughout the hall, filling the grand space. But as the merriment reached its peak, a commotion broke out near the entrance. Shouts rang out, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel. The crowd¡¯s mirth dissolved into murmurs of alarm as heads snapped toward the noise.
Several guards struggled against shadowy figures who quickly overpowered them. Gasps and whispers rippled through the hall, anxiety spreading like wildfire. Guests instinctively backed away from the entrance, forming a widening circle of empty space. The once-lively music stopped abruptly, leaving a heavy silence that only deepened the tension.
Lord Reginald¡¯s guards inside sprang into action, rushing across the now-cleared center of the hall toward the disturbance. From outside, however, emerged a group of noble-looking gentlemen in finely tailored attire, their calm demeanor strikingly at odds with the chaos outside, where the sounds of clashing steel and shouts still echoed. Moments later, the gate was sealed shut behind them.
The four intruders, with their polished appearance and composed movements, brought a sense of relief to the onlookers, who began to hope the disruption was merely a misunderstanding or perhaps a surprise for tonight¡¯s feast.
"Please remain calm," the youngest of them said smoothly, stepping forward on behalf of the others. His voice was charming yet authoritative. "We only ask for an audience."
The six guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before turning to their lord for guidance. This reaction did not escape the intruders'' notice, who, never having seen Reginald before, now had their target.
Sensing potential trouble, Lord Reginald and his advisors quickly signaled for reinforcements. More guards poured into the hall from the lord¡¯s private entrance, weapons at the ready, while curious servants peeked out from the kitchen doors, drawn by the commotion.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Building on the young man¡¯s introduction, a tall, well-built figure in black brigandine stepped forward. "I am Knight-Captain Morton of the Three Hill''s Black Knights," he declared coldly.
His identity shocked everyone. Lord Reginald shook his head in disbelief, while his advisors in white wig and purple doublets scrambled to issue commands to the guards and squires.
Unperturbed by their reaction, Sir Morton turned to the gathered nobles, his tone noticeably softened as he spoke. "On behalf of the Lord Shogun of Korelia and the five Lords of Lowlandia, please accept our heartfelt greetings, esteemed nobles of Midlandia."
The six determined guards ignored him and charged. Their actions prompted the young man and two other well-dressed gentlemen to pull slim but boxy crossbows from beneath their cloaks. With practiced ease, they unleashed a hail of bolts, surprising everyone.
The hall plunged into chaos. Three guards crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies pierced by bolts that penetrated their ringmail. Wounded, they desperately tried to crawl away, their torsos and limbs riddled with feathered shafts. The remaining three guards retreated, diving behind upturned tables hastily set by their allies.
"We''re not bandits. No one needs to get hurt," Sir Morton said calmly almost devoid of emotion, his hands still empty of a weapon. Behind him, his men casually reloaded their crossbows, sliding bolts into the box-like mechanisms atop their weapons.
A large group of guards arrived, led by the tallest among them, clad in golden-hued ringmail. He stood like a champion, wielding a rarely seen trident.
Sir Morton, unbothered, continued, "The Lord Shogun and the army of Lowlandia are currently in Cascasonne and will soon pacify the region. We hope for future cooperation. House Bengrieve has promised the Lord Shogun all of southern Midlandia, including every land allied with Sir Reginald in this conflict."
"You speak madness!" bellowed the large advisor in purple, seizing command from the dispirited Lord Reginald. "Guards, kill them all!"
The champion wasted no time. With a quick glance at the wounded guards, he grabbed a large silver serving plate, wielding it as an improvised shield. Letting out a loud rallying cry, he led a dozen guards in a ferocious charge.
The three intruders fired their bolts with deadly accuracy, but the guards pressed on, using chairs and platters as makeshift shields. Meanwhile, the champion charged directly at Sir Morton. The man in black brigandine stood motionless, his sword still undrawn.
The champion closed the distance in a few powerful strides and thrust his trident with blinding speed, aiming straight for his opponent''s chest. Yet, with unnerving ease, Sir Morton sidestepped, his footwork precise. The trident¡¯s razor-sharp tips missed by a hair. Undeterred, the champion followed up with another thrust, but the knight in black dodged again. There was no fear in his eyes¡ªonly an unsettling excitement.
The champion feinted, drawing his weapon back for a wide swing, but Sir Morton stepped inside his reach and delivered a single, devastating punch to the champion''s stomach. The golden ringmail shuddered under the force of the blow. There was no thunderous sound, but the impact was evident as the large man gasped, spittle flying, and stood momentarily frozen, paralyzed by the pain pulsating from his abdomen.
Without hesitation, Sir Morton grabbed both the champion''s shoulders and threw him to the ground in a fluid motion, his wrestling technique brutal but efficient. Gasps filled the hall as every eye turned to the fallen champion.
The rest of the guards scattered and disorganized, faltering under the unyielding accuracy of the crossbowmen. A few had cornered the younger man into melee, but even there, the intruder held the upper hand.
"As I said, no one needs to get hurt. This isn''t a robbery," Sir Morton reiterated, disdain coloring his voice. But his warning fell on deaf ears.
"Keep fighting!" the advisor in purple commanded, addressing the freshly arrived guards. They hesitated, still struggling to comprehend how so many of their comrades, including their champion, had been defeated by just four men.
"The castle garrison will soon come!" added his fellow in the white wig, though his voice trembled with desperation.
A sudden crash of breaking glass shattered the tension. Vibrant shards of stained glass rained down from above, scattering across the floor like jagged, multicolored jewels. People below screamed in surprise, diving out of the way to avoid the falling debris. Panic spread, but one man froze, his gaze locked on the shattered window. His mouth fell open as he raised a trembling finger, pointing toward the empty stone frame.
Others followed his gaze, their expressions shifting into silent horror. Three large silhouettes loomed in the opening. Their presence was unmistakable as, one by one, the creatures leaped inside. Their clawed hands flexed as they landed with uncanny grace, their swiveling ears attuned to the panicked cries around them.
Under the bright glow of the Great Hall¡¯s chandeliers, the people''s suspicions were confirmed¡ªthey were seeing Beastmen.
All three bore the unmistakable features of wolves: piercing eyes, snarling muzzles, and sharp fangs glinting in the light. Their silvery fur, draped in shimmering ringmail, shifted fluidly with their movements as they strode upright on two powerful legs.
Amid the gasps and shrieks of the ladies fleeing the chamber in terror, leaving only the bravest nobles rooted in place, the largest beastly creature pulled a torn banner from his shoulder and threw it to the floor. The coat of arms revealed it to be the banner of the castle garrison.
In an act of blatant mockery, the creature urinated on the banner, drawing howls of laughter from his kin and the intruders, who now made it abundantly clear that they were in alliance.
"What took you so long?" Sir Morton asked as he approached, magically blowing the putrid stench toward Reginald''s direction. The remaining guards and squires scrambled to form a hasty barricade in front of Lord Reginald, whose complexion had turned deathly pale.
"We got a little bloodlust; and a little lost," the largest Beastman admitted.
The creature''s words only deepened the confusion among the onlookers. Meanwhile, Sir Morton turned his predatory gaze toward the nobles. "No help is coming. Now, it¡¯s time to listen." He paused, letting the tension settle. "In light of Lord Reginald''s attempt on Lord Shogun''s life¡ªsending three assassins¡ªand with evidence and sealed statements from the captured assailants, we hereby declare a right of reprisal. Hand over Lord Reginald, and we will leave in peace."
Lord Reginald¡¯s lips trembled, his knees shaking.
"They''re lying! Stay steadfast! Even if the castle garrison is struck, we still have the city garrison¡ª" The man in purple''s desperate shout was abruptly cut short as his mouth fell open as his body lurching backward. The largest Beastman leaped high and crashed down on him with a thunderous stomp, leaving the advisor bloodied on the floor. But it didn¡¯t end there. As the guards resisted, the Beastman went berserk. With devastating force, it swatted them aside, hurling bodies into the walls. The sickening crack of bones and cries of pain echoed through the hall.
"We only intend to capture Sir Reginald alive," Sir Morton''s voice boomed unnaturally loud, carrying a distinct current of wind; a sign of magic. "Do not force us to change our plans."
Yet the remaining guards, numbering more than ten, stood resolute. "They won''t get away! Nobody escapes alive!" the guard captain rallied his men. With determined cries, they charged at the lone Beastman, their weapons thrusting forward. But the other two Beastmen joined the fray, wielding large, knife-like swords, turning the fight into a bloody melee.
The rest of the nobles gulped, swallowing their pride as they fled to the far side of the hall, desperate to distance themselves from the carnage. The advisor in the white wig had vanished entirely, leaving only a handful of loyal men urging Lord Reginald to retreat. Worse, Sir Morton and his men were closing in.
With trembling hands, Reginald opened his mouth and stammered, "Protect me!"
His knees threatened to buckle as he watched his entourage scatter, leaving only three behind. The guardsmen in the hall were being defeated one by one, proving themselves useless against the Beastmen.
As Sir Morton drew closer, the lone guard and two squires exchanged nervous glances before duty forced them to act. With a burst of resolve, they launched themselves at him. At that moment, Lord Reginald caught a fleeting smile on Morton¡¯s face. And in that instant, he knew he was doomed.
A heavy thud echoed behind him, and a massive shadow loomed over Reginald. He turned to see a towering figure streaked with darkened blood, his face marred by the jagged scar of a deep arrow wound.
"You¡¯re not getting away!" the Beastman roared. "Your capture shall cleanse my shame."
"My Lord!" Another noble, likely a knight, charged in from the side, wielding a spear he had grabbed from nearby. He thrust at the beastman, attempting to bait him away from Reginald.
Meanwhile, Sir Morton caught one squire by the arm and hurled him into his companion, sending both skidding across the marble floor. The lone guard, now kneeling, choked and gasped for air, his hands clawing at his own throat as the mage-knight ruthlessly used his magic to pull the breath from his lungs.
Witnessing the chaos, Reginald bolted, pumping his legs toward the servant''s kitchen entrance. Escape was all that mattered now. The door and corridor were narrow¡ªtoo tight for the beastmen to follow. If he could reach it, the danger would surely pass. But suddenly, a powerful hand gripped his silken cape, yanking him backward and sending him sprawling onto his back.
He gasped, the cape tightening around his neck, cutting off his breath.
"Puny human, my gratitude for attempting to run. It allows me to have some fun," the Beastman ominously chuckled before suddenly lifting Reginald to his chest and squeezing the man in a crushing hug that threatened to break his bones.
Reginald could only scream in pain. At this point, the fighting ceased entirely. Even the brave knight wielding the spear raised his hands, signaling surrender.
"We''re only here for Sir Reginald. The Lord Shogun wishes no harm upon the other nobles," Sir Morton reassured the crowd as he approached the beastman, who still held the current Lord of Midlandia tightly against its ringmail-covered chest.
"What do you intend to do now?" the knight asked, his tone weary. "Using him as a hostage to force Lubina to surrender won¡¯t work."
"I know," Sir Morton replied calmly. "I know you¡¯re mostly knights, esquires, or landlords without real influence or manpower. This man''s puppet master is somewhere else¡ªsafe and hidden."
"If you know, then why bother? The city garrison, numbering several thousand men, is under their control. The city won¡¯t surrender," the knight argued.
"That decision is not mine to make," Sir Morton replied, motioning for the Beastman to release Reginald.
The Beastman promptly lowered the trembling, shriveled man onto the floor.
Without a shred of pity, Sir Morton grabbed Reginald by the belt and hoisted him face down like a sack of luggage, holding him effortlessly in one hand.
"Help me! Midlandians, think about your future!" Reginald cried out, desperation thick in his voice as the grim reality dawned on him.
No one moved. The knight with the spear and the rest of the nobles averted their gazes in shame as the intruders opened the entrance doors, revealing another group of armed men in black waiting outside.
The chill night wind blew upon Reginald, making him even more frantic. "Don¡¯t just stand there! Rally your spirit and¡ª" His plea was abruptly silenced as a young man stepped forward with an unsettling smile and gagged him with a piece of cloth.
"Nicely done, Sterling," Sir Morton said with approval.
"Can¡¯t have him squealing all the way back," Sterling replied, his thin smile lingering as they retreated into the grand courtyard.
...
Outside, the aftermath of a fierce battle lay scattered before them. Dozens of guards were sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath their bodies and staining the stone.
"Crossbowmen, beware!" the SAR team behind cover shouted in warning.
Sir Morton recited his verses, and an ethereal shield of violent wind swirled to life around them. The timing couldn¡¯t have been better¡ªa volley of bolts rained down from one of the towers, whistling sharply through the air. Several bolts veered off course as they hit the barrier, their trajectories shifting before landing on the castle grounds.
The SAR lieutenant ran beside him. "It¡¯s getting livelier. More are gathering."
"Do we have wounded?" Sir Morton asked.
"Three men¡ªlacerations," the lieutenant reported.
"Pull back," Sir Morton ordered, his sharp gaze locking on Big Ben, the male half-breed, and his kin to ensure they heard him. "The mission is complete."
The three half-beasts nodded and sprinted into the darkness, their keen eyes matching Morton''s in the dim light. They took different routes, knowing the gatehouse interior was too cramped for them.
Beside Morton, the SAR lieutenant nodded, visibly relieved, and began signaling his men to fall back. They had chosen this daring plan over a late-night attack because it was the only reliable way to identify Reginald. Moreover, the feast had distracted the guards with the constant comings and goings of guests. However, it had also cost them the element of stealth.
But the gamble had paid off. They ran through the near darkness toward the gatehouse, their every step haunted by the fear of crossbow fire from the towers. The faint glow of lanterns, placed by their allies, served as their only guide. Above the gatehouse, the airships hovered unseen, waiting.
"Sir Captain!" shouted one of the Black Knights holding the gatehouse, hurrying to join them.
"Yes?" Sir Morton responded calmly, even as bolts hissed past.
"The city garrison is mobilizing, columns of men are marching toward the gate."
"We''ll make it," the captain replied, his tone dismissive, unshaken by the news.
The knight, accustomed to his captain¡¯s calm demeanor, added, "When we secured the gatehouse complex, we found two chests of gold and silver."
"Gold?" the SAR lieutenant asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
"Indeed, likely war chests or something similar. We didn¡¯t have the chance to ask, but they certainly defended it with their lives."
"When fortune smiles, don¡¯t ignore it. Bring them with us," Sir Morton instructed, still carrying Reginald, who had grown quiet from the strain of being hoisted so unceremoniously.
"It¡¯s going to be heavy," Sterling remarked, his gaze flicking to the additional burden as they ran.
"With two ships, we¡¯ll make it," Sir Morton replied, unflinching as two more bolts zipped past, one narrowly missing a SAR team member. "We¡¯ll crash-land in Cascasonne if we have to," he added, a brief, predatory smile tugging at his lips.
Overhead, the night wind picked up speed, while the city of Lubina erupted into chaos, its distant roar carrying on the cold air.
***
Chapter 207 : Saint & Mage
Chapter 207
Saint & Mage
Clementine
The fire crackled softly, its warmth battling the chill of the night wind that whipped through the camp. Canvas tents flapped noisily in the breeze. Clementine, wrapped in her wool cloak, sat huddled near the flames. She had finished her bread and gruel and lingered by the fire. For some reason, while the guards had tied her hands again, they hadn¡¯t escorted her back to the holding place. She couldn¡¯t care less; this was far more comfortable, even out in the open.
The holding place lay between the palisade wall and the ditch, fortified with barricades and cruel-looking barbed wire. The prisoners had come to respect and fear the seemingly harmless coils of thin metal. There, they were given canvas, looted from their own camp, and blankets to sleep on. Patrols roamed the area, guards watched from the palisade, and nomads lingered nearby, making any escape attempt suicidal.
The place still reeked of death, even after major efforts to clean it. The smell lingered, heavy and grim in the air. Yet, as captives, they had no choice but to endure. A bigger concern loomed: the kind of fate they would meet. Many could only hope it wouldn¡¯t end with a journey to the east, to Navalnia, a kingdom from which nobody ever returned, and where merchants¡¯ tales were too horrific to believe.
As a Saint Candidate, Clementine was kept separately, in a makeshift cell beneath a wooden tower, where the guards on the palisade could observe her at all times. Sir Harold and his men took no chances, likely fearing she might rally the fanatics or incite rebellion. But they were wrong; she was just a simple girl with no grand ambitions, only a desire to live her life to her heart''s content.
Her only issue was her gift of magic, which had defined her from an early age. Born to a poor esquire family who couldn''t afford even a single laborer, young Clementine helped in the family fields. From a young age, her gift of magic was powerful enough to manifest in her daily work. Even without understanding the art, her source naturally seeped into her body, enhancing her physical abilities to a noticeable degree. Despite her small frame as a child, she could easily outwork or outrun anyone, even adults, in speed, strength, and stamina.
Later, when she was found and adopted into the monastery, she learned night vision and strengthening magic. In terms of raw talent, few in her age group could match her. When she eventually passed her test and was ordained as a young Saint Candidate, even fewer seniors had abilities comparable to hers.
Yet, many dismissed this, claiming such skills were useless for Saint Candidates, whose role was to heal. They argued that strengthening magic was only valuable for battle-oriented guilds, such as mages. However, she knew the Healer Guild''s perception was flawed.
Unlike the Mage Guild, the Healer Guild taught its members not to tap directly into the source. They shunned this method, deeming it volatile, risky, and unreliable. Instead, they relied on the magic that naturally seeped into the body, which they called the soul.
While this greatly limited their abilities, it was not without reason. Drawing from the soul was more reliable and far better suited for healing, which required delicate and precise control of magic. Meanwhile, the power from the source was like a waterfall¡ªhard to control, strong, and often unpredictable.
By honing their soul, they gradually lost their innate ability to connect with the source and became distinct from mages. They lacked access to a stream of magical power but trained their bodies to become suitable vessels, capable of storing magic and expending it with precise accuracy.
However, not all Saint Candidates followed this path. Some rogues secretly continued training to tap into their source, believing they could fulfill both roles, albeit risking their proficiency. Clementine was one of them. Strangely, despite the guild''s disapproval, her abilities stood out so much that she was often assigned tasks beyond the monastery as an extension of the guild''s influence. Yet, nothing could have prepared her for the role she had just faced or the outcome of the battle yesterday.
"Sister, wake up," a guard''s whisper startled her.
Clementine had been on the verge of falling asleep. She gazed at the guard lazily, assuming it was time to return to her holding cell. But to her surprise, the guard pointed toward Sir Harold''s tent, whispering, "The squire just left."
She squinted. "What do you mean?"
"It''s your chance," they said cryptically, their mischievous grin unmistakable.
"You''re not afraid I¡¯ll stab him in his sleep?" she asked, voicing the first thought that came to her mind.
"Lesser men, perhaps. But him?" They exchanged grins. "Besides, we¡¯re sure you don¡¯t have a knife on you, and we¡¯re definitely not removing that wrist tie."
She hesitated, but another guard added, "Go on, have a little chat."
"A chat?" she asked, suspicion filled her tone. "Why are you risking your necks for me?"
"It¡¯s not like we hate you, good woman," one replied. "You¡¯ve healed several of our friends since this morning without caring that we¡¯re your enemies, and for that, we¡¯re grateful."
She inhaled deeply, pondering her options, and nodded. "Then I shall have a chat."
One of the guards helped her to her feet.
"But what about those two?" she asked, glancing at the guards posted near Sir Harold''s tent.
"Try kind words," one suggested with a faint smirk, stepping aside to let her pass. She made her way to the tent, where the two guards immediately stopped her.
"I just need a few words," she explained. "You can search me. I¡¯m tied anyway."
"He¡¯s resting, woman," the first guard said firmly.
"Earlier, he mentioned he wanted my company," Clementine replied, her voice softening. She hesitated, then removed her headscarf, allowing her long brown hair to fall freely. Her cheeks reddened while cool night air brushed against her exposed neck.
The guards exchanged glances. For a woman to undo her headscarf in front of unrelated men was a bold and humiliating gesture. It meant she was utterly serious.
"She looked after my brother''s wound this morning," the second guard whispered, glancing at his comrade.
"If you or anyone else has an ailment, come visit me tomorrow," Clementine quickly added. "I¡¯ll heal you."
The first guard frowned, thinking for a moment before grumbling, "Fine, I¡¯ll ask him¡ª"
"And embarrass me further?" she interrupted, her face reddening as she turned her gaze sideways, avoiding their stares.
The guard stared at her, then glanced toward the others by the campfire, who were watching the exchange with amused interest. With a sigh, he relented. "Alright, if this goes bad, plenty will be sharing the blame anyway," he said, his smirk indicating accepting a dangerous prank.
...
Sir Harold
The day had been exhausting, as was expected in the aftermath of a battle. As the acting Marshal, Harold had to ensure the army, the captured men, and the camp were in order. He and his staff were also responsible for a myriad of other tasks: organizing loot collection, scouting, determining how many supplies could be used for a small feast, and ensuring their defenses against possible night attacks.
Tomorrow would demand just as much of his attention, with the army slated to move toward their new base camp. Harold snuffed out the lantern and headed to his canvas bed. His armor hung nearby, freshly cleaned by his squire.
He wore his tunic loosely, using his gambeson as a makeshift blanket¡ªa habit from his years as a traveling knight. Thinking back, he had never dreamed of holding a role like this or managing a large army. Last year had been incredible, filled with experiences that opened his eyes to a new way of life.
To face mage-knights in combat, encounter half-beasts, witness flying ships, see the unification of Lowlandia, and endure the dreaded fall of the Imperium; it all felt like a whirlwind, both a dream and a nightmare. Yet none of it deterred him. A knight¡¯s ideals remained steadfast, even if the world seemed to be ending before him. Many said chivalry was just an idea written on paper, but he believed it was a cause worth striving for.
If not for fairness, truth, and justice, then for what other cause should a man fight?
With his resolve hardened once more, Harold let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. The flickering shadows of the campfire outside and the natural sounds of whispers and men on patrol became his lullaby. Muffled conversations reached his ears, but such things were to be expected. Reports often came at odd hours, but one of the guards would be diligent enough to keep a record. Only the highest priority matters would require his immediate attention.
He exhaled, shifting slightly in his bed, ready to continue his rest. Before long, a rustling sound, absent the chill of the wind, caught his attention. Despite the guards outside, Harold quietly extended his hand toward the hilt of his battle axe. It was brand new, replacing the one he had lost in battle the previous year. He had purchased it while marching through southern Midlandia.
Alert but motionless, his eyes opened to slits in the darkness, watching as a lithe silhouette slipped into the tent. Confident in his reaction time, Harold decided to wait and observe the intruder¡¯s intent. If they tried anything insidious, his axe could cleave faster than anyone could shout.
To his surprise, the figure began a strange, almost clumsy dance-like routine. Their movements seemed awkward, struggling, but in the faint light that filtered through the canvas tent, it was hard to discern what was happening.
A soft grunt broke the silence, and Harold immediately recognized the intruder. Rising from his bed like a prowling cat, he approached stealthily, axe in hand.
"Wait, wait!" came a startled voice. "Sir Harold, I can see you! Please drop the axe."
"Yeah, it''s you, alright," Harold sighed, recognizing Clementine¡¯s ability to see in the dark like mages. "What are you¡ª"The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A flicker of fire caught his attention as the lantern suddenly flared to life, bathing them in soft amber light.
"How did you do that?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he glanced at the lantern. "I don¡¯t think any mages can do that."
"They lack the fine control over magic," Clementine explained. "All it takes is a gentle wind to the wick. If it¡¯s still hot enough, it can ignite again easily."
"Interesting," Harold mumbled, then turned toward her. He saw her in an awkward position, struggling with her tied hands to undo her cloak and robes. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face was clearly embarrassed as she whispered, "I didn¡¯t think this through, did I?"
"Indeed," he said, turning to the side to avoid taking advantage of her. "Look, I¡¯m flattered, but I¡¯m not looking for a night company."
"B-but you said I need to pay the price if I want to free even one of my sisters?"
Harold sighed heavily, lowered his axe, and rubbed his face with his free hand. "You misunderstand. What I meant was to petition Lord Lansius to take you as our healer for several years."
The answer surprised her, and the moment turned awkward. "Is that so...?" she mumbled.
"Yes. We don¡¯t have a healer, and you¡¯re the most talented one I¡¯ve encountered. I¡¯m thinking of employing you and your sister for several years. In time, you¡¯ll learn that we¡¯re not the barbarians your eldest sister makes us out to be. Our cause here is justified."
"I know," she replied unexpectedly, making Harold frown in disbelief.
She continued, "Even in the monastery, there are many who¡¯ve grown uncomfortable with the direction the guild is heading. The worship has been getting out of hand, and the veneration feels misplaced. By naming herself the Living Saint, does Saint Nay proclaim herself as equal to the ageless? Even among us, there are fears. However, she has her fanatics and influential supporters in high places."
Harold nodded but gave no quick response, allowing Clementine to add, "You need to help me. My hands are tied."
The tall knight shook his head but looked toward her, his eyes lowered to the ground. "Give me your hands," he said, extending his palm. Clementine obeyed, and he undid her ropes.
Several soft rustles of cloth followed before she spoke nervously. "I¡¯m done."
Harold looked at her and froze. She was standing naked, her arms and hands covering her modesty. Her face turned sideways, refusing to meet his gaze. He didn''t expect to fall into this predicament. For a man to see a woman''s body could spark a scandal; a glimpse of a thigh might force a nobleman into marriage. What he saw now left no room for escape¡ªeverything.
"Clementine, I expected you to fix your clothes," he said, his eyes briefly catching the irresistible pale skin before he forced them away.
She hesitated, shivering from both the chill and the nervousness. She glanced at Harold, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she whispered, "If you¡¯re going to take me out of the monastery, then..."
"It doesn¡¯t have to be this way," he said, his tone heavy with regret.
"I¡¯ve seen enough and learned enough," she replied.
"Seen and learned what?"
"Of you," she clarified with a sudden hint of wit. "You¡¯re not the only one capable of judging others. I see a man who is powerful yet refuses to use that power for selfish gain. You have good morals, which makes you trustworthy, even while holding a high rank. Any woman would find you a desirable partner."
Harold let out a thin smile. It was rare for a woman to say something like that to his face. "You could say the same to many other knights."
"Others are unlikely to handle me, or my mace," she said, her tone softened. Then, in a more serious voice, she added, "My apologies for this underhanded approach, but you said it yourself¡ªI¡¯m up against the notorious Black Lord. A captured Saint Candidate against such a ruthless nobleman¡ I don¡¯t know what he¡¯ll do to me or my sister. I prefer a guarantee: yours."
"Misunderstanding upon misunderstanding," Harold lamented, referring to Lord Lansius¡¯ reputation.
Clementine''s tone was hesitant as she said, "Earlier, you spoke of an ideal knight. Now that you¡¯ve seen me¡ª"
"You don¡¯t have the standing to force me into marriage," he reminded her.
"I know. But your ideal as a perfect knight wouldn¡¯t allow you to turn your back on me."
"How devious of you," he remarked sharply, masking his respect for her resolve. "When did you plan all this? Has this ever worked in your favor?"
"I didn¡¯t," she replied, shivering from both the chill and his accusation. "No man has ever laid eyes on my body. I¡¯m trusting my future to you."
Harold exhaled and took pity on her. He retrieved his gambeson from his bed and draped it over her shoulders.
Taking it as a rejection, tears streamed down Clementine¡¯s cheeks. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Nobody shall hear of this from me. I¡¯ll accept your decision with grace. I won¡¯t force you."
Moved by her sincerity, Harold stepped closer, scooping her into his arms. "I¡¯m not rejecting you," he said softly.
"Huh?" Clementine¡¯s bravado vanished as she clutched the gambeson tightly, holding it close to cover her chest.
"You¡¯re a real Saint Candidate. You think independently, you take chances, and now you¡¯re on my side." Harold lowered her gently onto the bed. "I¡¯ll ask for your hand in front of the Lord tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"
She nodded and closed her eyes, her heart racing. But Harold simply draped her robes over her, pulled a traveling cloak to the ground, and lay down to rest there.
Clementine was surprised and let out a soft giggle.
"What¡¯s funny?" he asked.
"I thought... well...," she tried to explain, the relief evident in her voice.
"We''re surrounded by only canvas walls. The guards will hear you moaning," Harold replied bluntly.
Her cheeks flushed as the realization hit her. "I¡¯d better put my clothes back on, then."
"Yes, there¡¯s no need to rush," Harold said casually. "Sharing this space tonight is enough to seal the arrangement." Then, as sleep began to claim him, he reflected that answering Lord Bengrieve¡¯s call to head south with his battle brothers in support of a minor lord in Korelia had turned out to be the greatest choice he had ever made. It had even brought him face-to-face with a Saint Candidate who, for better or worse, would become his future wife.
He knew a certain half-breed would laugh at this and question his resolve, but in truth, he simply couldn¡¯t be bothered with the idea of having a family. Francisca had respected that. Despite her initial jests, the half-breed had become a battle brother, not a lover.
Meanwhile, from the canvas bed, oblivious to his thoughts, Clementine gazed at him with profound respect. Finding herself safe at last, the mental stress that had weighed her down vanished, replaced by butterflies in her stomach at the thought of being married tomorrow. Still, fatigue overtook her, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep, as serene as a child.
***
Lansius
It was the dead of night when Lansius woke, his eyes red with fatigue. He yawned, almost regretting his decision to ask to be woken up. Though it felt like he''d only closed his eyes moments ago, he knew at least an hour must have passed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head felt light, yet his shoulder was heavy.
"So your love for Valerie is this shallow, huh?" Audrey''s voice cut through the gloom. She stood by the bed, her sharp, amused eyes glinting in the dim light, as alert as a half-breed.
"Yes, so you don¡¯t have to worry," Lansius replied in jest, though his eyes burned with prickling pain.
Audrey leaned in closer, her smirk playful. "I wonder if you¡¯d be like this if it were me who¡¯s sick?"
Her face was dangerously near, her lustrous lips teasingly close. Acting on impulse, Lansius grabbed her head with both hands and stole a kiss. Audrey, though briefly startled, didn¡¯t resist and decided to enjoy the fleeting moment.
A few minutes later, Lansius was ready. A sip of spiced wine, secured from Margo, had brought much-needed warmth and color to his face.
"My Lord," greeted the physician, Margo, Tia, and Francisca as the Lord and Lady arrived at the meeting area beneath the command tent.
"Are you well-rested?" Lansius asked the physician, who had accompanied him since his visit to Three Hills.
"Not as much as I¡¯d like," the physician admitted with a faint smile, "but I trust you won¡¯t demand too much of me."
"I assure you, I¡¯m reasonable. I only need your expertise about blood," Lansius said. He began explaining his concerns, detailing what he knew about blood types and asking whether the physician had ever heard of, or seen, instances of blood clumping.
With humans in this world being different¡ªspecial, and not following the evolutionary path of his own world¡ªLansius couldn¡¯t afford carelessness. Valerie¡¯s life depended on him.
As Lansius spoke, Audrey led Tia and Margo back to Valerie¡¯s side. The woman remained unchanged, still deep in sleep.
The physician listened carefully and explained, "I¡¯ve never seen blood clumping like you describe." But when Lansius revealed the idea of using the bloodvine for transfusion, the physician¡¯s doubt was easy to see. "One person¡¯s blood to another? I¡¯ve never heard of this. I wouldn¡¯t recommend it, but if it¡¯s critical¡"
Lansius nodded, considering. Audrey returned to his side as he motioned for everyone to speak in hushed tones. "Francisca," he whispered, "can you sense if Valerie¡¯s scent is... different from others?"
Francisca stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Indeed. She has a distinct scent."
"Is it because she¡¯s a mage?" Audrey asked, her curiosity evident.
"That¡¯s part of it," Francisca replied. "But she also has a unique scent unlike any other."
Lansius hesitated, his nerves showing. "Does she have a scent like mine?"
Audrey¡¯s sharp gaze darted to him, but Francisca answered calmly, "You¡¯re both unique, but different."
"No similarities?" Lansius'' eyes met Francisca''s. She shook her head slightly. "Too distinct. I¡¯m certain you¡¯re not related by tribe."
Lansius nodded, his gaze shifting to the physician who had treated him several times. "I need to tell you a secret." He paused, glancing at the other two. "Valerie isn¡¯t from this continent."
The others exchanged surprised glances.
Lansius explained, "She comes from a place where people aren¡¯t descendants of the Ancients¡ªor at least, that¡¯s what she believes."
Audrey frowned, whispering, "I didn¡¯t know that."
"I¡¯m telling you this because it''ll affect the bloodvine transfusion. She doesn¡¯t have Ancient¡¯s blood," Lansius said.
The physician nodded readily as understanding dawned on him. "So her blood is different from ours."
Francisca massaged her forehead, her expression troubled. "Then what can we do?"
"It means she can¡¯t take your blood or any other half-breed¡¯s," Lansius clarified. "But I think she can take blood from anyone else¡ªexcept me."
"Why not?" Audrey asked, her concern deepening.
Lansius looked uneasy. "I don¡¯t remember much about my homeland, but I likely come from a place like hers. My blood type might be different."
Francisca¡¯s brows furrowed in surprise as she mumbled, "So that''s why you asked about the similarities in your scent..."
Meanwhile, Audrey merely nodded, unfazed. To her, it changed nothing.
"Now, we need to find a candidate," Lansius continued. "The scripture didn¡¯t specify human donor, but it said the donor should be healthy in body and soul¡ªnot pregnant, bodily active, and without yellowing in the eyes or any other disorders."
"Those are sound points," the physician agreed.
"I think Margo fits the bill," Audrey said, turning toward the two youngsters sitting beside Valerie.
"Or my lord''s sister," Francisca remarked casually, surprising the others.
"Why is Tanya suitable? Is her scent similar to Valerie¡¯s?" Lansius asked.
Francisca frowned. "No, not the scent¡ªit''s the hair color. I thought hair color indicated similarities to a tribe. Is that not so among humans?"
The physician and Audrey exchanged amused glances, and Lansius let out a smile. "There''s some truth to that, but blond in humans is usually just a coincidence."
The half-breed nodded, pleased with the opportunity to learn. Most of their understanding of the world came from books, so naturally, there were some gaps in their experience.
Lansius turned to the physician and said, "Before we do anything else to Valerie, we need to test her blood, and that¡¯s where you come in."
Under Lansius'' watchful eyes, the physician sterilized a set of knives by boiling them. After ensuring they were clean, he carefully avoided touching the blades and pricked Valerie¡¯s finger, placing four drops of her blood onto separate silver and gold plates, which had also been boiled beforehand.
The physician then added a drop of his own blood to one plate, while Margo and Francisca tested the others with theirs. Lansius took the final plate, curious to see if his blood would react with Valerie¡¯s. Everyone watched intently as the samples were gently tilted and swirled, careful not to disturb them too much. Any signs of clumping could indicate incompatibility.
The problem, however, was their limited understanding of blood coagulation. After some time, all they observed was the natural drying of blood due to air exposure. None of the samples showed any significant reaction.
Am I missing something...?
Lansius wondered in frustration, then realized he had likely overlooked the role of blood plasma and antibodies.
So just mixing different blood won¡¯t give any result I need...
He vaguely remembered a simple blood type card he had once seen that had small circles to place blood drops and a chart to match the results.
Breaking the silence, the physician finally said apologetically, "My Lord, I see no differences at all."
"We¡¯re likely missing something to trigger the reaction," Lansius exhaled sharply.
The physician and the others waited in silence as Lansius deliberated. Based on the scripture he had just read, the safest course seemed to be giving Valerie a blood transfusion from a human native to this world. Margo was a likely candidate¡ªhe was healthy and met the criteria. Yet Lansius couldn¡¯t take the risk. Their understanding relied entirely on lore claiming that the Ancients'' blood was compatible with other races, a trait supposedly inherited by humans.
While Lansius acknowledged the existence of half-breeds as evidence of such compatibility, he wasn¡¯t willing to gamble with Valerie¡¯s life. Lacking definitive test results, he wouldn¡¯t dare attempt it unless her condition deteriorated further¡ªand he feared that might happen soon. With only two cups of honeyed water and a few spoonfuls of porridge, before she fainted, Valerie wouldn¡¯t last much longer.
"After the morning meeting, call for Ingrid and Sir Stan," Lansius decided. "If there¡¯s no breakthrough, we¡¯ll proceed with the bloodvine."
***
Chapter 208 : Ordu Khan
Chapter 208
Ordu Khan
Lansius
Morning arrived at Lansius'' tent, its rays casting an orange glow on the canvas roof. After debating whether it was worth getting up to solve the world¡¯s problems or indulging in another hour of sleep, he dragged himself to the water basin to wash. There, he sighed loudly, feeling tired. After the victory and reuniting with his family, his subconscious longed for a deep, celebratory sleep, but the situation remained demanding.
I hope the troops aren¡¯t as fragile as I am.
He thought with a wry smile, amused at his weakness. Lansius washed with soap made from floral oils, a luxury seized from the opponent''s baggage train. Afterward, he dressed and stepped out of the tent. Without his squire, Margo, who was still tending to his family, he managed on his own. It was a breach of protocol, but wartime left little room for formality, and his family mattered more than his convenience.
Moreover, he had capable guards protecting him, not to mention Francisca, who was always somewhere nearby.
As Lansius reached the meeting area in the center of his tent, he found Audrey, Francisca, and Tia waiting for him. "My Lord," they greeted in unison.
Audrey''s formal greeting gave him pause, but his attention quickly shifted to Ingrid, who was rising from Valerie¡¯s side to greet him. He waved her off. "No need," he said as he approached. "How is she?"
Ingrid hesitated before answering, "Unfortunately, she¡¯s getting weaker." She paused as if steeling herself. "The physician came earlier and¡ my apologies, but he said we might need to prepare ourselves for the inevitable."
Lansius sighed sharply, the sound heavy with pain. There went his hope for better days. To wake up only to hear that his only friend from his world was dying¡ªand that they needed to prepare for her funeral¡ªwas a cruel blow. He gazed at Valerie, noting how pale and frail she looked compared to the night before.
Is she in a coma? He wondered.
Audrey took his right arm and caressed it gently in support. Their eyes met briefly, exchanging a warm but somber glance.
"I¡¯ll send someone to ask for Sir Stan," Audrey offered.
"Please do." Then, addressing the others, he said, "The day is too early to give up."
"Bloodvine then?" Francisca asked.
Lansius nodded. "If death is certain, the risk is acceptable."
...
While waiting for Sir Stan and the physician to arrive, Lansius and Audrey headed toward a separate guest tent where Belgutei was waiting. Despite the sorrow weighing them from Valerie¡¯s situation, other matters could not wait. They were still in the midst of a campaign, and no emotional attachment should disrupt a military operation.
Lansius saw a confident man, his leather jacket worn over ringmail, with a pashmina, akin to silk, draped over his muscular frame. "My Khan," Belgutei greeted warmly as they entered.
Lansius raised a brow at the unfamiliar title. "Don¡¯t you mean Noyan?"
Belgutei laughed heartily. "Don¡¯t be so modest. You¡¯re no longer just a leader of ten thousand. You can¡¯t keep that title forever. The tribesmen would be embarrassed," he reasoned. "We need to give you something more fitting. So, My Khan and My Khatun, please accept our greetings."
Lansius couldn¡¯t hide his pleasure and turned to Audrey, who sported a proud smile. She then asked, "But do all the elders agree to this?"
"Of course not, My Khatun. You know those old fools¡ªthey always find something to bicker about. Since the start, a few even tried to discourage Batu and me from participating here, saying the Khan''s fortune is only in the south and that the spirit of the Great Plains is only good in Lowlandia. That old fool! I¡¯m going to take his youngest daughter as my third wife so he¡¯ll miss her dearly," Belgutei finished with cheerful laughter.
Lansius could only match his laughter, knowing it was half a jest. Belgutei¡¯s reputation preceded him; he was one of the most reasonable warriors and would never force a marriage.
"Tell the elders that I bring my own fortune," Lansius said, gesturing toward Audrey. "She¡¯s right there, sitting next to us."
Audrey gave Lansius a playful look that seemed to say, I like that.
Belgutei beamed with joy. "My Khatun, watching your belly gives us great hope for the future. I pray the Sky and the Land protect you and the child in your womb."
"Gratitude. I hope the Sky will always watch over our tribes, our flocks, and our lands," Audrey replied gracefully.
Belgutei bowed his head solemnly.
Lansius then added, "Since you hold us in such high regard, I wish we could call you Uncle Belgu, as the tribesmen call older family members."
Belgutei¡¯s face lit up with joy, his broad smile revealing his pride. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "Please, it¡¯s an honor," he said warmly. Straightening, he added, "Then, to what honor do I owe today¡¯s invitation?"
"Uncle, the tribesmen''s participation in yesterday¡¯s battle was nothing short of magnificent. We could not have won so decisively without your archers and warriors. Outstanding discipline and outstanding marksmanship. The Sky will certainly be pleased. For all your contributions, aside from the loot collected from their baggage train, I¡¯m granting your tribesmen half of the captured people, fitting for six years of labor."
"My Khan, My Noyan, on behalf of the tribesmen, please accept our gratitude."
"That is settled." Lansius extended his right hand, and the two clasped it firmly.
"Now, let us talk further¡ªI have another offer to make," Lansius continued.
"Let it be spoken, My Khan," Belgutei said, his expression brightening with intrigue.
"Half of the captured amounts to two thousand, and this concerns me. Two thousand is a great many mouths to feed. Do you think the tribesmen need that many?"
Belgutei crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully. "I have to admit, it¡¯s a lot. We can take them, but whether we can keep them safe or provide enough goats to work with¡ªthat¡¯s another matter."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Then tell me how many you need. I can come up with a plan that might benefit you," Lansius offered.
"The number who participated is a thousand. If everyone takes one, that¡¯s enough," Belgutei replied pragmatically.
"Then give me the rest," Lansius said. "Korelia is trying to open new farmland."
"Yes, I¡¯m aware of that. It¡¯s going to be great for crops."
"I¡¯m glad you¡¯re in the know. Now, how about this: we let half of your captured¡ªa thousand¡ªfarm in Korelia. Whatever they produce, we¡¯ll split. For example, if they yield ten cartloads of wheat, we let them keep five to prevent hunger. I¡¯ll take two carts, and you¡¯ll get three. How does that sound?"
Belgutei nodded, seemingly liking the idea.
"Of course, you can supervise the harvest to ensure there¡¯s no issue of embezzlement between us. But I need to warn you; it¡¯s not without risk. After all, it¡¯s new farmland, and we¡¯re using captured labor, so the yield might be far less than normal."
"I think that much risk is acceptable," Belgutei replied. "Like every herder raising lambs or kids, nobody knows whether they¡¯ll grow strong or weak."
"Such is life. People under the sky like us can only try our best," Lansius said, quoting an old saying.
Belgutei nodded in agreement. "Wise words, My Khan."
"Furthermore, Uncle Belgu," Lansius paused, collecting his thoughts. "It¡¯s just an idea, but how about using the captured people on your side to build a winter city?"
Belgutei raised an eyebrow in surprise and chuckled. "My Khan, if I didn¡¯t know you better, I¡¯d suspect you were spying on us."
Lansius grinned, and Audrey asked, "Uncle, what made you say that?"
"The beast women who joined the tribes have shared much with their husbands about the importance of having a communal place, especially for winter," he explained passionately to Audrey. "They¡¯ve spoken of winter shelters for the young, hospices for the frail, record-keeping houses, schools, vegetable farms, and, most importantly, a granary."
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who chuckled, clearly pleased. He asked, "Then what do you think of it? Will it work?"
Belgutei nodded to himself thoughtfully and replied, "I¡¯ve pondered it myself, and I think it has merit. And now that my Khan advises it too, I¡¯ll support it wholeheartedly."
"If I may suggest, how about finding a good location between Korelia, Korimor, Three Hills, and Ornietia?" Lansius proposed.
Belgutei stroked his strong-looking chin. "That might work. We know an area with a small river where we used to rest our horses."
"I¡¯ll establish a market post there so it can thrive as a resting place between all four cities," Lansius offered. "This will keep the city populated and allow it to grow year-round, attracting travelers and trade from Korelia, Korimor, Three Hills, and Ornietia."
***
Sir Harold
House Lansius'' champion woke up as usual, despite the presence of a woman sitting on the canvas bed, still looking unsure and awkward. Harold washed his face at the copper basin before turning to Clementine and saying, "Come, wash yourself. And try to make this tent comfortable for you."
Clementine nodded, rising to clean her face with fresh water from the basin. After a moment, she asked, "My apologies, but what should I call you?"
"After the Lord''s approval, you can call me what other wives call their husbands," he replied effortlessly. "Or do you have something else in mind?"
Clementine shook her head, trying to hide her smile and reddened cheeks. It had just dawned on her what she had done last night, and with no goblet of wine to excuse her actions, she had only herself to blame for the boldness of her decision.
Harold gazed at her, amused by her awkwardness as she navigated the consequences of her request. Thinking she might also be worried about her appearance, he said, "Lady, you¡¯ll look fine in any robe or gown. And the radiance on your face needs no touch of makeup to rival the best of spring flowers."
Struck by the sudden and unexpected praise, Clementine took a step back, her reddened face quickly hidden by her hands. "T-that¡¯s too much." She tried to regain her composure but stammered, "Don¡¯t do that so early in the morning."
Amused, Harold chuckled softly. "I¡¯ll be doing my morning rounds. You should stay here. I¡¯ll brief the squire and the guards so you¡¯ll have nothing to worry about."
"Yes, my gratitude," she said, bowing her head slightly. Earlier, before Harold awakened, the squire had entered, his eyes met Clementine''s, and he left without a pip, his reaction as embarrassed as hers.
Noticing that Harold was wearing his arming doublet, Clementine quickly stepped forward to assist him.
"You know about harness and armor?" he asked, surprised by her help.
"Yes, I¡¯ve been taught. The Guild wanted us to be prepared if we ever had to head into war," she explained while adjusting the straps and belt. "Is this comfortable?"
Harold nodded approvingly. "Here." He handed her a sheathed dagger, one of several he had collected.
"What¡¯s it for?" she asked.
"For protection, and also as a symbol of trust." Harold studied her for a moment and saw no regret in her expression. "When I return, it¡¯s best we head straight to the Lord¡¯s tent and request an audience for us."
Clementine bowed her head again as Harold, soon to be her husband, left the tent. Afterward, she glanced around the small space, taking in the modest furnishings. Determined to make herself useful, she began tidying. She cleaned the wool traveling cloak Harold had used as a bedroll and folded it neatly. Next, she hung the gambeson where the sunlight was strongest, near the entrance, to refresh it.
...
Clementine
Sir Harold returned after a while, giving Clementine time to reflect and prepare herself. The squire, who accompanied the knight everywhere, kept himself outside, probably to give them privacy. Harold seemed unbothered by this and quietly enjoyed his small breakfast.
Clementine, meanwhile, had befriended the two guards outside. They managed to bring her a comb along with warm soup and bread. Though too embarrassed to talk much, she found their reactions nothing but supportive. They clearly hadn¡¯t overheard anything last night and didn¡¯t tease her.
Her opinion of the Lowlandian people had improved greatly. Still, she was glad that Sir Harold was a Midlandian. Like many others, she harbored a distrust of men from other provinces. Yet, with a quiet smile, she realized she would have agreed to marry Sir Harold regardless of his origins.
"Sir," the squire outside called, peeking through a slit in the canvas door.
"Yes?"
"The Lord and Lady have finished talking with Belgutei."
"That¡¯s our cue," Harold remarked. Clementine took a deep breath as the moment she had been anticipating finally arrived.
Together, they walked toward the Lord''s command tent, a large ivory-colored structure guarded by men stationed outside. A ring of barricades topped with the dreaded barbed wire encircled it. Some of the guards exuded an unsettlingly threatening aura. Beyond their towering stature and strength, their sharp, perceptive gazes made her uneasy. They had been eyeing her from afar, but their stares softened the moment they acknowledged Sir Harold¡¯s presence.
Yet even here, knights and military officers were waiting for Harold. He spent some time in discussion, making decisions, while Clementine waited several paces away, fearing someone might mistake her for a spy. She observed the comings and goings at the Lord''s command tent, a sign that the Lord was taking audiences.
Harold finally finished, and his staff dispersed to attend to their duties, leaving him with only the squire. He turned toward her, saying, "Come. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"That''s perfectly acceptable," Clementine replied.
Soon, the two arrived at the entrance, the guards not raising so much as an eyebrow. A knowing nod confirmed Harold¡¯s position as one of the Black Lord''s most trusted.
Harold glanced at her, silently asking if she was ready. Clementine nodded firmly, and they stepped inside. Yet nothing could have prepared her for what awaited inside.
While Harold advanced calmly, Clementine dropped to her knees, her hands covering her mouth as she fought to keep her breakfast down. Her wide eyes fixated on the magnificent dance of magic swirling around two figures at the farthest end of the tent.
Her gift of magic allowed her to perceive magic visually, revealing something far greater than she had ever imagined. Harold rushed toward her, his voice urgent, but his words were incomprehensible. She was utterly transfixed, her eyes locked on the mesmerizing beauty before her. She had seen¡ªnot one, but two.
Both figures radiated a magical aura concentrated behind their heads, a luminous sun of pure energy. It had no single color, yet it embodied every hue at once, shining with the brilliance of golden light.
Her breathing grew ragged, and her vision blurred. The sight overwhelmed her senses, pulling her to the brink of fainting. Then, she realized her soul was being drawn toward the aura, moving involuntarily and completely beyond her control.
The Saints have accepted me?
The thought filled her with pure bliss as Harold lifted her into his arms. Shouting and yelling echoed around them, but her senses were too overwhelmed to register it. A half-beast approached, cradling another figure, and together with Harold, they hurried outside.
Clementine glimpsed the blue sky as warm, bright sunlight fell upon her unfocused eyes. The painful rays barely registered; she was still entranced by her experience. Her lips, faintly trembling, curved into a peaceful smile as her limbs went limp, dangling in Harold''s powerful arms.
***
Chapter 170 : Ex Veteri, Novum
Chapter 170
Ex Veteri, Novum
Lowlandia
It was a beautiful spring, with a slight persistent chill lingering in the air and blooming wildflowers in the pastures all over Lowlandia. Hundreds lined the roads to Korelia from the East and the West, many experiencing this journey for the first time. Despite the hardship of crossing the great plains, they were captivated by the convenience of resting places that appeared strategically located at a day''s march, even in the middle of the plains.
Upon arrival, travelers were enveloped in nomadic hospitality, treated like honored guests with offerings of fresh water, warm meals, and lodging¡ªall for a mere three copper coins. This fee included the famed mare wine and enough water for the onward journey. The nomadic family also offered select merchandise; purchases of leather goods, wool, or trinkets often resulted in free additional food provisions for their travels.
The host''s warmth made the travelers feel safe despite coming from different backgrounds. There, they often encountered other groups heading in the opposite direction, messengers, and even cavalry on patrol, which bolstered their sense of security further.
With Korelia now becoming the political seat of Lowlandia, dozens of messengers and their escorts commuted daily into the city. Along with them, official merchants and cargo haulers operated their trade between domains now unified under one leadership. Their meetings with the lord''s men further emboldened these would-be migrants. They learned what Korelia had to offer, what the Lord and Lady had achieved, and their grand plans for the city.
The journey from Three Hills to Korelia typically took fifteen days on foot, though many preferred to extend this to twenty days, taking long rests at scenic resting spots. From the White Lake region, the journey was shorter, with half the route veiled in thick vegetation due to the proximity of White Lake itself, tapering off as they moved further away.
For the migrants seeing the city for the first time, they were immediately greeted by the new city walls, which were still under construction. The presence of the walls instilled a sense of safety and bestowed a grand prestige on the city, rivaling that of Three Hills.
Coming to the powerful-looking eastern gate, each traveler had their details recorded in the gatehouse. They were issued permits and then were free to enter the city. Straight out of the gate, the travelers were welcomed by the sight of a burgeoning city with a vibrant market area. New buildings were everywhere. Rows of shops with freshly painted facades stood under colorful canvas canopies, where traders from every known region hawked their goods.
And then there was the plaza, adorned with colorful mosaic marble and featuring a graceful water fountain at its center. The area around the fountain, surrounded by palm trees, provided a cool shade frequently used by citizens to relax after work. They sat around on carpets, enjoying the melody of folk songs and the dramatic flair of street performers, which included minstrels and even acrobats.
The social gatherings in the plaza gave Korelia its appeal, further enriched by the rich aroma coming from the market district. The city hosted a large variety of foods as merchants who supplied the three lords often had surpluses to sell. Thus, the city offered goods from every region: wheat and wine from Three Hills, fresh fruits and ducks from South Hill, barley, venison, and salted fish from White Lake, and rye and smoked fish from Korimor.
These goods complemented Korelia''s own offerings of salted or fresh meat-based meals. With the ease of obtaining a rich selection of ingredients at affordable prices, the number of food stalls continued to grow. This favorable business environment allowed cooks from as far as Umberland and Nicopola to start their own stalls.
After their supper, travelers often headed to the city¡¯s bathhouse to cleanse and unwind. The migrants who had settled there had fostered a tradition of recommending that newcomers take a refreshing bath before retiring to their lodgings.
While most of the bathhouse facilities would close after sundown due to the costs of illuminating such a large space, the small indoor bath remained open. This cozy haven offered warm water baths at a modest price, becoming a favored spot for late workers, guardsmen, travelers, or anyone who needed to wash up.
For the would-be migrants, this warm bath felt like a cleansing ritual.
"From the old, the new," the bathhouse worker would say to newcomers, encouraging them and wishing them a better life.
For those in need of alcohol, the city boasted an enviable selection. With multiple lords bringing their own suppliers, there was a wide array of drinks available: from the expensive mead made purely from honey mixed with either fruit juice, floral water, or spiced water, to local ales, Three Hills'' wine, and the exotic nomads'' mare wine.
Drinking stalls and taverns sprang up everywhere to cater to Korelia¡¯s burgeoning population, which had soared with the arrival of migrants since last fall. Even early this spring, hundreds more arrived, all seeking a better life under the rule of three lords.
As the last tavern closed and its guests retreated, the night blanketed the city in the middle of the steppe. When the stars gave way to daylight, Korelia awoke to a bustling scene of trade and commerce, offering abundant opportunities for those literate in the languages of trade or construction.
From the eastern banks of the river, the city''s emergence as a manufacturing power was evident. Workshop complexes, waterwheels, blacksmiths billowing smoke, and warehouses occupied dedicated areas. Manufacturing jobs were plentiful, allowing masterless smiths and apprentices to learn as they worked.
The ruling House offered a myriad of opportunities, including for breeders and farmers. The lands of Korelia, a steppe with limited fertile areas only between the hill and the river, were now being transformed. New lines of trees and shrubs were taking root, and fields were grazed by sheep.
After much study, the Lord had decided on four crop rotations, a method previously unknown in Lowlandia. Unlike the traditional three-crop rotation used in Midlandia, this new approach includes two main crops and replaces fallowing with the planting of fodder and grazing crops.
Farmers working on these lands were eager to see the results of this new method. The Lord''s staff had told them that the fodder and grazing crops would help repair and maintain the soil''s fertility more effectively than simply letting the soil rest and allowing wild grass to grow. Hearing this, they were hopeful that the combination would change the barren land to grow wheat or other grains.
The details were as follows:
1. Main Crops: Wheat or rye, cereals that required rich and fertile soil, were planted first.
2. Fodder Crops: After harvesting the main crops, turnips and other root vegetables were planted. These broke up the soil and helped reduce soil compaction from the previous main crop. At the same time, their root structures also helped bind the soil, protecting it from the harsh steppe winds. Additionally, they were effective in reducing weeds and, once harvested, provided a convenient source of livestock feed for the winter.
3. Secondary Crops: Barley or oats followed the fodder crops. These staple grains, more tolerant of poorer soil conditions, helped clean the soil of weeds after the root crops. They also provided sustenance to the population without overly burdening the soil.
4. Grazing Crops: Clover or legumes were planted where the secondary crops had been harvested. These plants rested, maintained, and enriched the soil. They also provided a grazing area for livestock, further ensuring the ability to breed year-round without needing to graze outside, thus allowing premium grazing ground to be dedicated to horse breeding.
This year, the city had begun to welcome horse breeders and traders from all over Lowlandia. With the major Houses and the knights¡ªwho were their primary customers¡ªnow concentrated in Korelia, they had no choice but to follow. The lords'' move had created conditions for the city''s horse market to thrive.
Furthermore, being stationed in Korelia opened new avenues of opportunity. It was known that the lord of the city maintained good relations with the nomadic tribes, and the nomads had pledged to bring a yearly tribute of a hundred horses. Upon their arrival, there would be ample opportunity to purchase high-quality horses and mares for breeding.
Adding to the allure, rumors circulated that the three Lords would hold an annual race and horse contest after the harvest. This event was highly anticipated, as horse racing had long been a favorite entertainment among the lords and people of Lowlandia.
Now, the city, which was once nothing more than a dusty fortified hill on a frontier plagued by wars, was the fastest-growing city in the south of the Imperium. Its citizens and migrants were looking forward to a great year.
***
Lansius
One month had passed since the first meeting. While the three lords were always welcome to visit each other, it was decided that they didn''t need to meet daily, and such meetings didn¡¯t have to be formal. Often, they gathered in the Eastern Mansion¡¯s garden for casual chats or to resolve minor issues.
At other times, they walked near the wall construction site or the new agricultural area to exchange ideas. Thus, meetings in the Great Keep were reserved for important discussions or monthly gatherings.
Each lord managed the affairs of their household and domain via a fast and reliable horse messenger system. This system, pioneered by Lansius with the help of nomadic peoples, made sending mail and small packages both reliable and ultra-fast. Despite great distances, they could send mail in just six days and urgent messages in three through a horse relay system.
Surprisingly, Korelia had also developed a robust trade network. The firewood merchants, utilizing the lord''s established postal route¡ªwhich provided convenient resting spaces, protection, fresh water, and resupply¡ªhad evolved into a significant trade network. Previously, they traded only firewood for bathhouse services, but now they also transported a vast array of commodities to make substantial profits. Thus, the small caravan of several carts had grown to a dozen, ready to meet the demands of the growing city.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Lansius would need every bit of efficiency if he wanted to keep the populace happy and the industrial heart of the city well-oiled. Speaking of oil,
"Reports of naphtha from Calub," Sterling said, offering a missive inside the eastern mansion''s second floor hall, where Lansius managed his domain''s affairs.
Seated behind a large table, Lansius took the missive and glanced at it, noting that Calub had found a supplier all too glad to provide oil to Korelia, despite the hostility in Midlandia. Turning to Sterling, Lansius said, "Next."
"From Sir Gunther," Sterling offered another missive.
Ah, thankfully, just a thank you note for the spring bed mattresses. Mm, he did hint about his worsening condition.
Lansius placed the missive to his right to remind himself to ask Farkas whether the former lord was living comfortably and if he needed special care due to his old wound. While House Gunther was no longer relevant, Lansius felt that people would judge him if he mistreated those who had surrendered to him. "Next," he instructed.
Sterling offered another missive.
Soon there was a pile of items to consider:
- noble area''s reports
- dedicated firemen service
- reports on guild that proposed gambling den
- reports on agriculture projects
- duck breeding progress
- the city library matters
- new letter from Dawn
- correspondence from the Hunter Guild
- reports on workshop expansion
- decisions regarding city wall features
- current treasury valuations and appraisals
- Dame Daniella''s report
- and even paint color choices for the Great Keep.
Lansius stared at them, trying to prioritize his concerns, then remembered Lord Robert. "Sterling, do you have any news about the Lord of White Lake and Francisca?" he asked before he forgot about it.
Instead of answering, Sterling glanced at Audrey, who was seated on a soft couch next to Lansius.
Audrey offered a thin smile. "They exchanged stories, snacked, and traded gifts. Lord Robert seems to treat Francisca as an honored guest," she reassured him.
Lansius nodded but added, "I hope that''s not a mating ritual."
Audrey and Sterling chuckled softly.
"The Lion of Lowlandia isn''t that kind of man. He could have pursued more but chose to marry only once, despite having only a daughter," Audrey replied.
"A good role model," Lansius muttered, earning an approving smile from Audrey. He then turned a concerned gaze toward her. "And what about Sir Harold and Francisca?"
"What about them?" Audrey responded, her smile evolving into a sweet grin. "There''s no innuendo between them, which is only to be expected. Sir Harold is more noble than most; he wouldn¡¯t take advantage of his charge."
"But My Lady, the charge seems enamored," Sterling commented, amused.
Audrey giggled but gave no further comment.
After that brief distraction, Lansius returned to his work, organizing the letters and planning a working schedule. Many tasks required a visit and supervision, as well as decisions. "So many things to look after," he muttered.
"We still have several more just arriving," Sterling added.
Lansius was stunned. "This is not all?"
"Carla is still working with the apothecary to detect poison," his squire reminded him.
"Ah," he murmured. With hostilities from Midlandia, the council had urged him to be extra careful. He was about to sort his priorities when the door swooshed open.
A young man, his personal scribe, entered and greeted him as he caught Lansius'' gaze. "My Lord,"
Lansius exhaled, preparing himself, then asked, "What do you have for me?"
"The crossbow smiths need your attention," the young scribe explained, offering no missive. It was simply a verbal request.
"Sterling, make sure to remind me to visit the crossbow smith," Lansius instructed.
Sterling nodded, and Lansius motioned for the scribe to continue.
"My Lord, word from the market: you have yet to decide on the horse market."
Lansius mulled it over before giving his answer, "The Korelia horse market will be seasonal. It will be available for auction this spring. If anyone wishes to buy horses, they can do so when the tribesmen arrive."
The limited time window was designed to allow the nomads to share in the profits, rather than letting horse traders hoard most of the earnings. By making the market seasonal, everyone would be encouraged to participate, enhancing the opportunity for knights and esquire families to connect directly with the nomads, who were the main producers.
By eliminating the middleman, Lansius hoped to empower his cavalry by providing reasonably priced, high-quality warhorses for their main steeds or spares. Moreover, this limited time window would also simplify the process of ensuring that taxes were paid.
Having settled the matter of the horse market, Lansius asked, "What else do you have?"
"I have reports on the city fountains as you requested, barbed wire production, and also an airship report from Hans," the scribe offered three missives.
He took the papers, glanced over them, found them complicated, and set them aside. He then turned his gaze to the scribe, who seemed eager to say more. "Don''t tell me you have more," Lansius frowned.
"My Lord, just a small request."
"Yours?" Lansius responded as if it were a slight betrayal.
The scribe sheepishly stifled his boyish grin. Audrey and Sterling were also amused, finding it all too funny that Lansius'' guidance was needed for so many things.
Inhaling deeply, Lansius said, "Spit it out."
"Your story about the Trojan War. There are so many requests, even if it''s only for a chapter or two..."
Lansius massaged his nose bridge. He had forgotten about the Trojan War; he barely covered their crossing to Troy. And they loved how Odysseus didn''t want to go there, even to the point of faking insanity, plowing the field, and sowing salt on his farm.
I did too many projects...
Audrey looked at him, quipping, "I''m glad to be pregnant and have none of your work."
Lansius chuckled and retorted, "That was before. Now you''re educated. I shall delegate half of this to you."
"The decision is for the Lord Shogun to make, not his wife," she retorted back, nervously.
Lansius chuckled with a tired voice before saying, "I told you, I''d rather live in the woods and chop wood daily than do this."
Knocking was heard at the door, and Sterling opened it to allow a guard to approach.
The guard in ringmail bowed and reported, "My Lord, the guildsmen have assembled and are ready for you at the Grand Keep."
Lansius turned to Audrey, who replied, "Go on, this can wait."
Placing a weight and a clean sheet of paper on top of the stack of missives, Lansius rose and said to her, "Wish me luck."
After descending the flight of stairs, Lansius stepped out of the mansion. His entourage was ready, but he longed for a moment of respite in the garden, weary from all the work. As he neared the garden, his gaze landed on a stack of wood and an axe embedded in an unfinished log.
Without a particular thought in mind, he approached, suddenly placing his boot firmly on the log. With a swift motion, he grasped the axe handle and pulled it free with ease. His entourage watched with a mix of concern and curiosity but Sterling¡¯s silence reassured everyone.
Feeling the weight of the chopping axe in his hands, Lansius assumed the correct stance, raised the iron overhead, and then drove it downward. The axe sliced through the wood, splitting it cleanly in two with a satisfying crack. He caught Sterling''s eye, who immediately understood what his lord wanted.
"Next," Lansius quipped, his voice steady.
Without a word, Sterling placed another log on the stump. Lansius readied himself again, muscles tensing, and delivered another powerful blow, the axe''s blade biting into the wood with a thud.
The gathered onlookers¡ªservants, guards, and maids¡ªmurmured among themselves, initially surprised at why the Lord was chopping wood, but soon became captivated by his rare display of strength.
They whispered theories about his need to vent frustration¡ªsome speculated it was due to the sheer volume of tasks he faced, while others suggested that with the Lady being pregnant, his frustrations might also be personal, given that he had not taken any concubines. A few jestingly said that he needed to pump himself up before meeting with the guild.
Whatever the reason, Lansius continued to chop, log after log, his strokes rhythmic and forceful. He stopped only after he had reduced a sizable stack to neatly split wood, his brow glistening with sweat. With a final, forceful swing, he planted the axe into the tree stump, then loosened his tunic, revealing pronounced muscles on his arms rippling under his skin.
Turning to his entourage, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion, he announced, "Time to head to the Great Keep."
***
Guildsman Caine
Following last year''s debacle, where a guildsman''s attempt to promote gambling nearly invoked the lord''s wrath, it became clear that leadership among them was necessary. They quickly found a suitable leader in Caine, who not only came from one of the largest guilds in Midlandia and was well-liked and respected by many but also had a good relationship with the Lord of Korelia. Thus, he became the de facto head of the guilds. His primary roles were to organize and cater to their needs, and keep their members in line.
Caine felt they were grossly unprepared to handle the changes ushered in by the Lord of Korelia. Like any guildsman and merchant, he noticed how Korelia¡ªand indeed, all of Lowlandia¡ªhad been gradually transformed following the Lord''s plan for the shogunate last summer. Now, the shogunate encompassed five regions along with several allies. Moreover, as the new political center of Lowlandia, Korelia had become a hub of activity, attracting a steady stream of messengers, guests, visitors, merchants, and talent seeking opportunities.
Just recently, many were thrilled to learn from the gatehouse records that more than five hundred people had traveled to the city to stay. For guildsmen like them, a larger market meant more money to be made. Furthermore, it was solid proof that Lowlandians were comfortable and had put their trust in the Lord of Korelia¡¯s rule.
In such a short time, they witnessed the transformation of Korelia from a remote, unwanted town into the most promising city in Lowlandia.
Now, the guildsmen waited in the vast hall of the Great Keep, chatting as they awaited the lords'' arrival. They had not yet greeted Lord Lansius since the spring festival, and for many, this was their first business meeting of the year.
There were activities, and soon the herald took the stage: "May I present to you the Lord Shogun of Korelia, Lord of White Lake, and Lord of Three Hills."
The guildsmen all bowed their heads as the three lords entered. The Great Keep now featured an elevated wooden platform, lacquered to a high gloss, where the lords would sit on their designated chairs.
Lord Robert and Lord Jorge took their places to Lord Lansius'' right and left, respectively. Lansius'' seat, however, was elevated a step above the others. Each lord had a small table before him, and from the audience''s perspective, the arrangement resembled a courtroom. Even Caine felt a slight nervousness.
To many observers, it was evident that this was not the Lord of Korelia they had known last year. Though Lansius still donned his comfortable blue tunic, the air around him had changed. His influence and prestige had expanded across nearly all of Lowlandia. It was clear that his growing power was bound to attract more lords, drawn by the myriad of benefits of aligning with him.
Caine, who looked like an experienced clerk with neatly combed hair and a sharp nose, along with his fellow guildsmen, began their greetings and soon dived into the South Trade proposal. Only after a session of questions did the Lord motion with his hand to stop the inquiries.
"My dear guildsmen," Lord Lansius began, causing everyone to focus on him. "Based on your enthusiasm, I think there''s some miscommunication."
Caine and his fellow guildsmen exchanged glances.
Lord Lansius continued, "I''m telling you about the South Trade because I don''t want to offend you. I would rather you know it from me than from other sources. However, the caravan that''ll pass through Korelia will have exclusivity rights."
"Exclusivity?" Caine blurted out, surprise painting his face.
"Correct," the Lord said as he gazed at him. "It means you are gravely mistaken to think that you can trade with them. Their goods are sealed to be traded only in Navalnia, and from Navalnia to the archipelago beyond it."
Colors drained from the guildsmen''s faces. They had been dreaming of astronomical sales and fat profits all last summer, yet it was all just a silly misunderstanding on their part.
"They will be under my protection, but I merely collect toll payments, escorts, and supplies as needed," the Lord continued.
Even Caine paled. The South Trade was the biggest trade opportunity he had ever faced in his lifetime, offering a direct route from the furthest reach of the Imperium into the neighboring kingdom to the south. Previously impossible due to warring lords, this route had now materialized, yet they would be barred from it.
At the urging of his friends, he asked, "My Lord, could we explore any avenues for trade with them at all?"
"Unlikely," Lord Lansius muttered, leaning back in his chair and gazing at his two lordly allies. "We only care about the tax," he quipped dismissively, eliciting chuckles from the two lords.
All the guildsmen present felt their stomachs churn. Even though it was hypothetical, the potential loss of profit¡ªpassing right under their noses¡ªwas too heartbreaking.
"Unless you want to become an active part of this venture," the Lord muttered, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.
While many of his fellow guildsmen turned hopeful, Caine swallowed hard. He knew that they had fallen into the Lord''s trap, and he too would come willingly; the lure of profit and progress he could provide was too great to resist.
***
Chapter 171 : A Company of Men
Chapter 171
A Company of Men
Caine
As the discussion between the lord and the guildsmen continued, Caine, the mason guild representative, grew weary. Several times he had resorted to wiping the sweat from his forehead, though he was merely standing and listening in a cool, well-ventilated hall. The mental effort of processing the Lord''s offer proved quite taxing.
The other guildsmen fared similarly. The drinks offered to them barely cooled their heads or helped them continue. From their reactions, Caine could see they were wondering whether they were dealing with a merchant, a war general, or something else entirely.
For a long time, Caine had questioned whether the Lord of Korelia was one of them, a profit-seeker. Previously, many had suspected his brilliance originated from one of his advisors, like the late Sir Callahan, Sir Michael, or even the shrewd Sir Omin. But now, he no longer felt the need to find an answer. It was clear that beneath the veneer of a warm and empathetic noble in times of peace and a cold-blooded warlord in conflict, lay a shrewd mercenary.
The Lord had proposed they "become an active part of this venture," which meant for the guilds to join the southern trade with their own caravans.
On the surface, it made perfect sense: Join the South Trade and you can conduct business as suppliers or providers of inns. Nothing sketchy about that.
However, his instincts warned him that it was as good as gambling against a weighted die. A deeper look revealed that the exclusivity meant each participant had to dig deep into their pockets to join. Moreover, it was tied to the caravan, meaning any guild that stopped participating the following year would be barred from trading. Thus, each year, the commitment would need to be renewed.
In essence, it was a limited membership. The Lord of Korelia was asking them all to pay for a permit to enter his exclusive trade network.
Suddenly, Caine realized that the Lord was treating the southern trade as if it were a guild.
A guild for guilds...?
A bead of sweat trickled down to Caine¡¯s chin.
It was clear that Lord Lansius spoke their mercantile language. He had awed them with his Lowlandia peace initiatives, massive city-building efforts, grain trade, airships, and even new mattresses. Now, he had charmed them with his vision of a grand southern trade.
In the face of the Imperium''s crisis, this route served as a lifeline in gold, reconnecting the westernmost reach of the Imperium to the easternmost Navalnia Empire via a more direct route. Leveraging their profit-oriented motives, Lord Lansius had effectively divided the guilds.
While smaller guilds could not afford to set up a long-distance trade caravan, the larger guilds with cash to burn would leap at the opportunity. This arrangement undermined Caine¡¯s chance to negotiate, knowing that his informal group was an unreliable partnership; it was there to protect their interests, not to prevent one from gaining an advantage. Moreover, there was the looming fear of missing out.
Thus, like a coiled snake, the Lord''s fat proposal had ensnared them. There was no escape. Even if half of the guildsmen understood, they would still willingly walk into the trap. The potential profits from the South Trade were too lucrative to dismiss.
In fact, Caine himself began to doubt whether it was justified to label it a trap.
"A shared profit is still a profit," the Lord suddenly said, answering a guild representative''s question as if reading Caine¡¯s mind.
Caine was humbled by those words, but his instincts screamed to keep his guard up.
Is there another catch? If so, where?
He looked inward with slight panic as he searched his mind about the proposal, knowing well that it would be best to find the issue and ask for clarification now in front of the other guildsmen.
"Well, I think I have said everything," the Lord suddenly declared, and Caine felt a jolt that made him stand ramrod straight. He was about to step forward when the Lord of Three Hills cleared his throat.
This prompted Lord Lansius to turn toward the speaker, who was seated to his left on a slightly lower platform. "Yes, Lord Jorge?"
"Lord Shogun, may I?" Lord Jorge inquired, his voice dripping with affluent charm.
"Be my guest," the Lord of the city replied with ease and pleasure.
"Gentlemen," Lord Jorge addressed the hall, "I believe this announcement will surprise no one. The shogunate has established the Lowlandia Office of Works, and thus every question and dealing will go through them. Think of it as a separate body designed to ensure our new institution runs efficiently. Furthermore, I believe it''s only prudent for us to keep our dealings and contracts clearly documented."
Noble houses forming guild to protect their interests?
It was unprecedented. Caine had been informed about the transition from the Korelia Mason Guild to the Office of Works but had felt it was just another extension of the city''s function. However, he now understood what it was really about.
The southern trade was a guise. At its heart, it was a venture and should be properly named: the South Trade Company.
***
Lansius
In under four days, the guilds came to terms, and many signed their contracts. A few small guilds, in a stroke of genius, merged to form a larger one in a desperate attempt to secure a share of the lucrative trade.
Lansius employed his talents to draft an ironclad contract designed to minimize loopholes. He also aimed to empower the Office of Works and appoint the Shogunate as the arbiter of disputes. Although not quite a neutral party, this arrangement was more equitable than anything previously available in the Imperium.
With so many dealings and fine details to consider, Lansius included seemingly insignificant points, such as requiring the guilds that signed to respect inventions made by the Office of Works.
Another clause stipulated that they could participate and be granted a license to produce a limited quantity, but production had to remain in Korelia for twenty years to protect the Office of Works'' interest and trade secret.
It was also stated that anyone breaking this law would face the full might of the Shogunate, whether via diplomacy, economy, or military.
This might seem like a lot of effort, after all, Lansius could simply rely on a total monopoly to continue making substantial profits. However, he understood that when demand far exceeded supply, it was likely to invite crime, as had happened with the smuggling of silkworms and tea trees from the Middle Kingdom.
Similarly, if Lansius maintained a monopoly on spring beds, eventually someone would replicate the technology, causing Korelia to lose significant opportunities. He preferred to allow them a piece of the pie and remain content as the industry leader.
As the last of the guilds signed the contract, Lansius ramped up barbed wire production. This new fencing would give the majority of his citizens a fighting chance.
Out in the wilderness of the Great Plains, packs of wolves, wild dogs, and even elusive carnivorous cats claimed this land as their territory. Previously, it required skilled riders armed with weapons to keep livestock alive as they grazed increasingly far from town.
Every year, a shepherd with 100 sheep could lose two dozen sheep, if not more, to predators. With more than three thousand souls leading a pastoral life, a yearly loss of more than 20% was a life-and-death situation. This was without accounting for attacks on humans and farm personnel. Each year, there were dozens of recorded cases of deaths from carnivores and tens of reports of crippling injuries.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Now, barbed wire would pave the way to even the odds against these apex predators.
In the hands of shepherds, barbed wire was a weapon. And Lansius was arming them to the brim.
***
Korelia
The presence of Lord Robert and Lord Jorge in the city was still sensational news. Nobody would have thought this arrangement possible, and the presence of three powerhouses in Korelia had an immediate effect.
The city had received a steady stream of craftsmen, smiths, and talents from all over Lowlandia, lining up for opportunities. Now, there were more people buying land permits and building their houses. Rows of shops and houses were emerging here and there, based on the latest city layout approved by the nascent Office of Works.
This growth was further fueled by the local populace who had disposable income, many of whom had joined the Lord''s war effort, either in defense work or as soldiers. The influx of campaign money was sufficient to stimulate the surrounding economy. Additionally, many residents earned wages by working in various workshops or profited from selling goods to the reigning House.
Another effect came from the two noble houses, which required a great deal of supplies for their retainers, making the Korelian merchants very happy. Luxury goods that nobody in Korelia ever bothered with were now in great demand.
Carpenters and furniture shops that had just finished their orders for the bathhouse were now working full-time to meet the orders from the two lords. Clothing shops also received significant orders, as the lords couldn¡¯t bring their entire wardrobes and needed extras. Artisans found plenty of work, as both houses required plates, bowls, jars, wooden bathtubs, and a myriad of other items.
This economic boost extended further when the two lords, despite having their retinues secure temporary accommodations, purchased properties in Korelia for temporary residences. Neither wanted to be outdone by the other.
The lord of the city appeared to adopt an open policy and rarely intervened in his counterparts'' dealings. However, hidden from the public eye, Lord Lansius had established specific guidelines to ensure peace and maintain honorable conduct.
One rule was particularly noteworthy: the lords should not hold important celebrations or send invitations on the same day, and especially not at the same time, to ensure that all their retinues and other lords could attend without sensing any rivalry.
Such rules were necessary as Lord Lansius, more than ever, wanted them to live in peace and prevent potential conflicts from flaring up. These rules also extended to the nobles'' residences.
Under the pretense of preventing rivalry and maintaining dignity and peace, he instructed that the main building be a one-story construction with high ceilings and a large roof for good ventilation, surrounded by gardens. The main hall could be connected, separated, or integrated into the main building as the occupant wished.
As protection, the complex was surrounded by high, white-washed walls with two-story watchtowers at each corner. Both the walls and the towers were regulated not to exceed a two-story house height and needed to be decorated with tiled roofs on top to not make them look like bastions. He underlined that the house needed to look like a place to live in, not a defensive structure.
As much as possible, the design should conceal or soften its defensive capabilities with woodwork or stonework.
The lord of the city also dictated that the house be filled with lush gardens and ponds that also benefited cooling. He allowed the compound to have multiple buildings as necessary but encouraged them not to overbuild as it would add a significant risk of fire.
With these guidelines in place, the two lords were busy managing the construction of their new residences.
Lord Jorge in particular had abandoned his plan to claim the land up north, where he used to camp after the war. Now that Korelia had built a city wall and a dedicated noble district, the young viscount realized it would be more beneficial to accept the offer and put less strain on his house¡¯s still depleted coffers.
Due to his late start, Lord Jorge was still working on the foundation but expected the main residence building and surrounding residential wall to be completed within the year. The rest of the complex, including the guardhouse, horse stable, armory, and lavishly decorated main building, would be completed in the following years.
Meanwhile, Lord Robert got an early start. He had tasked Sir Michael and Astrid to select a prime spot in the noble district. Their residence''s foundation had been completed last fall, allowing them to anticipate the completion of the main residence by late summer, with plans to expand its adjacent wings next year as needed.
Moreover, the old viscount excelled in leadership and had less of a penchant for decoration. Thus, he expected his gardens and banquet hall to be ready around harvest time. True to his style, Lord Robert drove the masons and carpenters with military fervor and an abundance of spirits. However, his unyielding stamina did not match his planning, which plagued the worksite with mistakes, setbacks, and repeated fixes.
Amid their busy schedule, these two lords also needed to care for their families'' demands. Noblemen or not, keeping their families content was essential for this arrangement to work. Fortunately, Lord Lansius had provided some assistance.
The lavish gift of a new mattress and the city tour was still the talk of many. But for them, what was more exceptional was the modest-looking carriage that they had been using for the city tour.
The carriage was more comfortable than any they had ever experienced. Even nobles like them were accustomed to jarring rides, so a comfortable ride came as a shock. Only riding on a palfrey horse was better, but riding a horse under the sun was exhausting.
Impressed by the ride, Lord Jorge and Robert quickly placed an order for such carriages. As a token of goodwill, Lord Lansius, through the Office of Works, decided to simply upgrade the lords'' existing carriages, as building from scratch would require a lot of time. Hearing about this, now every wealthy family in Lowlandia began to pay attention.
Soon another waiting list emerged, giving Korelia''s growing Office of Works a robust foundation to expand their manufacturing capabilities before the start of the southern trade. Around this time, the guild began to recruit every talent it could find locally. News quickly spread, and since then, it was common for well-educated esquires to exchange their swords for a quill.
For the most part, the integration of another two noble houses along with Sir Omin and Sir Gunther, the former Lord of South Hill, proceeded smoothly.
Aside from construction efforts, the two lords spent their days managing their affairs back home, which had yet to fully adapt to their move. Sometimes they decided to bring in more officials to support their functions; other times, they delegated more duties to their governors. They were also responsible for training a small contingent of guards, men-at-arms, and cavalrymen as reserves for the shogunate.
After the two Houses had familiarized themselves with the new military standards and practices, the Lord planned to send the majority of this reserve, no more than two hundred, to Korimor. This would alleviate Korelia¡¯s food burden and provide a stronger garrison for the city closest to Midlandia.
Some rumors came from Lord Robert''s arrangement to have his wife stay in the Eastern Mansion with their daughter, Lady Astrid, who was pregnant.
The old viscount was known to have a close relationship with the popular Francisca, thus fueling rumors about them having a romance. Instead of dispelling the rumors, Lord Robert was only too happy to let them spread, as it would bolster his claim of regaining his virility.
Meanwhile, externally, Lord Jorge faced no issues that sparked rumors. However, internally, he was plagued by problems in his domain. While Sir Arius was capable as a governor, his cousin still needed reliable support. With the memory of last year''s coup still fresh, Lord Jorge was considering whether to send Sir Morton home.
Unnoticed by all as they dealt with their various concerns, the first month of spring had quietly come to a close.
***
Ingrid
The educator felt her hand while she fed power into the earring, which lazily absorbed it. Unlike older dwarven artifacts that usually nibble aggressively at power or have their own temperaments and feeding issues, this one was rather dormant.
Ingrid understood that its laziness wasn''t due to its mood but because it was entirely different.
"When I take care of dwarven gemstones, they usually nibble at my power aggressively," Ingrid explained to Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey in their comfortable private hall in the Eastern Mansion. "Some are a bit picky and have their own eating habits, but they all have that almost sentient-like personality. However, this gemstone," she held it up for the Lord and Lady to see, "doesn''t have that sentient feeling."
"Then what is it?" the lady asked, resting on her soft couch after her mage training.
"It''s a replica of a dwarven object," Ingrid replied.
"Replica?" the lord''s eyes widened.
"Indeed. It''s a craft that even the Mage Guild did not possess, yet clearly, there were people in history skilled enough to create such items."
"Could it be that the Grand Progenitors are the ones who made it?" Lady Audrey asked.
"To my understanding, every Grand Progenitor had an innate understanding of magic and runes, even more than the elves. I doubt a Grand Progenitor with thousands of years of experience would make such an inferior product," Ingrid responded.
"Especially when they are half-dwarves themselves," Lord Lansius added.
"Exactly, My Lord," said Ingrid approvingly.
Nodding while relaxing in her seat, the Lady asked, "Well, what does the artifact do?"
"Francisca told me that the famed Old Man Kae in Umberland used this to send pictures from one earring user to another. The half-beast tribes used it for hunting for several generations before it stopped functioning."
The Lord was piqued, leaning forward, he asked, "It can send pictures?"
"Yes, pictures or colors," Ingrid clarified.
"May I see it? How do they do it?" the Lord asked, and Ingrid readily offered the gold-encrusted gemstone.
Smiling, the Centuria-born mage explained, "It''s an earring. I believe you only need to wear it, My Lord."
At the Lord''s side, the Lady quipped with the same reaction, "Obviously you can''t wear it unless we pierce your ear first. Should we?"
The Lord chuckled and took his time to examine and admire the earring before handing it to the Lady, who turned to Ingrid, asking, "May I try it?"
"Yes, it''s safe; I''ve tried it before," Ingrid reassured her.
The Lady removed her earring and put on the new one.
"When My Lady uses it, it will activate but won''t do anything," Ingrid explained.
"Yes, I can feel it trying to do something," the Lady confirmed.
The Lord suddenly rose, his voice filled with unexpected excitement. "Come, we need to go somewhere."
"Eh, why?" Even the Lady was perplexed by his sudden urgency.
"I''ll explain later," he promised, his eyes alight with an unspoken plan.
"Where are we going? Do we need to bring Ingrid?" the Lady inquired, rising with Ingrid''s aid.
"Yes, bring Ingrid, and don''t forget Francisca," the Lord instructed as he led the way. The three hurried out to the waiting carriage, with their entourage scrambling to keep up. The Lord''s instruction to the coachman was simple: "To the new workshop complex."
***
Chapter 172 : A Distant Reply
Chapter 172
A Distant Reply
Lansius
Riding in a carriage that had undergone further improvements, Lansius took Audrey, Ingrid, and Francisca to the workshop complex near the river that divides Korelia into west and east. In addition to experimenting with the magic earring, this trip also served to invite Audrey out, providing a change of scenery from her confinement in the Eastern Mansion. Now that her pregnancy was stable enough, her physician and the old nanny had given their approval.
Despite seeing her every day, Lansius remained captivated by Audrey''s growing bump. Noticing his fascination, Audrey caressed it, prompting Lansius to also gently touch it, much to the delight of the other two passengers, Ingrid and Francisca.
The carriage wasn¡¯t spacious, so Ingrid ended up covered in some of Francisca¡¯s fur, though she didn¡¯t seem to mind at all.
"This is a really smooth ride. What did you do to it?" Audrey asked, clearly impressed.
"We''re trying adding rubber and corkwood as dampeners to the metal springs," Lansius explained casually.
Audrey nodded, while Ingrid and Francisca looked intrigued.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted as they neared the workshop complex. Guards stationed at the entrance readily motioned for approaching carriages and carts to slow down. The area was loosely cordoned off by wooden fences, providing some measure of security. Nearby, the newly formed second fire nightwatch brigade, the Fire Wardens, was stationed, further bolstering the area''s security.
As their carriage approached, the guardsmen recognized Sterling seated next to the coachman and promptly waved them through.
"Ingrid, do you mind telling Sterling we''re going to the wire warehouse?" Lansius asked.
Ingrid turned and opened the speak-through panel, knocking on it twice. Sterling, hearing the signal, leaned back slightly to face the panel. "Yes, maester Ingrid?"
"My Lord said we''re heading to the wire warehouse," Ingrid directed crisply.
The carriage then promptly veered right, heading towards a cluster of warehouses strategically spaced apart to mitigate fire risks. As they pulled up in front of one particular warehouse, the sudden stop drew curious looks from carpenters and masons working on an adjacent building.
"What are we doing here?" Audrey''s tone filled with curiosity.
"Just a small experiment," Lansius reassured her with a smile.
Francisca jumped down first to secure the area, her presence stirring a buzz among the nearby workers. With Sterling and the half-breed, it was clear to everyone that the Lord was likely in the carriage. The three guards stationed nearby approached and snapped to attention for an inspection.
"At ease," Sterling commanded them with casual authority.
Lansius then emerged from the carriage, reaching back to carefully assist Audrey as she descended. Her presence, highlighted by her noticeable baby bump, immediately captivated the workers who lined up, their faces showing surprise and admiration.
"My Lord, My Lady," they greeted almost in unison. A woman from the warehouse staff stepped forward, speaking on behalf of the group, "Blessed be the child in your womb. May you always be in good health."
Audrey smiled warmly at them. "Everyone," Lansius addressed the warehouse workers, carpenters, and guards, "gratitude for your hard work."
Pleased murmurs filled the air as the group moved toward the warehouse, led by Lansius and Audrey, with Ingrid close behind, and Sterling and Francisca guiding the way.
The warehouse, constructed with local stone on the first floor and topped with a timber roof, was typical for Korelia where stone was abundant and quality timber was scarce.
As they walked, Lansius turned to the warehouse staff and asked, "We have thick copper wire, right?"
"Yes, My Lord, we''ve kept it as you ordered," the staff answered.
"Bring them to me," Lansius instructed, stopping in a spot well-lit by a large window.
As the staff jogged off, Audrey and Ingrid looked around. It was their first time here, and they were amazed by the rows of uniform wooden shelves of similar build and height that lined the walls. Each was meticulously labeled with a logo for efficient storage. There were two portable stairs made of light wood to easily and safely access the higher shelves.
The shelves were stacked with metal bars, pipes of different sizes, rolls of metal wires, and a massive quantity of barbed wire, all coated with thick, greasy tallow to prevent rust. Hays were scattered here and there, used to absorb moisture.
"What are those?" Audrey pointed at the multiple stacks of crates, some sealed with clay, others with ropes and a tar-like substance.
"They''re for bolts," Lansius replied. "Each crate can hold six hundred normal-sized bolts."
"Why are they blackened like that?"
"They''re sealed to ensure they remain sharp and in good condition," Lansius explained. "There are also crates for crossbows and spare strings."
Audrey raised her brow. "I didn''t know sealing could help preserve things."
Lansius smiled at her curiosity. "In some villages, they store freshly harvested fruit in clay and dry it. It can last until the next harvest."
Hearing this, Francisca looked at the crates with interest.
Audrey noticed and turned to Lansius, addressing him formally, "My Lord. Francisca has planted several native plants in her garden. Perhaps she''s interested in the crates. Would it be possible to spare her one?"
"Native plants?" Lansius was intrigued, muttering, "That reminds me of the plants the Lord of Dawn gave us."
"She''s been tending them too with the gardener''s help. She has a knack for gardening¡ªused to grow her own yams back home," Audrey explained. Hearing this, Francisca approached and knelt, listening intently as they discussed her.
"Interesting," Lansius remarked thoughtfully. "I can spare a crate or two, but Francisca, let me inspect them first. It''s best if we handle the sealing here since it needs skilled hands."
"I''ll bring them over as soon as they''re ripe," Francisca responded, her tail wagging with enthusiasm.
Lansius returned his gaze to the stacks of crates ready to be delivered to the Eastern Mansion, the Castle, and the Grand Keep. Sometimes he wondered if this was overkill. A thousand bolts cost him three gold coins, and now he had over a hundred thousand bolts.
It was an impressive amount of bolts, but still barely enough for five hundred of his crossbowmen, who, with an average firing rate of three bolts per minute, could expend it all in just one hour of fighting.
300 gold coins, the entire income for a small barony, for an hour''s worth of ammunition. War is indeed costly...
While he knew the realistic number would likely cover several hours, as battles were rarely fought at a continuously high intensity, Lansius was accustomed to planning based on the worst-case scenario.
The warehouse staff returned, accompanied by another worker who carried two rolls of reddish-gold wire as thick as a quill pen.
Lansius examined them briefly and then announced, "Let''s go outside and call for some help."
Audrey followed him without question, flanked by Sterling and Francisca, with the warehouse staff and a worker trailing behind.
Lansius glanced at her. "You might want an umbrella."
"That''s unnecessary," Audrey replied, but Ingrid had already unfurled a lavishly decorated canvas umbrella she had carried from the mansion.
"Let me hold it for you," Francisca snatched it from Ingrid.
"Hey, I can manage," the mage protested mildly to the half-breed.
"No, no, you carried Margo¡¯s bag for drinks; don''t be greedy trying to do two tasks at once," Francisca quipped back, and the two stifled their chuckles.
As the group stepped outside, the sun was high in the sky. Turning to Sterling, Lansius said, "Find a nimble worker to put that wire on top of that building and hold it there. We¡¯re going to test something."
Sterling did as instructed; he went with the warehouse staff and solicited help from workers at the unfinished building. It required some coordination, prompting Lansius, Audrey, and Ingrid to retreat into the carriage. Francisca climbed to the seat next to the coachman in front, momentarily unsettling the two horses, but she calmly continued to cover everyone with the umbrella.
Soon after, Sterling returned with a strand of copper wire in hand. "They¡¯ve put it on the rooftop," he reported.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Did it take two rolls?" Lansius inquired through the half-opened carriage door.
"Almost, but there is some leftover," Sterling reported back.
"Good. Were the connections done neatly?"
"Exactly like the ones in the barbed wire," Sterling confirmed.
"Excellent." Lansius paused, giving Audrey a brief look before addressing Sterling again. "Could you spare us a moment?"
Understanding the request, Sterling nodded. "I''ll take the coachman for a drink then," he said, accepting the two copper coins Lansius offered for the beverages. Knowing his way around the complex, he headed towards the kitchen and rest area.
Lansius then turned to Audrey, handing her the copper wire. "What should I do with this?" she asked, surprised.
"Hold it and then try the earring again," Lansius explained.
Audrey and Ingrid exchanged glances. The educator nodded, and Audrey grabbed the reddish-gold wire and closed her eyes.
"What do you feel?" Ingrid whispered after a moment.
"Something... I''m not sure," she frowned.
After a while with no progress, Lansius suggested, "Let''s try touching the wire to the earring."
Lansius and Ingrid helped with the wire. Lansius fashioned it into a spiral so it would be blunt and flat, ensuring it wouldn¡¯t graze Audrey¡¯s ear if they slipped.
Audrey leaned closer, and once she was comfortable, she closed her eyes again to focus.
"Well?" Lansius prompted.
Audrey opened her eyes but shook her head.
Lansius chuckled, a light sigh escaping him. "Well, it was worth a try."
Ingrid looked at him curiously. "My lord, where did you get such an idea? Does copper enhance magic?"
"Just a feeling," Lansius reasoned, unable to explain radio waves, electromagnetism, or antennas.
They ended up testing it on Ingrid and Francisca, but they too had no luck.
"Maybe the other earring is without magic?" Audrey suggested.
Ingrid shook her head. "No, this kind of thing usually shares potency. It''s a similar concept to a mage and their source. It isn''t affected by distance or space."
"Probably my cousin''s wife doesn''t wear it," Francisca offered an explanation.
"Perhaps," Ingrid agreed, preferring a simpler explanation.
Lansius nodded, saying, "Francisca, can you write a letter to your cousin? We''ll send a fast rider to Umberland to inform them."
"Of course, I shall make a letter," the half-breed replied firmly.
With that, Lansius called off the experiment, instructing the worker to roll up the copper wire. He decided not to put them back into storage, thinking to try it again at their mansion later.
...
After their little experiment, the group headed toward the market area. The carriage stopped several times as Sterling and Ingrid, also disguised, bought various food items from stalls that caught the Lady''s eye. Her appetite had grown considerably, with strong cravings, especially for fruits and smoked fish.
While they paused, they watched children playing cheerfully under a cluster of palm trees in the new plaza. The children ran freely over the colorful mosaic marble, their clean linen fluttering in the wind, as their mothers filled their jugs with clean water. The city had recently unveiled its first working water fountain, from which clean water flowed from a metal spout shaped like a mythical duck.
Since its inauguration by the city''s officials, the fountain had become central to the daily lives of the Korelians, providing fresh water for drinking, cooking, and washing, as well as a venue for resting and socializing.
The fountain¡¯s base, made of stone, featured a basin with elaborate carvings and a column depicting Ancients, elves, dwarves, and grand progenitors. The figures of the Lord and Lady, serving as the patrons, were prominently displayed, wearing ceremonial raiments with their coat of arms chiseled into the stone.
Sitting next to him, Audrey leaned on Lansius and whispered, "Lans, what you did will be remembered for a long time."
Lansius smiled. "To see children playing freely like that, instead of protecting sheep from wolves with a wooden cane..."
"They''ll be forever grateful," Audrey added, grasping his hand tightly. The two continued to observe the plaza.
Furnished with palm trees and elaborate marble mosaics from the local quarry, the fountain came at a considerable cost. However, it represented more than just a facility.
Lansius held the view that well-maintained and accessible public facilities, such as fountains, comfortable community spaces, and accessible libraries, enhance the quality of life for residents. They promote community engagement and foster a sense of ownership and civic pride among the inhabitants.
He would need this civic pride and good popular support if his experiment with the Shogunate were to succeed. In line with this, the construction of two other fountains was currently underway, with completion expected just in time for summer.
The fountains were powered by a water wheel that pumped water from the river into a three-story-high reservoir. From there, gravity facilitated the delivery of water via large and sturdy stone pipes underground into the fountains.
Lansius found similarities with how the Romans built their aqueducts and fountains. They used stone and clay pipes, especially after learning that lead pipes caused some cases of poisoning. While in this world lead pipes were also the go-to choice, due to their malleability and cost, Lansius had opted for more costly bronze pipes.
He didn''t want to risk his populace with lead poisoning. Moreover, bronze was only used in bends or specific places, so it wasn''t all that expensive.
The excess water from the fountain was used to irrigate the selection of native trees planted by the city and affluent families at the Lord¡¯s suggestion. These growing greens provide more shade, trap moisture, and cool down the city. Additionally, this excess water supports the city''s nascent waste system by flushing wastewater through the system and sending it outside the city into the recently dug moat.
Lansius then realized that Audrey hadn''t made a sound, so he turned to her and found her asleep, leaning on the corner of the carriage. She looked so peaceful.
Maybe pregnancy made her sleepy...
No, wait, she''s always been like this since we met.
Lansius'' lips formed a smile, recalling how he often saw her sleeping during any lull, just like when they were wintering in Ceresia. It was a valuable trait in the military, where resting time in battle was at a premium. This was also probably the reason she could handle night watches with ease.
She looked so comfortable, so Lansius refrained from doing anything, afraid of waking her up.
Francisca, who shared the carriage, looked at him with approval, then returned her gaze outside, not wanting to intrude on her masters'' privacy.
Lansius did the same and observed Korelia, which had transformed into a thriving city. The plaza, fountain, and trees again caught his eye. As he admired the simple yet powerful facility, his thoughts naturally drifted to the pipes and pumps. He recalled another reason why he had chosen bronze pipes: to provide his smiths with valuable experience in handling bronze¡ªfrom alloy creation with tin, to mold making, casting, cooling, and finishing; there were many processes to learn and master.
Since last winter, Lansius had been planning to build large furnaces and a foundry, but he was uncertain whether medieval trade could supply and sustain enough raw materials to make it feasible.
This thought spurred Lansius to observe the sky. As per his instructions, the airship had been methodically surveying the area around Korelia, guided by the city''s old records and nomads'' stories about unique geological sites that had piqued their curiosity. The crew was searching for resources that might have been overlooked, which provided valuable experience, including for a new pilot trainee.
He mused that it was also a good use of the airframe. Since most of them were made from organic materials, Lansius did not expect it to last five years before a complete refit was needed, thus he felt the need to get his money''s worth.
As he thought about the airship, his lips smirked. He was thinking about the new pilot in training. The candidate was simply unexpected.
Through the glass window, Lansius saw Ingrid and Sterling emerge from the market crowd near the plaza. They appeared successful in their errands and were heading back to the carriage, purchases in hand. They were still a hundred paces away when Audrey woke up. She blinked slowly and turned to Lansius, who smiled at her.
She inhaled deeply but slightly blushed, excusing herself, "Suddenly, sleep came to me so strongly." The squire in her was still very much alive.
"We''re in Korelia. You can have all the sleep in the world," Lansius reassured her. Then he added, "Are you feeling tired?"
"I''m quite refreshed now," she replied reassuringly.
"Care to visit another place before returning?"
"Lead the way," Audrey replied with a wide smile.
***
Lansius
Not giving up easily, Lansius planned another experiment. He had ordered Sterling to take a horse to the warehouse to fetch more rolls of wire. He knew they only had one copper wire left, but iron ones were available as well.
Lansius, along with the rest of the group, headed toward the eastern wall where the airship hangar was located.
Fortunately, the airship wasn''t scheduled to survey the land that day, so after some formalities, Hans quickly prepared it for a short flight.
As they waited in the crew''s quarters adjacent to the maintenance warehouse, Lansius overheard Audrey asking the staff, "How''s the new pilot in training?"
The crew glanced at each other and grinned. "Interesting," one replied.
"Charming," said another.
Lansius didn''t join the conversation; instead, he climbed the section of the wall still under construction. More than just supervising, he wanted to see the airship from a higher vantage point. As he walked with a guard, the rhythmic chiseling of masons and the sight of workers installing stones filled the air, their efforts supported by a man-powered treadwheel crane that hoisted materials upward.
Navigating crude scaffolding and rough stone slabs, he marveled at the ingenuity of the carpenters and craftsmen who had erected not only the walls but also the connected hangar.
They had built up several meters, fortifying the inside of the structure with rammed earth on Lansius'' orders to ensure the wall was thicker and sturdier. Reaching the construction''s highest point, Lansius was suddenly drawn to a commotion from outside.
He saw troops outside the city wall in training. There he heard a familiar voice¡ªit was Sir Harold''s, who cried out, "If we can''t make you smarter, then we''ll make you harder."
It was a chilling cry as the knight and the best of his vanguard rushed into the fully armored columns of recruits. Sir Harold''s small column methodically battered the larger column. The gap in skill and experience really showed.
"Sir Harold always believes that nothing beats real-time experience in warfare," the guard commented from the side.
Lansius chuckled. "Let''s just hope they don''t overwhelm the infirmary with bone fractures."
After more sightseeing from above, Lansius returned to ground level where he found Sterling and Hans had made the necessary preparations.
After some final measurements and discussions about safe procedures in case something went awry, Hans took off with the copper wire, now fashioned like an antenna strapped to the airship gondola.
Slowly, Hans kept the airship''s ascent as vertical as possible. Roll after roll of copper and then iron wires were used. With some colored flags, the crew signaled Hans to stop, and he did his best to maintain altitude.
"Give it more slack; we don''t want it to strain," Lansius ordered.
Then, when it was ready, Ingrid, covered by an umbrella held by Francisca, slipped in. She was the one wearing the earring since there was some risk involved from the wire snapping. For this experiment, Audrey had to contend with watching from the safety of the crew''s quarters.
"Give it a try," Lansius whispered, looking left and right to ensure that no one was watching.
Since they were near the wall and far from populated areas, not many were watching them. The wire was thin and almost translucent from afar, so it did not attract much attention on the ground.
Ingrid closed her eyes to focus.
Lansius was about to ask a question, but she turned to him, her eyes wide.
"I have someone on the other end," Ingrid exclaimed. Lansius couldn''t believe the experiment was working. The copper wire extending into the sky was not magical, but simply a really crude yet tall antenna.
So, it had some basis in electromagnetism.
"Imagine the color red and send that to them. It''s for: I found something," Francisca suggested excitedly.
Ingrid''s shoulders shivered and her smile blossomed. "They sent colors to me, I see red."
Francisca giggled, pleased. "Let''s send him a picture," she turned and found a scenic field in the eastern agriculture projects. "Send them that."
Ingrid glanced at Lansius, who nodded. It was just a farm and from that distance, it was merely a scenic beauty, nothing he needed to conceal. He then tried to come up with a way to mark the wire; if this was working, he might have to build a tower and would need the exact height, hoping it wouldn''t be too high.
After a while, Ingrid had another excited reaction. "They sent a picture. It''s vast farms with flowers stretching everywhere..." Her face turned troubled, she looked at Francisca, who asked, "Terraced farm?"
Ingrid shook her head, worry painted across her face.
"There are no vast farms in Umberland," Francisca said, her earlier excitement lost as she turned guarded.
"I don''t see mountains or forest," Ingrid added, suspicion was on her face.
It was clear that they had contacted someone, but not the one they expected. Someone who still possessed an old relic like this and kept it working. Now, the decision was in Lansius'' hands.
***
Chapter 173 : Beneath the Throne
Chapter 173
Beneath the Throne
Lansius
Beneath the shade of the umbrella, Lansius pondered an answer while Ingrid and Francisca waited. Above them, Hans took a slow, tight turn to maintain altitude and keep the wire from snapping.
"We better end this," Lansius said to the two, who looked at him sharply. "Call me paranoid, but we might be contacting an unknown, powerful party, and we might get discovered."
Ingrid and Francisca exchanged glances. "I think it''s a good approach, My Lord. I don''t even know who could possess something like this," Ingrid agreed.
Lansius turned to Francisca. "Do you have a color to say goodbye?"
"Wood color," said Francisca. "It''s for night, to sleep well."
"Why not black?" Ingrid asked.
"Because you can''t imagine black in your head. The color of the void is black, or so the scripture says," Francisca explained.
Lansius nodded. "Do it, send the color, and then let''s end this now before we make a mistake and reveal ourselves."
Ingrid nodded and closed her eyes. It took a moment before her shoulders relaxed; turning to the other two, she said, "The other party also sent wood brown."
Lansius breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "Let''s move away from the wire. Francisca, can you get the crew to mark the wire and then have them bring Hans down?"
Francisca moved rapidly, leaving the umbrella with Ingrid. Together with Lansius, the educator walked toward the crew quarters where Audrey was waiting. "My Lord, are we going to abandon this experiment?" Ingrid asked.
"No, this is too valuable," Lansius revealed. "We need to learn who they are, and for that, we need to find a way to communicate with them."
Ingrid''s eyes wandered as she muttered, "It is unfortunate that it is only limited to colors and images."
"Can it send an image of letters?" Lansius asked.
"I think it''s not possible, My Lord," she said in an apologetic tone. "It''s hazy and dream-like as if seen through a thick veil."
"I''ll think of something," Lansius replied, already considering a way forward.
Ahead, the crew used flags to signal Hans to bring the majestic airship down, while Audrey stood by, eager to hear what they had achieved.
...
The recorded length of the wire was around 12 ceremonial spears'' lengths or about 24 meters. Lansius felt he could get by with less, so he built a shorter wooden tower with a long pole in case more height was needed. He constructed it in the Eastern Mansion as the experiment involved magic and he wanted it to be concealed.
Externally, it appeared to be just a very tall watchtower, which also served a purpose as it enabled them to see much of the city, even beyond the city walls.
While construction was underway by his select men, who by this time had grown akin to an engineers'' corps, Lansius was trying to come up with a solution to communicate. He had discussed with Francisca, but she could only confirm what Ingrid had already told her: The earrings were simply limited, perhaps because they were only an imitation of the original.
The range and also the function was likely limited. However, at least now he knew that there were six colors that he could use: Red, Green, Blue, Yellow, Wood Brown, and Silver White.
With that combination, he had an idea to write a basic code. It was essentially Morse code but with a combination of colors. He designed it so most letters corresponded with two colors to make it efficient as the earring couldn''t use sound and, from what he had gathered, the visual signal was significantly slower.
After one day, he came up with:
A = Red, Green
B = Red, Blue
C = Red, Yellow
D = Red, Silver
E = Red, Wood
F = Green, Blue
G = Green, Yellow
H = Green, Silver
I = Green, Wood
And so on with Blue, Yellow, Silver, and Wood.
Now, in his private hall, Lansius presented his idea to Audrey, Ingrid, and Francisca. "Can you understand it?" he asked, laying the parchment on the table for them to see.
"Using colors to make letters," Audrey commented. "But wouldn¡¯t it be complicated to communicate even a simple greeting?"
"Yes, it''ll take time even to ask a simple question, but it¡¯s better than groping in the dark," Lansius replied.
"This might work in concept," Ingrid said thoughtfully after studying the list. "But how do we send this alphabet list to them?"
"We''ll have to use large, clear lettering," Lansius suggested, placing a blank sheet of parchment on the table. "How many letters do you think we can fit on one sheet while still making them legible enough to be sent?"
Ingrid pondered momentarily before responding, "I think we can manage three large letters with their corresponding colors listed underneath."
"Well, if there''s no other way..." Lansius pushed the ink and quill pen he had prepared beforehand across to Ingrid. Seated across from the Lord, Ingrid began to write the first parchment with A, B, and C. Beneath each letter, she noted Red, Green; Red, Blue; and Red, Yellow.
"Do you think the other side will understand this?" Audrey asked.
"Hopefully... but if they don''t, then I don''t feel that much threat from them," Lansius explained with a smile.
"Indeed," Ingrid muttered in agreement. "If they can''t understand this, then they''re probably not much of an issue." Turning to Francisca, she asked, "How about you? Why are you keeping quiet?"
Francisca crossed her arms and tilted her head a little. "Mm, I understand the idea, but it''s such a hassle. If they don''t try, then they might just be another half-breed tribe," she said dismissively.
"Does your tribe know any mage in Umberland?" Ingrid asked, looking doubtful.
"Mm..." Francisca pondered. "Good point," she admitted, then giggled innocently.
Lansius and Audrey smiled at her carefree attitude. Lansius turned to the window, observing the wooden palisade that had been used for last year''s defense now being repurposed for the tower''s construction. As the city walls started to take shape, the need to repurpose every piece of hardwood and timber became vital, especially since Korelia had only a limited amount of precious land.
While the trade route to Umberland and Three Hills had been opened, with plenty of firewood and timber expected to arrive in summer, the price for good quality timber was likely to still fetch a premium until the building boom ended in several years.
Turning back to the trio, Lansius said, "Then we''ll reconvene when the tower is completed."
"It should be quick. Then, My Lord and Lady, I''ll take my leave," Francisca said, nodding her head slightly before heading out.
"Where are you going?"
"To help them, obviously," she replied, gazing outside to the base of the tower where men were working with a smirk.
Indeed, as Lansius had witnessed before, half-breeds like her could climb building easily. They also seemed able to survive jumping down from two to three stories high without even flinching.
After Francisca had left, Audrey asked Ingrid, "Who do you think we are dealing with? Could it be the mage guild?"
"Possible but quite unlikely," Ingrid responded with a tone of doubt. "I know about such earrings from the books, but not even the mage guild had one to be studied."
Audrey turned to Lansius, who gave a reassuring nod. "There¡¯s always a risk, but at least they know nothing about us except for an image of a farmland. I hope we can keep it that way until we learn more about them."
Ingrid added, "I think it''s prudent to direct our suspicion toward the Hunter Guild, one of the two lords here, or one of the guilds operating right under our nose."
"Not likely," Lansius stated. "The fact that they knew about the color red and wood brown means they are familiar with Umberland''s legends."
"Lord Robert?" Audrey raised her brow.
"No, I already asked Francisca about it," Ingrid reassured her.
"Then not the two lords," Lansius muttered. He gazed again at the window, now seeing Francisca leaping up with building materials on her left shoulder and landing nimbly on the unfinished platform.
"Let''s just stop worrying about this," Lansius said to the two. "We''ll find out soon enough."
Despite saying that, Lansius harbored an uncomfortable feeling. If he was contacting potential enemies, then he would be giving away something akin to Morse code to hostile hands. He felt a chill down his spine but realized that the path of progress is never without risk.
***
Chateau D''Aguilar
The smell of sulfur was thick in the air, and the greenish water of the natural hot spring bubbled nearby. Bengrieve sat in a separate bath of brick and stone, fed by a mixture of water from the hot spring and a stream that poured down from the ruined chateau above them.
The long peace in Midlandia had made the knightly House that owned the chateau neglect its upkeep, preferring the comfort of a more hospitable manor nestled next to a bustling village.
For Bengrieve, the steaming waters of the bath were as addicting as they were rejuvenating, a rare luxury after his campaign in Elandia.
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Sir Stan approached, his figure stark against the misty backdrop. He was naked except for a necklace, rings, and a sheathed sword. He made his way toward Bengrieve, who lounged chest-deep in the green waters.
"Ah, you''ve come. Care to join?" Bengrieve asked, dressed merely in his undergarments. The gemstones on his necklaces glistened while his rings were completely submerged.
With just a sigh and a grunt, Sir Stan joined Bengrieve in the pool.
Sir Stan moaned from the hot bath. "I must admit, this is extraordinary," he said afterward.
Bengrieve smirked but did not comment.
Several minutes passed in peace, until Sir Stan asked, "Cousin, how can you enjoy this while Cascasonne is besieged?"
"Don¡¯t ruin the mood," Bengrieve warned.
Sir Stan sighed and changed the topic. "When are we leaving?"
"Soon, I''m just waiting for the messengers."
The baronet glanced. "I doubt the local nobles will entertain us. At best, they¡¯ll just feign illness."
"We''ll see about that," Bengrieve answered, keeping his secrets close to his chest.
"How do you even plan to win Cascasonne and secure Midlandia now?" Sir Stan muttered, his shoulder muscle tensed. "I thought you were going to lead the entire army home."
"What can I say, I''m a greedy bastard," Bengrieve said with a wry smile. "I want Elandia as well as Midlandia. And I can''t secure Elandia without the army."
Sir Stan gazed at Bengrieve sharply, his voice turning vicious, "And how do you suppose we''ll win without an army? Groveling and begging for help?"
Bengrieve opened his mouth but merely yawned.
The baronet''s veins in his forehead bulged. "Do you know just how few are protecting Cascasonne? I''m sure you do with your outstanding memory, so tell me, how do you think those one hundred guards will fare against ten thousand?"
"They can also rely on one hundred trained staff and another fifty of¡ª"
"Gardeners, stable boys, and cook¡¯s assistants?" Sir Stan snapped. "That''s insane!"
Bengrieve turned and gave him a disapproving look.
"I... I apologize for my outburst," Sir Stan said, exhaling deeply.
Bengrieve¡¯s face looked smug momentarily before saying, "Since you¡¯re such a worrywart, let me tell you something." He looked directly into Stan¡¯s eyes. "Cascasonne will not fall. Not that easily."
Sir Stan could only nod under Bengrieve''s intense gaze. "Even against assault towers?"
"Yes, it''s within my calculations."
"But how...?" Sir Stan¡¯s eyes wandered, searching for an answer or hint.
"You weren¡¯t with me all the time, cousin," Bengrieve chuckled. "But even when you were with me, the preparation was always ongoing."
...
The next morning, a column of Bengrieve''s small cavalry rode toward a noble''s manor near the border. Scouts in light armor rapidly came and went, a reminder that Midlandia was no longer friendly territory for them.
"I''ve been here twice," Sir Stan commented atop his horse, wearing plate armor painted bright red.
"I''ve known them since I was little. They''re friendly and helpful people," Bengrieve answered, his gaze fixed on the surrounding landscape, covered in beautiful rolling grass and colorful wildflowers.
"I''m surprised they agreed to meet you, given the situation," Sir Stan commented, more to kill time than expecting a truthful answer.
"Because the message is fit for purpose," Bengrieve explained.
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them that even if I''ve lost Midlandia, I''m still the de facto Lord of South Elandia. And that I still have an army and support to take half of Midlandia," Bengrieve explained, ever so indifferently.
"That is quite a powerful message," Sir Stan praised.
Unconcerned, the deposed Seneschal continued, "I also told them that even if I fail, I can still funnel those marauding Nicopolans from Elandia into their land. So they can either open their doors to me, or to thousands of armed looters and cannibals."
"What a frightening choice," Sir Stan chuckled nervously, drawing the attention of nearby riders momentarily.
"Indeed. But what I said just outlines all the things they already knew. They knew it was true, but it was buried under piles of unnecessary information."
Stan nodded seriously in understanding.
Gazing at him, Bengrieve said, "I don''t need to persuade anyone. I only need to remind them just how much of a bigger threat I am, despite everything that has happened."
"Still, they won''t support you fully," Sir Stan warned.
"That''s unnecessary. I''m not actively seeking their support. I only want their tolerance and cooperation," Bengrieve said ominously.
Sir Stan smirked and whispered, "How about the Lord of Korelia''s support?"
Bengrieve squinted his eyes and jumped to a conclusion. "What did the Champion of the Lowlandians do? A victory against poverty?" he mocked.
"Don''t be so dramatic," Sir Stan teased. "Actually, I just learned that he responded harshly to Reginald''s offer."
"And what kind of offer that was?"
"Half of your realm, or so I heard," Sir Stan said with a wide grin.
"And he said no to that?" Bengrieve chuckled and then burst into laughter, prompting his men to look at him. The sound of his laughter reassured them that things were going well.
"Wonderful..." Bengrieve muttered, pleased. "So, the impudent and ungrateful bastard who took my prize actually has a working brain. Perhaps I underestimated his intellect."
"Oh, you did, several times already," Sir Stan quipped.
Bengrieve snorted dismissively but still maintained a happy demeanor. "If he proves to be loyal, then perhaps he can join me in the grand plan." He was soon distracted by a pair of birds flying carefreely across the meadows. But it only amused him further, "Yes, perhaps they could be redeemed?"
Sir Stan was piqued. "Redeemed?"
However, Bengrieve refused to clarify, merely stating, "This whole mess has fortunately borne some unexpected ripe fruit."
To him, another layer of this crisis was just a test to see who was loyal to his House. For he had no fear of losing Cascasonne; winning or losing didn''t matter to him. In his calculative mind, he was already working to secure the last step of his victory.
With an expectant gleam in his eyes, he asked, "Tell me, what response did the Lord of Korelia give to Reginald¡¯s messenger?"
***
Tiberia, Imperial Capital
The hall was immense and ornately decorated, soaring so high that two three-story buildings could be comfortably stacked beneath its intricately painted ceiling. Frescoes and gilded motifs adorned every surface, casting the legends of old in vibrant hues. The air, kept fresh by a lattice of Grand Gemstones hidden from view, carried a subtle, invigorating scent. Ingeniously placed light gemstones bathed the hall in celestial lights, creating the illusion that the ceiling itself had parted to reveal the skies.
Beneath this celestial canopy, rays of light danced upon the central gardens, which lay at the very heart of the hall, directly below the throne¡¯s imposing dais. Here, a magnificent golden tree stood as the garden¡¯s crowning jewel, its branches heavy with the largest gemstones, each encased in shimmering silver that caught and refracted the light. Surrounding the tree, a serene stream meandered, its bed a mosaic of lapis lazuli and aquamarine, sparkling like stars scattered across a clear night sky.
The First Emperor had envisioned the hall as a lesson in humility: the lavish gemstones that adorned every corner were meant to demonstrate that the wealth of the world was mere vanity, just ornamental stones without true value. Yet, centuries after the Third Emperor vanished, this once hallowed hall had descended into a den of corruption.
The garden, once a beacon of moral and philosophical ideals, was now tarnished by greed. Nearly all the original gemstones had been clandestinely replaced with counterfeits of tinted glass. This betrayal was not lost on the ministers who convened their weekly council amidst these corrupted splendors. To them, the dilapidated state of the garden served as a powerful reminder of the unchecked power they wielded; in the absence of effective oversight, the Imperium was effectively theirs to command.
"O Great Sages," a minister called out from the floor, addressing the seniors who reclined behind lavish curtains that afforded them the luxury to lounge, dine, or rest at their leisure. Though they bore the esteemed title of Sages, they were formally recognized as ministers in this grand assembly.
There was no immediate response, only thick smoke wafting from behind the curtains. The air was heavy with incense, designed to mask the scent of the substances they smoked from ivory and other exotic pipes. These substances soothed their nerves and delivered immediate pleasure, warding off boredom at the cost of yellowing teeth and the risk of gum rot if indulged carelessly.
"Proceed," a weary voice eventually called out from behind one of the curtains, its tone tired and disinterested. They had been there since the first light, a tradition established by the First Emperor. Their discussions had ranged from food shortages and famine to the persistently grim situations in the western and eastern regions, none of which had improved since the last winter.
"O Great Sages, the northern rebel has sent a letter," the standing minister, assuming the role of the speaker, declared.
A hundred pairs of eyes shifted toward him. Though their gazes were laden with questions, the minister could only offer silent glances left and right.
"What does he want?" inquired a senior minister, his voice emerging from beyond his rich, red draperies.
"A proposal," the speaker began, his voice steadying as he prepared to delve deeper.
"A proposal from Gottfried?" interjected another minister, his tone filled with mockery.
"Why hasn''t this bald rebel leader died yet?" a new voice from the right row suddenly asked.
"One would''ve thought that his bald head makes a good target for our assassins," one added, followed by a chorus of laughter from his row.
"How many have we sent?" another asked, his voice seemingly old and frail.
"O Great Sages, we have dispatched six," the speaker answered.
"The Hunter Guild isn''t as competent as they claimed to be," one from the right row commented firmly.
The old and frail voice coughed before suggesting to his peers, "The weather is clear and the roads are open. We should urge the Hunter''s Guild to send another, under threat of utter destruction should they continue to fail us."
A high-pitched chuckle from the right corner drew everyone''s attention. It emanated from the prime spot nearest to the platform where the Emperor''s throne resided¡ªa spot reserved exclusively for the highest minister, the Emperor''s Hand, formally known as the Minister of the Right.
Silence ensued until the Minister of the Right continued, "Maybe we should send our assassins?"
"If the elder suggested it, we have no say," a minister from his row replied.
"A word," said the Minister of the Left, one of his only equals in this hall, capturing everyone''s attention.
"Yes?" responded the Minister of the Right.
"The reason we use the Hunter''s Guild is merely to dissuade him. We don''t want him to die," the leader of the left ministry argued.
"And why is that? It''s been so long I don''t remember," from the tone it was clear that the Minister of the Right was jesting.
Nevertheless, the leader of the left replied lightly, "If he dies, it''ll be hard to control the northerners."
"Ah, I remember," the Minister of the Right feigned enthusiasm. "We wanted to bribe him to pacify the north."
"Yes, many in the capital, even among us, still count House Gottfried as allies," the leader of the left declared, playing the game.
"Then should a persecution be scheduled, given that this great pacifier of the north is now ramming at our doorstep?"
There was a lull, and none dared to interrupt the two until it became clear that nothing more was to be said. Then, someone from the right row suggested dramatically, "We shouldn''t show leniency to the rebel or his associates. He raised his sword against the Imperium, even nearly breached the Capital¡¯s outer defenses. Moreover, he has declared himself the king of the north. This is treason!"
Another was quick to add, "Only capital punishment awaits. Let him be brought to justice to be drawn, hanged, and quartered."
"Treason, rebel... Those are such charged words," his left row counterpart replied. "He''s still useful to govern the north. Let the unruly govern themselves. We don''t need the north. It''s only there because of the High Noble''s hunger for conquest and blind prestige."
"Nobody can eat prestige," the leader of the left added, garnering chuckles from both rows. In truth, they cared little about the nobles'' domains since they derived no direct profit from them. Long gone was the era when ministers viewed the Imperium as a unified entity; now it was merely a question of who controlled whom.
"Perhaps we should hear what the letter says first?" suggested one. There was no objection, so he addressed the speaker, "What does he want?"
"He wants peace," the speaker replied, his smile betraying amusement.
Mocking laughter slowly filled the hall. They understood the stark contrast between a truce and peace ¡ª that Gottfried asking for peace meant he was admitting his mistakes.
One from the left row suggested, "Then we should demand his sons along with heavy concessions, including Arvena and Inglesia."
"And what is our plan with Inglesia and Arvena?" someone from the opposite row asked, his voice filled with excitement.
The chamber erupted in chuckles. No answer was necessary¡ªthey wouldn''t return the territories; they would be divided into small parcels for hundreds to own.
"So, what has he offered?" another from the right row inquired.
The speaker walked toward a curtained area and reported, "It''s a fifty-one-page deal."
Many were a mix of emotions¡ªsurprised and confused. "Why so long?" one asked curiously.
"He''s trying to confuse and trap us with details," the old and frail minister warned.
The high-pitched chuckle echoed again from the top right row. "It''s likely because he''s frightened now. His last assault was a gambit that failed to yield any gains."
"Debacle turned into victory," the Minister of the Left commented.
"Indeed. Our own failed attack by the nobles actually baited Gottfried into attacking deeply and exhausting his resources. What a fortunate series of events," the Minister of the Right praised themselves.
"Winter, in one sweeping blow, dashed all his efforts to nothing," the speaker declared, pleased with the poetic justice of his words. "The capital''s walls remain untouched, and the garrison has yet to bleed. No wonder he now seeks peace."
Murmurs of agreement came from the dozens of ministers standing on the floor.
The Minister of the Right spoke up, "Let''s assign our brightest ministers to scrutinize every detail. I expect a thorough discussion the next time we convene. Let''s safeguard the independence from the High Nobles that we have fought so hard to achieve."
The hall echoed with agreement, and with that, the council meeting was adjourned. Like the last hundred, they had failed to reach any effective decision. No policy changes were made concerning the imminent food shortage, there were no firm stances on uncontrolled migrations, no decisions regarding the military¡¯s request for emergency funds to address the crises in their borders, and certainly no responses to the public outcry against crimes, corruption, and injustice.
What they had done was merely initiate a series of studies and fact-finding missions, which continued until the results affirmed their belief that no changes were necessary¡ªand that the fault lay in the populace¡¯s weak-mindedness, pettiness, and rampant laziness.
The ministers were driven by nothing more than a desire to maintain their grip on power, appointing the numerous sons they had sired to positions of influence while indulging in opiates and reveling in the wealth they had accumulated.
Among them, one group sweated profusely. For a long time, they had been gathering the courage to speak up, but past censure had nearly cost them everything¡ªtheir fathers, mothers, uncles, and wives had berated them for daring to voice harsh truths. Thus, even as a crisis loomed, they found themselves paralyzed, unable to warn of the report they had received: a large contingent of disgruntled citizens, weary of the Imperium''s heavy taxation and emboldened by rumors of the Ageless One''s death, along with the absence of the high nobles, was marching toward the capital.
***
Chapter 174 : Final Days
Chapter 174
Final Days
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
There was no creaking noise as the owner opened the intricately decorated wooden door that led to the back garden. Upon entering, the delicate sensory gem activated gemstone-powered bronze fans in the ceiling, which expelled hot air and drew cooler air from underground stone vents.
Three men dressed in old-fashioned ceremonial white tunics and red togas entered. The last man quietly closed the door behind him and followed the other two through well-lit corridors, courtesy of a large panoramic glass ceiling that extended to the garden at the back of the mansion. The soft gurgle of water, channeled through bronze plumbing, filled the air¡ªa soothing sound that would drown out their voices and any unwelcome ears.
They sat close on the low stone benches as the host passed around a jug of liquor, a precaution against the servants who might be spying for the ministry. They smeared their lips with wine and shared cheap jokes, their laughter carefully measured¡ªloud enough to seem genuine, but not so hearty as to arouse suspicion.
Contrary to rationality, the members of the Imperium¡¯s ministerial council, known as the Sages¡ªsupposedly wise and benevolent¡ªlived lives of debauchery.
This abnormality stemmed from a fanciful interpretation of the Ageless One''s teachings about celebrating peace. The truth didn''t matter, as those in power used it to discern friends from foes. Thus, since the dawn of the last century, officials who didn''t partake were viewed with suspicion and could face censure.
With each generation, the situation only deteriorated further. Hard work and critical thinking were seen as creating disharmony or even being regarded as disruptive to the Imperium Court and, therefore, punishable.
Offenders were encouraged to partake in "Imperium Peace" which meant living a life of indulgence¡ªtrying intoxicants, taking multiple wives, accepting lavish gifts, and embarking on obscene building projects. Those who refused faced censure, loss of rights, family shame, and numerous social terrors designed to enforce compliance. In this elite society, the nail that stuck out was hammered down, and dissent was drowned in wine.
A minister who couldn¡¯t afford a grand estate, with its requisite lush sprawling gardens and opulent halls, was deemed a failure, bringing shame to his peers and risking his position. Conversely, a minister able to host lavish feasts, displaying his wealth and generosity, would see his influence and reputation soar.
In such a corrupt and decadent state, few good ministers lasted long. Everyone, except those at the very top, was under constant scrutiny. Even within the walls of their own estates, every move was watched by households loyal to opulence.
These three ministers, however, maintained a facade of corruption while keeping their moral compasses intact. They collaborated with a handful of like-minded individuals. Like the generations before them, they tried to steer the Imperium out of trouble, but with each passing generation, they found themselves increasingly powerless.
In the previous century, there were only 32 ministers. Now, the number had swelled to over 100, most of whom were new members with little credibility, appointed merely to accommodate the sons of powerful ministers. These additional ministers effectively silenced any dissenting voices in the Imperium Court.
"Don''t blame yourself. You did the right thing," the host said to the young minister, who forced a chuckle despite the sadness on his face.
"You shouldn''t let your family suffer," the second minister, a clean-shaven gentleman, added, pouring more wine for the young man. "Neither the left nor the right ministers will listen. They''re too absorbed in their games. Let them discover the truth on their own and spare us the risk."
"But their agents are incompetent," the young man objected.
"Not incompetent," the host shook his head. "They simply know what to report and what not to report. It''s a structure that rewards those who tell the master only what he wants to hear."
"Then is the Capital finished? Should we just sit and do nothing?"
The host stroked his graying beard. "Even without informing the top, their captains of the guard have taken some measures. I saw contingents hurriedly leaving for the west, likely in an attempt to quell the masses."
The gentleman offered his advice, "You''re young. You should escape. Tell the ministry you wish to explore the women of the South and bribe them well. They''ll probably believe it."
The young minister nodded, his eyes moist. "But what about you two, good sirs?"
"My wife was the one who reported us for censure. I have no other family. I''m prepared for a violent end," the host replied.
The young man turned to the gentleman, waiting for his response. The man sighed deeply and said, "As you know, my son died young. He saw one of our peers smoking black poppy milk and tried it. He became addicted. My family and I were no better. I have no more worth; let the fire consume me."
Suddenly, they heard the door open and quickly pretended to tell jokes, sharing a laugh.
But it was one of their own, who shouted merrily, "I brought edelweiss mead!"
"Splendid! Come, join us," the three said loudly, eagerly tapping the stone bench and table.
The man, in his early thirties, sat down. Unlike the three of them, he was genuinely cheerful, a trait that seemed inherent from birth. He was content with tinkering with his gemstones and cared little for the Imperial Court, so much so that he rarely joined the Court at all. Surprisingly, those in power left him alone as long as he partook in ceremonial events and occasionally held parties at his estate.
"So, Paulos, why did you come? And what is the reason for this precious edelweiss mead?" the host asked as he brought more goblets for the mead.
Paulos uncorked the thick glass bottle and poured the mead, rich with a floral aroma, for everyone as he replied, "I''ve had a great breakthrough! I just established contact with the old Capital."
The other three were stunned. "Really?"
"But how?" the host asked. "The western nomads'' incursion has been so deep and ever since we pulled most of our men to counter Gottfried, we''ve been unable to even send messages to Centuria."
Paulos smiled with reddened cheeks, proud of his achievement. "Indeed, my vigilance in keeping watch has borne fruit." He pulled a clip-on earring from his unpierced earlobe that was connected via a hair-thin wire to his inner pocket and showed it to them.
"It¡¯s the dwarven ear artifact," the young minister recognized.
"It¡¯s not a dwarven original but a close copy. I''ve been improving it and playing with it with my wife to send messages as I work. Then one day, I heard someone else contacting me."
The three ministers were piqued and did not interrupt.
"They''re clearly using an old model. It can only show colors and images. And you know what that implies?" Paulos grinned.
The three exchanged glances between them but shook their heads.
"Well, I think outside of what we''ve got in the Capital, there are only several left of that model in existence, and they''re in Centuria at the Old Capital''s vault!"
Nodding, the gentleman asked, "What exactly did you communicate with them?"
"They sent me a picture of farms and as a courtesy, I sent them a picture of the farm at the back of my workshop just outside the city wall," Paulos replied happily.
"Oh, wonderful," the host said, nodding amusedly. "Yes, they''ll need a lot of farms. We''re in crisis, and even if we somehow manage to create a safe corridor for supplies, we''re unable to send them any." Those words put the three in a foul mood, and then one by one, they drank the expensive mead.
"But that''s not all," Paulos declared, gathering his friends'' attention once more. "The man who contacted me is super smart. He made a series of colors and letters to make communication possible using only colors."
"Who do you think that person is?" the host asked the gentleman, who stroked his chin but shook his head, replying, "All my friends in Centuria have been dead. I''m not sure who''s in charge of the old vaults now."
The host turned to Paulos again. "So you''re saying, you can use this ear device to communicate with them?"
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"Yes, using color code," Paulos reminded the host, not wanting him to miss the good part.
"Right..." The host scratched his head and then, turning serious, asked, "So, what information do they give? Are they asking about reinforcements?"
"Not really... They seemed to have problems with their device. Whenever I asked about something they were unable to reply and just resorted to sending wood brown color."
"Wood brown color?" the host squinted his eyes.
"Yes, that''s the code the Hero Kaen used¡ª"
"Oh, I''m familiar with that story," the younger minister exclaimed. "It¡¯s for saying goodnight." The two then went into a recollection of stories and shared a laugh.
The host and his older friend looked at them with fondness, hoping the Imperium would somehow survive to let these two talents thrive. Then, the host''s eyes widened. "Paulos," he called out.
"Yes?" Paulos turned to face him.
"Tell me, do you ever wish to visit the south, like Elandia? There are a lot of old Imperium fortresses there."
"Imperium fortress?" Paulos muttered, intrigued, while the two other ministers began to suspect a plan was forming.
"Yes, I read it in the old records. They should have a good collection of Dwarven artifacts. I heard there''s even a sealed vault somewhere," the host replied.
"Ooh," Paulos exclaimed, getting excited. He knew that a sealed vault was an Imperium armory, dedicated in case there was another Beastmen war.
The host continued, "Legend has it that it was filled with ancient weapons, armor, and Dwarven artifacts. Since we''re currently facing a crisis, it might be prudent to catalog them and see if they''re of any use today."
Paulos'' eyes filled with admiration. "How do you know all this?"
"I''m not the August One''s Record Keeper for nothing," the host smirked. "I have old records from the era of the 1st Emperor. I¡¯ll give them to you so you don¡¯t search blindly."
"I really want to, but I''ve never been outside the Capital," Paulos said without hesitation.
"There''s a first time for everything," the host chuckled. "The road to Elandia is clear right now, so you should start your trip before the spring rains arrive. And bring your family with you; it¡¯s going to be a beautiful trip."
Paulos looked ecstatic but suddenly frowned. "But what about the Court?"
"Ah, that¡¯s easy," the host dismissed the issue. "I¡¯ll arrange it so that you''re going on an official trip. That way, you¡¯ll even get some money for the travel costs. Now, what are you waiting for? Tell your family to pack; you don¡¯t want to get trapped in the rain and mud."
After sharing another merry round of drinks, Paulos quickly left, his footsteps light.
"What is this plan of yours?" the young minister whispered. "Is the story of the Imperial vault even true? I''ve never heard of them before."
The host''s eyes wandered as he answered, "They are true, but even in my predecessor''s time, they had become ruins. The wood had rotted, the iron rusted, and the stone vault itself crumbled after the great Elandia earthquake."
Turning to the young minister with a grim face and voice, he advised, "You should go with Paulos. Tomorrow, I¡¯m going to give all my savings to you and Paulos. Bribe your way and live there in peace, build a happy family, and support whatever kingdom arises from the ashes of the Imperium."
The young minister was deeply moved and could only drink his mead to stave off tears.
"You''re a good chap with a bright mind. Also good with a sword. You''ll do well in life," the host tried to comfort him.
Meanwhile, the gentleman took a deep breath. "I like the idea, but Elandia is now under Bengrieve. Do we even trust him? Also, I doubt it''s that easy to obtain a permit for one, let alone two."
"No, I don''t trust that man," the host admitted, playing with his graying beard. "But he''s better than waiting to die in the Capital. As for permits, the top ministers aren¡¯t paying attention to the young ministers with little influence. And so far, the young in our group has never caused a scene."
The gentleman nodded and drank his ale loudly before slamming his silver goblet down on the stone table. "If only I had money to give. Alas, as an addict, I doubt I even have enough to pay for my own funeral."
The host and the young minister chuckled. At this point, they had grown accustomed to laughing at dark humor.
"You shouldn¡¯t feel bad. Even without the gold, Paulos alone is enough," the host said to the young minister. "Keeping him safe will be your mission for life."
The other two looked unsure.
Noticing their expression, the host clarified, "He¡¯s probably one of the few who know about Dwarven artifacts, capable enough to repair them, and even make copies of them. For the good of the people, we must not let such talent die."
...
Four days later, as Paulos and the young minister busied themselves packing for the long journey and arranging the necessary escort, the top ministers had finally given their answer.
"They said what?" the gentleman asked the host as the two reconvened in the garden.
"They told me to supervise Paulos and also to take whoever I want to help me with the task," the host still couldn''t believe what he had heard, but the stamped royal decree for four persons in his hand was real. "Possibly they hate my guts so much for petitioning so many things through their channels that they want me gone from the Capital."
The gentleman laughed hard, tears streaming down his eyes. "What a stroke of luck. Then, who will you bring? I can suggest¡ª"
"You, it must be you," the host remarked firmly. "Old friend, we¡¯re going together on this."
"I¡ªI¡¯m flattered, but I''m an addict," he said with a sharp sigh. "Without a regular dose of black poppy milk, the withdrawal is too painful."
"You can do it. You¡¯re the most hardy person I know," the host tried to persuade him.
"That was before I started smoking. Now, my body has waned greatly along with my intellect. Promise me you¡¯ll take someone else more worthy," he said, then drank his wine to erase the bitterness.
"Old friend, there''s time before my departure tomorrow morning. Let me know if you reconsider."
"No, you should depart now." He rose, patted the host¡¯s shoulder firmly, and whispered, "I heard rumors from the city guards that the contingent sent to the west had been routed. Soon, the top ministers will hear about this and seal the gates. Go now, take Paulos and our young friend."
The host gave no immediate answer, so his friend added, "My House possesses a dwarven artifact that can inflict painless death. I promise to offer that option to your family after mine, before chaos and fire consume the Capital."
With tears in his eyes, the host looked at his old friend. Both knew that their families would rather die than live without the luxurious lifestyle they had enjoyed since birth.
The two clasped their hands firmly. "Then, I''ll begin preparing to leave," the host stated with clarity.
"I still have bolts of Centurian silk and a golden ringmail, the heirloom of my house. I shall fetch them for you," the gentlemen revealed warmly. "Sell them, be well, and one hundred years from now, remember me on your deathbed. May the August One watch over you."
***
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
The flowers in the central plaza burst into vibrant colors, heralding the beauty of spring in the Capital. Hope was in the air as rumors of an impending deal with the Northern rebels spread¡ªpeace seemed finally within reach. Lavish parties filled the Capital''s market district, spilling over to the inner lake, which shimmered with the glow of festive lights.
But abruptly, it all ceased. Without warning, all four city gates clanged shut. Only then did the people of the Capital learn of the open rebellion brewing outside. The siege came not from an outside enemy, but from their own citizens.
Since Arvena''s fall, every community under the Imperium has been heavily taxed, levied, and robbed of its livelihood to fund wars in the west and the east. So severe were their hardships that they no longer feared threats from the west or east; instead, they recognized that the ruling class in the Capital was the one inflicting the most pain.
Last year, many had turned to banditry. Now, after a winter that inflicted so many deaths from famine, it grew into an open rebellion. The peasants around the Capital took up their farming tools and rampaged through the countryside. There were no nobles or knights to oppose them, as almost all had fled the Capital due to their distrust of the Sages.
Facing little resistance, their numbers swelled as more and more joined their ranks. They attacked the surrounding towns, destroying everything in their wake. When they couldn''t find food, they resorted to cannibalism. No one was spared, not even the children.
Guildsmen and merchants and their families were slaughtered; captured officials were paraded and then nailed to their office doors, left to perish from hunger and thirst. They wailed and cursed, and many committed suicide by biting off their tongues, dying from blood loss. Meanwhile, anyone resembling a guardsman was beheaded, their heads placed on pikes, and displayed like banners during marches.
Despite the staggering death toll and brutality, the rebels'' rage remained unsatiated.
Initially, they sought revenge on the Sages and the elites. Now, after a series of successes, they had tasted power and believed themselves divinely sanctioned by the Ancients to punish the wrongdoers. Thus, despite facing hunger and plague, they marched toward the Capital at the head of fifty thousand armed rebels, unstoppable by any force.
When the Imperium Court finally learned about the rebellion, heads quickly rolled as blame was cast on everyone even remotely responsible.
Every day, a dozen officials, their adjutants, and their confidants were put to the axe in the field next to the market, in front of a booing crowd that blamed them for their misfortunes. In reality, almost none of them were guilty; they were merely scapegoats.
The blood of the innocent officials and the tears of their loved ones were still wet when the Capital was finally besieged.
Seven thousand defenders stayed behind their walls, while fifty thousand rebels tried their best to mount an assault. However, without adequate siege ladders or siege towers, their only option was to attempt burning down the nearest gate using dried grass, firewood, and tallow.
Slowly, the gates were consumed by fire, but the defenders used water and sand from above to counter the flames.
Meanwhile, inside the Capital, three million souls were trapped. In just ten days, crimes surged as the poorest in society had nothing to eat. The market had ceased, and people were desperate enough to hunt rats in the sewer canals and frogs in the lake.
Clashes at night became frequent, filled with murders and robberies, with no one to stop them. The city guards only concerned themselves with the ruling elites. The city''s youth organized themselves as militia and patrolled the night. However, their zealous attempts to find and punish perpetrators only worsened the situation, leading to more bloodshed.
In response, the masses targeted merchants with storehouses openly. Shops and warehouses were looted even in broad daylight, escalating the situation into a crisis. Despite this, the ruling Sages, content that the defenses had not been breached and that they had ample supplies, merely shrugged at the soaring crime rates.
"That is just what the populace really is," one sniggered behind their red silken curtain.
"An animal in human skin," another senior minister mocked from the opposite row.
"These lowly people should be grateful that we allowed them the honor of staying in the Capital and breathing the same air as we do," said an old minister, whose voice was old and frail.
A dozen ministers nodded in unison. They felt no need to devise a solution, merely lamenting as if observing a different race or a creature.
The Court''s only response, stemming from greed in the face of calamity, was to offer special permits¡ªwhich had to be purchased at exorbitant prices¡ªif any wealthy family wanted to stay temporarily inside the inner walls.
For the majority of the people trapped in the Capital, their only hope was for a hero as they shuddered and cowered in fear in their homes with their families. However, there was none.
Instead, a fire that had started in a looted warehouse and failed to be extinguished quickly turned into a raging inferno. It engulfed the surrounding buildings and soon became uncontrollable, burning everything in its path.
***
Chapter 175 : The Fall of the Imperium
Chapter 175
The Fall of the Imperium
Tiberia, The Imperial Capital
Another day dawned on the throne of the Third Human Imperium, yet dark, billowing smoke obscured the beautiful sunrise. The fire had raged throughout the night, consumed the warehouse district, and spread uncontrollably into the neighboring market and residential areas.
The populace tried to control the fire by demolishing buildings. However, as desperation grew, a great host of people shifted their attention to the eastern gate. Deprived of food for weeks and encroached upon by the fire, the gathering masses rushed the gatehouse from the inside, seeking escape from the besieged capital.
The eastern garrison, mostly inexperienced and led by officers appointed solely due to their family''s connections to top ministers, failed to mount an effective resistance. After only two hours, the poorly trained garrison fled. Many trapped in the gatehouse were either captured or cut down at their posts. In the ensuing panic, they opened the gate to save themselves from the masses.
The heavy gates swung open, and at this critical moment, hundreds of thousands fled south. The military in charge of the Capital''s defenses was thrown into chaos as they learned that they had lost control of the eastern gate. They rushed contingents, both on horseback and on foot, to try to retake control of the gate. It became a race as the peasant rebels besieging the west gate learned of this and surged toward the east.
Despite the ditches, marshes, and farmlands, the peasant rebels won the race and stormed the stricken city. For the defenders, the fight turned into a bloody struggle. Despite their efforts, their hastily assembled forces were fighting a losing battle, having lost the protection of their wall and being at a great numerical disadvantage.
It was four thousand¡ªhalf of the entire Capital garrison, aided by willing militia¡ªagainst thirty thousand, whose numbers kept growing as many more arrived from the west gate. There were no large fields for deploying formations; it was urban warfare fought from street to street, alley to alley.
In the thick of the fight, the city continued to burn. The Capital garrison, beaten and bloodied, finally broke ranks, fled, and left their stricken comrades and allies to their deaths. For the two million souls still trapped inside, their verdict had been cast.
Seeing victory, the rest of the rebels flooded into the heart of the Capital. In their wake, they beheaded every captured man found wearing a gambeson, ringmail, or any armor. Heads filled the gutters, and blood soaked of what was once a beautiful plaza in the most prestigious market area. The peasants didn¡¯t care about ransom; they sought only food, liquor, and vengeance against those responsible for their misery. When they found nothing to eat, their rage complete, they began to set the city aflame.
The fire that had started from the warehouse remained uncontained, and several more fires had also erupted. From its magnificent towers, one could see that the Capital was burning. Like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, ashes were showering the city and giving everything a gray coat.
Chants were heard everywhere murmuring that the Imperium was over. The 1300 years of peace in the Capital had come to a sudden bloody end.
The beaten defenders retreated to the inner walled complex, their morale shattered. They were good men but without capable officers and commanders. Outside the inner wall, numerous rebels massacred the population in a blood frenzy. Screams filled every corner of the city as humans butchered one another like animals.
Seemingly hungry for blood, the rebels killed those they encountered, took what they wanted, and set the rest on fire. On that day, filled with ashes, not even children were spared. The masses had hated the Imperium for generations for its heavy taxation, for taking away their much-needed grain, and for conscripting their family members into the nomadic western wars from which they never returned.
Watching the children reminded them of their lost sons, daughters, or siblings who succumbed to famine. It only fueled their hatred further. They believed that those residing in the Capital were responsible for their suffering.
For the rebels, what happened today was retribution against the corrupt officials, a reckoning long awaited.
Amid the turmoil, smoke, and fire, inside the inner wall, where the Imperium palace and officials complex resided, a lone person politely knocked on the door of a mansion as if everything were normal.
"Good afternoon," the gentleman said politely. He was wearing ringmail, but the servant and family recognized his face.
"Let him in, quickly," the father said to the servant, who opened the door. "What news do you bring, good minister?" the father nervously asked as the gentleman entered.
"There''s only bad news, I''m afraid," the gentleman replied with a smile, as if it were all just a jest, while he gazed upon his friend''s family.
As the rain of ashes fell again, the father quickly motioned for them to get inside. Once in the inner hall, the guest said to them as they all sat down, "I''m here as I promised your husband and son."
"Then are we saved?" the father asked.
"Saved only from pain," he corrected them. "As you may be aware, the city is burning as we speak. The rebels kill indiscriminately. They''re unlikely to stop, even if they see the August One flying with wings on his back."
"Then, what then?" the wife trembled from fear.
"But what about the Sages? Surely they have plans to save us all?" the mother said with enviable confidence.
"The top ministers are delusional. Right now, they are collecting everyone''s gold and jewelry, trying to bribe the rebels. They''ve even ordered cooks to prepare fine meals to entertain the rebels'' leader." He laughed and clapped his hand at his superiors'' stupidity.
"Won''t it work?" the mother asked, her confidence waning. Even she knew it was a futile attempt.
The gentleman smiled grimly. "Madam, do you bribe and negotiate with hungry wolves?"
Only now, the family looked aghast.
He continued with eerie calm, "The rebels will either reject or take the riches and the food, but they will continue to watch the city burn. At this point, the fire is already uncontrollable. The fire barrier set by the August One has been trampled by the rich and powerful who built houses, buildings, and shops in the gardens meant to stop and protect us from the fire. Now, everyone is paying the price."
The father could only nod, his expression pained, while the mother and wife were at a loss for words.
Without wasting breath, the gentleman revealed, "My ancestor served in the first Beastman War and became a guard to the First August Emperor." He took out an item bound with a silken pouch. "This dwarven artifact has been passed down in my family. We''ve kept its function secret. It can grant you instant death without pain or fear. One blink and you''ll be in the presence of the Ancients in their eternal hunt over the grand pasture."
The family looked at him in horror and distress.
"I''ve been a good, exemplary citizen all my life. This..." the father paused. "These horrors, this madness, what wrongs did we ever do to them?"
"I heard the masses blamed the Imperium and the Sages, but we are just families working to serve the Imperium. Surely they can''t blame us. We''re innocent," the mother added emotionally.
"Everyone is innocent," the minister shrugged. "Sir, you know my uncle. After returning from war, he built farms and tried to house refugees from the west. My late father tried to convince the ministers to give some funding, believing it would alleviate the strain on the community. But the ministers never did. My uncle died inside a burned-down granary when the harvest failed and the migrants and the locals clashed."
"But what does that have to do with us?" the mother pleaded.
"Nothing, if you only look at the surface. I''m only shedding light on the unjust remarks you made," he explained. "You, me, everyone here knows about the heavy taxation imposed on the populace, and you also know about the large influx of refugee migrants from the west, and how they strained the community to the breaking point. And what did you do?"
He let the last question linger for a while before continuing, "Did you help people like my uncle who tried their best to find a workable solution? No. Despite the might of your House with all its affiliates and influence, when the time was critical, you closed your eyes to the injustices that befell the unfortunate. You preferred to bribe your way so your son could become a minister by replacing one of the good ministers."
The gentleman paused. "I must admit, your son turned out to be a better minister. But by then it was too late. Now the unfortunate have come, migrants and locals joining together for a cause, and just like how you closed your eyes to their plight, they will also close their eyes as they deliver injustice to you."
The words hit them hard, and they had no rebuttal.
"I''m not here to joust with words. I''m merely offering a dignified end, but the decision is yours to make. Know that I have granted these merciful deaths to my family, my concubine, the maids, and even to my beloved dog. They feared that the angry mobs would tear them apart for their soft limbs."
The family began to cry, lamenting the end of their lives.
"Take a bath," he warmly suggested. "Wear your best clothes, your gold and jewelry. Eat your best meal. Drink your best wine. Burn your best incense. Make peace with life and then return to me. Or you can opt not to, stay in your room, or try to escape with the servants. Your fate is yours to choose. But I won¡¯t be here for long. I still have things I need to take care of, so give your answer before sundown."
"Can''t we decide tomorrow?" they begged for more time.
"My husband surely... There are so many things I wanted to do," the wife rambled, clinging dearly to her luxurious life.
The gentleman laughed dryly. "Can''t you smell the bitter taste of soot in the air? Probably hundreds of thousands have died by now, and the noble complex is next. Even with the guards'' brave sacrifices, by tomorrow, this mansion will be ashes."
...
*This scene might be too strong for Royal Road, you can skip this and lose nothing.*
In the aftermath, the father and mother accepted the offer. After ritually cleansing themselves and barely touching the plain food they were served, they freed their servants and maids, allowing them to take whatever they wanted in an attempt to survive the upcoming chaos.
The gentleman, hiding his nervousness, took his dwarven artifact from its silken pouch. It had an odd shape, with short metal barrels bursting forward, arranged like bamboo in a bundle. Its color was that of gray metal, and it was attached to a polished wooden handle, much like the haft of a sword but smaller and cunningly designed to fit one¡¯s hand comfortably. A protruding metal piece on top and a mechanism below gave it a sophisticated appearance.
"Please, close your eyes and imagine the field of the Ancients."
The old couple did as instructed, and the minister, out of respect, loudly announced if he were a speaker in the Court of the Emperor, "Accept this honor bestowed by the First August Emperor, crafted by the dwarves, forged in the Old Progentia Continent." He lowered his arm and held the artifact with both hands before squeezing the trigger.
The loudness of his voice masked the violent popping sound, while his hands recovered from the sudden recoil. There was no smoke as the essence inside the barrel was completely burned, leaving nothing but heated air, as the dwarves had designed it to be used in their underground citadel.
"May the Ancients light your way and may your hunt..." He continued the chant as he moved and squeezed the trigger again.
He abruptly stopped his rites and used his sleeve to wipe his moist eyes. He was relieved to see that the two had met their end with grace; there was no fear or pain on their faces. Despite the circumstances, he was the one who took their lives, and he shouldered the guilt heavily.
With a broken heart, he looked around the now-empty hall that had once been warm and welcoming. He had been there several times as a child in the company of his parents, long before he served in the western war that consumed his entire youth. Departing from there, he headed toward the heart of the complex only to feel the heat emanating from the deeper parts of the house.
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He had heard from the fleeing maid that the mistress had locked herself in her room. Apparently, she set her own chamber on fire, unable to part with the things she loved so dearly.
The minister sighed deeply as he walked to the open courtyard and looked south. "Friend, I have done as promised. Please consider my oath fulfilled."
By now, the sun was high on the horizon, its rays obscured by smoke and competed with by the fire emanating from the city.
In front of the mansion''s double door, he checked the artifact and knew well enough that two out of seven barrels were hot. He took out a clean cloth and used a small wooden rod to carefully wipe down the inside of the two barrels, ensuring they were clear of any residue.
Next, one by one, he meticulously loaded the two barrels with white powder from a glass vial, inserted a round metal ball, and used a little paper or cloth to keep them in place. Afterward, he checked the flint on the hammer, which was seldom damaged.
He took one last look at the mansion; it was a large estate that the fire inside had yet to appear on the outside. He bowed his head for the last time as a sign of respect and left.
Outside, he walked with purpose toward the palace. He had debts to settle.
***
History would not recall his deeds, for he spoke of them to no one. Silence was good for secrecy¡ªthe fewer men who knew, the less the risk. No man knew, no risk. In this manner, the lone minister had meticulously planned his move to eradicate the plague that had long crippled the Imperium.
He wasn''t naive enough to think that his actions would restore the Imperium. His efforts were solely to ensure that the plague died with its host. He wouldn''t allow it to infest the sprouts that would arise from the ashes.
After passing the courtyard occupied by wounded soldiers and the few refugees they allowed into the inner courtyard, the lone minister navigated through another courtyard. He used his credentials to pass through gate after gate into the belly of the Imperial Capital.
Despite the ensuing chaos, the grand palace complex remained well-guarded. Though the guards were nervous, many recognized him and let him pass without issue. He was only stopped at the last post, where he had to resort to bribes to satisfy three persistent guards.
"I''ll complain to your superior about this," the minister-gentleman said in displeasure after giving them the coins.
"Rules are rules. Even with key and credential, if you don''t want company, then you must pay the fee." The guards grinned sheepishly.
"Go on, Minister. Be on your merry way. The Captain''s order is clear. Besides, we know what you are hiding in there," another added.
"Hmph," he feigned dissatisfaction and added, "Lock the door behind me. I''m heading straight to the Court."
"At your service," one replied mockingly.
The lone minister paid no heed and quickly entered as the heavy iron gate swung open. Initially, only a faint light greeted him inside, but then an array of sensor gems detected his presence, causing lights to brighten one by one from the ceiling, illuminating the vast cavern.
The light revealed walls constructed from massive gray stones on each side. The space was filled with thousands of tall wooden racks containing canvas bags or stacks of crates and barrels, many sealed with a thin sheet of tin to protect them from dust and the elements.
High above, the ceiling disappeared into shadows, giving the cavernous room an almost infinite feel. It resembled a vault, aptly so, since it was the Imperial Armory.
The air began to circulate faster; it was cool but stale, carrying the scent of tallow, old leather, and even mold. Even the bronze fans and ducts were in need of maintenance, but the funds were always embezzled. As he walked, he recalled a time when he cared and tried to address these issues, but he had given up as corruption had run too deep, even in this ancient repository.
He had visited this place dozens of times for inventory and documentation as part of his duties. Despite its regal name, there was nothing special about its contents. There were no dwarven weapons like the ones hidden in his inner pocket. If there had been any, they had likely been taken many generations ago. Here and there, there were only barrels and crates filled with common items like swords, spears, old unwanted scale mails, moldy padded jacks, socks, and various sizes of shoes.
Over the past ten years, he had noticed that many items had been removed without replacement. Yet, he made no issue of this, and for his "cooperation", the Captain in charge of the armory treated him well. Similarly, the top ministers in charge never bothered him about his post. This was further evidence that the money flowed to the very top of the bureaucracy.
Now, most of the functional armor had been stolen, and other valuable items had also been sold; he had seen the missing boots being sold at the market but again did not raise the issue, as he was disillusioned with the entire corrupt ministry. Unlike his friends, he felt that everything they did was fruitless.
"Only fire can end this corrupt nature," he lamented softly as he navigated the turns of the vast labyrinth.
This armory should have been able to arm and equip an army of ten thousand men in case of imminent war or rebellion. But in reality, it was reduced to a warehouse filled with old, rusted, moldy, and subpar equipment. It was in such a state that even now, during an open rebellion, nobody but him ventured down here.
As for the reasons, he could think of at least four:
One, they knew there was nothing of real use here.
Two, they feared that using it would expose the corruption and allow them to be persecuted by their rival factions.
Three, despite the rules forbidding weapons in the Court, in reality, many had secretly armed themselves. Some even had bodyguards disguised as servants or maids.
Fourth, distrust of their own populace. Even in the face of rebellion, the Sages would allow no one but their trusted affiliates to bear arms.
It was almost poetic that their neglect of the armory spelled doom for the Sages'' plight. In their greed, they had hammered the final nail into their own coffins. And today, the lone gentleman had decided to be the one to swing that hammer.
Thus, he walked with ease. There was no rush. He had drunk his last good wine, smoked his last cigar, said the last farewell to his family, and delivered his oath to his friend.
To the uninitiated, the armory was like a maze. Everywhere he went, tall wooden storage racks flanked him on the left and right. After all these years, nobody really knew the entire manifest, which had been revised too many times¡ªand mostly poorly¡ªto conceal the embezzlement. The crates and bags visible contained mundane items like scarves, various shoulder bags, rusted crossbow limbs, dilapidated winter undergarments, grain grinders, and canvas for tents.
It took a lot to fully equip ten thousand, and this was reflected in the vastness of this underground space. Finally, after passing seemingly endless uniformly built storage racks and crates, he found a seemingly inconspicuous cluster of wooden barrels neatly arranged next to one another. He knew from memory that one cluster was filled with iron nails, but next to it were ivory granules.
Nobody knew what it was, except his House. His great-grandfather had recognized its similarity to the white powder that the First Emperor had given them. They had taken a little, run some tests in secret, and for years, it led to nowhere. The granules seemed dull and acted like common sand. It did nothing until they mixed it with some of their precious white powder and sealed it in a container. Only then would it violently combust and explode.
Having learned about the experiment from his father, he had tested it himself on a small scale and mastered it. Ever since that day, he had been waiting for the right time to end the Sage''s charade. Many times, he had thought to end it, but without a catalyst, he hadn''t had the guts to do so.
But now, there was no more hesitation. He pushed several barrels aside. Those had been tampered with, and their seals broken. The previous ministers weren''t all incompetent; they had tested the material but, fortunately, found nothing of value¡ªlikely because they did not possess the white powder.
Exerting his muscles, he carefully laid the barrel on its side and began to roll it toward the other door that led to the Palace above. Wearing a satisfied smile, he rolled the wooden barrels one by one. He took his sweet time and managed to move thirteen barrels, the entire unmolested stock.
He sat down to catch his breath, blaming himself for not bringing a waterskin to drink. However, he smiled. He had finally taken the steps he had always wanted to and his hands were trembling with anticipation.
Standing on his feet again, he prepared his dwarven artifact, removing three of the metal balls and loading a different concoction inside. Next, he straightened his clothes to make them neat, ensured his hair was immaculate, and then went to the door. He inserted the small yet intricate key and operated its mechanism. After generations, nobody really cared about the armory anymore, except to occasionally hide their contraband; thus, there were no guards posted outside.
As he opened the door, he was greeted by ornate decorations, pristine marble floors, and lights cascading from the ceiling, all subtly perfumed with floral scents. There, he spotted a much older minister whom he had known but never had the chance to work with.
"Why are you here? The banquet has almost started," the minister, with deep eye sockets and a thin mustache, asked.
"Then help me with the barrels; they''re for our honored guests," the gentleman urged.
The old minister raised his brow and looked at the opened door to the armory. "We keep wine in there now?"
"No, they''re opiates," he whispered bluntly.
"Oh..." the older minister exclaimed, knelt, and took a good look at the substances. "Why is it different?"
"It¡¯s the bad unrefined stuff. My order was not to give the good ones to those bloody peasants."
The older man nodded in agreement, "Indeed. Let them empty their bowels for robbing us dry."
"What happened?" he asked.
"They ate so much and had the audacity to ask the palace to cook for their entire officers waiting outside the inner gate."
"And did the Left and Right Ministers consent?"
"We had no choice," he lamented before turning to the corridor and snapping his fingers. Two servants appeared, their movements smooth and quiet, seemingly gliding over the stone floor.
"Get the others and move these to the banquet hall," the old minister ordered. The two bowed and left in a hurry. Afterward, he muttered, "Maybe allowing them to smoke this will enable us to control them."
The gentleman could only nod as if in agreement. He knew the Sages would try alcohol and drugs against the rebels'' delegation. They would even prostitute themselves to buy more time, even if only for half a day longer. But he wouldn''t allow them to stall any longer. Outside, the citizens was suffering. This terror must end, or millions would die. Everyone had suffered enough, except the Sages and their enablers.
The servants dutifully relocated the barrels to the entrance of the opulent banquet area, positioning them discreetly next to the main pillar. Amidst the commotion, everyone was too preoccupied to notice. Following the old minister, he joined the others to observe the speaker and several ministers as they endeavored to pacify the warlike delegation.
He watched as the ministers unveiled their dwarven artifacts, presenting them as one might present toys to toddlers, demonstrating their capabilities and mystical purposes.
The peasant leaders seemed pleased; the empty plates and bowls indicated they had eaten heartily. However, the distrust and gloating that marred their faces could not be erased. Moreover, their eyes bore the unmistakable look of violence, both as victims and perpetrators. And now, greed was also unmistakably present.
Just as the Sages had corrupted everyone, they also tried to corrupt the rebels.
The minister next to them had been whispering, "We have shifted the blame to the nobles. The only thing left is to shower them with gold and titles, so they would bring their troops home and rule as mini kings. Afterward, we can pit them against one another."
"The Sages'' plans are marvelous," one praised in a whisper, without considering the impact of such clashes on the entire population or the agricultural land that had already been heavily strained.
Then one of the rebels, a short but stout man, said, "These things are wonderful toys. We shall take them for our children to play with. But you have yet to show us what we seek."
"And that is?" the speaker minister asked ever so politely.
"The gemstone of life," the man declared clearly. "I need to bring back my son and daughter who died from famine last winter."
Despite the stirring music, the chamber fell silent.
"Please, the elixir requires ingredients and extensive preparation time," the speaker attempted to reassure the rebels.
There was no such elixir, and the gentleman began to realize that the entire meeting was predicated on a lie¡ªthat the ministers possessed such a thing. He smirked and promptly returned to his thirteen barrels, each filled with more than two tonnes of ivory granules.
As he walked, he observed that every Sage was there, seated in lavish soft chairs, openly displaying their faces, with their top lieutenants behind them. Most were old and looked even older due to their addictions.
His only remorse was for the servants, but there was little he could have done. They had been thoroughly trained. If he had warned them, everyone would have been alerted. Thus, he opened two of the glass vials he possessed and buried them in the ivory granules within one of the barrels.
He gave one last look at the banquet table and then, without giving a speech or making any remarks, he simply took out his dwarven artifact, which had been loaded not with balls but with a fire compound, and squeezed the trigger.
A sharp crack erupted, followed by a sudden burst of flames. His thoughts were fixed on one thing: only with the Sages'' deaths could real change begin. He wasn¡¯t an idealist¡ªhe knew the bloodshed would likely continue for years, but if he could hasten it by even one day, that would be enough justification.
He watched as people stared at him, their faces filled with terror and confusion, but he was beyond caring. The second shot struck the white powder, igniting the primary explosion. A blinding white flash tore through the vast hall.
The blast hurled him aside, shattering his eardrums, and blood streamed from his ears and nose. The explosion was far greater than he¡¯d imagined, shaking the entire palace, toppling one of its magnificent columns, and sending debris raining like burning ash from above.
The gentleman barely registered the heat or the pain, yet he was acutely aware of his clothes, limbs, and eyelids being scorched. Still, he was content, watching as everyone in the banquet area met the same fate.
Time seemed to stop as he watched several Sages get crushed by falling debris, while others perished when their heavy chairs were lifted by the blast, tumbling forward and landing their occupants face-first into the cold marble with gruesome results. On the other side, the head of the right ministry stood screaming, his face bloodied, his jaw broken, his front teeth falling out as his enablers ran to assist him like headless chickens.
But the worst happened to the head of the left ministry, who was aflame like a human torch. It started at his head and quickly spread to his limbs and body. Apparently, the rumors that he bathed in wine to keep his skin tight were true. He tried to run, his skin melting, but the frightened rebels'' men impaled him with spears.
The gentleman grinned one last time as an even stronger blast enveloped the whole palace in fiery wrath. There was no regret¡ªand then it was all over.
***
Korelia
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as Lansius hefted his axe and brought it down with a satisfying thud into a log. Chopping firewood was hardly a necessity for him, yet it had become his favored pastime.
Somehow, someone had swapped out his usual axe for one with a better shaft and a keener edge. The thoughtful replacement brought a smile to his face.
With a firm grip, he swung the axe again, effortlessly splitting another log in two. Each strike sent chips of wood scattering, and the sharp crack of splintering timber punctuated the quiet evening air.
Suddenly, Sterling, who was with him, announced, "My Lord, Farkas, Sir Harold, and the Hunter Guildsman are approaching."
Lansius turned to the courtyard entrance and spotted the three. "Now this could be trouble," he mumbled.
Farkas, Sir Harold, and the Hunter Guildsman approached, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. With a casual flick, Lansius embedded his axe into the stump, the blade sinking deep with a satisfying thunk. A cool breeze swept across his face, drying the beads of sweat on his forehead.
"My Lord," they greeted in unison.
"You three, here at this hour¡ªit must be urgent," Lansius observed.
The trio exchanged somber glances. Sir Harold, spoke first. "It¡¯s a message from the Capital. And likely their last."
Lansius'' heart skipped a beat; he knew instantly what it was about. "How? A coup?"
But I''m yet to hear that the Capital was besieged.
Farkas gently nudged the Hunter forward. "Tell the Lord what you told me," he urged softly.
The Hunter looked tense as he began, "My Lord, the message was passed from branch to branch. At first, it seemed chaotic, but I can now confirm it as true: The Capital has fallen to rebellion. The casualties are immense. All the ministers perished in a violent explosion that also destroyed the palace."
Lansius stood frozen, his gaze distant as he processed the news. Slowly, he reached for the axe handle, pulling it free from the wood with a forceful tug and tossing it aside. He sank onto the stump, his mind reeling.
Sir Harold''s voice cut through the heavy silence, "The Ageless One is dead. The Imperium... is no more."
Lansius looked at his staff and sighed. "The age of strife is truly upon us."
***
Chapter 176 : Harbingers
Chapter 176
Harbingers
West of the Capital
Dust billowed into the sky as seven thousand cavalrymen surged furiously from the west. Their faces were haggard, their horses spent, yet they clung on tenaciously. Duke Alvaro, notoriously slothful, now rode determinedly at the front with his knights. The Imperium had asked for aid, and the sons of Centuria had answered.
"Ride, ride!" commanded the Duke''s knights as they switched to fresh horses at intervals¡ªa tactic borrowed from their nemesis, the western nomads. With barely a pause, they continued, hearts swelling with hope as they glimpsed the imposing white walls of the Capital, its majestic towers and grand gatehouses looming in the distance.
"It''s burning," murmured a woman, her voice as cold as her lips, cloaked in gray trimmed with gold. Murmurs rippled through the ranks at her observation.
In response, the Duke''s most hardened Captain bellowed, "Harden your hearts, the time is upon us!"
Like his men, the Duke was similarly spurred into action. He rode with a newfound vigor, tapping into a strength he scarcely knew he possessed. His spare horse, bred for endurance, trotted eagerly beneath him. Since receiving the dire news five nights prior, he felt fortune had smiled upon him. If he could save the Imperium now, he would wield unparalleled leverage over the corrupt ministers.
Not that he intended to negotiate. His disdain for them ran too deep; he would not permit them even a sliver of power. Once he regained control of the defenses, he planned to accuse the ministers of grave incompetence for allowing the city to fall to rebels. He would execute them en masse for such failure, sparing only those agreeable enough to help maintain a functioning bureaucracy.
To Duke Alvaro, this crisis was a dream come true. He envisioned reviving the High Noble Court and restoring the Imperium to its former splendor.
"My Lord," called a Hunter Guildsman, riding up from behind.
"Speak," the Duke commanded, not breaking his pace.
"The hawks have returned, still carrying their messages."
"Keep sending them. Pray they receive our warnings in time," the Duke instructed, muttering, "I only need an hour, just an hour."
The Hunter Guildsman nodded and moved away, ready to coax his tired hawk into another flight.
The Duke turned to his side and called, "Berengia, come closer."
"My grace." The Royal Mage rode up beside him, her golden hair peeking from beneath her beautiful cloak.
"Tell me what you see," he commanded.
But before Berengia could reply, a violent blast erupted in the distance, sending a towering plume of debris skyward. The earth-shattering roar that followed halted the horses and silenced the men, who exchanged stunned gazes. Even the knights were at a loss for words.
"What happened?" the Duke halted, his heart sinking with the realization that something catastrophic had occurred.
"That''s from the direction of the palace," the Royal Mage answered, her usually composed face now etched with shock.
"By the Ageless," Duke Alvaro cursed, spurring his horse forward. His lead was followed by all seven thousand cavalry, charging toward the Capital, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited them.
...
Despite Duke Alvaro''s timely arrival, it was too late to save the Royal Palace. The inner gates had been breached, the nobles'' quarter lay in ruins, and flames engulfed the palace.
In the midst of this chaos, the Duke ordered his men to engage any rebels they encountered. Despite mounting fatigue, his stalwart and hardened men from western campaigns easily subdued and massacred each group of rebels blocking their path, before moving on to another pocket of leaderless rebels, largely unaware of their presence.
As they advanced into the inner complex, they rallied the beleaguered palace guards. From them, they gained crucial information about the situation. With the defenders now united, they began to drive the rebels out. The Duke¡¯s powerful cavalry allowed them to reign uncontested on the wide roads of the Capital, while dismounted knights inflicted untold horrors on the remaining rebels.
For four intense hours, they fought from street to street, corner to corner. Yet, the Capital city was vast, the rebels numerous and everywhere, and the sun dipped low.
Illuminated by the eerie glow of gemstones of light, Duke Alvaro¡¯s forces solidified their hold on the area around the palace¡¯s inner walls. Yet, behind them, the Royal Palace continued to burn. Its ancient elven wood¡ªprized beyond gold, brought from the old continent, and once part of the Grand Progenitors'' ships¡ªblazed brightly against the night sky.
As his troops established a new defensive perimeter, allowing citizens refuge, Duke Alvaro and his staff approached the burning wreckage of the palace.
Armored, though tightly around his girth, Duke Alvaro stood watching the palace burn under the darkening skies. From where he stood, he could see the area around the inner courtyard, once imposing and magnificent in its vastness and symmetrical beauty, now lying in ruins, strewn with debris, ash, and corpses.
And there was the Royal Hall, once the center of this realm and a proud testament to the Imperium''s enduring majesty and unmatched splendor, now defiled and crumbling. Its central gardens, directly below the dais and the grand throne, lay desecrated. The celebrated golden tree had succumbed to the inferno; its once majestic branches were now bent and twisted into grotesque shapes, dripping into a pool of blackened ooze. The stream that once flowed beneath it was now filled with smoldering rubble.
Berengia, the Royal Mage, approached quietly. "I see a lost cause," she whispered to him.
"I did not ask for your opinion, sweetie," the Duke replied curtly, his gaze fixed on the flames as if in mourning.
Berengia stepped back, giving him space to watch the great ancient structure being consumed by fire. Several sections collapsed with loud crashes, sending dust and debris to the immediate area.
Moments later, his Captain approached with a group of officers.
"Your Grace," the Captain greeted first, then introduced, "the palace guard commander and his officers who led the inner sanctum''s defense."
The Duke turned and saw the officials, who bowed their heads politely. "Your Grace," they greeted, their demeanor seemingly upbeat.
Observing their unfitting demeanor, pristine armor, and clean gauntlets¡ªonly slightly marred by blackened soot¡ªDuke Alvaro exchanged a knowing glance with his captain, who subtly blinked in acknowledgment.
"Has anyone here witnessed His Imperial Majesty?" the Duke inquired.
The men looked at each other before the commander replied, "No, Your Grace. We did not see anyone fitting His Imperial Majesty''s description. Surely, he wasn''t in the Palace. In fact, not even our seniors have ever seen anyone resembling the August One."
The Duke nodded. That was all he needed to know. "Commander, you and your staff have performed admirably in defending the palace," the Duke announced. "Berengia, please bestow upon them a fitting reward for their breathtaking efforts."
"Breathtaking, Your Grace?" Berengia echoed, her tone neutral, seeking confirmation.
"Indeed," Duke Alvaro affirmed.
Berengia turned to face the officers, her expression unreadable. "Gentlemen, please embrace the sensation. You will find peace and rest."
The commander and his four officers suddenly felt a cold, rejuvenating breeze sweep past them. Initially pleasant, the sensation soon turned unsettling as they became dizzy, then began gasping for air, their eyes bulging. They attempted to shout or scream, but no sounds emerged from their mouths. In a panic, one tried to draw his sword, but Berengia closed her eyes and, moments later, all five collapsed, their bodies convulsing as their lungs and muscles starved for air and their blood vessels ruptured.
"Oh, none of them were even wearing the slightest anti-magic," Berengia commented indifferently as the officers bled from their eyes and mouths. Based on their poor reaction, it was evident they were poorly trained and unfit for their roles.
"This is why the ministers wanted you lot away," the Captain remarked from nearby.
"Trust issues," the blond said dismissively.
The Captain motioned his men to come closer. "These five felt dishonored by their failure and redeemed their guilt by throwing themselves into the palace fire," he instructed.
The group of men nodded, accustomed to such commands. They stripped the officers of their valuables and dragged them into the flames of the burning palace.
Gazing at the Captain, the Duke asked, "Do you think we''ll face more resistance?"
"We can handle any resistance," the Captain assured him.
"Make sure to secure the provisions," the Duke added.
"At your service," the Captain bowed his head.
"One more thing. Rescind the order to attack tomorrow, unless it''s for raiding supplies. We''ll maintain our gains."
"Doesn¡¯t Your Grace want to free the city?" the Captain asked.
"It''s a lost cause," the Duke replied, glancing at Berengia, who nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow, systematically plunder everything. Gather any carts or pack animals we can find and load them with gold, silver, ancient furniture, and any other prized artifacts. Make sure to scrape up any precious metal ooze we can find on the palace''s floor. We''ll need it for the wars in the west."
"Shall we do the same to the nobles'' quarter as well?" the Captain inquired.
"What''s stopping us?" the Duke snorted. "Today, the Imperium has fallen, and I don¡¯t see any Lord capable of restoring it. House Centuria has fulfilled its oath to the end, and now we''ll take what is rightfully ours to defend its legacy against the western barbarians."
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***
Korelia
In the chamber of the Eastern Mansion, Lansius sat at the head of a long oak table. Although it was close to supper time, the table lay bare. Lord Robert and Lord Jorge, having arrived at short notice, sat across from him, their expressions grim after hearing the Hunter Guildsman¡¯s news from the Capital.
"And so the Imperium has fallen," Robert stated somberly, his words heavy as they hung in the air.
Lord Jorge''s face hardened, his eyes momentarily closing as if to block out the reality of those words. Despite having predicted this outcome last year, the reality filled him with despair.
Robert continued, "The Lowlandians will grieve, but ultimately, little will change."
Jorge nodded but remained silent, his usual quick wit absent. He turned to Lansius and asked, "So, what should our response be?"
"Inward," Lansius replied, capturing the attention of his allies and staff. "Without the Imperium as the glue holding the human realms together, now the lords have no allegiances. Things will stay the same for a while until someone is proclaimed King."
"Gottfried has," Robert reminded him.
"And perhaps more will follow," Lansius replied. "Without the Imperium, and in the absence of a reliable trade and the collapse of commerce, these kings will eventually resort to attacking their neighbors just to sustain their kingdoms."
"What a messy outlook," Robert commented, crossing his arms and sighing loudly.
Everyone seemed to have the same reaction.
Robert then turned to his counterpart. "What do you think? If such were to happen, would they really come to our humble province of goats and grass?"
Jorge responded, "The Nicopolans are proud people, yet we found them on the plains of Korimor and Umberland."
Robert nodded, his question answered. Sensing the chamber''s somber mood, the old Lion of Lowlandia decided to lift spirits. "Well, on a brighter note, we have another lord willing to join the Shogunate."
This news surprised Lansius, Jorge, and everyone else in the chamber.
"Who?" Lansius inquired.
"The Lord of Galdia," Robert revealed with a grin.
"How did you convince him? You didn¡¯t overpromise anything, did you?" Jorge asked, his tone cautious.
"I¡¯m not that reckless," Robert reassured him. "I simply mentioned that, along with other benefits, each member of the Shogunate could also opt to have a half-breed in their retinue."
Lansius blinked twice, the pieces falling into place. He realized this was Robert''s strategy and chuckled, amused by his audacity. "What is it with you and the Lord of Galdia''s obsession with half-breeds?"
"Don¡¯t get me wrong. We''re just old friends, and he''s as interested in legendary creatures as I am."
"I hope you''re not thinking of breeding them," Jorge quipped, his snark returning.
Robert chuckled, followed by the rest of the chamber. He turned to Lansius and said, "Perhaps you haven¡¯t considered this, but we should invite more half-breeds for education."
Lansius exchanged glances with Sir Harold, Sir Omin, and Sir Michael, none of whom had the slightest idea. "I admit they''re popular," he muttered, unsure.
"Come on, Robert, don¡¯t tease us like that. Do you have a plan, or is this just a running joke?" Jorge asked on behalf of everyone.
Robert stroked his gray beard before explaining, "The half-breed has told me a lot. For example, they age quickly and reach maturity by age seven. By twelve, they are as wise as an elder human."
Lansius was piqued and nodded earnestly.
The old Viscount leaned forward and continued, "Each has been taught to read their scriptures and has experience with writings and records. Can you imagine? Every one of them can read, and some write as well as scribes. I say they have great potential to aid Korelia''s lack of talent. They''re also pleasant to work with and could captivate the commoners'' interest."
"Indeed, one of the hardest things is getting people to attend school," Lansius admitted. Although there was gratitude for educational opportunities, in reality, parents wanted only their children to learn; they themselves did not participate despite being young enough to benefit. This attitude turned education into a generational issue, one that would take a long time to resolve.
"All I¡¯m saying is they could be a good catalyst for learning. And even if it doesn¡¯t work out, they¡¯re still more than capable of bolstering our security."
Jorge seemed ready to agree but held back his comments until Lansius said, "Good points. However, I doubt we can simply ask Lord Beatrix to send more of her people."
The Old Lion smiled, likely satisfied that his petition had been heard and considered. "Of course. I don¡¯t want to overstep my bounds, so I rest my case."
Lansius was amused. "That¡¯s fine, Lord Robert. I don¡¯t have designs for them. We might as well try your idea."
The mood in the chamber improved. Somehow, even the notion of more half-breeds coming had the intended effect.
Do we unconsciously treat them like beloved pets?
Lansius pondered this, realizing that everyone, including Carla, the guards, and even Audrey¡ªwho had bled against half-breeds¡ªfound Francisca agreeable, if not trustworthy. They had even exchanged gifts and even occasionally shared perfumes. Ironically, the only one who remained guarded was Sir Harold, who had instructed Sterling not to let his guard down.
"Now that we''ve shared the good news," Robert said, settling back into his chair, "may I ask, what is our concrete plan moving forward?"
Lansius paused to gather his thoughts before explaining. "Firstly, we will allow the people time to mourn the Ageless One. Next, we''ll drill our troops to ensure they are proficient with the new formations. Then, we''ll send two hundred to bolster our garrison in Korimor. Our immediate goal is to defend against any potential incursions from Midlandia. Furthermore, we will continue to fortify Korelia by increasing our grain reserves and seeking new food sources. Lastly, we''ll prepare the routes for the upcoming South Trade caravans."
Before anyone could respond, Lansius raised his hand, signaling he had more to say. "As much as possible, let''s maintain peace in Korelia. A city can only thrive in peace. Should invaders come, we will intercept and eliminate them on the Great Plains."
"Words of wisdom," Robert remarked with a chuckle, a sentiment echoed by Jorge and the others. With that, the meeting concluded.
***
Midlandia
As they departed the D''Aguilar area, leaving behind its hot springs and the hospitality of its people, Bengrieve and his expanded band of men, crested a hill that offered a clear view of the western horizon. Taking advantage of the cloud cover that provided respite from the sun''s heat, Bengrieve waited for his staff to ride closer before he remarked, "Did you know that Elandia was once known as the Kingdom of Elandia?"
"We''ve heard such stories, My Lord," Sir Stan replied on behalf of everyone as their horses came to a stop.
"It''s far older than even the First Imperium. They say its advancements surpassed even those of the elves, but alas, it did not last," Bengrieve lamented.
"But we didn¡¯t see any magnificent palaces in the area," his Captain argued.
"That¡¯s because the kingdom was far greater than today¡¯s Elandia province. Records indicate its capital was located at the intersection of Elandia, Midlandia, and Arvena," Bengrieve explained.
"The Great Ancient Forest," Sir Stan remarked.
Bengrieve chuckled softly. "People tend to add ''Great'' and ''Ancient'' to everything old," he quipped. "Its name is Amertume Forest, from the words ''am¨¡rus,'' meaning bitterness, sadness, and sorrow. There, a kingdom once rivaled the dwarves'' achievement but faced a tragic demise. Now, only fell beasts lurk, and no man dares to go near it, turning the whole area into a vast swath of forest."
"That''s an interesting tale; perhaps we ought to send an expedition party there. There ought to be gold," one of his knights quipped, prompting laughter from his fellows.
"What are we, the Old Continent''s Explorers?" another joked.
Bengrieve enjoyed their reaction, finding respite in his men¡¯s good morale.
Then one of the newly joined knights spoke, "My Lord, my mother was originally from the area bordering that forest, and there''s more to that legend."
"Please, speak freely," Bengrieve encouraged.
"There''s a legend that a man who died at the heart of that forest returned as a different person."
"Doppelg?nger story?" Sir Stan ventured.
"Similar, possibly related," the knight confirmed. "It happened to my mother''s neighbor. The man went out looking for firewood, as he had done for years, and then one day he disappeared for several days. Half the village searched for him but found nothing¡ªhis traces simply vanished. Then, suddenly, after a week, he returned. What''s strange is, he could no longer speak properly, only gibberish. It took him months just to communicate again. Only then did he start saying strange things, like how he couldn¡¯t remember anything¡ªnot even his mother, siblings, or his wife."
"Ah, such stories won¡¯t spook me. If I don''t remember my wife, all the better; then I have no issue finding a new one," the Captain commented, triggering a round of laughter.
"But what if you forget how to joust? Or where you keep your secret stash?" Sir Stan teased.
"I kept mine in these fists!" the Captain insisted, chuckling along with the others.
Bengrieve was amused by their playfulness, but his mood soon changed when two hawks arrived almost simultaneously from the north. With them on the move, the Hunter Guildsman on his service was hard pressed to maintain the line of communication. Because of this, news reached them slower. Now, the majestic creatures crossed the skies, screeching as if harbingers.
***
Commander, Bald Eagle
Against all odds, and under the mysterious Sagaria''s watch, the column of men successfully crossed Tiberia at the height of winter. Their journey was nothing short of legendary. An ethereal shield above them protected them from the snow and provided a stream of warm air. Their only issue was the melting snow beneath their feet, which wetted their boots and socks¡ªa minor inconvenience compared to facing the full fury of snowstorms.
It was no surprise that the four hundred men under Bald Eagle became devout believers. Sagaria had led them to a cluster of villages in northern Elandia. The villagers were initially shocked to receive guests in the dead of winter, but they soon warmed to the newcomers, especially when they noticed several welcoming anomalies, such as the winter becoming milder wherever the group was located. Some villagers even saw their vegetables and trees bearing fruit in the middle of winter.
During the winter months, Sagaria crafted various items, including salves for skin disorders, soap, ointments, and remedies for common ailments. Unlike herbalists who often guarded their secrets, she openly shared her knowledge, teaching anyone willing to learn.
If there had been any doubts about her abilities, Sagaria was now truly revered.
Bald Eagle, once worried about payments since they had gone rogue and could not hope for more payments from the Sages, was relieved when the men declared they required no pay beyond sufficient food, having become soldiers of faith rather than fortune.
Only after Sagaria''s intervention could Bald Eagle freely distribute confiscated valuables from the last war, allowing the men to purchase personal items like socks and boots for their journey.
And march they did, ever since the snow had thawed. To avoid too much attention from the locals, they had split into two groups, with the Guardsman and the Squire leading the rear group.
With that arrangement, they steadily journeyed southeast. Sagaria had learned that a certain lord was in southern Elandia, and she wished to join his cause. Normally, this would pose a problem, especially since she lacked noble lineage. But Bald Eagle was convinced of her ability to prove herself as more than just the daughter of a hat-maker.
...
The spring sun shone brightly on the barn where they had stayed. Bald Eagle, though old, woke up refreshed, despite only using straw mats and leather carpets as a bed. As his men began to eat breakfast, he glanced at his silver necklace¡ªthe only thing he wore because of the war¡ªand was surprised to see the small gem had not changed color. It remained milk-white, although he had clearly witnessed magic or been in close proximity to it.
While Sagaria remained subtle and never admitted that she used magic, the results were evident. The clanking noise and laughter from outside quickly drew his interest. He saw eager men honing their skills with swords and spears.
Now, the young knight had grown fond of Marc, the new member, who trained himself hard after he had recovered.
"How is he?" Sagaria asked as she snuck next to him, bringing two bowls of thick soup.
"Marc or Sir Munius?" Bald Eagle asked as he received the bowl. As agreed, he didn''t call her ''lady'' during the journey for fear of complications from the locals or bandits.
"Marc," she replied while sipping her soup.
"Well, he''s lucky to have met you. And for the record, many are jealous of him."
"Why?" Sagaria asked, her tone indifferent, without a hint of curiosity.
"Well, you took good care of him, and he isn''t even one of us," Bald Eagle explained between spoonfuls of soup.
Sagaria only nodded once but didn¡¯t comment further.
Bald Eagle continued, "I sort of understand, you know. I mean, you didn''t even treat our champion, Sir Munius, that well."
Only then did Sagaria¡¯s lips form a smile, though she quickly busied herself with another sip of soup.
"Still, I have to ask, why do you take special care of the Arvenian boy?" Bald Eagle asked, his tone fatherly. "I''ve noticed you chat with him more than with anyone else in the group."
"The chats aren''t anything special¡ªjust about the place he was born and his family. However," she turned to him, her expression serious, "he is indeed rather special."
"Special as in talented as an herbalist?" Bald Eagle had seen Marc assisting Sagaria often while she prepared medical concoctions and salves.
¡°No, not as an herbalist," she said, holding back her full thoughts. She continued in a tone like an old mentor, speaking in riddles, "Perhaps you should talk to him. Ask about his family or his sister."
"His sister?" He was puzzled. He knew she wanted him to find out on his own, but it was beyond him.
"She has golden hair and blue eyes," she hinted.
"You mean they''re nobles'' bastards?" Bald Eagle asked, clearly skeptical.
"No," she said firmly. "I''m not interested in that."
"So...?"
"He is not of northern descent, yet his sister has that kind of mutation." Seeing Bald Eagle frown, she explained softly, "He''s gifted."
"Of what kind?" Bald Eagle whispered, his voice barely audible.
Sagaria didn¡¯t smile, but her eyes were gleaming. "Magic," she breathed softly.
Bald Eagle was surprised; he quickly turned his gaze outside to see Sir Munius and Marc training with the rest of the men-at-arms.
Sagaria''s voice was a whisper, meant only for Bald Eagle, "The boon does not reside with him alone; it extends to Sir Munius as well. I suggest he take Marc under his wing. That way, he''ll secure a powerful ally."
Bald Eagle nodded thoughtfully, wiping cold sweat from his brow. How could he not? Their company had grown into a tapestry of legends: a prophetess in disguise, a knight returned from the dead, and an ordinary farmboy turned mage. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was at the start of a great saga.
***
Chapter 177 : Cascade
Chapter 177
Cascade
Sagarius
As dawn broke over Elandia province, a thick mist lay heavily upon the land. This part of the Imperium was cloaked in forests and rolling hills, lending them a mystical appearance. The air was damp and earthy, saturated with the scent of pine and wet foliage.
Humans had built towns and villages and opened vast areas for agriculture, yet they were clustered tightly, surrounded by woodlands. The thick forests and hills made the province naturally difficult to traverse, especially in wet conditions.
Despite being obscured by fog, the forest was alive with the rustling of wildlife¡ªbirds chirped from hidden branches, and the occasional deer darted through the lush foliage.
Sagarius was familiar with this area, but it had been some time since her last visit, and the roads and towns had changed. Some had grown larger, while others, once promising, had become abandoned ruins.
During one of their stops, Bald Eagle met with one of the local knights to discuss some matters. With time available, Sagarius felt it was time to teach Sir Munius and Marc.
Without informing them too much, she took them deeper into the neighboring forest, and the two followed unquestioningly.
Sagarius stopped in front of a large tree that towered over the others, so massive that it stood alone, with no other trees in its close vicinity. Small stone structures, half-buried with decomposing leaves, likely old altars of past beliefs, were scattered on one side.
"What a huge tree," Marc commented in awe, looking up at the tall branches.
"It''s probably as old as the Imperium," the young knight observed.
"Possibly," Sagarius stated before turning to them and pulling something from her pocket. She then motioned for Sir Munius to take it.
The knight did so, taking it with both hands. She handed him an inconspicuous medallion made of iron and tightly woven bronze, inscribed with runes. "It''s an anti-magic piece. In the old days, champions used these for protection."
"I''m not worthy to accept this¡ª"
"Hush," Sagarius said gently but dismissively. "Take the gift with pride. It will be useful, especially for this exercise."
Sagarius then turned toward Marc, who stood at attention. She gestured for him to approach.
As Marc did so, she took one of her rings, ebony-colored as if made from wood, and handed it to him. "I hope it fits."
"What should I do with it, my lady?" Marc asked.
"Wear it and watch. Do not run," she instructed, then walked a distance before turning to face Sir Munius. "Draw your sword and try to charge at me."
"But my lady?" Sir Munius voiced his confusion, expecting to spar with Marc as they had done so many times before.
However, Sagarius was not known for her patience. With a focused gaze, she summoned her magic and silently extracted the breath from the knight''s lungs.
The knight clutched at his throat, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock as he staggered back, desperately trying to draw breath.
"What, what happened?" Marc cried out, turning to Sagarius with a mix of concern and alarm. "My Lady, what are you trying to achieve?"
Amidst his panic, Sir Munius instinctively drew his sword and began to retreat rapidly. Suddenly, the suffocating effect ceased. He gasped, inhaling sharply as fresh air flooded his lungs. Doubling over, he fought back the nausea.
"A good and correct reaction," Sagarius praised from afar. "Remember this range. This is the practical range for a mage in close combat."
"Then you are truly a mage," Marc stated nervously.
"Don''t speak of it as if being a mage is something abhorrent. After all, you too are one," she revealed, her voice almost indifferent, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of excitement.
Marc looked down at his calloused hands in disbelief. "Me, a mage?"
"A mage with an unawakened source. So, let''s do the same to you," Sagarius directed her focused gaze on Marc, who suddenly found himself gasping for air.
He wanted to run, but a commanding voice echoed in his skull, "Do not run." His legs froze in place.
"I need you to fight it, so don¡¯t run," Sagarius explained in her usual tone.
Marc struggled to breathe, groaning, before finally deciding to crawl toward the knight.
Watching the man''s face turn blue, the knight pleaded, "My lady, he''s almost out of breath; please, spare him."
Sagarius waved off her magic, and Marc gasped sharply before vomiting on the side.
"You did well," she said before adding, "Nothing triggers the mind and body to adapt like losing breath."
"H-how do you stop me from¡ª" Marc coughed and spat, sitting on the ground, "And what did I do well? I lost my breath almost instantly."
Sagarius decided not to discuss the voice. From experience, she knew it easily aroused suspicion, as many believed the skill could control their minds. However, it could only temporarily shock the mind and force it to surrender to the suggestion. It was useful to prevent violence, stop a blade in mid-thrust, or move a stunned child out of the path of a charging horse. "The duration is not the point. What I want is for you to fight it like a drowned man fighting the water."
"Did he resist your magic?" Sir Munius asked, his eyes wide in surprise.
"Yes, he did. Like a baby''s finger trying to wrestle its mother''s hand."
The knight chuckled, turned to Marc, and said, "You have a long way to go, mage-boy." Then, looking back at Sagarius with renewed spirit, he asked, "Is the training still on?"
"Come at me, Sir Knight," she replied without hesitation, standing only twenty steps away.
"Any tips, my lady?" he asked as he prepared himself.
"Swing your swords, use the trees and terrain, anything that made me lose focus can save you."
Sir Munius did as he was told, moving calculatingly from one spot to another, without running to preserve his breathing, while maintaining eye contact to gauge her reaction. He did so much better, able to breathe momentarily behind cover, and then stopped just a dozen steps from her.
Sagarius removed her magic from him and asked, "Why did you stop?"
"I feared I could hurt you, my lady," he said. Then suddenly, his vision flared brightly, his muscles spasmed in shock, and his knees buckled, forcing him to the ground.
"I still have plenty of tricks in my bag," she warned, while the knight lay immobile on the mushy forest floor.
Marc dashed toward the knight, stopping next to him. "Are you good, Sir?"
"It felt like being stung by a large bee," he muttered.
"They named it static control. I manipulated this area to deny you a connection with the ground and sent fragments of dry leaves to overload you with a charge. When I wanted, I restored the connection¡ªand that¡¯s what happened."
Marc gazed at Sagarius and dry swallowed, his eyes betraying his fear that he might be next.
"Of course, you shall experience¡ª"
Marc broke into a run, attempting to conceal himself behind the large, ancient tree.
"It will only make it worse," she said, disappointed, and blinked once. Suddenly, a long pitiful yet laughable groan emerged from behind the magnificent tree.
Sir Munius chuckled as he slowly stood up, feeling a strange tingling in his limbs.
"You said a large bee," Marc complained from afar. "Mine was like being struck by a stag."
The knight stifled a laugh and turned to Sagarius. "Say, if I don''t move, can you still do that to me?"
"An excellent observation," she remarked. "Static will only work if you move quickly and abruptly. If you remain stationary, it will hardly affect you. However," she flicked her wrist slightly, and suddenly the knight toppled unceremoniously.
He gasped in total surprise, scanning the area for someone he thought had struck his leg.
"A skilled mage can also concentrate her magic to gather rubble, dirt, and stone, and direct them to your blind spot."
"Can you manipulate even something like a sword?" he asked from the ground.
"Swords are too smooth and slender, I doubt most mages can do such a thing."
"But can you?" Sir Munius asked.
Sagarius merely wore a thin proud smile. In her hundreds of years of experience, she was able to put a strand of fiber into a needle or swat a fly without moving her finger. Those were small things compared to the other arts she had mastered.
Interpreting her smile, Sir Munius broke into a chuckle. Then from behind, carefully Marc approached, pleading, "No more of those."
"I won''t. You could die. I only do it to Sir Munius because he wore an anti-magic."
"Why don''t I have it?" Marc found his courage and complained.
"I don''t have two and you need the ring."
"Ah," he exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "What does the ring do, my lady?" Marc asked, his gaze fixed on the simple yet intricate ebony ring.
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"It shall grant you magical capacity as you learn strengthening magic."
While Marc frowned, the knight remarked, "I know that one." He stood up, brushing dry leaves from his clothes, and asked, "Can he really master such a technique?"
"Is it strong?" Marc was now piqued.
"You''ll be like a Mage Knight," he replied excitedly.
"Really?" Marc''s jaw dropped, likely thinking about the impact it would make on his life.
"More like a mage squire," Sagarius commented, then addressed both of them. "The human world is in peril. The Imperium might be gone at any moment. By some twist of fate, against all odds, you have been brought together from the brink of death. I advise you to heed the workings of the Ancients and unite your strengths. Sir Munius," she called out, "why don''t you take Marc as your squire?"
The two men exchanged glances, and Marc''s expression seemed troubled.
"My Lady, I think we need to give Marc more time. Even though he joined us, the fact remains that we were on opposing sides, and there''s likely still some bad blood between us," Sir Munius voiced.
"Marc, are you still contemplating it?" Sagarius inquired, aware that he had spent the winter reflecting.
Marc took a deep breath. "I don''t blame any of you, especially you, My Lady. You saved me, and for that, I am eternally grateful. More than ever, I blame myself for letting myself be recruited into Gottfried''s army."
"But my side did kill many Arvenians," Sir Munius stated clearly, not attempting to gloss over the truth.
"No," Marc shook his head. "Not you, Sir. Even if I wanted to, I can''t hold you responsible. I know for sure that by the time you arrived, all of my brethren had perished. You fought against the Northerners and the Inglesians, vile people who oppressed us, and for that, you have my gratitude."
The knight breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to Sagarius, he suddenly declared, "I''ll take him as a brother."
Marc''s tanned cheeks turned red as he stammered, "Wait, but why? I''m not even noble-born."
"You''re a mage," the knight reminded him.
"I haven''t done anything mage-like yet."
Sagarius decided to intervene. "Marc, focus all your thoughts on protecting your chest as if you''re about to be punched," she instructed, her tone icy, her gaze even colder.
Driven by fear, Marc complied, his muscle tensed and Sagarius thrust a tree branch, as thick as a spear, toward him. The branch shattered as if striking another tree. It knocked Marc to the ground and ruined his clothes, but his chest was only bruised a little.
"That''s strengthening magic," Sagarius explained, tossing the broken branch aside. "With enough magical capacity, the mind can draw power from it and manipulate it to protect your body or limbs."
"Is magic really that easy?" Marc asked as he got up.
"That''s the ring''s power, not your innate source," Sagarius corrected him. "Also, let''s try again. Now, I''m going to slap you on the face," she announced, then raised her hand deliberately slowly, causing Marc to lose his focus.
Her slap connected gently, yet Marc flinched sharply in pain, prompting Sir Munius beside them to burst out laughing. "You lose focus," the knight pointed out.
Marc, patting his reddened cheek, frowned. "I know that, Sir. But it''s harder than it looks."
"In time, you''ll learn, as will Sir Munius," she said warmly, then gazing at the knight. "There are gemstones that can grant you a similar ability. Many Champions of old collected them."
The knight nodded thoughtfully, then turned to gaze at the man beside him. "So, brother...?" he offered his hand.
The mage apprentice sheepishly took it, and they finally clasped hands. "Gratitude, Sir. Well, it seems I''ve found another brother."
***
The Imperium Royal Palace, once the beacon of human progress, now stood as a charred remnant of its former glory. Its markets and residential areas were engulfed by the stench of burnt and decomposing bodies, becoming so unbearable that both defenders and rebels had to abandon parts of the city. Swarms of flies and insects, attracted by the horrendous smell, came to feast on the infested carnage. Although there were several attempts to bury the dead in pits outside the city, these efforts proved insufficient, and the risk of clashes loomed large.
Despite Duke Alvaro''s presence and his seven thousand strong cavalry, the numerous yet leaderless rebels continued to occupy and plunder the larger part of the capital for three more days. They only ceased when the situation became dire due to a severe lack of food, the overwhelming stench of corpses, and the onset of rampant diseases.
Finally, the rebels, content with their plunder, abandoned the capital to its grim fate. Little did they know that Duke Alvaro and his knights had been waiting.
As the rebels crossed the plains west of the capital, thousands of cavalrymen chased after them, and a great host of rebels was massacred. The riches from their plunder were now added to the Duke¡¯s grand baggage train, stretching from the palace to the west gatehouse, where he had taken temporary residence.
With these significant victories, many hoped that the Duke of Centuria would fully liberate the capital. However, after six days, the Duke signaled his intention to return to his domain, exercising an abundance of caution against the western barbarians.
He left the capital to its fate, entrusting it to token stewardship of volunteer knights, men-at-arms, and remaining officials. On the day of his departure, three hundred thousand citizens followed on foot, despite his pleas for them not to, as even the western part of the Imperium was not secure.
As the Duke and his rear guard vanished into the distance, the rebel remnants, still occupying a section of the capital, resumed their reign of terror. They attacked at night and attempted to reoccupy the rest of the city in search of food and riches. Anarchy soon erupted anew, but after three days of fighting, the citizens, having reorganized into an effective militia, managed to control the situation. For the first time, the defenders, now outnumbering the rebels, began to retake lost parts of the city.
The rebels, lacking a charismatic leader and fighting in a piecemeal fashion, began to suffer significant losses. In contrast, the citizens'' militia, backed by knights and a confident new guardsman, soon gained the upper hand. After a series of clashes, the demoralized rebels finally abandoned the city, fleeing with whatever spoils they could carry.
After two weeks of terror, the occupation finally ended. The capital was now under the control of the stewardship of volunteer knights backed by several wealthy families who funded the militia. However, despite their victories and sacrifices, there wasn¡¯t enough money or a functional bureaucracy to man the extensive walls and fortifications that had protected the city.
If the walls were unmanned, the capital was practically defenseless. In such a state, the city lingered in uncertainty. Once a paragon of order, peace, and stability, it had become a collection of scorched houses and burnt rubble, dotted with pits of mass graves.
Its citizens, once proud, now wandered through their crumbling city, their faces etched with the resignation of a lost empire. Its beautiful plazas and grand streets, once bustling, were now silent and haunted by the marks of violence. Before long, millions of its citizens and the remaining officials fled south to war-torn Elandia, racing against time as many believed King Gottfried¡¯s northern army was approaching.
To the east, even with the capital secure, the defenses of neighboring cities collapsed. Deprived of the Sages and their governing bodies, no army could sustain itself. Troops abandoned their posts, while nobles and knights focused on dispatching urgent missives to King Gottfried.
Now the capital lay deserted. Yet, the seat of power remained a magnet for those ambitious enough to grasp its importance. It would be a prize too great for any but the most powerful man in the realm.
***
Bengrieve
Another day had passed, and Bengrieve actively and clandestinely gathered more supporters around Midlandia''s border. Here, people driven by anxiety over the new ruler''s intentions came together to hear him speak. Though not naturally gifted, his oratory skills were sufficient to deliver speeches that resonated with a populace accustomed to centuries of prosperity, now viewing any change with suspicion and doubt.
"You should ask: What does Reginald want from you?" Bengrieve said, seated on the town''s fountain as a diverse crowd of knights, esquires, and commoners from all social levels gathered around.
"From what I''ve gathered, he has surrounded himself with ''intellectuals'' and wants this tight-knit group to govern Midlandia and implement untested changes¡ªchanges that go against policies that have long brought us good harvests and profitable business. To what end?" he let his words hang.
Bengrieve¡¯s words captured their undivided attention.
"Why fix what isn¡¯t broken?" he asked, promptly garnering murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
"Reginald has his group¡¯s interests at heart, not yours. I doubt he''ll champion your cause when he has no respect for our way of life."
Many in the crowd nodded their heads, and anxious whispers filled the air.
He continued, his tone sharper: "Furthermore, this Reginald claims to have the support of the masses, but all I''ve seen is him in cohorts with the Healers'' Guild¡ªa group of rowdy and violent fanatics blinded by a corrupt Saint Candidate." Bengrieve had tailored his words carefully, reinforcing the concerns that these people had already heard and grown worried about.
Now, the crowd looked concerned, with fear and anger more clearly etched on their faces.
Looking over the sea of faces before him, Bengrieve posed another rhetorical question: "Are these so-called reformers better than the Ageless One, who laid down our paths centuries ago? Why should we stray at Reginald¡¯s behest?"
People nodded in agreement. They knew that Midlandia was established by the Ageless One himself when he visited roughly six hundred years ago, and since then, for the most part, they had wanted for nothing. Therefore, there was little reason for them to believe that a change would benefit them.
Bengrieve''s rhetoric of fear and respect for the Emperor moved many.
"I''ve said enough. I''m not here to convince you," Bengrieve stood, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Yes, I want to keep my lands as is my right. And I want to continue serving as Seneschal of Midlandia, as I swore to the late Lord whose son is now unfit to rule. These are hardly hidden motives as my service is to the public."
He turned to an old local knight he knew well, "What''s the difference between me defending the land and the titles my family has held, and you defending your home and family from bandits?"
"None, My Lord," the knight replied firmly, echoing the supportive murmurs from the crowd.
Bengrieve faced the crowd again, "If I was wrong, then why didn''t the previous Lord give me a fair trial? And what standing does Reginald have to claim lordship over this realm? He''s like an unwanted relative who interferes in your children''s marriage."
The crowd nodded, visibly troubled.
"To me, he''s nothing but an opportunist pushed forward by corrupt men envious of my family''s longstanding influence. They want power for themselves¡ª"
"This is all just nobles squabbling," a bold voice interrupted.
Bengrieve waved off those eager to silence the dissenter, "He is in the right. Let him speak."
"I''m just saying, whichever lord rules, they only see us as fodder for their wars."
"You''re correct. But I''m not here to recruit," Bengrieve responded.
The man in the crowd had no rebuttal.
Bengrieve''s gaze swept across the crowd, making direct eye contact with several individuals. "I only ask you to listen to my words and tolerate my presence."
"Do not take us for fools, my lord. What is the purpose of your words and presence here?" challenged an old man. His eyes had grayed from years of farming, yet there was wit in his words.
"I am but a harbinger," Bengrieve replied in a clear voice, his words stoking the crowd''s interest further. "Reginald has over ten thousand hungry soldiers. How do you think he will feed them? Or more precisely, from where do you think he will gather the needed grains?"
The crowd now seemed tense and concerned.
"My campaign to Elandia was fully approved and funded by the Lord of Midlandia. I have taken the entire military stockpile¡ªenough for 200 days. Additionally, I have secured supplies for another 100 days. Gentlemen, I can assure you that the provincial reserves are now depleted."
A wave of astonished murmurs swept through the crowd.
"Then Lord Reginald''s troops have nothing to eat?" someone asked, sparking a buzz of conversation.
Bengrieve maintained a stoic expression and then added, "And the coffers too. Do you think Reginald and his supporters haven''t divided whatever was in the castle''s vault? Now their army has no food and no money to pay them."
He let the implications hang in the air, the crowd understood that looting and pillaging were imminent. Many shuddered; others looked resolute.
"They want everything," Bengrieve stoked their fears further. "They''ll take your crops, your land, and your families. It''s nothing but a game for them."
Bengrieve leaned to the fountain and took several sips of water using both hands. Turning back to the crowd, he said in a softer tone, "Now, you must decide whether you let them replace you, or if you are going to do something about it. Whatever it is, I won''t be here; I''m merely passing through."
The notion surprised many, who now looked at Bengrieve with longing and renewed interest.
"This realm has turned its back on my House after a century of loyal service. My House is innocent. I don''t even bring the army here today," he played his victim card effectively.
"Truth be told, I''d be content as a small lord in South Elandia. But should that happen, don''t blame me for not defending Midlandia," he said, his expression turning grim.
"By next summer, thousands of marauding Nicopolans will descend on Midlandia''s border. When that happens, I will not be here to defend this realm. What follows is that, after you''ve satiated Reginald''s hungry troops, you will, regrettably, have to face the Nicopolans'' hunger," he stated bluntly, forcing his listeners to confront the likely scenario.
He concluded, "May the Ageless One''s fortune ever reside with your families."
Afterward, he stepped down from the fountain and walked with his large escort. The somber murmurs of those willing to pledge their allegiance filled the air. Soon, men in armor, both mounted and on foot, gathered outside, ready to commit their fates to his cause.
Things were looking promising from the outside, however it was nothing but a facade.
"How''s the news from the capital?" Bengrieve asked grimly as soon as he entered an unused old watchtower they were using for shelter today. His earlier suaveness and charm had vanished. Ever since leaving Elandia, his network of informants and hawk messengers had struggled to reach him.
Inside the weathered wooden structure, Sir Stan and two captains, his closest confidants, awaited him. Sir Stan extended a small, rolled letter and said, "The palace has indeed fallen."
"The palace, you say?" Bengrieve echoed, stupefied. For the first time, his far-reaching plan had spectacularly backfired. His face now showed a mix of disbelief, disgust, and denial as he thought hard about what to do in such a situation. It felt like everything he had built had come crashing down so quickly, leaving him no time to react.
Now, everything is in jeopardy...
***
Chapter 178 : The Pact of Silent Blades
Chapter 178
The Pact of Silent Blades
Midlandia
As Bengrieve heard the news from the Capital, Sir Stan and the two captains watched him closely. His complexion turned pale as he settled into a hastily repaired wooden chair. Unfolding the letter, his eyes clouded over, and he stared blankly at the ground, his lips muttering gibberish¡ªan unusual departure from his typical composed demeanor that alarmed the other men in the room.
The three exchanged glances, and Sir Stan approached Bengrieve. "Talk to us. What''s causing your angst? Weren''t we expecting this?"
Clenching the letter in his fist, Bengrieve answered, "No. I did not expect this. Not like this." He was still processing the news. "It can''t possibly fail. What are the chances that Gottfried failed to take the Capital, and instead, a bunch of armed peasants did?"
Distraught by his words, Sir Stan urged, "I think it''s time for you to reveal the plan. Don¡¯t leave us in the dark. Midlandia and everyone are at stake."
Bengrieve stared at his cousin and the two captains. They had all been loyal followers of his house, and their doubts about his plan stemmed from their professional roles as military officers, not out of self-importance. "Originally, I had calculated that the Capital could withstand anything except an imminent attack from Gottfried," he began.
"But now, not only has it fallen to angry mobs, but it was also plundered clean. The Palace and the ministries were destroyed. Worse, Duke Alvaro also arrived."
"There''s an indication that the Duke will not hold it," one of his captains interjected.
"It doesn¡¯t make a difference," Bengrieve replied. "Without the Sages, my plans are doomed."
Sir Stan and the captains, hearing about all this for the first time, traded concerned glances.
"I was expecting Gottfried to take the Capital. I know he had powerful men in the Palace; he only needed to show up. Once he paraded his troops, they would throw open the gates for him and celebrate his arrival like a hero."
The three could only listen carefully. Rarely had they heard about the dealings behind the shadows.
"Gottfried isn''t ambitious, but he would be compelled to take the seat. His people want it. So, he''ll attempt to rule and, with the Dukes and us to worry about, he''ll resort to finding the middle ground. That means appeasing the Sages. He''s likely to allow the ministers to sort out their own rivalries. He''ll turn a blind eye to the massacres within the ministries as the Sages blame each other for their corrupt nature. However, he would be a fool to trust the remaining ministers."
Bengrieve''s gaze drifted into the distance as he continued, "Even those who supported him will eventually lace his food with poison that''ll slowly degrade his health in a few years. Or, they could have one of his sons do it, in exchange for the Sages'' support for the Northern Throne. Whatever the outcome, it would be a boon for Midlandia. But now..." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "''Now, everything is a mess."
Sir Stan raised his brow. "I''m still at a loss," he admitted. "Whether it''s Gottfried or the rebels, the Capital is finished, and no Great Entity has awoken to shoot fireballs in defense of the palace. So, we have no issue."
"Indeed, My Lord," his captain agreed. "Isn¡¯t the most important issue whether the Emperor is alive or not? Now that the palace is razed, we can finally be free and bury this Imperium facade."
"No," Bengrieve replied firmly. "Now that we no longer have the Sages, we can''t let Gottfried take the capital."
Sir Stan frowned, and so did the other two.
"Don''t you get it?" Bengrieve asked. "Without the Sages, Gottfried will rule. He''ll lay claim as the successor, probably by marrying someone he claims is the daughter of the Emperor. Then he could take the regency as Prince, and his son could eventually become the 4th Emperor. And with control of the entire Northern Province, Arvena, and Tiberia, his House has a significant chance of succeeding."
Sir Stan stroked his chin, his gaze now steady and sharp. "Now that you mention it, his taking the throne and the capital seems dangerous for us."
"That much is certain," Bengrieve confirmed. "Midlandia and Elandia¡¯s strategic positions are threats to his rule. He''ll grow wary of us who could strike at his veins and jugular, either Tiberia straight to the Capital or Arvena, his biggest shipping port to the Northern provinces. It''s only natural for him to try to find excuses to eliminate us as soon as he is ready."
The three nodded, their expressions grave as they considered the bleak prospects.
Bengrieve kept quiet. He loosened his tunic, his mind racing to formulate a new plan.
Sir Stan knelt next to him, drawing his attention, and spoke, "You can''t fight this alone."
"I have you and the army in Elandia."
"That''s not what I meant." Sir Stan maintained his gaze. "You need outside help, an ally."
"Lansius," Bengrieve uttered the name that now felt so pleasing on his tongue.
The baronet whispered, "I know you have his mother and sister."
Bengrieve stared at him questioningly. Their identities were a secret.
"I''ve been with a few maids, and they''ve been quite talkative under the blanket," he stated, without a hint of shame.
Bengrieve shook his head weakly. "It seems I''ve underestimated you."
"You assess your peers well, but you often overlook those beneath your station," Sir Stan rebuked.
Bengrieve exhaled deeply, his expression one of regret. "I will take your words to heart."
"You better," Sir Stan remarked as he stood up. Turning to the two captains, he said, "Let''s wait for more news before we decide anything. Rushing is meaningless if we''re going in the wrong direction."
"No," Bengrieve interjected firmly, prompting the three to look at him. He rose from his seat and declared, "Stan, you''ll stay. I''ll ride back to Elandia. I''ll find a way to prevent Gottfried from marching to the Capital."
Sir Stan''s shoulders tensed. "You''re going to do what? Battle the King of Brigantes?" His words were devoid of jest.
"No, that¡¯s stupid and reckless," Bengrieve retorted firmly. "I believe there are ways to sway him to stay put in Arvena."
Sir Stan nodded, but his expression remained cautious. "What exactly do you want me to do here?" he asked. "I can''t possibly take your role. I''m a poor speaker."
"Free Cascasonne," Bengrieve replied firmly, bracing himself for the inevitable verbal tirade.
The veins on his cousin¡¯s forehead bulged. "We don¡¯t even have three hundred! They have at least ten thousand,'' Sir Stan exclaimed. ''I¡¯m not going to risk my limbs in a losing battle."
"Stop acting like a spoiled child," Bengrieve countered sharply. "You can win this. Just stick to the plan I¡¯ve laid out for you."
"Against such gargantuan forces, I¡¯ll need more than just plans," Sir Stan insisted.
Bengrieve looked at the two captains, who showed their somber agreement, clearly aligning themselves with Sir Stan''s position.
"Fine," Bengrieve snapped, his lips curling in displeasure. "As you wish, I shall beg and ask the Lord of Korelia. Let''s hope he''ll be happy with adding Toruna to his fief."
"Oi, oi, not my land. Give him Reginald''s," Sir Stan smirked, clearly amused by Bengrieve''s change of heart.
"My lord," one of the captains stepped forward. "Even if we involve the Lord of Korelia, may we know your plan for Midlandia?"
"Of course," Bengrieve said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, listen carefully..."
***
Korelia
It had been a week since news of the fall of the Imperium first spread. City officials confirmed the news and decided to publicly mourn the passing of the Ageless One. As a result, a somber mood enveloped Korelia. Taverns closed early, as did several of its newest entertainment venues, and the streets saw fewer people. Everyone understood that they were witnessing a catastrophic event that would be remembered in history.
Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined they would live in an age where the Ageless One perished. Fear gripped everyone''s hearts as the Imperium sailed into the shadow of the night, never to return.
Despite being taught by the Ageless One himself not to believe in prayers, the city, at the people''s behest, built an altar so that citizens could light candles, burn incense, and pray for the Third Emperor, the Imperium, and peace.
The Lord and Lady, along with their retinue, also paid their respects. After seven days, the altar was incorporated into the newly built gatehouse, enshrined so that travelers could pay their homage.
While the commoners worried about the future of the Imperium and whether their way of life would be affected, the Lord''s council was in an uproar.
Lord Lansius had entrusted Lord Robert and Sir Omin with the task of writing letters to their neighboring lords to inform them of this calamity and seek their response. Meanwhile, he wrote five letters himself, one each to Lord Avery in Dawn, Lord Beatrix in Umberland, Servius in Nicopola, Sigmund in South Hill, and Dietrich in Korimor.
With only two hawks available and most neighboring lords not employing a Hunter Guildsman, most messages were carried by the usual horse-relay system.
While many were still in mourning, life, as always, moved forward. As farmers returned from their fields and shepherds tended to their flocks, a different rhythm began to pulse from the west. As the planting season drew to a close, thousands of nomads descended upon the region, their arrival heralding the start of their annual homage.
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As was their custom and to honor their oath to Lord Lansius, the tribesmen rode and camped on the verdant western plains. They brought wide carts with their yurts, and thousands of goats, horses, and sheep, bearing gifts of fine horses for the Lord of the City.
The Lord and Lady welcomed them on the plains outside the city walls. A large crowd, including many recent migrants to Korelia, watched in awe as these majestic creatures were presented, their strong limbs and impeccable shapes gleaming under the sun.
The Lord, dressed in a nomadic-style tunic, greeted the nomads with a warm smile. Batu and his brethren, along with the elders, reciprocated the honor. Many were still deeply fascinated by how this unassuming man with black hair had united Lowlandia and brought significant changes to the region.
After the initial greetings, and with no inclination for theatrics or time-wasting, the tribesmen proceeded with the annual exchange. Lansius, Batu, and their retinue observed as the men showcased the fine Lowlandia horses. Smaller than destriers or stallions, these horses boasted incredible stamina, were easy to care for, and could thrive on the sparse vegetation and limited water of the Great Plains, making them suitable for warhorses.
In front of the gathered crowd, Lord Lansius called out, "Before I accept these gifts, I must ask openly¡ªhave these horses been seized in any conflicts or raids?"
"No, My Noyan," the tribes answered firmly and proudly. "All have come from grateful tribes."
"Does accepting these horses and goods cause any grievances among your people?" Lord Lansius continued.
"No, My Noyan," they assured. "It is our pleasure to present these gifts."
"Then I accept this trade," Lord Lansius declared, ushering in two days of festivities. These included sumptuous feasts, meticulously arranged gift exchanges, and robust celebrations of alliances. After the festivities, the highly anticipated horse market of Korelia finally commenced.
For the following week, Korelia hosted its largest horse and livestock market of the year. Breeders, knights, and guildsmen from across the region converged, each seeking animals with the finest traits. They engaged in spirited bargaining, exchanged goods, and negotiated deals, all in the pursuit of profit.
As the Lord had intended, this strategy allowed the nomads to gain capital directly, bypassing the dominant local intermediary horse traders. Consequently, the horse traders were compelled to shift their focus to warhorse training and breeding rather than acting as mere middlemen.
For the nomads, this newfound capital enabled them to purchase land and houses in Korelia, educate their younger generations, engage in trade, start farming, or open workshops.
Lord Lansius hoped this approach would prevent conflicts between the sedentary and nomadic communities from escalating. He wanted to forge strong, lasting bonds between them because he knew the alternative would be too painful to bear.
***
Lowlandia
Morning light filtered through the shattered windows of the abandoned manor east of Korelia, casting long shadows across the weathered stones. Two groups of four, clad in soundproofed black brigandine and helmets covered in black canvas, gathered amidst the ruins, their breaths visible in the crisp air.
The silence of the early dawn was punctured by the mechanical sound of rapid-fire crossbows as they unleashed bolts toward crudely fashioned wooden targets propped against the crumbling walls. The first group, having eliminated the wooden targets, climbed the stone staircase while the second group moved to secure the first floor.
In the largest chamber of the manor, once a grand hall, the second group moved swiftly from one corner to another. The echo of crossbow fire melded with the scrape of boots on debris-strewn floors. Each man loaded and fired with practiced ease; their new weapons were a source of confidence and pride.
Suddenly, the relative orderly progress of their exercise was shattered. As they almost secured a seemingly unremarkable small chamber, the door they kicked swung back with such force that the first man was launched to the floor. From the door, a seasoned knight and a man-at-arms stormed the room.
As they fumbled with their crossbows, the two trainers pounced on them with wooden maces and swords, delivering swift, punishing blows. The clash of wood on armor echoed as the four men were taken down.
"Don''t clump up and never forget the steel at your side!" barked Sir Harold, the lead trainer, as the group failed to land any shots on him with their training bolts. The rapid-fire crossbows, even in their infancy, were so effective that they had led to an overreliance, causing the men to lose their awareness.
Breathless and bruised, the men from the second group stood ready, nursing their pain and fatigue. Soon, the other group joined them from the upper floor, similarly bruised. Francisca, the half-breed, was escorting them.
"One knight, one man-at-arms, and one half-breed¡ªjust imagine if you were also facing a mage," Sir Harold lamented.
"You guys are also missing a crossbowman," Francisca added. Farkas, in his flat gray setup, stepped forward from the shadows, saying, "I think I had a clear shot to get at least two of you."
"Captain!" the men called out.
"Don''t mind me; I''m just visiting," Farkas grinned.
The eight men''s smiles broadened despite being battered. This resilience was what made them special. Unlike most, they did not complain despite the hardship because they were driven from within. They knew what they had signed up for and aspired to be part of elite groups, so no amount of complex and hard training could dissuade them. They felt they were on the cusp of achieving something phenomenal, something unprecedented.
So far, only four men had passed last year''s grueling training. At least twelve were needed to form an effective detachment, with another four men as reserve and rotational backup.
They were mostly handpicked from the Black Bandits, famed for their skirmishing abilities. The battalion-sized unit had produced experts in unconventional warfare. After the events at South Hill, Three Hills, and Korimor, they evolved into a seasoned warband. They developed an innate understanding of disguise and stealth, learning that small numbers of highly capable individuals could significantly alter the battle situation.
Their success was not achieved blindly but under the guidance of Lord Lansius, who directed them with a concrete goal in mind. It was as if he possessed knowledge of what was achievable, leading them not out of mere experimentation but with a certainty that hinted at a deep understanding of such a group''s capabilities.
Recruitment was by invitation only, testing the best candidates through rigorous physical and academic challenges. Their rewards included generous pay, a robust pension scheme, compensation for injuries, and some of the best equipment money could buy.
What motivated them most, however, was the pride of being the sharpest tip of the spear. They were the best combat-ready group in Lowlandia, receiving special treatment and preferential care. This included fully customized armor with velvet liners in their metal plates to reduce noise, the still experimental rapid-fire crossbows, warhorses from the Lord¡¯s own stable, and even airship training.
At social gatherings, they also wore specially tailored tunics, which Lord Lansius and everyone involved in the project also donned whenever necessary, adding another layer of pride. Furthermore, they were exempt from mundane tasks, and outside of training, they were free to manage their own time, conducting additional training as they desired.
However, these privileges were reserved for those who succeeded.
"You are to scout, rescue, or kill a specific target within hostile territory," Sir Harold lectured the candidates. "Do it successfully, and you might prevent or end a major conflict swiftly, with as little bloodshed as possible. You¡¯ll be hailed as heroes. But first, you need to complete the objectives and return alive. Now, repeat your creed."
"I am the sharpest instrument of the Shogunate," the eight men began. "I am the one upon whom the Lord Shogun relies to advance further, faster, and fight harder, both within and beyond his domain. Wherever he needs me, I shall arrive by horse, by boat, or by air. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight. My conduct, how I dress, and how I care for equipment shall set an example for others to follow. I''ll defeat the enemies by being better trained and better prepared. Surrender is not an option. Silence is preferable. Under no circumstances will I ever embarrass the Shogunate."
"Good," Sir Harold was satisfied. "Now march back to your hideout and reflect on it. We''ll send random patrols, and if they spot your place, your group will camp further out."
Dismissed, the men began their march to their hideouts. The staff found their compliance and non-complaining attitude refreshing. They had to admit that the Lord¡¯s insistence on recruiting not the strongest, but fit men with good intellect, proved to be a wise decision. These men proved easier to teach, emotionally stable, more resilient, and capable of thinking independently to improve their skills.
"Good luck," Farkas said, his voice sympathetic. They responded with smiles and a thumbs up.
"Aren''t you being too harsh?" Francisca asked Sir Harold as they began to tally and reset the wooden targets.
Sir Harold smiled. "To tell you the truth, I''m proud of them. They''ve shown much progress in such a short time."
"Then why do we keep failing them?" Francisca asked without hesitation.
"She has a point," Farkas chimed in. "I think they''re doing fine. I counted eleven targets, each with two bolts in the torso."
Sir Harold looked at them and nodded, signaling his agreement. "The problem is the task the Lord wanted them to excel at¡ªfrankly, it''s near impossible. Imagine asking just eight or twelve people to infiltrate a town or castle, capture the leader, rescue a prisoner from a dungeon, or open the gatehouse for our advance party."
Francisca nodded, acknowledging the explanation. Yet Farkas, appearing unresolved, proposed, "If the issue is skill, why delay? Why not allow the candidates to try several more times today?"
"There¡¯s a point to this," Sir Harold replied. "Lord Lansius believes that waiting wreaks havoc on people¡¯s minds¡ªconstant waiting, the dullness, the restlessness, and the lack of sleep. That''s why he included it as part of the training."
"Can''t argue with that, but it still seems so demanding," Francisca said, tilting her head slightly.
"I''m convinced that the Lord has experience with such elite groups in his homeland, otherwise I don''t know where he got that confidence and planning. He even structured it so that the group''s official function is search and rescue," Sir Harold reassured.
"A pretty inconspicuous function for a group tasked with hostage rescue or assassination," she commented.
"Funnily enough, he often said that such objectives can be achieved through various means. That''s why he purposefully made the training complex and hard; he wanted them to win through good tactics, not just by being better, but through trying new approaches, clever deception, or even outright cheating."
"Cheat?" Farkas¡¯ tone carried a hint of amusement as he realized the possibility for the first time.
"Yes, it¡¯s also part of the training. The Lord wanted them to think outside the box," the knight explained, similarly amused.
Farkas chuckled and then one of the veterans who worked with them as support and safety officers approached. "Sir, the second batch of trainees is ready."
Sir Harold looked at the sky and said, "Yes, send them in. Let''s hope this batch also does not disappoint."
...
The training was repeated three times against three different teams and finished well before midday. Farkas wrapped his crossbows in leather before packing them in a canvas bag. Despite being prepared to shoot training bolts, he hadn''t fired them today; there was no need. No teams had sighted him, which was worrying, but he hoped it would teach them a lesson.
"Care to join us for lunch?" Francisca asked.
"Unfortunately, with the tribesmen, guildsmen, knights, and prominent figures all in Korelia, I need to be where my agents can find me quickly," Farkas replied.
"Sir Michael and Sir Omin are quite competent, are they not?" Sir Harold asked, stroking his chin.
"They are, but they''re not locals like me who know where to listen for whispers and talks on the streets," Farkas explained.
"True, one thing the Lord hates the most is surprises," the knight nodded in agreement.
Farkas was about to say something when Francisca asked first, "Is that why Lord Lansius asked me to send a letter, praising and asking Lord Beatrix for more of my kin?"
The knight looked at her, smiling. "No, he wants them as mentors. You see, most commoners in Korelia cannot read."
Francisca furrowed her brow. "I''m not sure why the Lord wants everyone to be able to read. I mean, for farmers, the common alphabet isn''t really going to help them grow crops."
"Isn''t it the same as how Kaen the Hero wanted your kin to be able to read and write, despite your ancestors feeling they had no need for it?" said Farkas.
"Indeed," but then her eyes widened. "Wait, how did you know about that?"
The acting captain of the skirmishers turned smug; he was no longer merely the innocent hunter-turned-lieutenant from Korelia, known for his tasty brown grains. His experiences with Sigmund, Dame Daniella, Sir Harold, Sir Morton, and Lord Lansius, coupled with the events at Three Hills, had transformed him into an effective agent, always listening, yet rarely seen.
"The scrolls," Francisca exclaimed. "You actually obtained and read Kaen''s dialogue scrolls."
"It is my obligation to do so," he answered humbly.
"Now, I have more respect for you."
"Am I that threatening?" Farkas quipped, hinting that he understood that respect among the half-beast culture was derived from threat assessment.
Francisca laughed and turned to Sir Harold. "This man is dangerous."
"Being dangerous is good. Perhaps, I should study the scrolls from him," Sir Harold said, unable to resist a light tease.
"No, you should ask me instead," the half breed replied heartily.
"But you didn¡¯t bring the scrolls with you on your travels," Farkas remarked ever so casually.
"H-how did you know that?" She was both flabbergasted and curious.
Farkas shrugged, eliciting a hearty laugh from Sir Harold. "But seriously," the native Korelian said in a much more serious tone, "for security reasons, I welcomed more half-breeds into Korelia."
His words surprised Francisca. "I hope you aren''t naive enough to think that all half-breeds will be loyal to Lord Lansius."
"I''ll accept that risk," Farkas stated. "Our Lord has antagonized the new House of Midlandia, likely wounding their pride or making them feel threatened. My sources believe there''s a high chance they''ll send assassins here even only to make a statement."
***
Chapter 179 : Mobile Brigades
Chapter 179
Mobile Brigades
Eastern Mansion
Lansius stood at the half-open window of his bedchamber, enjoying the night breeze. Stars dotted the sky, but he wasn''t in the mood for stargazing. He sipped kumis from a beautifully crafted wineskin. The mare''s milk wine, a gift from the nomads'' elder, was smooth yet strong, reddening his face.
The nomads'' annual visit and the horse market had just concluded. Aside from a homage of horses that Lansius would use for breeding, they also exchanged more horses, their famous silken-like pashmina cashmere wool, leather, mare''s milk wine, cheese, and sheep.
In return, Korelia exchanged grains, textiles, salt, spices, and, surprisingly, an amount of barbed wire. Instead of feeling threatened, the nomads had grown fond of it. Batu even praised it, noting that it would enable many weaker communities to defend their herds and family members from large carnivores that roamed the Great Plains.
Lansius was just glad that the invention was well received.
He exhaled deeply. It had been a busy week, during which his presence was required in various capacities as the host. From nomads to guildsmen, knights, and merchants, Lansius believed he had managed to satisfy most, if not all, although there was no easy way to find out.
One thing was certain: while the effort was time-consuming and tedious, the substantial tax profits made it all seem worthwhile. Still, he yearned for calmness¡ªa time when he could focus on building the city, experimenting with new things, or training his men.
Unconsciously, Lansius gazed at the tall yet narrow wooden tower tipped with a simple bronze antenna on a wooden pole, clinging to the mansion''s corner. After their initial contact with someone named Paulos in the Capital, they lost all contact just three days later. It turned out the Capital was under siege, and they feared the worst had happened to him.
What a tragic loss of talent...
The person was clearly talented, able to understand the basics of their color-coded Morse system with ease. It was also a shame that they couldn¡¯t learn more from him, despite being fortunate to have someone in the Capital. They had barely started smoothing out their communication methods when they lost contact.
Now, the antenna lay dormant. The last modification he made was the installation of a simple but robust lever switch, ensuring the copper cable would connect to the ground whenever the antenna was not in use. This precaution was borne out of concern for the upcoming rainy season when the tower could attract lightning. By grounding it deep in the soil, he turned the tower into a functional lightning rod.
Below, he saw guards led by Sterling patrolling the vicinity more frequently, using directed lanterns with reflective plates inside, which were brighter compared to traditional ones. He obtained them from one of Midlandia¡¯s guilds, who were all too happy to sell them. Lansius wanted a better lamp, like a carbide lamp, but he knew it was impossible to obtain calcium carbide, which didn¡¯t occur naturally. So, for now, his options were limited to the elusive and likely expensive gemstone of light, oil lamp, or the usual rushlights and candles.
Sipping his kumis again, he observed Ingrid and Francisca alternating their appearances, likely to bolster security. Ingrid was on duty until the second watch, and then Francisca took over until the first light. Seeing them take safety so seriously without being instructed warmed his heart.
It must be Farkas and Sir Harold''s doing. Which means, I''m actually important enough for them to care.
The thought made him proud. Even though he had risen to lordship, Lansius never dared to assume that he was well-loved. After all, ruling was naturally hard with powerful people having different goals and agendas. He was under no illusion that he could make everyone happy.
The thing that differentiated him from other warlords was that he simply didn''t have to make many compromises. The hand of fate forced him to face conflicts without any venue for negotiation, and he excelled in the power struggle by winning it through the strength of arms. It was tragic, bloody, and destructive, but on the other hand, it made things much easier.
Of course, simply winning and conquering was just half of the process. If Lansius merely won and ruled, then he would be nothing but another dictator¡ªa man to be toppled whenever he made a mistake.
This was the rationale behind the shogunate. Despite his victories, instead of appointing a new leader, Lansius cooperated with his former adversaries to ensure they could continue ruling. Lacking capable and trustworthy personnel, or even a functional noble house, he depended on them to maintain their power and influence over their domains. Through these former rivals, he maintained a firm grip on the combined military, populace, and resources.
At its heart, the shogunate was an institution designed to centralize power. The sankin-kotai policy of alternate residency, gathering all lords and their families in one unified city and assigning lesser kin to govern their lands, effectively minimized the risks of petty rivalries erupting among bordering domains.
Moreover, with every lord¡¯s family permanently residing in Korelia, the arrangement greatly reduced distrust among the noble houses. It even transformed their rivalry from destructive to constructive, fostering projects like buildings and artworks. By living and building together, this system ensured that each noble house had significant stakes in the shogunate, making them less likely to rebel or revert to their old ways.
In this way, Lansius expected Lowlandia to remain internally stable for the foreseeable future. So far, it had been working well. The populace seemed happy, migrations increased, trade flourished, and despite maintaining a standing army, their cash flow was positive, and they anticipated earning more from the upcoming southern trade.
Not to mention, his other domains were sending positive reports after the winter. The best of all was probably from Sigmund, who reported that South Hill was expecting a bountiful harvest. The winter seeds they had planted last fall seemed to have been blessed; the majority had survived the icy winter, boosting morale among the populace and soon stabilizing food prices in that part of the region.
Slowly, it would affect other regions, helping every Lowlandian community that had long been ravaged by frequent wars. Lansius hoped this trend would continue, enabling them to maintain well-stocked granaries in anticipation of future poor harvests.
He took another sip of kumis, savoring its yogurt-like, slightly tangy, and effervescent kick that tingled on his tongue. Feeling the cold breeze on his face, he exhaled deeply.
Ever since his travels, campaigns, and feasts with the nomads, he had developed a taste for this liquor, which, despite being derived from milk, did not contain lactose.
"What''s on your mind, love? I rarely see you drinking alone like this," Audrey asked from behind, prompting Lansius to turn around.
She had just finished preparing for sleep, wearing more comfortable Centurian clothes, a gift from a merchant who was all too eager to gain her favor. Surprisingly, to him, it somewhat resembled a kimono. "Well," he struggled to recall what he was thinking. "Just worrying about the Imperium and the future."
"The Imperium?" Audrey inched closer, a lovely floral scent emanating from her. "But you''re not even originally from this part of the world."
Lansius simply nodded, now feeling the full effect of the kumis. Suddenly, everything didn''t seem so bad. Even the fall of the Imperium wasn''t as worrying anymore. "Still, the fall is a big deal," he murmured, searching for the right words. Gazing at her, he asked, "Why aren''t you mourning the fall of the Imperium?"
She tilted her head slightly. "I guess I''m yet to feel it. It still feels surreal... the Imperium is older than even my great ancestors. Nobody thought it would collapse," she replied, taking the wineskin from him and gently guiding him to the bed.
"Also, I prefer not to get sad since I can''t even drink to drown the sorrows," she explained as she sat down.
He settled beside her on the bed, and she gently guided his head onto her lap. The close proximity made Lansius smile, especially after realizing he was so near to the baby in her womb. He leaned closer and pressed his ear against her belly, listening to the various sounds within.
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"Do you hear anything?" she asked, amused.
"Maybe I should try calling him," he pondered. "Now, what would be your name, little one?"
"Try to come up with one. Something strong but unique."
Lansius pondered, but nothing suitable came to mind.
"How about someone close to you?" Audrey suggested again.
"I only knew Marc and Tanya, but I doubt naming our child after them would be a good idea..." His tone reflecting the uncertainty surrounding their fate.
Audrey nodded, understanding his hesitation. "How about a name from your homeland?"
"Lancelot? Arthur? William?" he offered a few names.
"Mm, they sound so foreign to me," Audrey remarked thoughtfully. "Perhaps someone important to you? Someone who has sacrificed for you?"
That struck a chord. Lansius instantly recalled a few names. "Max, Theo, and Sir Callahan."
"Callahan is a nice name," Audrey remarked warmly.
Lansius smiled in response. "Well, if the baby likes it, then we can call him that."
"Cecile and Claire will be pleased with that," she said excitedly. Afterward, they gently clutched hands, enjoying the moment in silence.
"Drey," Lansius said after a while, "I''m tired," his words alluding to his responsibilities.
"I know, I see you doing all sorts of things like bees in springtime."
Lansius chuckled weakly, gazing into her gentle eyes. "Any advice for this tired man?"
"How about eating plenty?" she teased, her smile radiant. Somehow, she looked even more beautiful.
"That''s so you," he teased back.
She giggled. "I heard you chopped a lot of wood."
"Oh, yeah. Just to get my mind off things."
"You know you should slow down a bit," she suggested.
"But I don''t have the luxury of time."
"That is exactly why," she said as she massaged his shoulders. "A good knight always takes care of his warhorse and won''t let her get restless the night before a battle."
Lansius chuckled, amused that she always used horse analogies. "Then how does the Baroness pacify her restless horse tonight?"
She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. "I used to kiss Horsie to calm her down."
Lansius couldn''t help but chuckle. "Someday, we''ll have peace in Arvena and then we''re going to look for Horsie."
"Really?" she asked, hopeful.
"Of course. I want to bring her to Korelia where she can eat, run, sleep, and even fart freely wherever she wants."
Audrey stifled a giggle, her face lighting up even more. "I also want to visit Bellandia," she said gently. "I want to properly meet your family, especially the little sister you''ve often talked about."
That night, the two reminisced about their roots and the hardships they had endured, vowing not to forget them, despite having become major powers in a different province.
...
The next morning, Lansius oversaw his troops marching in the new Tercio formation just outside the construction area of the eastern walls. He observed as the main body advanced northward in a compact, disciplined block, looking for signs that his men and the officers had grasped the new formation, which was unlike anything they had seen before.
At its core, the formation bristled with pikemen, supported by men-at-arms and crossbowmen. Surrounding the square-like center, four mobile brigades operated independently, each tasked with protecting the flanks and rear. This arrangement gave the cavalry the freedom to advance without exposing the main army¡¯s flanks.
Not only limited to defensive purposes, these mobile brigades could also serve as harassment troops or launch assaults when opportunities arose. Similarly comprised of pikemen and crossbow wielders, their long pikes could deter cavalry charges, while the crossbowmen delivered punishing strikes from a safe distance.
Although arrows or bolts seldom killed outright, they could be dispensed with ease and from a safe distance. In large quantities, they could draw so much blood that they might break the enemy¡¯s morale before contact, allowing the main army or cavalry to deliver the final blow.
At least that was the idea. However, there were reasons to be confident in this strategy, as they had experienced several victories featuring extensive use of crossbows. This success had bolstered everyone''s confidence in the lethality of their crossbowmen.
The four independent brigades were designed to roam freely, drilled to either counter or reinforce the main army as needed, effectively becoming their shield or sword. This strategic flexibility gave the Tercio formidable defensive capabilities compared to traditional long line or square formations.
While Sir Harold normally commanded, today Lansius had appointed Sir Michael as the commander. Sterling acted as his vice and commanded one of the mobile brigades. The staff and he wanted to assess whether the troops could also effectively follow a different leader¡¯s command.
As an observer, Lansius rode his horse slowly alongside Sir Harold, Carla, and a dozen mounted guards as an escort.
A short distance away, the Tercio formation advanced, turned, and resumed without issue. Lansius also observed how the mobile brigades behaved organically. "Good work on the training. They seem to be able to maneuver without hesitation," he praised.
"Thank you, My Lord," Sir Harold replied. "But without a real test, we wouldn¡¯t know if they can function in the heat of battle."
Lansius nodded and then turned to Carla. "Give the signal for the Baroness'' light cavalry."
"Light cavalry, My Lord." Carla took a color-coded torch from her bag and lit it, producing a thick black smoke that slowly turned into a reddish color.
"Calub¡¯s color signal is working quite well," Sir Harold commented with fascination.
Soon, from afar, tens of the Baroness'' light cavalry charged the Tercio formation, almost halting their advance. However, the mobile brigades effectively and patiently countered them, acting like a shield.
Despite the cavalry being faster and more maneuverable, the four brigades seemed able to protect the main army''s flanks, allowing the whole Tercio formation to continue their march, albeit at a slower speed. Now, the Tercio''s smaller cavalry had the upper hand and chased after the Baroness'' light cavalry.
Satisfied, Lansius turned to Sir Harold, who nodded in agreement. He then turned to Carla, "Send the Dragoons."
"Yes, My Lord." Carla took another torch from her bag, this one producing blue-colored smoke.
Before long, the ground began to shake as hundreds of dragoons took to the field. For this exercise, they used longer strings and blunt-tipped bolts.
The dragoons advanced slowly, assessing their opponent''s weaknesses before launching a rapid approach. Countering them, the Tercio formation assumed a defensive posture, offering bristling walls of pikes. The mobile brigades remained outside and deployed their pikes, each capable of fending off attacks proportional to their size.
Lansius urged his destrier to advance closer to see the action unfold. His entourage followed, flanking him, while the old and reliable bannerman carried his huge blue and bronze banner.
They witnessed the frantic, almost chaotic clash between the dragoons and the Tercio, from which they learned a great deal about the formation''s resilience and its real capabilities.
Although the dragoons were not using the new X-bow that Lansius had developed, nor were they equipped like the elite Cranequiners who used smaller cranequins, many were armed with steel-prodded crossbows. This steel construction allowed for a slimmer, lighter design compared to the traditional thick wooden prods. It was also more robust, far less susceptible to cracks or moisture issues, and required less maintenance. The smaller dimensions and streamlined shape were ideal for mounted users, making it easier to handle, aim, and store, and reducing the risk of snagging on other gear while riding.
Despite all these improvements, they still could not gain the upper hand against the new Tercio formation.
"The way they''re able to fend off the attack is impressive," Lansius said to Sir Harold, who eagerly nodded, his grin wide.
"Indeed, a simple line formation would have buckled against your Dragoons. They could easily outflank them in open plains like this," the knight replied, proudly.
Lansius, noticing Carla looked similarly enchanted, asked, "What do you think about the new formation?"
"The smaller squares are unpredictable, My Lord. Even the dragoons became cautious around them," she replied.
Lansius nodded. "Indeed, they''re smaller but can also take a lot of punishment."
"Just what kind of training have they had?" she said nervously.
Lansius smiled, glancing at Sir Harold, who answered, "The key is to equip them better. For the mobile brigade, we ditched shields in favor of ringmail or brigandine."
"Each of the mobile brigades is essentially heavy infantry," Lansius mused aloud.
Early European pikemen. Lansius thought to himself, before adding, "We need them to be extra tough. If any opponents underestimate them, they''ll pay dearly for their mistake."
Carla nodded eagerly, and Lansius'' group advanced closer to watch the spectacle from close range.
***
The day had turned to evening when Lansius returned to the Eastern Mansion with his escorts. Upon entering the armory, Margo assisted him with removing his brigandine and changing his clothes. He also took the time to refresh himself with water from a bronze basin before heading to the upper level to wind down.
As he climbed the stairs, the guards readily saluted and opened the door for him and Margo. Lansius then spotted Audrey. "Ah, you''re back," she greeted him with a gentle smile, still wearing her kimono.
"That outfit really suits you," Lansius praised with a smile.
Perhaps because she hadn''t expected the compliment, Audrey simply blushed.
Lansius approached and leaned toward her, observing the redness on her cheeks. "Are you getting flustered?" he asked with a teasing smile.
She gave him a playful look, one reserved just for him. "Husband, don''t ruin the moment with your sarcasm."
"Yeah, I know better than to push my luck," Lansius grinned and kissed her gently on the forehead.
Audrey was clearly happy, but as usual, a smug expression appeared on her face, almost like a defensive mechanism. However, the expression, which Lansius found rather cute, was reserved only for him. Everyone else only received the scary-lady look.
As Lansius took a drink off the table, Audrey said, "You know, the staff won''t let me do much outside of the mansion, so I thought, why not wear something comfortable since I''m not going anywhere?"
"I have no issue with the Centurian dress, especially if you''re comfortable in it," he remarked as he sat down on the soft couch. "I think you can even use it for archery training."
"Indeed, I just need to tuck the sleeve with a thick sash. That way, the long sleeve becomes manageable," she replied, her voice filled with excitement.
Lansius nodded in understanding. "Just be careful with the training. I don¡¯t want you to get hurt."
"I¡¯ll certainly be careful," she assured him, without a speck of doubt. "Oh, Margo told me that the artisan has finished your order for a large bronze bowl."
"A large bronze bowl...?" Lansius pondered before realizing, "Ah, they''ve finished the bronze dish!"
"What are you going to do with such a deep bowl? Deep fry a duck?" she wondered.
Lansius laughed as he rose. "Though deep-fried does sound rather tasty, I need it for another purpose," he said, his previously tired eyes now shimmering with hope.
***
Chapter 180 : Interregnum
Chapter 180
Interregnum
Eastern Mansion
High-quality candles in the ornate chandelier generously lit the cream-plastered walls of the great chamber, their brilliant light stark against the darkening evening sky. Today, unlike usual, the mansion was devoid of the usual bustle of staff preparing for supper. Lansius had granted them a well-deserved break after a week filled with extra work to cater to the guests who attended the nomads'' annual event.
He went further and chose to dine privately for a week to allow more kitchen staff to return home. Nevertheless, the castle''s great hall remained open to cater to his retinue and other staff, with Calub and Cecile acting as hosts. Similarly, Sir Michael took charge in the Great Keep, accommodating the growing ranks of Korelia¡¯s officers, recruits, and active military members.
Lansius readily helped Audrey on the wooden stairs, with Carla also ready to assist, but Audrey was as nimble as ever. Her pregnancy didn''t seem to encumber her at all. The three of them entered the great chamber. Still feeling the effects of the kumis he had indulged in, Lansius experienced a warm burn lingering in his throat as his gaze landed on a newly arrived object placed on a wooden pedestal, ready for his inspection tomorrow.
"My Lord, My Lady," greeted one of the staff and a guardsman on duty.
"At ease, we''re just checking the delivered item," Lansius said as he headed toward the bronze dish. Shaped like a deep bowl, it stood proudly on a pedestal, its smooth curving surface gleaming under the candlelight. Though solid, it wasn''t heavy. He lifted it to marvel at the craftsmanship, noting it was slightly larger than a Greek aspis shield, famously worn by the Spartans.
At his side, Audrey and Carla waited attentively, their eyes bright with curiosity over the object.
"Ah," Lansius muttered as he checked the back where he had requested a mounting suitable for a wooden pole, and more importantly, a hole for the antenna along with the necessary fittings.
"Mm, this looks more complex than a fancy cauldron," Audrey observed. "What''s the intended use?"
Lansius'' gaze shifted from the metallic sheen of the bronze dish to his wife, adorned in a simple white kimono that draped elegantly over her form. The sight of her, so serene and lovely in her traditional Centurian attire, captivated him anew. Or perhaps it was the kumis playing tricks on his mind because she appeared much happier than usual, her smile sweeter than ever.
He shook his head slightly to clear the daze. "This is for..." he paused, realizing it was intended for the magical telegram, so he corrected, "It¡¯s for the wooden tower, just an accessory."
"Oh," Audrey exclaimed softly. From the flicker in her eyes, Lansius could tell she understood it was related to magic.
Meanwhile, Carla, the guard, and the staff looked curious, yet they maintained their silence, knowing better than to meddle in their Lord and Lady''s affairs unless asked.
"Let''s install it tomorrow," Lansius added as he placed the bronze object back on the wooden pedestal.
"Then, shall I arrange for Francisca and Ingrid to come tomorrow morning?" Audrey offered.
"Yes, please. And also some carpenters who aren''t afraid of heights," Lansius said with a smile.
...
The next morning, Lansius awoke with a slight hangover. He couldn''t remember the details of the previous night, but a big smile lingered on his face.
Something about her in that Centurian kimono...
He had never realized just how pleasing to the eyes Audrey was, perhaps because he usually saw her dressed like a shield maiden. Only now did Lansius fully appreciate his wife''s charm. Even thinking about it made his heart race. Thus, despite the hangover, he was in a good mood as he got out of bed and prepared for the day, remembering that he had summoned several people to discuss the bronze object.
As he exited the chamber, as usual, he spotted Audrey, who was always awake first, either reading or reviewing reports in the private hall adjacent to their chamber. "Morning," she greeted first.
"Morning," he replied, glad she was still wearing the white kimono and looked as sweet as last night, minus the blur of alcohol.
From around the corner, Francisca and Ingrid approached, with Margo following behind. It appeared they had been waiting for a while. "My Lord," they greeted in unison.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting; the kumis I drank last night was quite potent," Lansius admitted.
The two smiled, likely aware that their Lord wasn''t known for his tolerance to alcohol.
"The carpenters you asked for are ready and waiting in the hall."
"Excellent, let''s meet them," Lansius declared, and everyone headed to the hall. There, he explained to the carpenters what he wanted with the bronze dish: to remove the antenna from the pole and secure it in the center of the parabolic dish without severing the bronze cable wrapped in thick canvas.
After some preparation, they climbed the small wooden tower, aided by two guards on duty. Francisca decided to help and amazed everyone with her ease of climbing, moving like a large leopard ascending a tree.
In just over an hour, the bronze parabolic antenna was installed. Lansius led Audrey and Ingrid back to the upper floor hall where he switched a robust lever, connecting the new antenna to a thinner copper wire. This wire ended in a small copper clip that could be attached to a small object like an earring.
Ingrid took her seat facing the small, antique-looking desk and pulled open the drawer. Inside, she found a small, beautiful box containing Francisca''s magical earring. With the help of the mirror on the desk, she put it on her right ear, then connected the wire and the copper clip to the earring. After receiving a nod from Lansius, she closed her eyes. Without needing further instruction, she began to search for Paulos, their contact in the Capital.
"Keep looking, I''m going to make some adjustments," Lansius said as he approached the window. He leaned out and spotted the carpenters and guards waiting on the tower. "Rotate it a bit to the left," he instructed.
"To the west, My Lord?" a guardsman asked from the wooden platform above, with Francisca acting as a safety overseer from the rooftop of the adjacent mansion.
"Northwest," Lansius clarified. "But do it very, very slowly."
They complied, and Lansius returned his gaze to Ingrid. He saw Audrey approaching and asked, "Do you think the bronze bowl will help?"
"I hope so," he exhaled. "There¡¯s no guarantee, but since the bronze wire helps with the range, this parabolic shape should also work."
She licked her lips, muttering, "Sometimes I wonder how you know things like this."
"I studied a lot," Lansius said with a proud grin.
Audrey stifled a giggle, and the two of them settled into a soft bench to wait for Ingrid. They passed the time by carefully verifying the directions on the map, ensuring every detail was correct.
"It should be correct," Audrey reassured him. "I have traveled via the Capital and Elandia; they should be northwest of us."
Lansius nodded. "If Paulos is alive, then we should be hearing from him now, or tomorrow¡ª"
"My Lord," Ingrid exclaimed, turning to them with a nervous smile before scribbling frantically on her wax tablet.
"You found him?" Lansius asked, already knowing the answer.
Ingrid recited the message she saw: "Green Yellow, Blue Wood, Red Green, Red Silver.
Wood Silver, Yellow Blue.
Green Silver, Red Wood, Red Green, Wood, Blue.
Silver Silver, Yellow Blue, Red Red."
Lansius and Audrey rose and approached her. "What''s the translation for that?" Audrey asked, anticipation in her voice.
"Glad to hear you," Ingrid answered with a big sigh of relief.
Lansius chuckled while Audrey grinned, happy to know Paulos had survived. "It¡¯s funny that we don¡¯t even know what Paulos looks like, but we¡¯re happy he survived," she commented.
"Our concern for others needs no acquaintance with their features," Lansius remarked poetically, and Audrey looked at him with delight.
Lansius quickly instructed the men on the tower to secure it in that position. Francisca continued to watch over them, her kind heart not wanting even the carpenters to fall.
Afterward, they allowed Ingrid to communicate freely. Soon, Lansius discovered several interesting facts.
"So, he escaped from the Capital," Lansius muttered from his seat.
"He said he''s been reassigned to Elandia before the Capital fell," Ingrid clarified.
"Lucky him," Lansius said with a breath of relief.
"Get some information on Elandia," Audrey instructed gently. "Ask without arousing suspicion: With whom does he travel, and what will they try to do now that the Capital has fallen? Also, does he intend to stay in North Elandia, or will he try to seek refuge in South Elandia?"
Lansius understood her intention. South Elandia was now under Lord Bengrieve, and with the new Lord Reginald of Midlandia openly threatening Korelia, there was no other way for him but to stay loyal to his benefactor, at least externally.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
A hundred allies are too few, one enemy is too many.
***
Two days after they reestablished contact, Lansius had learned a great deal about the grim situation near the Capital. From Ingrid''s exchanges, he captured Paulos'' grief and desperation. In general, North Elandia was in no shape to act, even in the face of the Imperium''s demise. There was no rallying, no movement to retake or secure the capital.
Instead, the local powers feared and expected the return of Gottfried''s army. Worse, everyone seemingly suspected that other nobles had established backdoor channels to the new king.
"The only figure they could rely on was the old Duke Louis," Sir Omin explained as Lansius gathered a few for a meeting in the Eastern Mansion. The former Lord of Korimor was more knowledgeable and intimate with the delicate nature of Imperium politics.
Sir Omin continued, "However, despite being in his early fifties, he is not blessed with good health. Moreover, unlike his counterpart, Duke Alvaro of Centuria, who is diplomatically shrewd and decisive, Duke Louis is stoic and pessimistic."
"I heard the old Duke is generally not well-liked," Farkas commented without any reservation, despite the former lord''s presence.
"Indeed," Sir Omin did not raise his brow but merely nodded in agreement. "The old Duke''s untrusting nature led to inefficiency and political stagnation in the High Lord''s Court. Those contributed greatly to the rise of the Sages in the Capital."
From their interaction, he could see that the two got along. He glanced at the last person, Sir Harold, who stood comfortably in silence. Without asking anyone in particular, Lansius asked, "So, what is the old Duke likely to do now in this situation?"
"Unfortunately, from what I know of him, he''s likely worn out or has given up completely," Sir Omin predicted. "His swan castle in Tiberia may be formidable, but he lacks allies, and without the Imperium''s support, everyone sees him as a lost cause."
Paulos and his small group of officials-turned-refugees probably thought the same thing. No wonder they decided to travel to South Elandia.
"Reports from travelers indicate that after last year''s siege and the Imperium''s doomed counterattack, the old Duke mostly stayed on his lands," Farkas reported. "He didn''t seem to send his troops or try to establish a defensive line with his allies."
"He''ll get surrounded again just like last year, and this time he has nobody to support or rescue him," Omin lamented in an irritated tone, likely disliking the powerful figure''s incompetence.
Lansius sighed softly in his seat, muttering, "So now, North Elandia and the remaining Tiberia will likely be taken by Gottfried."
"Likely so, My Lord," Sir Omin agreed.
"I think we''ve overlooked the other party involved in this," Sir Harold said, breaking his silence and drawing everyone¡¯s attention. "Lord Bengrieve is in South Elandia. With or without the Duke of Tiberia''s support, it''s unlikely for him to sit idle while Gottfried takes the rest of the province."
"That is true. However, he''s still mired by the Midlandian succession," Sir Omin replied, and Sir Harold gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
Lansius exhaled and stood to his feet, signaling that the meeting was over. "Gratitude for your counsel. Let us adjourn this meeting until we find more news from the Elandian front."
Afterward, accompanied by his small entourage of a squire and a page, Lansius deliberately chose the long way to his study, needing to distance himself from the chaos unfolding in Elandia. From the window on the second floor, he saw the two knights part ways: Sir Harold and his staff rode east, likely to meet Sir Michael at the Great Keep, while Sir Omin headed west, presumably to the Castle to meet with Calub and Cecile.
They served respectively as his arms in civil and military matters.
Meanwhile, he failed to see Farkas, who seemed to have mastered traveling undetected, likely using a different door and route, fitting for his role as the acting Captain of the Black Bandits. The traveling minstrels he funded were now everywhere, spreading across many towns and baronies, collecting news and gossip, and verifying claims before relaying their reports through their growing network.
Lansius entered his study chamber, and Sterling immediately closed the door while the rest of the entourage waited outside. He sat down and began to prepare his ink, while Sterling diligently sharpened the quill pen.
Afterward, the squire prepared a clean silver goblet and poured water for him. Although Margo still held the position of cup-bearer, Lansius had decided that others, like Sterling and Carla, could also perform this role.
"Gratitude," Lansius said as he took a parchment from his drawer. He positioned it on the writing slope set atop the table to prevent the ink from blotting.
He inhaled deeply to clear his mind and began writing a letter to Dame Daniella. With the help of Lord Avery and with Lord Jorge''s approval and support, they established another Hunter Guildsman in Three Hills. Now, their network of fast information was expanding, its reach only limited by the ability of hawks and horses to deliver messages.
Even with flying, the distance between the cities across the Great Plains was not trivial.
To Dame Daniella, he continued to answer her queries and guide her in dealing with the Moneylender Guild, now under his control. He aimed to transform it into something more significant than a mere money-lending operation.
He spent his time elaborating on his vision for the new guild, detailing policies and ideals.
Finished with that matter, Lansius continued with Sigmund''s letters. The skald had sent good reports from South Hill, now expecting a bountiful harvest from the winter seeds. However, he also reported that while the realm appeared calm on the outside, it was brewing with tension internally. He had learned of an insidious plan and was asking Lansius for his advice and approval.
Lansius wrote back, expressing his confidence in Sigmund but cautioning him not to stir a beehive. If action was required, he preferred that the accused be brought to trial in Korelia under escort. However, he acknowledged that the situation might still escalate. Ironically, such an escalation would provide the justification they needed to use force to quell it.
He paused, reluctant to suggest further actions, as he disliked being manipulative when not facing an opponent on the battlefield. He believed that ruling should have a standard of transparency and fairness, or else his peers and populace would see him as untrustworthy. And history had plenty of examples of what happened to rulers with that kind of stigma.
Leaning back in his chair, he eyed several reports still requiring his decisions. Some he had read but had yet to act upon. "Paperwork," he muttered, prompting a smile from Sterling.
"Perhaps some refreshment, My Lord?" Sterling asked considerately.
"Nah, I''d better finish this before my mind refuses to," Lansius quipped. "Besides, even without the glory, this is way better than drawing blood on the battlefield."
***
Elandia
"So, I heard you have a mother or father with different eye or hair color?" Sir Munius asked Marc as they sparred in the woods.
"They''re brown, like mine," Marc replied, swinging a broadsword at Munius, who could have easily dodged but chose to parry it instead as training for both of them.
A metallic clang and a spark occurred when their blades locked. "Keep it up," Sir Munius instructed, despite the slightly numbed feeling in his hand.
"But my sister, she''s blond," Marc said, breathlessly continuing with another wide swing.
"I see," the knight exclaimed as he parried again. He made it look easy, but it was challenging even for an experienced knight like him. "So, your parents are from the north?"
"No, we don¡¯t have any Northern ancestry," Marc replied as he unconsciously launched a murderous strike.
The knight parried the monstrous blow with all his strength, also recognizing what fueled the strike. He was slightly disappointed in Marc''s answer but not surprised. After all, the Arvenian didn''t possess the facial traits typical of Northerners, unlike his family. The truth was, that Sir Munius was a descendant of Northerners but concealed it, afraid that many would view him with suspicion or question his loyalty.
"Isn''t the idea not to overdo the swing?" Marc asked, resetting his stance.
"That''s for a common man with average power. But you, with your strength... Many will glance at your form and pose and decide you''re nothing but a trainee, then fail to counter you properly," Sir Munius reasoned.
"I see," Marc responded and launched an overhead strike.
They continued their training until Marc grew tired.
"You said I''m stronger than normal, but am I really that strong?" he asked, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
Sir Munius grinned and pulled a handy axe from his belt, offering it to him with one hand. "One way to find out," he said, nodding toward the trees around them.
Marc took the axe, his face set with determination, and chose a tree about the width of a man. It was an old tree with dark brown bark and thick branches. Touching the bark, he found it firm but dry. He then prepared his stance and channeled as much strength from the ring to his arm. Without hesitation, he launched his strike, which cleaved deep and shook the tree as if a bear had pummeled it.
The display of strength surprised even Marc himself, his eyes widening in disbelief. Unfortunately, it also dislodged old, dying branches, along with ants cascading over his head.
Sir Munius laughed as Marc took several frantic steps back while desperately trying to remove leaves and reddish-colored ants from his hair and clothes. That moment of silliness marked the end of their training, and they headed back to their main group.
There, a situation had unfolded. Faces had become grim, the mood heavy. They saw Lady Sagaria sitting on a tree stump, conversing with a group of strangers who were likely fellow travelers but strangely wore fine clothes underneath their traveling cloaks.
Sir Munius approached their commander and asked, "What happened?"
Sir Bald Eagle turned to him and explained, "We just received word that the Capital has fallen."
"No way," Marc exclaimed, while Sir Munius displayed only a look of displeasure and bitterness. "Who conquered it? Gottfried?" he asked.
"No," the commander responded firmly. "It was a common men''s rebellion from the west that also burned the palace to the ground."
The knight sighed, allowing Sir Bald Eagle to continue, "Best prepare your gear. I think we''re going to march faster."
"Why, is someone threatening us?" Sir Munius asked, his eyes sharp.
"No, we have a new destination," Sir Bald Eagle revealed.
***
Lord Avery Dawn
It was a cloudy afternoon, and it looked like the rainy season had arrived in Dawn Barony. Inside the formidable-looking castle, Avery enjoyed a merry lunch with Ella, his favorite granddaughter. Despite her young age and slight build, the thirteen-year-old had a healthy appetite, much like his own.
Her health and appetite pleased him. Born with peculiar red hair, she was active, enjoying activities like riding, sword fencing, and she was quite adept with knives¡ªnot just kitchen knives but also a full-sized hunting knife. Ella had helped him in skinning and preparing game during the hunting season.
Their lunch consisted of roast chicken, skewered meat, and stir-fried vegetables, accompanied by white rice, as was customary in their land. As they ate, the chubby, friendly-looking Chamberlain, who was waiting in the chamber reading a book, received a missive from a newly arrived squire. He listened to the whispered report and nodded accordingly.
Avery took little interest and enjoyed his meal, aware that his duties often required him to be away for days outside the castle.
"My Lord, a hawk from Korelia has arrived," the chamberlain reported to Avery, without any sense of urgency.
Avery merely said, "Treat the bird well. They''ve earned some respite after all those flights."
The chamberlain bowed his head slightly. It was well known that the messenger hawks needed to regain their fat before their next flight.
Soon, Avery concluded his meal with a glass of clear rice wine, savoring its sweet taste and fragrance. "So, what''s the message? Is it as grim as the last one?" he asked, prompting Ella to listen attentively.
"I doubt anything could be as bad as the last one," the chamberlain replied, referring to the news of the fall of the Capital and the Imperium. For two weeks, they had been receiving reports of the Capital''s fall, including its unbelievable details from several of their allies.
"Our newest ally is ready to send another 100 warhorses," the chamberlain reported.
"That''s pleasing to hear," Avery said, smiling as he sipped his rice wine.
"He also suggested trading twenty more warhorses for as much fuel as he could get. He wrote that he''s building fuel reserves."
"Fuel reserves? So he actually likes the airship," Avery chuckled, prompting his daughter to smile.
"Perhaps you should entice him with our newest build?" she remarked wittily.
"That is a good suggestion," Avery replied, stroking his chin. Then, turning to the Chamberlain again, he said, "Twenty more horses for fuel. Not a bad deal. Let''s give him what he wants, plus a transport fee."
The Chamberlain nodded and motioned for their scribe to write it down for the upcoming caravan.
"How''s the report from the border?" Avery asked in a much more somber tone.
"Still the same, My Lord. Our men engaged another raiders'' attempt last night."
Avery sighed deeply.
"There might also be a problem on the water crossing to Three Hills," the Chamberlain added cautiously.
"What about it?" Avery pressed.
"After a more thorough examination, I believe we''re facing a piracy threat. The Corinthians, despite mostly being fishermen, are still Lowlandians by nature."
Old Avery rubbed his forehead but maintained his smile, so Ella wouldn''t worry. He then muttered, "With the caravan already on the move from the west and piracy on the east, we can''t afford any more risks."
"My Lord?" the Chamberlain asked, slightly nervous.
"I fear we''ve been too lenient with our actions," Avery declared firmly without raising his voice. "If these Sarmatians and Centurians can''t get along with the Nicopolans locals and us, then there''s no point in waiting. I''ll have them accompany the Imperium in its demise."
Ella seemed to grasp the meaning, but her gaze remained unflinching.
Avery turned his gaze toward the chamberlain and said grimly, "It''s the birth of a new era. Old problems should die with the old regime. If they''re not with us, then they belong to the past."
***
Chapter 181 : Chiroptera
Chapter 181
Chiroptera
Nicopola, Dawn Barony''s Border
Tattered tents flapped in the cold night wind, their shadows flickering over the barren, trampled ground. The only lights in this sad encampment, scattered around a ruined village, emanated from several dwindling campfires. Next to these fires sat empty cauldrons, alongside pottery that once stored grains. Like all other food supplies there, they had been depleted long before the onset of last winter.
It was a miracle that many who wintered here survived the cold season with barely anything to eat but boiled wild plants. Their only sustenance came a few times a week from their mercenary overlords, who brought thick soup with meat. Nobody dared ask what kind of meat it was. They ate gratefully; it was better than the gruel made from ground tree bark mixed with wild plants.
As the cold season gave way, the conflict stirred anew. Thousands who had taken refuge along the river longed to return to their lands to restart farming. However, many among them, particularly the more militant mercenary groups, resisted these movements. They were driven by ambitions to conquer Dawn Barony, which they saw as a crucial haven needed to survive the ongoing turmoil.
Their resolve was further steeled by the belief that the Lord¡¯s granary was filled with rice¡ªrumored to be both fulfilling and superior to most grains. Many were also buoyed by the success of last year''s raids into the outskirts of Dawn, which emboldened them to push deeper into the territory.
As the night wind blew again, whistling through the flames, its eerie sound was the only noise disturbing the silence that stretched for miles. The men were too weak to even snore, and no crows, owls, or crickets could be heard¡ªeverything alive had already been hunted down.
"Is it raining?" an old man muttered in their tent, wrapping his bony figure in old but thick fur coats his son had stolen from a manor last year.
"Indeed, the wind brings the scent of rain, but it has been like this since last week," replied his son gently, once a stout farmer, now reduced to thinness and weakness. He knew his father hoped to catch some frogs when the first rain came.
His father nodded weakly and returned to his sleep.
The son looked at his father¡¯s graying hair and wrinkles and felt a pang of sadness. His father was the only family he had left; the other family members had died in clashes between the migrants and the Nicopolans.
Families like his had left Centuria and Sarmatia to avoid wars with the western nomads, but after a few years, they ended up in a similarly dire situation. There were simply too many mouths to feed and too little harvest. Once hunger struck, people attacked communities like theirs, ironically, even those that grew food for every community regardless of their origin.
Meanwhile, the nobles merely watched from afar. Despite owning the best fertile lands, they chose to grow grapes for wine instead of grains. After years of greed and ignorance, the once illustrious Nicopola province was eventually engulfed in bloody conflicts.
His father opened his eyes again and gazed at his son with a smile. "Son, you must abandon me¡ª"
"I can''t leave you, Father," he replied without hesitation.
"Go and slip through the night; go to the Dawns. As much as they hate us, they need strong men to rebuild and grow their rice paddies," the father repeated what he had said for several days.
A lone tear fell from the son''s eyes.
"I''ll be alright," he reassured him with a fragile smile. "I''m old and don''t need to eat as much. The neighbors will light the campfire, and that¡¯s enough for company. I''ll just sleep peacefully under this nice fur coat you gave me."
The son leaned over to moisten his father''s dry lips with a damp cloth. "We''ll escape together. I just need some of my strength back. It''ll be soon. We can''t give up now."
The father gave a bright smile and stared at the stars outside their tent. "We''re such bad people," he suddenly muttered.
"Why do you say that?" the son asked, worried.
"We fled our home because the western nomads invaded us, but at the same time, we''ve also invaded other people''s lands," he explained bitterly and with regret.
The son had no reply and the father continued in his weak voice, "I¡¯ve heard a lot about the Lord of Dawn. I feel that our mercenary overlord is throwing sticks at a sleeping lion."
He paused, struggling for breath, then continued, "I fear that one day, this sleeping lion will grow tired of being provoked and will strike back. When that happens, everyone will die."
The son sighed, staring at the dry ground of their tent. He had been involved in several skirmishes and knew that Dawn''s forces were merely defending their land and had mostly restrained themselves. He was aware they were capable and well-trained.
Turning back to his father, he said, "Try to get some sleep, father. I''ll heed your advice. We''ll leave at the first light. I''ve secretly saved some coins from last year''s raid. That should be enough to bribe the guards to let us pass."
...
The sun had risen on a beautiful spring morning, with dew glistening on the grass. The son carried his father on his back using a makeshift carry-cloth, crafted from coarse hemp and lined with whatever fabrics he could gather. He had spent the winter working on it, stitching with the only tools available¡ªa net-making needle he had found. The finished carry-cloth was crude but durable. Nevertheless, the coarse rope gnawed at his thin shoulders, biting deep and leaving marks that reddened and bruised.
"Son, am I heavy?" his father often asked from behind.
"No, father. You''ve grown light," the son jovially replied each time to appease the old man.
"Oh, look a bee," the old man pointed out happily, taking pleasure from simple observation like a child.
They kept on going uphill as their camp was situated low on a small river bend. The land, having awoken from being snow-covered, was fresh. As farmers, they could even smell its fertility just by walking near it.
"You must be tired. I think we can take a rest; we are already far from the village," his father suggested.
The son turned towards the village, trying to make an estimation, and spoke, "Just a little bit more. The guards said not to be seen by anyone, especially the patrol."
"How many coins did you lose to the guards?"
"All of it," The son sheepishly replied. "The guard who I befriended, I misjudged him. He called his friends and stripped me clean."
The father chuckled to the point of coughing. "Pay no heed to it," he reassured the son. "That was blood money. May the curse of its owner pass from us."
The son snorted, amused, adjusted the thick coarse rope, and continued on their hike.
"What a waste," his father lamented as they reached higher ground. "The village we were in is fertile, with good rivers. I saw it when we arrived¡ªthe soil is dark and rich, filled with worms and insects, and there were bees everywhere, good for orchards."
"Indeed, Nicopola province is rich. Too bad its people are not much of farmers and chose to be warlike."
"History plays a role," his father explained wisely. "The whole province was taken from the beastmen, and the land was given to nobles who fought, their champions, and troops. Thus, it has been militaristic since birth."
The son smiled. "It seems fresh air makes you better."
The father chuckled and admitted, "The sun and the scenic hills jolt the mind."
"Mom always said that you¡¯re not always a farmer."
"Bless her," the father remarked, and then added cheerfully, "Indeed, I am educated and did many things in my youth."
"How come you never told me what you did in your youth?"
"It was a time long gone," his father reminisced. "I was the smartest in my village and was sent to the Imperium Examination."
"Imperium Examination?" the son never heard of it.
"Back then, there was a way to become an official. You just needed to be smart and pass the test. Although I was the smartest in my village, I was just average compared to the brightest in the province," he said without any tone of regret.
"So, I moved to a neighboring town and tried to make money with the money entrusted to me," his father continued. "I tried to start a textile workshop, but a trusted worker embezzled the funds. I attempted to raise cows, but they succumbed to sickness. Sheep too, but they were seized as taxes." At this, his father chuckled at his misfortune, a sound that prompted the son to join in the laughter.
"Is that why you never allowed me to raise animals?"
"Yes, they become a burden. The old laws must be repealed. Owning them hardly makes anyone wealthy, and the taxes¡ªwell, they''re simply ridiculous."
His son chuckled. "You''d make a fine civil officer, father. You know the common men''s hardship better than anyone."
Hearing the praise, the father''s face brightened. "I''m too old and fragile. The Imperium does not need me¡ª"
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
The distant thunder of hooves suddenly drew near, jolting the son and his father from their wearied march. In sheer panic, the son gazed left and right for refuge and spotted a slope thick with shrubs. He rushed toward it, keeping going despite the underbrush scratching at their clothes as they descended. He halted as the path below became treacherous and slippery.
"Lower me down," his father said, his voice competing with the hoof beats that pounded in their ears, "and drink your water."
Obediently, the son set his father down among the shrubs for cover. He then took a swift gulp, the cool liquid quenching the dryness in his throat. As the clamor intensified, his father gripped his arm, urging, "Leave me."
He turned sharply, staring at his father, who eventually relented with a slight nod.
The ground seemed to vibrate beneath them as the horses drew closer. The beasts'' neighs pierced the air. The two crouched lower as the riders thundered by. They saw a dozen riders in light armor, unmarked by any banner.
"Advanced party," the father whispered nervously.
His son said nothing, overwhelmed by the cavalry''s presence. Although a dozen had passed, the relentless sound of hooves indicated that a larger force was still behind them, the noise swelling into a relentless tide.
"They''re not ours," the father whispered again, hoarsely. "They''re the Dawns."
"Damn right we are," came a clear, authoritative voice from above, sending shivers cascading down their spines.
"Son!" the father half-screamed.
"Hold on, father, I''ll¡ª"
"Don''t do anything stupid," a second voice, feminine and surprisingly soothing, cut through the tension. "We''re not going to harm you," she added.
The son froze, the voice halting any rash decision he almost made. They remained motionless, chest-deep in the shrubs, but curiosity prevailed as they looked up to find the source of the voice. Above them stood an angelic figure, her presence as commanding as it was serene.
"Come, it''s dangerous to remain there. My name is Petra, I''m the Lord of Dawn''s physician, and I can guarantee your safety unless you''re a criminal."
"No, we''re just farmers escaping from the mercenaries'' clutches. We wanted nothing but to work on a field," the son replied earnestly.
"Please, accept him. My son is a good man. He worked hard and doesn''t indulge in drink," his father added.
Petra smiled warmly at them and then turned to her squire and guard escort. "Take care of them for me. We could use some help since the little miss''s tortoise keeper passed away a few days ago, or they might assist in my garden."
"But my lady," the young squire, who had found the two, interjected with a frown, "didn''t you notice their accent? They''re Centurians."
"And I''m Midlandian," Petra retorted firmly, standing her ground.
"Your squire is simply being protective, my lady. Please excuse him," the older guardsman interjected with a reassuring smile.
"Uncle!" the young squire protested, which prompted a light giggle from Petra.
"Do you trust us?" the son asked as he helped his father closer to the woman.
"As a physician, I''ve also become quite adept at sensing lies," Petra explained with a knowing look.
The father looking at this opportunity dared to ask, "My lady, please forgive my questioning, but why is the Lord''s physician here, along with the¡ª"
Before he could finish, the lookout''s voice drew everyone''s attention as he pointed towards the village near the river bend. "Lord Avery has begun."
All eyes turned toward the general location, and they saw growing spots of smoke. Initially small, the smoke soon billowed into a massive fire with thick, black clouds.
"What just happened?" his father asked, bewildered.
The son could only shake his head. As if by premonition, his father''s words rang true: The sleeping lion had awakened.
***
Lord Avery
Riding the airship with Angelo at the helm, Avery continued to observe the landscape through the latest optical sight mounted on the middle part of his new airship. This magnificent craft, the largest they had built, was the culmination of a lifelong project and had taken six years to produce. It had almost depleted its coffers at various points since its inception. So grand was this airship that hiding it was no longer feasible.
Along with two other airships, they formed a fleet that rained destruction down on the enemy encampment along the river marking the border of their barony. Now, the land beneath them was a fiery inferno, shrouded in dense, billowing smoke that soared skyward.
"Approaching the next target," Angelo reported. Having mapped them so often, he knew precisely where the most strategic targets lay.
"Found it. It¡¯s a big fort," Avery remarked, surprised.
"Make ready," Angelo instructed the crew of four, who began their preparations once more.
Beside him, Angelo¡¯s assistant peered through the Ekionia Optics slung around his neck. He spotted the silhouette of a man below. Using the delicate adjuster on the side, he bracketed the target¡¯s height in the glass and, based on the magnification number, determined their altitude.
"Speed?" Avery asked.
A crew member at the rear released a small canvas kite, attached to a rope marked with evenly spaced knots. As the kite caught the wind, it pulled on the rope. He observed the number of knots that extended beyond the reel as the kite stabilized in the strong breeze.
Another crew member who operated a sand hourglass tapped his colleague, who then announced, "Five knots."
"Elevation?" Avery asked again as he made adjustments to his complicated-looking bronze sight.
"242 standard height," Angelo''s assistant replied, having made his calculations.
Avery made the last adjustment to the sight, his hands steady despite the tension. He then called out, "Angelo."
"Yes, My Lord," came the immediate response.
"Easy right," Avery commanded.
"Easy right," Angelo echoed, his hands deftly adjusting the rudder.
"Steady, steady," Avery continued, his tone low but urgent as they approached the critical moment. Abruptly, he ordered, "Stop."
"Stop," Angelo confirmed, his hand put the rudder into neutral.
"We''re in line," Avery remarked, still peering through the sight.
"Prepare your torches," Angelo instructed, his voice cutting through the brisk air. The crew members stationed along the left and right sides sprang into action on their lightwood-made platforms, which cradled forty-two amphora-like clay objects in seven elongated rows on each side. A third of their number had already been used in the fiery assault. This vast array was why the airship needed to be so large.
Avery had conceived this behemoth with a grim functionality in mind: to raze a city to the ground if necessary.
"Steady, almost there," Avery murmured, his gaze fixed on the sight, calculating the perfect moment for release.
"Light them up," Angelo commanded crisply. The crew members swiftly ignited the oily fabric wicks protruding from the clay vessels, which began to sputter and blaze against the wind.
"Now, release a full spread," Avery commanded, pivoting away from his optical sight to view the scene directly.
Without needing further prompting, the crew on both sides sliced through the ropes with their razor-sharp knives. One by one, fourteen flaming clay vessels arched through the sky, tracing fiery paths toward their target. At the rear, another crew member signaled the trailing airship, coordinating their attack.
Simultaneously, the other two airships in their formation began their own deadly release, saturating the skies with burning projectiles.
The seemingly non-threatening earthen objects fell freely into the wooden fort below, much to the shock of the fort''s occupants who could only run or duck for cover. As they struck roofs and empty grounds, the clay vessels did not explode but shattered, releasing their sticky contents, which ignited. The fires grew quickly, fueled by the wind and surrounding materials.
"Right on the mark¡ªwe hit fast and caught them off guard," Avery praised, and the crew was thrilled by their precision while the horror unfolded below.
A metallic clamor filled the fort, alerting everyone to the impending attack. However, before long, several of the dozens of fiery spots had become uncontrollable. Attempts to douse the flames with water only made them worse.
High in the sky, Angelo made a wide turn to allow them to observe the damage. Avery saw the fire spreading everywhere, now the fort was almost completely enveloped in thick black smoke.
That day, everyone who witnessed the event realized, a new age had begun. What had previously required thousands of bowmen or tens of siege engines, firing thousands of specially-made, expensive fire arrows to burn a wooden fort at the height of summer, was now accomplished in mere minutes with just a dozen or so clay amphorae.
While observing the damage dealt to the fort, Angelo skillfully steered them away from the thick plumes of smoke billowing high into the sky. Despite his efforts, the sharp acrid scent of burning wood and scorched earth reached the crew.
"Large groups are escaping to the river," the assistant reported, his eyes still glued to the binoculars.
"Ignore them if they''re on foot," Avery commanded, now returning to his large optical sight.
"I see them," Angelo reported. A mage like him didn''t need optics at this range. "Should we chase?" he asked, with a hint of doubt, knowing that attacking a moving target was a tall order even with the dedicated tools they had.
"Chase them," Avery commanded coldly, and Angelo began to change the angle, warning the crew, "Sit and strap yourselves in."
An airship can''t normally chase horses, so he entered a dive. Avery and the crew held tight despite their straps. The baron''s lips flashed with a grin as the airship plunged downward, like a canoe falling over a waterfall. "Prepare the main muzzle," he instructed coldly.
The two bomb crew members exchanged glances before furiously working on a pump beneath their seats connected to a large cylinder beneath them. Their muscles strained with each stroke as the resistance built up. Each pump of the handle became harder and harder, building pressure until finally, they couldn''t pump any further. "My Lord, it''s ready," they reported breathlessly.
"Angelo, your call," Avery shouted over the wind noise.
"Speed," Angelo asked.
"Twenty-eight knots," shouted the crew at the back as the wind rushed toward them.
Angelo gave maximum fuel to the furnace to prepare the airship for recovery. "On my mark," he said as the airship shuddered from the speed and loss of altitude.
Everyone held their breath. They had trained for this, but nothing had prepared them for the real thing.
Angelo maneuvered as close to the target as possible, relying not on calculations but on crude instruments and his instinct. "Release!" he finally declared.
Behind him, the bomb crew opened a lever before frantically pumping again, as hard and fast as they could, as their lives depended on it. At the front of the gondola, an iron decoration shaped like an angry bat biting a red smoldering coal suddenly came alive. From its mouth, sticky fluids sprayed forward, showering a large area and setting everything ablaze.
This was why the front part of the gondola was covered by iron-plated, making it resemble a bat spreading its wings. Despite the speed and the wind, the heat rising from below was overwhelming, even for Avery and the crew, who could feel it on their faces and smell it in their nostrils as they delivered punishment upon the invaders.
...
The nearly two hundred strong mercenary riders dispersed as the gargantuan object bore down on them, but they couldn''t escape the rain of sticky fluid that covered a large swath of the area around them. Suddenly, everything reeked of a strong, sharp scent they had never encountered before, and then, in horror, they watched as the blazing fire raced toward them.
"Noo!" one shrieked as the flames descended on them like wrath from the sky.
Their pain was only matched by that of their poor horses, the only innocent creatures in this ordeal, who could only run faster, galloping wildly, until they all fell. Many were crushed to death in this manner or were dragged as the beasts ran toward the river.
"It''s the Ancients, they''ve come to punish us!" one screamed as his body was engulfed in flames.
"Why me? Why me?" another cried as the skin on his upper face and eyes melted. "I don¡¯t eat the children and the women, only men!"
His pleas fell on deaf ears as almost everyone screamed in agony, their skin scorched by the fire. Many who had escaped the initial fire eventually fell from their horses and rolled on the grass in vain attempts to extinguish the flames. Some, desperate for relief, discarded their clothes and cut their hair, then ran toward the river.
Still, they couldn''t escape; coated in the sticky liquid, sparks of fire seemed to find and cling to them. Thus, with fire on their backs and limbs, they ran toward the river like fell beasts from folklore.
Out of almost two hundred, less than half reached the river and doused themselves. Yet, the current was strong, and many, exhausted and in pain, simply drowned. Those who survived were riddled with severe burns. Now, not even the strongest and most cruel among them could do anything but wince in pain.
Despite their denial, they knew justice had descended upon them.
They had pillaged and burned those who didn¡¯t comply with their wishes. They even cooked those who submitted to them, unwilling to share the precious grains cache with their own people.
"O Ancients, have mercy on us," one pleaded, followed by others as they eyed the three gargantuan objects in fear and awe.
Thundering hooves shook the ground and surprised them. Most had no more stamina to run. A few crawled before their hands bled and they stopped, heaving pained breaths. Some took up their blades, ready to face whatever might come.
Above them, the three gargantuan objects circled again, the largest one seemingly more buoyant after discharging a fiery rain.
From a different direction, horsemen finally arrived, followed by a large army. A great banner was hoisted high in the air¡ªblue and bronze with a grey skull at its center.
With the dissolution of the Imperium, the binds of the old oath dissolved into the winds of change. House Dawn, once restrained by an oath from expanding, now stepped into a future unshackled and sovereign. Along with the Shogunate of the Great Plains, the Southern lands had awakened.
***
Chapter 182 : Battle for Nicopola
Chapter 182
Battle for Nicopola
Nicopola
A man in plate armor, with graying hair but sharp eyes, rode in front with the cavalry, followed by a formation of troops. The banner of blue and bronze with a grey skull at the center was hoisted high, fluttering against the wind. This was Sir Servius'' new coat of arms, the Iron Skull.
With the hook that replaced his right hand, Servius motioned to his officers of the Free Legion to close up. "Bring in as many who value their lives. But don¡¯t act on false hope," he warned, his voice cold and clear. "Blood feud runs deep between us and them. If they draw their weapons, do not hesitate."
His lieutenants voiced murmurs of affirmation.
Soon, his army formed a line, and then a thousand troops began to fan out, combing a large swath of land, capturing mercenary survivors, or granting a quick death to those who were severely burned. Meanwhile, his riders rounded up groups, taking their surrender or decimating those who still wished to fight.
Servius observed the Dawn cavalry and army approaching from the west, making their presence felt, while his Free Legion came from the east. As planned, the two forces would entrap the mercenaries and their militants who could only hope to cross the river to escape, leaving behind their armor, tents, and supplies.
As the Iron Skull Legion advanced steadily, Servius was drawn to the scorched landscape and the burning wreckage of the wooden fort that blazed brightly. He had sent scouts and knew it wasn¡¯t an easy target, with tall palisades, a watchtower, and accommodations inside to house hundreds of men.
To see it reduced to burning cinders in mere minutes felt surreal. He sighed and his nose twitched from the sharp scent of burning, then turned to his aide, who quickly came to his side.
"Make sure to write about this," Servius instructed. "Then, send a fast rider to Hill Fort. From there, the nomads will bring it to Korelia."
His aide was still memorizing his instructions when a lieutenant who rode with them suddenly reported, "Sir, Lord Avery has moved on," pointing at the sky where three leviathan-looking airships flew westward.
"Aye, he has plenty of things to do," Sir Servius acknowledged. "The campaign to reclaim Nicopola begins now."
Servius spurred his horse and advanced in front of his army with a heavy escort.
...
High in the sky, Lord Avery continued westward after witnessing his army link up with Sir Servius and the Free Legion. Their joint attack and coordination were nearly flawless. Now, he only needed to wait for the two forces to meet, effectively tying a knot around the enemy''s position.
Today''s victory would liberate the Dawn Barony-Nicopola border from raider strongholds that had been plaguing his land for the past two winters.
This result was the culmination of his alliance with the Lord of Korelia, now the Shogun of the Steppes. With a guaranteed steady supply of warhorses and the allied Free Legion by his side, Lord Avery could attempt a grand plan to restore order in the vast province of Nicopola. With two dozen cities and towns, over five hundred villages, and a population from the last century¡¯s census of three million souls, only a large army could establish order without risking destruction.
While Lord Avery wanted to adhere to the tradition set by the founder of his House¡ªwho had taken an oath never to expand, to appease the August Emperor, since they were originally not native to the Imperium¡ªcurrent circumstances forced him to adapt. It had become clear to him, as he bided his time in his barony defending against raids and incursions for two winters, that in this turbulent era, the paradigm was either to rule or be conquered.
The raiders'' persistence and savagery had strengthened his personal belief that in times of crisis, one with strength and a moral compass must bring order from the ashes or be subjected to the anarchy of the mob.
"My Lord, the next target should be in sight," Angelo reported, with the wind breezing past them and the sun at their tail.
"Noted," replied Lord Avery, then turning to the crew at the rear, "Tell the other two ships to follow and conserve their loads."
"Any reason why, My Lord?" one of his bomb crew asked from their seat.
"Because I''m magnanimous by nature," he quipped, eliciting chuckles from his crew.
"Today, we make these mercenaries rethink their lives as they sleep rough in the open. We''re going to send a message they''ll never forget," Avery declared.
***
Spring of 4426
In the wake of last year''s disastrous civil war, a number of mercenary warlords had seized control of the Nicopola province. The larger and more powerful among them controlled vast swaths of land. Each continued their feuds with the others, as tensions between native-born and migrant populations simmered on, albeit with lower intensity as too many had died.
However, despite the deep-seated animosity, a loose alliance had formed out of necessity. Among these alliances, one of the largest was the one that attacked Dawn. To them, Lord Avery¡¯s barony was a prime target, a potential land grab to feed their refugee army and solidify their rise to power.
Since last year, they had repeatedly tried to throw their might against him, often with disastrous results. To strengthen their position, they constructed fortified outposts, using them as staging grounds for future raids and attacks. Yet their aggression had only served to awaken a sleeping giant.
As the season entered late summer, Lord Avery led the forces of Dawn in a powerful counterattack. To those who witnessed the scale of troops and logistics involved, it was clear that this was more than just a retaliation. Despite the fall of the Imperium and the presumed death of the Ageless Emperor, the pacification of Nicopola province had begun.
With a combined force of two thousand men-at-arms, three thousand volunteer militia, and three hundred horsemen, House Dawn and the Iron Skull Legion poised themselves to bring order to the lawless province.
On their first day, they secured the area south of the river separating Dawn Barony from the southern exterior of Nicopola. In the process, they captured a fortified site at the river crossing, destroyed several large strongholds, and liberated at least seven villages.
The day ended with the deaths of over six hundred mercenaries and their accomplices, with no fewer than three thousand men and women captured.
That very night, to alleviate the captured people¡¯s fears that the mercenaries might seek revenge, a hasty court was assembled. Lord Avery and Sir Servius formed a council where every mercenary deemed responsible for provoking raids on Dawn Barony or involved in armed rebellion was dragged in, questioned, and, if found guilty, sentenced to death.
It was far from fair justice, but it was all they could manage in the face of mounting risks. Consequently, hundreds more faced their demise. There was no pit, but the river was dyed red with the blood of the greedy and ambitious.
The council only hoped that they had not condemned any innocents to death, but it was likely that several were sentenced merely by association.
The condemned''s heads were put on pikes erected along the road to the river crossing, accompanied by a wooden warning: "The Rebels Who Rob and Ate Their Kin."
It was a brutal end, but the campaign had just started. To deter further opposition, many messengers were sent under heavy escort, along with captured, burned victims, to spread the tales. The message was clear: surrender or face a similar fate.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
However, Lord Avery wasn¡¯t about to give the enemy time to think; he continued his air bombing campaign over Nicopola''s exterior, dropping one or two naphtha payloads on each raider''s or mercenary''s stronghold as a warning. Many places were reduced to burning wrecks.
Despite this clear disparity in strength, the mercenaries'' command decided to be foolhardy and escalated the situation by amassing their troops once again. In just one week, a formation of nine thousand rallied and began their march south toward the Dawn border. Thus, the flames of war were rekindled in Nicopola, burning with renewed vigor.
***
Korelia
The news of renewed conflict in Nicopola and Lord Avery¡¯s early victory swept into the great hall, filling everyone with a wave of surprise. Lansius himself bore a smile, touched by the rare joy of triumph. ¡°Finally, good news,¡± he declared to his court.
His court responded with a chorus of murmurs, their faces brightening with smiles and nods.
¡°Lord Avery continuously proves himself a capable ally,¡± Sir Harold remarked, his tone satisfied.
¡°Indeed, this is certainly auspicious,¡± Sir Michael agreed. "We should send him our congratulations and support."
Meanwhile, Sir Omin remained tight-lipped, his gaze distant, likely calculating the future implications of this victory. His silence did not escape Farkas, who discreetly observed the nuances of the room, as his training had conditioned him.
The chamber was still euphoric when Lord Robert entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. "More good news," he declared jovially, accompanied by a man not as old as him but similarly built, with a sharp jawline, tanned face, and strength in his eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the Lord of Galdia," Lord Robert announced, his voice tinged with theatrics.
"The Lord of Galdia, at your service," the man replied in good spirits, bowing slightly and allowing his brown shoulder-length hair to sway, with his hands open at his sides, like an actor concluding his performance for the day.
Lansius quickly stepped down from his seat and hurried over with a clean silver goblet filled with refreshing pale ale. "It''s an honor to meet you, Lord of Galdia," he offered the goblet to the guest, who took it graciously.
"The honor is all mine," the man replied, pleased and polite despite his warlike appearance, which included scars on his cheek and even neck. This was a man who had battled all his life, much like the storied Lowlandian warlords.
With the Lord of Galdia joining, the Shogunate''s members rose to six:
- The Lord of Korelia and South Hill
- The Lady of Korimor
- The Lord of White Lake
- The Lord of Three Hills
- The Lord of Umberland
- The Lord of Galdia
Before he was fully absorbed in welcoming the Lord of Galdia, Lansius made time to prepare something special for Lord Avery as a token of his support for the Nicopola campaign. He believed that it would be well received and might provide valuable experience in action.
The following week, Korelia buzzed with activity as Lansius summoned the shogunate members to formally accept the new member and to ratify dealings, along with arranging land for the Lord of Galdia¡¯s future estate in Korelia.
In between feasts to celebrate the allies'' victory in Nicopola and the new member of the Shogunate, Lansius and the other Lords discussed the current situation.
"First, I thank you for the news; usually, we receive news from the Capital in half a year, if at all," the Lord of Galdia began. "Mind you, we in the east also have a strained relationship with Midlandia, who seldom pass us information. We often learn things faster from Salceslia, who hears news from the Navalnia sea traders."
"That¡¯s Midlandians for you," Lord Robert snorted. "They see us as barbarians on horses."
Lord Jorge commented in jest, "I have high hopes for our Lord Shogun to improve our relations with the Midlandians. Alas..."
Everyone, including Lansius, chuckled.
"I can''t believe that Midlandia has a new Lord whose first course of action was to threaten the Lords of Lowlandia," the new member said, his expression amused, viewing the new Lord of Midlandia''s actions as foolish.
"Let''s set aside that matter for a moment," Lord Jorge interjected smoothly, steering the conversation with his charm. "How stands the situation in Galdia?"
The tone of the Lord of Three Hills was polite, even alluring, subtly coaxing the new member to reveal his inner motive. This shift caused the Lord of Galdia to turn serious. "My original intentions remain unchanged. While I believe I am still a fierce warrior, the years have not spared me. The assurances that I can secure my lands and manor, uphold the legacy of my House to be handed down to my son¡ªall while retaining a measure of authority¡ªare too valuable to disregard."
Everyone nodded, satisfied with the answer.
The Lord of Galdia continued, "Those reasons alone are enough to convince me. And then later, I learned about the fall of the Imperium." He paused gazing at the other lords. "Call me paranoid, but I think the eastern border is not going to take this quietly."
"Navalnia?" Lord Robert asked with concern.
"There are rumors that the Marquis of Edessa is not to be trusted. We don''t know where his loyalty stands. And without the Imperium, he might even bend the knee to the Eastern Crown," the Lord of Galdia replied.
Lord Jorge breathed deeply, capturing everyone''s attention as he said, "We''re lucky to have this Shogunate. Even though I doubt they''ll be interested in our grass and sheep, if they are foolish enough, like that Reginald of Midlandia, then we can show them what a united Lowlandia can do."
They all turned to the Shogun, with glimmers of hope, respect, and pride in their eyes.
"I''m a peaceful man," Lansius responded calmly. "I''m mostly interested in trade and innovation. But if they provoke us, historians for years to come will be writing about their tragic demise."
***
Nicopola Campaign
Lord Avery continued his aerial bombings behind enemy lines, while his army and the Iron Skull reinforced their gains and prepared for battle.
His persistence was rewarded. Before the two sides met in the field of battle, the populace under the mercenaries finally buckled. They became hysterical over the great bat of fire, rumored to have been summoned by Dawn to devour cities and towns. As soon as their city or neighboring town received a fire warning, many fled to the surrounding forests or villages. For the first time, the remaining mercenaries were unable to control the panicked masses.
News spread and the morale of the great mercenary army plummeted, leading to mass desertions in their ranks. Still, their command stubbornly pushed forward. They believed that once the Dawn army was defeated, the status quo would be retained.
They were further emboldened by the news that the Capital had been overtaken, signaling that no Imperium relief force was in sight. With the fall of the Imperium, many of the largest mercenary groups, which had heavily profited from the raids, believed they possessed the perfect opportunity to lay claim to the title of King of Nicopola.
With thousands of forces still loyal, they marched, ready to seize victory and make a name for themselves, oblivious and almost blinded by the lure of fleeting glory.
***
The Pride of Korimor
Ten days prior, after a long-distance flight from Korelia, the ivory airship, informally named Horsie but formally named The Pride of Korimor, returned to its original berth in Dawn Barony. It was there to be refitted as the Lord and Lady of the Steppes wished to lend their support in the ongoing Nicopolan conflict.
The airship''s arrival and the evidence of modernization surprised both its maker and designer. Initially, they were skeptical and concerned upon seeing the ship''s front area, which now appeared sharper. However, their interest grew as they noticed that many of its surfaces had been further smoothed.
More than just superficial changes, the gondola was radically enlarged and revamped, equipped with comfortable seats and new storage areas. They also noticed some cleverly designed, weight-saving small holes that were covered with canvas. Yet, that wasn''t the most surprising aspect.
What intrigued them the most was the beautifully crafted new wing with surface control, which possibly allowed it to fly more efficiently. Meanwhile, they also lowered the distance between the gondola and the balloon, making the connection rigid and seamless, as if integrated into the structure. This likely aided in maneuvering.
From the conversations they had with the pilot and crew, it was evident that these features allowed the old vessel to be fitted with a larger gondola without sacrificing buoyancy or range.
Another impressive change was how the Korelians were able to come up with simpler, yet effective controls. The combination of a stick, throttle, and foot pedals for yaw earned the Lord of the Steppes enduring respect from the maker. They studied these innovations in detail and made many notes. They began to view Lord Lansius as a fellow innovator and many wished to visit Korelia to discuss airships and flight.
In honor of Lord Lansius'' contributions to airship advancement, the Dawn did more than just a rearm and refit. They outfitted the vessel with the latest volatile oil furnace available, enabling it to have an even leaner fuel usage and the ability for a rapid, almost explosive heat when needed, or in emergencies.
As armament, the airship was equipped with a new wooden platform designed to hold two rows of four amphora-sized containers on each side, totaling sixteen payloads. As necessary, the vessel was also fitted with optics, not as advanced as those used by Lord Avery but far superior to the naked eye.
Lastly, it finally received a coating that protected and maintained its rubber silk skin, giving it a shade of black. The Pride of Korimor completed its refit just in time to participate in the campaign.
Along with three other ships under the command of Angelo, they would take to the skies at midnight. It would be a half-day flight to their destination, aiming to reach their target early in the morning.
As midnight cloaked the skies, the crew of the newly refitted airship braced for their first combat mission. However, the newly fitted payload bays lay empty; instead, they still retained their long canvas seats, as they were entrusted with a different role.
Two groups from the newly formed Search and Rescue, armed to the teeth, would attempt to retake Kapua city, one of the most heavily fortified towns on the outskirts of Nicopola. The great mercenary army had just passed, leaving the city laden with supplies. Furthermore, the city''s historical significance made it too valuable to be razed to the ground.
Previously, the only option was to set the city ablaze to disrupt the enemy''s supply lines. Now, a glimmer of hope arose¡ªa slim chance that this small group of elite fighters could infiltrate and take control of the gatehouse or the citadel, holding it long enough for reinforcements to enter the city.
Thus, the race for City of Kapua began. The fleet of four airships commenced their operation while, on the ground, Lord Avery and his elite brigades continued to traverse the forest, bypassing the great mercenary army with the mission to reach Kapua undetected.
The risks were certainly monumental, but the potential rewards were even greater. Securing Kapua intact would deal a severe blow to the enemy''s morale and could decisively tip the campaign in their favor.
***
Chapter 183 : Fight for Kapua
Chapter 183
Fight for Kapua
Nicopola Campaign
High in the sky, the troubled Nicopola province was serene beyond belief, cooled by the breeze that buoyed their ships silently across the night skies. Clad in a cashmere inner garment and a fur leather coat, Claire sat beside Sterling at the front of the cockpit, just behind the pilot. The two newlyweds had volunteered for this assignment, eager to elevate their standing within the House Lansius, viewing it as a pathway to secure rewards and rise in ranks.
During crossing the great plains, Claire and Sterling had alternated at the controls, accumulating tens of hours of experience. Sterling managed the daylight flying, while she took the nighttime shifts. Flying wasn''t easy or intuitive, but they had mastered the basics; however, a soft landing still eluded them.
For that skill, they relied on the new pilot, who now steered the airship with cold precision, maintaining formation with the other three airships bearing down on Kapua. He handled the flight with such ease and gentleness, that flying seemed second nature to him.
Claire noticed the lead ship, commanded by Angelo, signaling with his hand and pointing toward a large, fortified town on the horizon, shrouded in darkness even to his trained mage eyes.
"Descending," the new pilot informed the passenger, concisely and to the point. The Pride of Korimor began to enter a shallow dive.
Amid the growing flutter of winds as they gained speed, Sterling asked Claire, "How far are we?"
"Not far. I can already see the city''s outline emerging through the dusk," she remarked, preparing her drawing tools.
"I can see the Keep and the west gatehouse, can you?" the pilot asked without looking.
"Yes, I can," Claire replied as she began her sketch. Sterling moved the small lantern closer to illuminate the area, even though he knew his wife could see well in the dark.
Claire sketched a bird''s-eye view of the city, marking walls and pathways.
The city wall, constructed from large stone blocks, was at least three stories high to deter direct ladder assaults and thick enough to resist siege engines. It was further reinforced by towers that now shimmered with the glow of myriad lanterns, a beacon in the enveloping darkness.
She drew a close-up of the gatehouse, emphasizing its double gates and the strategic courtyard intended to disorient attackers. These were the most heavily fortified sections of the wall.
She then detailed the inner fortifications. Like other cities, Kapua had an additional layer of defense surrounding its Keep, the seat of power and the private complex reserved for the local governor and his family. The Keep served as the final point of defense should any attackers breach its gates.
As she finished, Claire turned to face the two groups of men on her left and right, dressed in inconspicuous clothing that concealed their light armor.
"From where we''re standing, this is Kapua City. It''s almost the same as the briefing we got from Dawn''s men," she praised their ally''s intelligence as they eagerly began to study the freshly drawn map under the dim lantern light.
Afterward, the men exchanged glances and nodded one by one. "It is almost the same," the captain agreed. "Then, we can proceed as planned." He glanced toward the pilot at the front. "Is there anything else to add, Sir?"
"All good from my side," the pilot replied, his voice cold but confident.
The two men looked satisfied, and their captain began to review their plan step by step over the map one last time to refresh and ensure everyone was on the same page. This rigor was part of what the Lord had drilled into them. What made them truly special was their level of preparedness, their detailed plans, and their willingness to follow those plans while still retaining the ability to adapt amidst the chaos.
As Sir Harold often reminded them, while plans seldom worked out exactly as expected, preparing for the worst significantly improved their odds of surviving unexpected problems.
Ahead, the three airships began to enter a wide circle, holding a pattern above the city.
"Angelo has signaled good luck to us," the pilot noted without turning, before adding, "We are a small glass of sand away from the city; prepare the rope."
The SAR, formally named Search and Rescue, but internally known as the Special Arms Regiment, began to prepare their rope ladder. Although they were well-trained in rappelling and had even developed specialized gear for such operations, they chose to use the emergency rope ladder provided on the ship because it was readily available.
Soon, all their training would be put to the ultimate test, as the walls of Kapua would decide the fate of Lord Lansius'' idea for a small team of elite forces.
***
Kapua
In the veiled darkness, the Pride of Korimor reduced its furnace to a minimum, shielded by a blackened metal cover. Despite its gargantuan size, its newly blackened hull absorbed light, rendering it nearly invisible as it glided silently over the fortified city of Kapua, barely making a sound against the cool winds.
Hovering over the tower closest to the west gatehouse, just as Claire had informed, they spotted the two men on sentry duty atop the open tower. One was fast asleep, his back against the parapet wall, while the other kept watch, crossbow in hand with a bronze lantern nearby.
There was nobody else in their close vicinity.
In the silence, the second man sensed something amiss. While he couldn''t see it, he felt the presence of an unknown threat; yet, he did not expect an intrusion from above.
Without wasting time, the two groups slowly lowered the rope ladder with a man secured to it. The sound alerted the second guard, who glanced left and right and was about to wake his companion when bolts simultaneously struck him in the back and shoulder¡ªfired by two from the airship. The last man on the end of the rope ladder delivered the final shot, striking just below the neck.
The guard collapsed in shock, and the team members quickly descended to silence him. Meanwhile, the first guard remained asleep, the lingering scent of wine explaining his unresponsiveness.
Under the watchful eye of their fellow on board the airship, the two swiftly secured the sleeping guard, gagging and tying him. Then, one by one, they began to rope down.
"Leave him," the captain whispered as they gathered atop the tower. "Others will interrogate him."
Soon after, the pilot and the squire descended and began interrogating the bewildered, drunken guard.
The two groups proceeded stealthily despite the growing tension in their veins. Their training proved fruitful as they maintained calm, which allowed them to carefully survey the surroundings, listening for any signs of discovery. There were none, so they quietly descended through a trap door. Fortune favored them, as the upper tower was deserted. Guided only by a flickering lantern that cast long shadows, they climbed down further.
After noticing lights downstairs and hearing steady snoring, the point man risked a peek.
"I saw four. Two on the left, one on the right, another at the far end," he reported in a whisper.
"All asleep?" the captain asked.
He nodded. The captain then whispered to the team, "Knives."
With their crossbows slung across their backs, they moved swiftly into the tower interior and neutralized the threat. Their training enabled them to deliver a quick, painless end to their victims.
Suddenly, without warning, the door leading to the battlements swung open, and a young man froze in place, his hand clutching a bronze lantern. He turned, his mouth agape, just as three bolts struck his torso, sending him tumbling to the side. His lantern clattered to the ground, rolling and ringing sharply.
"Get him," the captain ordered, as he and another team member rushed to drag the young man inside, quickly shutting the door behind them.
The noise had attracted attention. "What''s that noise?" a voice called from below. "Boy...?" it echoed again, much louder.
Turning to his team, the captain motioned for them to hide. Footsteps were heard, and then a man dressed in gaudy clothing and ringmail ascended to the chamber. From his attire, it was clear he was a mercenary, and from the expression on his face, he had noticed the smell of blood and reached for his sword.
Three bolts struck the man in quick succession; yet, he staggered but did not fall. "Intrud¡ª"
His voice was abruptly cut off as the point man lunged from the shadows, tackling the mercenary to the floor and clamping a gloved hand over his mouth. His attempts to wrestle were nullified as he was firmly pinned down, his shouts muffled. Gasping for breath, his last mumbled word, "Intru..." trailed off as he finally lost consciousness.
Everyone held their breath, listening intently for any movement. The captain, with his crossbow primed on the stone stairway, approached. Hearing nothing, he turned to the second team. "We''ll move ahead. Good hunting," he said, his nervousness barely concealed.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
His lieutenant nodded and led his team to stalk the battlements outside, allowing some time as the first team descended to the ground level and approached the Keep from below. Their goal was closer, just a short distance away through the battlements, albeit similarly risky as they would force their way to enter.
The first team reached the ground level, relieved to find it quiet. They stealthily neutralized another sleeping guard and discovered a small sleeping quarter. Deciding to secure it, they employed their special key tool to lock and break the mechanism, effectively locking the occupant inside. After seizing some drink to quench their thirst, they headed toward the keep.
This time, they had their crossbows lowered and walked at a normal pace, hoping to go unnoticed. They had memorized the route and easily located the large building complex. They noticed feeble lights emitting here and there, sleepy guards standing at their posts, and observed that the main gate was firmly shut.
"Climb?" one of the group asked.
"Let¡¯s try to find another entrance before trying that," the captain decided.
Under the cover of darkness, they explored but found the servant''s entrance also securely shut.
"Let me give it a try," a Nicopolan among them suggested suavely, handing his crossbow to a teammate. He walked toward the servant''s entrance and knocked softly several times, whispering, "It¡¯s me."
After a few attempts, an irritated voice came from inside, "Who is it?"
"I¡¯m here to take the wenches home."
"Wenches? The boss¡¯?"
"I gave my assurance that my lips are sealed," he replied with ease and confidence, almost playfully.
The door slid open, revealing an old man in a coarse gray robe, who scanned the Nicopolan with suspicion. "I don¡¯t know you."
"It¡¯s best to say you never see me," he replied with a charming smile, matching the old man¡¯s thick Nicopolan accent. And instead of forcing entry, he deftly offered three copper coins. "The competition is hard and I don¡¯t want any trouble."
The old man¡¯s demeanor briefly brightened, "I think you can spare some more," his greed apparent.
"I have such intentions, once my ladies are safely escorted out."
Without hesitation, the old man nodded and said, "Then I¡¯ll have you wait a little."
"May I come inside?" he replied softly. "I don¡¯t want the guard to see me and take my coins."
Taking another look at him, the old man in the robe sighed. "Can''t help it. Locals like us should have each other''s backs; I know just how much of bastards these out-of-province men can be." The door then swung fully open.
The Nicopolan went inside but not before motioned for his team to follow. The captain and the other two quickly approached the door, stopping only to listen, then quietly entered and closed the door behind them, securing it with a thick wooden bar.
"Break the lock," the captain whispered. They had no intention of exiting through that door.
Steeling their resolve, they fully loaded the rigid canvas-resin magazine of their X-bow with bolts, closing it with a simple spring to ensure proper feeding. With steady hands and sharp eyes, they entered the Kapua''s seat of power.
***
Kapua
An hour passed quickly for the 1st SAR group as they secured most of the Keep through stealthy eliminations and sealing off doors. Their expertise with special tool to lock and jam the locking mechanisms provided a significant advantage, allowing them to avoid clearing every chamber and confronting all of the Keep''s occupants.
The last stage of the fight escalated into hand-to-hand combat as the mercenaries became alert. The Korelian group prevailed through their superior weaponry and training, emerging nearly unscathed.
Breathing heavily with a bloodied blade in hand, the captain secured the city''s leader, a Samaritan horse breeder turned mercenary, along with one of his top lieutenants. The leader hurled curses and insults until they tied and gagged him, then locked them both in a separate chamber.
The four-man team was exhausted but their mission was a success. They had paralyzed the city''s command center and just needed to hold out until Dawn''s men could enter the city.
However, the mission was far from smooth. Before the final stage of the fight, the captain had his X-bow rendered useless; its delicate feeding mechanism jammed completely when a guard struck him from the side, forcing him to use it to block the attack until his men could assist him. He then resorted to using his dagger and a captured sword to continue the mission. Meanwhile, another team member slipped on the stone staircase, twisting an ankle but pressing on with a slight limp.
Their point man also sustained injuries when an alert guard thrust a spear that struck his forearm. Now, his comrade carefully cleaned the wound and fashioned a bandage from torn linen.
But they also received some unexpected assistance. The man in the gray robe was a local who had served the original House that perished in last year''s clashes. After some persuasion about the fate of the city, he pledged his support and began actively gathering like-minded servants.
Their greatest help came when they secured the dungeon, eliminating three guards and freeing more than twenty prisoners. Although these individuals appeared bearded, haggard, and decrepit, among them were renowned knights and famous fighters held for ransom. After a brief exchange, they eagerly offered their help, including guildsmen who had never before wielded weapons.
Time was pressing. They heard slams on the main door as suspicious mercenaries demanded entry.
"A few likely jumped down from their posts," the Nicopolan member suggested.
"Can''t we get the leader to tell them to back down?" the point man asked.
"Better not. He''ll sell us out," the old man in the robe warned.
The captain raised his brow. "He doesn''t value his life?"
"He has a crooked way of thinking. He''d rather die than give us the satisfaction of controlling him," the old man explained.
The captain swept his gaze across the hall, observing the other servants'' agreeing nods. He took a long breath, recalling what Lord Lansius had told him about the importance of sharing a common goal so his men would fight with tenacity, and decided to address them.
"Listen up," the Korelian-born captain began, gathering them around. "My order is to hold this Keep to buy time so my men can enter and liberate the city," he explained. "Things will be rough, but I want to assure you that our troops are on their way, and we also have support from the skies ready to assist us."
Everyone began to murmur in excitement, curious about the support.
"So, it is a vessel, not a monster," one of the knights murmured with unveiled excitement, while the guildsmen looked curious.
The captain gave a confident smile before continuing, "Now, I want you to look everywhere for weapons, food, water, or anything we can use to defend this place in case of a breach. We need to build barricades and secure every possible entry point that the mercenaries might use."
"Certainly, we''ll keep a record of this and will report back to our Lord. They''ll be thrilled and most likely to reward any meritorious service," the Nicopolan added, lending his charisma to get things moving.
For those in the Keep, things were going well. Little did they know of the chaos that was beginning to unfold at the west gatehouse.
...
After a bloody fight that left no fewer than twenty men dead, the 2nd group managed to secure the west gatehouse, only to discover the gate mechanism was broken. A captured servant confirmed their worst fears: the gate had been broken in the previous year''s fight, and there were no talents to fix it.
The lieutenant and his men exchanged tense glances.
"Your command?" one asked courageously, a grin on his lips but his voice betrayed his weariness.
"Let''s retake the south gatehouse," the lieutenant replied firmly, despite knowing that Kapua''s defenses were likely alerted by now.
"Embrace the suck," muttered another, echoing a phrase he had learned from his mentors, possibly even from Lord Lansius himself. He promptly checked his gear and reported, "Ready and willing."
"Korelians, follow me," the lieutenant ordered after ensuring his gear was in order, taking the point. He opened the door and quickly saw that the tower to the south gate was thoroughly manned, with crossbowmen ready to unleash their barrage.
"That''s not going to work," one commented and the lieutenant agreed.
"Lieutenant," another called from his position at the back window. "A dozen has climbed the stairs from the other tower, heading our way."
The lieutenant exhaled deeply, took out two torch-like objects, and headed toward the fireplace. He lit their ends and, once they began to burn, returned to the door. He glanced out one last time to confirm they were burning, then threw them hard toward the opposing tower.
The objects glowed increasingly brighter, bathing the area in a bright red light for several moments before fading.
The mercenaries on the opposing tower showed slight panic but eventually cheered and began to taunt them. However, the SAR 2nd group merely exchanged grins, knowing what was to come, and shut the door tight.
Within minutes a distinct sound of breaking clay confounded the defenders, as their tower had no clay roof. Another shattering sound followed, and then their tower began to glow.
"Fire, fire!" their men outside warned.
"It¡¯s the bat!" another shouted in sheer panic.
As warned, more burning amphorae rained down from Dawn''s three airships circling above. The defenders wisely deserted the tower as it was quickly engulfed in flames, which they knew would be hard to extinguish even with water.
Meanwhile, the second team, capitalizing on the fact that the mercenaries were still in panic, slipped through the base of the tower, which was somehow left unguarded, possibly because the key to the door was with one of the officers they had subdued earlier.
Through the unguarded door, they advanced toward the south gate, passing through the now-awakened city. Shouts rose everywhere, like a chaotic storm. Meanwhile, behind them, the tower continued to receive fiery bombardment, setting it ablaze.
The four-man squad rushed across the cobbled road with swift determination. Surprisingly, even when they encountered a confused group of defenders, they managed to slip by simply by pointing at the burning tower and feigning panic, shouting, "It¡¯s burning, it¡¯s burning!"
"The bat is upon us!" With just that ruse, they went undetected, which brought nervous chuckles as they picked up their pace.
After covering quite a distance, they finally reached the south gate. They encountered a lone young guard outside, who was trying to watch the burning spectacle, and quickly rushed him and brought him inside, still confused and mistakenly thinking they were merely local drunkards.
Inside, they found three men barely awake, drew their X-bow against them who showed complete horror, but before releasing the deadly projectiles, the men inside quickly raised their hands and said in trembling voices, "Don¡¯t, don¡¯t. We¡¯re not them. We¡¯re just commoners pressed into guard duty."
The lieutenant lowered his aim, noticing how thin and haggard these men looked, even the young guard who had turned pale and offered no resistance.
"He¡¯s right," another added, "Not many of them in here. This gate only leads to farms."
"Then where are they?"
"Drunk, sleeping on the upper level."
The lieutenant found it hard to believe. "The whole city is in chaos, and they¡¯re still asleep?"
"If you saw how much they drink, you wouldn¡¯t question it," another quipped, breaking the tension.
The lieutenant motioned his men to barricade the door and then quietly tied the men''s hands and legs to the chairs, telling them to keep quiet as they stealthily climbed upstairs.
***
Pride of Korimor
After knocking out the drunkard, Sterling and the pilot returned to the airship. They soon became airborne again and observed the unfolding events from a safe altitude. They saw how the fight unfolded, how the second group called for assistance, and how the tower was bombarded until it resembled a giant pyre burning brightly against the night sky.
"It¡¯s a bit overkill," Sterling commented.
The pilot merely nodded, his face always devoid of emotion, his predatory gaze fixed on the city beneath them. After a long while, however, a smile formed on his lips.
His expression did not escape Claire, who was intrigued, especially since the city was still under their control. "May I ask what''s the reason for your smile, Sir?" she dared to ask.
The pilot turned to her and pointed toward the south gate. ¡°They¡¯ve successfully breached it,¡± he explained. ¡°I am gratified that my intervention was not required, as per my orders.¡±
The young couple exchanged glances; as Korelians, they felt a swell of pride at the praise.
¡°This SAR is commendable. I am proud to be part of this,¡± the pilot added.
His words prompted Sterling to ask, ¡°What do you think of them compared to your Black Knights?¡±
The pilot¡¯s smile thinned. "Let¡¯s not dabble in possibilities. When we return, I shall petition for a friendly sparring. Then we¡¯ll know who¡¯s superior."
Sterling swallowed dryly, not realizing his comment would elicit such a serious reaction.
Seeing the tension, Claire tried to lighten the mood, "Sir, imagine if we had more airships. The Black Knights could storm into battle just like this."
"Indeed," Sir Morton declared, "I will dedicate myself to ensuring the Shogunate expands our airship fleet. The Black Knights will revel in this new kind of warfare¡ªno more dealing with distasteful sieges. We¡¯ll just land on their castles and bring the fight to their face," his voice unusually charged with emotion as his predatory gaze sharpened.
***
Chapter 184 : Supremacy
Chapter 184
Supremacy
Outside of Kapua
It was dark, cold, and wet in the leech and snake-infested swamp west of Kapua. The putrid water often rose knee-high, obscuring the ground and hiding countless hazards¡ªfrom tangled roots and treacherous muck to hidden water channels that threatened to swallow an unwary man whole. The terrain was so challenging that no one would expect anyone to pass through it at night, let alone an army.
However, this was precisely what the Lord of Dawn had planned. Five hundred of his men advanced under the veil of night, guided mostly by dim lanterns through the dense canopy.
Today marked their third day of forced march, beginning in the woodland and now concluding in the swamp. This swamp was their final obstacle before reaching Kapua, effectively positioning them at the rear of the great mercenary army heading south.
Although it was a strategic masterstroke, crossing the swamp was arduous and grueling. Despite their preparation and a half day''s rest beforehand, they still faced great difficulty. Even with reliable guides steering them clear of the most treacherous paths, every step forward met with muddy resistance. Even on drier patches, the dense underbrush was unyielding.
Yet, the worst was the pervasive dampness from the heat and humidity that soaked through their clothes, chilling their bones. Leeches greedily fed on their exposed skin in the shadowy waters, and even the air smelled rotten and heavy, making each breath laborious. Their only relief was the little activity of venomous snakes at night, though some still glided silently across the water, adding to their distress.
Despite the nightmarish conditions, their morale remained high.
"Where are the sand fleas? It doesn''t feel right without them crawling up to my cheek," one jested, prompting murmurs of agreement from his comrades.
"Fleas on your legs, mosquitoes on your hands, and the master instructor in your face¡ªthe perfect combination," another quipped, reminiscing about their training.
"Fuck that island! Fuck everything on it," another cheerfully cursed under his breath, careful not to be overheard by the staff.
Their resilience was not by chance, but the result of rigorous training and conditioning.
Unique among the forces of the Imperium, the troops of Dawn Barony, though following the same levied system, were exceptionally well-trained and equipped. By tradition, each soldier spent several months on an isolated island, accessible only by raft, where daily survival depended on enduring long physical training, coping with hunger, and hunting in dense forests and swamps. This harsh regimen broke many men, but only those who endured were deemed to have passed the rites and earned the honor to bear arms.
Thus, to them, crossing this swamp was no different than revisiting their training.
Despite their grumbling and the profanities muttered under their breath, the men secretly relished the challenge. It reminded them of the time they met their lifelong battle brothers, reinforcing their camaraderie and belief in themselves.
The second reason for their high morale was the presence of Lord Avery himself. Despite his age, the venerable leader marched on foot with his knights, using a gemstone-mounted cane whose soft glow illuminated the surroundings. Leaning slightly on a pike fashioned like a walking stick, he openly grumbled about the conditions yet moved with a steady determination that commanded respect. His confident stride made even the younger soldiers look on in admiration.
It had been an hour since they could see the silhouette of Kapua city, with lanterns on the city walls and towers glinting like bright stars in the night sky. These distant flames served as beacons in the dark, fueling their resolve to press onward.
Then, suddenly, a tower in the northern part of the city grew brighter before clearly bursting into flames.
"My Lord," the lookout in front pointed out, but Avery had already spotted it as it cast a giant plume of fire that illuminated parts of the city wall.
"Trouble?" a knight asked, quickening his pace to get a better view.
"It''s only expected," Lord Avery muttered, then turning to his staff, "Come, let us pick up the pace and join the battle."
"Men," the captain addressed the troops, "dry land and Kapua are but several stone throws away. Double the pace¡ªthe battle has already begun."
"This is it, this is the moment you''ve been trained for!" the veterans among them rallied further.
Despite their complaints of no rest time and fatigue, the men hastened their pace. As they pressed forward, the relentless muck and waterlogged terrain gradually gave way to firmer ground. The thick swamp reeds were replaced by sparse vegetation. The air, once heavy with the smell of decay and dampness, grew lighter and carried the scent of dry grass and earth.
"Marching column," the captain instructed as they reached an open ground west of the city.
Lord Avery quickly added, "Limit the lanterns and cover them adequately. I don''t want us to be spotted so easily."
The men complied to avoid looking like fireflies lining up at the city gates. They had almost resumed their march when a large shadow fell over them. As they looked up into the night sky, they saw the silhouette of a large airship, shrouded in darkness.
A rope ladder was extended, and someone descended. The Dawn''s men quickly escorted him to face Lord Avery.
"My Lord," the airship crew member greeted.
"What''s the news from Angelo? I hope we''re not too late?" Lord Avery asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Right on schedule, but the situation is evolving rapidly," the crew member reported.
"Explain," another staff member pressed.
"The infiltration group has abandoned the west gate; something must have happened there. They''ve headed toward the south gate instead."
Lord Avery exchanged glances with his knights and staff. Receiving no objections, he declared, "Then we''ll follow. We march to the south gate."
***
Sir Morton
Onboard the Pride of Korimor, the mage knight observed the unfolding situation below. He noted how the SAR 2nd group had captured the south gate without raising the alarm. Inside the city, the mercenaries were in disarray; many fled to another part of the city, likely terrified by the unnatural fire and the presence of the feared Bat. Others attempted to storm the Keep, while some regrouped near the west tower, unaware that the group had slipped past their defenses.
From afar, Morton could see Angelo steering his airship toward the newly arrived Dawn army. He reckoned it wouldn''t be long before Dawn''s men marched toward the south gate, ensuring the successful conclusion of this operation.
"To see a stone tower ablaze like a giant candle must have been terrifying," murmured a young mage trainee to her squire husband, both seated behind Morton.
The mage knight didn¡¯t turn to face them but felt a wave of sentimentality. He remembered his once rejected offer to Lord Lansius to train Claire, and if necessary, to marry her. Fate, however, had other plans, and for that, he was grateful.
Most mages didn¡¯t have families. Even if they married, it was usually nearing their retirement. The common belief was that the secrecy of their crafts prevented such ties, but the real reason lay in their conditioning. From a young age, they were trained to prioritize duty above personal needs.
This focus made them effective bodyguards¡ªloyal guardians and servants willing to sacrifice their lives for their masters.
Thus, they rarely married as it would only hinder their duties. This was also the reason why the Mage Guild usually didn''t accept older candidates, as it was harder to indoctrinate those who were more set in their ways.
However, with the shogunate''s plan ushering in an era of unprecedented safety, even the duty-bound Morton found himself feeling redundant. This was why he requested to be trained to pilot the airship, driven by both curiosity and a diminished role to play. Ironically, Lord Jorge was safer in Korelia than at his own home in Three Hills, where numerous plots against him had occurred.
Perhaps married life isn''t so bad...
He mused, recalling the numerous suitors from the affluent families of Three Hills. Yet, he had already favored a seamstress who shared similar traits with him. She was beautiful, yet reserved, preferring solitude. Coming from an esquire family with a shop in her name, she faced many suitors but was dedicated to her craft, striving to keep her family''s business thriving and rejecting all offers of marriage. However, some suitors were pushy, even rowdy, unable to accept a no.
That was when Morton first visited her shop by chance. Witnessing the altercation, his mere presence and stare were enough to disperse even the most obstinate suitors.
The woman thanked him and refused to let him pay for mending his clothes.
Afterward, under the pretext of having his training clothes mended and ensuring her safety, Morton regularly visited the shop. Although they never engaged in anything beyond casual conversation, they enjoyed their time together, and she often hummed a pleasant melody that filled the shop with a light, pleasant atmosphere.
The renewed fighting at the Keep snapped Morton back from his daydreams.
Deftly and with precision, he steered the Pride of Korimor toward the Keep. "Setting course to the Keep," he declared to Claire and Sterling.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
"Are you going to join the fight?" Sterling asked while Claire looked on, worried.
"Yes. I was instructed not to intervene, to assess the SAR¡¯s capabilities. I believe we''ve seen enough. Now, I aim to prevent unnecessary casualties," he replied. He then gradually increased the throttle, feeding more fuel to the furnace above, and simultaneously opened a vent at the rear allowing a stream of hot air to escape.
Despite the new, vastly improved furnace, he found it inadequate for his taste and chanted words that tapped into his magical source. He created a large vacuum area in front of the airship that rapidly accelerated its momentum. He had discovered that pulling the ship, like a horse-drawn carriage, was more effective and steerable than pushing it from behind. Moreover, mages had been trained from a young age to create spaces devoid of air, precise and powerful enough to kill a man from a distance.
As they advanced toward the heart of the city, the unfolding scene below revealed the Keep complex under siege, with a crowd of armed men attempting to breach the gate.
"Sir Morton, where will you land?" Claire asked, her eyes flashing with concern.
"Ideally inside the Keep, but that would take too long." He rose from his seat and turned to the couple. "Leave the Keep to me and stay airborne until the city is secured."
"Sir, what are you doing?" Sterling asked, his eyes widening as he watched the knight step onto the gondola''s side wall, his shoulder-length brown hair fluttering in the wind.
"What else?" Morton smirked and jumped without hesitation, to the horror of the two, who watched him plummet toward the Keep.
Morton summoned his magic, using an innate ability few possessed, to compress the air and cushion his fall¡ªa trick he had mastered since childhood to impress his brethren by falling unscathed from towers. He never imagined it would prove useful in combat.
As he neared the ground, Morton commanded the full strength of his magic, which slowed his descent as if he were moving through water. Strengthening his muscles, he landed directly atop the crowd with the force of a bronze statue, crushing and knocking down four people beneath him.
As Morton stood, those who had cushioned his fall groaned from broken bones.
His sudden appearance and the loss of four of their members shocked everyone.
"What happened?" people from the back row demanded, but those in the front remained silent, having witnessed the pair of predatory golden eyes that now stared back at them. "Greetings. I''m Sir Morton, a Mage Knight, Captain of the Black Knights. Surrender now, or die," he declared.
"He''s just one man!" someone shouted, attempting to rally the crowd, but he was the first to fall as Morton pounced swiftly like a beast and decapitated him with his newly acquired Midlandian curved saber. Effortlessly catching the head with his left hand, he displayed it before the crowd. "You won''t get another warning."
Dozens fled, screaming and pushing past their curious comrades. Yet, about forty with drawn swords remained.
"Suit yourselves," Morton said, tossing the bloody severed head toward them before chanting to summon his magic. Soon, everyone around him began to suffocate, coughing and panicking. Many attacked him in their desperation.
Yet, even as his magic maintained a vacuum around them, Morton moved with terrifying ease. Without his plate armor, he was nimble, parrying each blow like an iron whirlwind amidst the chaos. He skillfully baited his opponents, knowing their breath would fail within minutes.
After no more than fifty parries, no one was left standing. Those who hadn''t fled had collapsed.
Morton inspected his blade, noting the nicks and scratches but still finding it battle-worthy. Observing the men who stood at a distance, some aiming their crossbows at him, he laughed scornfully. "You lack a Sir Harold among you, and you''re certainly not the Black Lord of the Steppes."
Regaining his composure, and without asking for help from the first group inside the Keep, Morton advanced toward them like a hawk eyeing a family of mice. "Come, feeble ones, meet your doom."
***
For the defenders of Kapua, that night was marked by a series of tragedies. They lost their Keep and were cut off from their leaders. As they attempted to mount a rescue operation, the west tower was set ablaze. Many men lost their minds and ran, fearing that the rumored Bat would come to burn the city. It took tremendous effort to prevent them from opening the north gate.
Eventually, the situation stabilized somewhat, and despite the chaos, they managed to gather enough men to storm the Keep. However, at that critical moment, a mage knight appeared before them. All the fearsome tales they had heard about mage knights came into full display. Like a beast, he took down twenty of their bravest within minutes.
They pulled their crossbowmen from the walls, but even their mighty bolts proved ineffective. The situation deteriorated rapidly. Anyone foolish enough to resist met a swift end, and the best they could manage was to keep a line from a distance. As time passed, a sliver of hope remained that the mage knight might succumb to exhaustion.
But then, new trouble arose from an unexpected quarter.
"Captain," a voice called from behind, breathless. "Captain," he repeated, his eyes wild with panic.
"What is it?" The urgency was clear to all.
"W-we''ve lost the south gate, we''ve lost the south gate," the man stammered, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling under him.
"The south gate?" someone echoed in shock as worried glances were exchanged.
It was then that an unexpected proposition came. "Heard about the attack on the south gate, have you?" the mage knight asked, his body and face smeared with blood that wasn¡¯t his own. "Say, I¡¯m feeling generous tonight. How about you kneel now, and I won¡¯t kill you."
Everyone, faces slick with sweat, paused to consider, their expressions a mix of willingness and suspicion. The tension hung thick in the air. Many chose to flee, but then one man threw down his weapon. The iron clattered loudly against the cobbled stone, and soon everyone else followed suit. They threw down their blades and knelt.
"Promise us you''ll honor your word," they pleaded.
"Certainly. I, Sir Morton, guarantee your safety," the mage knight declared solemnly. "However, that does not exempt you from trial. If you''ve committed crimes, my words won''t spare you from judgment."
As this sank in, two men fled. Sir Morton, picking up a spear, assumed a throwing stance and then launched it faster than one could blink.
They all turned and watched as two of their comrades were impaled by the same spear, crashing to the ground.
"I believe you''d have a better chance at a trial. Here, I can only offer the death penalty," Sir Morton remarked, his tone blending jest with grim finality.
...
Before the first light of dawn, five hundred men poured through Kapua¡¯s south gate, securing strategic buildings and rounding up demoralized defenders who lacked leadership. Yet, this was not the end of the fight. Inside the city, they encountered resistance far fiercer than anticipated.
Hardened groups of mercenaries, determined to fight to the death, engaged in intense and brutal skirmishes. These mercenaries fought with ferocious tenacity, and their cohesion only broke when Lord Avery directed his weary men in a concerted effort, crushing the stubborn resistance with equal brutality and burning several buildings in the process.
Once they had assumed control of the city, Lord Avery''s men began a painstaking search of every nook and cranny¡ªfrom each tower and gatehouse to the Keep and its adjacent complexes¡ªto prevent sabotage or assassination. They captured over a hundred mercenaries who failed to flee, while another hundred, particularly from the eastern section, managed to escape through the east gate. However, their escape drew the ire of the Bat, which pursued them and inflicted heavy casualties.
Inside the city, Lord Avery''s first order was to calm the citizens and muster them to extinguish fires threatening to consume more buildings. He also directed his forces to confiscate weapons and armor from the mercenaries and to place them in separate locations to serve as temporary jails.
Meanwhile, the weary SAR groups completed their final task by escorting the captured mercenary leaders to the dungeons beneath the Keep. These were the very chambers where the mercenaries had once imprisoned the city¡¯s rightful inhabitants while usurping the Keep for their decadent use. Now, the wheel of fate had turned: the stone walls that once echoed with the pleas of their captives would now enclose them.
These mercenaries would answer for their crimes, but first, it was deemed fitting for them to endure the harsh reality of the dungeons they had so ruthlessly controlled.
***
In the spring of 4426, the Lord of Dawn executed a brilliant military strategy, liberating Kapua City, the largest in Nicopola¡¯s exterior. His victory deep behind enemy lines signaled the collapse of the grand mercenary army, whose supply line was decisively severed.
The nine thousand mercenaries, feeling the noose tightening, rushed to retake the city, only to be devastated from above as Dawn''s airships, hidden from sight, bombed them relentlessly, day and night. To support this state-of-the-art bombardment, Lord Avery had constructed a makeshift airship hangar and depot within Kapua. This infrastructure allowed his airships to deliver unrelenting punishment, their effectiveness limited only by speed, storage capacity, and the need for ongoing repairs due to many of their features still being experimental.
After enduring three days of relentless assault, the grand army was routed. Despite their numbers, they dared not lay siege to Kapua and retreated deeper into the interior of Nicopola. Meanwhile, the Lowlandian light cavalry, having shadowed the mercenaries from the south, seized their moment to strike. They quickly decimated thousands of the fleeing forces and captured many of their commanders.
With the grand mercenary army vanquished, order was finally restored to the exterior of Nicopola. This victory coincided with the onset of the rainy season, which gradually washed away the scars of battle.
As Lord Avery managed the city and implemented policies, the Dawn military and the Iron Skull Legion continued to clear the surrounding areas, driving remnants of the mercenaries from their strongholds. Although they could have trapped the enemy between their forces and Kapua, Sir Servius opted to provide an escape route to prevent desperate last stands.
Skirmishes continued for a time, but wiser heads among the mercenaries prevailed; many lower-ranking officers eliminated their commanders and surrendered to Dawn''s forces. Within a month, over three hundred villages and a dozen cities and towns were liberated¡ªmore than half of Nicopola. Although many places were reduced to rubble, it was already a sweet victory for the populace.
Lord Avery''s primary goal was to secure as much fertile farmland as possible to stave off famine. Even before Kapua was liberated, he had arranged for the populace to return to their fields. Thanks to this foresight, despite challenging mud from recent rains, the logistical arm of the House of Dawn successfully transported farming tools, oxen, and draft horses.
He also deployed his precious air fleet to transport seeds, ensuring that cultivation could begin in earnest. The Nicopolans accepted this with great gratitude and worked tirelessly, aware that their lives depended on this miraculous second chance.
While the populace toiled to rebuild their land, the Pride of Korimor, laden with prizes befitting its contributions, headed east after completing its recovery and rearmament. Accompanying it was another airship, acting as a supply ship, loaded with fuel and other supplies.
Claire and Sterling commanded the supply ship, while Sir Morton helmed the Pride of Korimor. Together, they set course for Korelia, planning brief stops at Three Hills and South Hill.
While many onboard hoped the Nicopola campaign would mark the end of their year¡¯s fighting, unseen troubles were already brewing.
***
Elandia
Sagarius was stunned upon hearing that the Capital had fallen to a peasant rebellion, and the Grand Imperial Palace¡ªthe last creation of the Great Progenitor¡ªhad been destroyed by fire. Despite anticipating chaos, warfare, and regime changes, she had naively never envisioned the palace¡¯s destruction.
There were so many priceless works of art stored there, valuables beyond imagination. More than just Dwarven or Elven craftsmanship, some were even handcrafted by the Ancients themselves. She couldn''t even fathom how to mourn such a loss.
Her eyes turned moist, recalling the many cherished memories of that place. She had sneaked in hundreds of times under various disguises across different generations and even served as an imperial official for years.
Now, her father¡¯s life¡¯s work, along with the bureaucracy he had built over a millennium, was gone, consumed by flames. She exhaled deeply, her fingers trembling as she remained seated on a tree stump, feeling weak.
Facing her were several Imperial officials who had escaped the Capital. They maintained contacts within the city who sometimes could spare them some news.
To compound her troubles, she had just learned that the House she intended to join, now called House Bengrieve, was at odds with the Imperium, likely having annexed South Elandia in collusion with House Gottfried. Now, all her plans were in jeopardy.
Sagarius glanced toward her followers, her gaze settling on Sir Munius and Marc. She felt the weight of fate on them.
Why has the situation become this complicated and unpredictable? What do the Ancients wish for me? Don''t tell me they want me to start a kingdom...
A cloud of worries invaded her mind. She did not desire such responsibility. The thought of governing a human kingdom frightened her. It was taxing, futile, and punishing. She had witnessed its toll on her father, and she wanted no part of it.
Humans must govern themselves. There must be someone, someplace peaceful...
She reaffirmed her beliefs adamantly, her thoughts drifting deeply. Nearly missing the gentleman official''s attempt to rise, she spoke with sudden regality, driven by a momentary lapse, ¡°Stay thyself in your seat.¡±
The unexpected authority in her tone made the official comply instantly, caught by surprise. Before anyone could question her, Sagarius continued, "You mentioned an interestingly different lord in the southern lands. Who is he? Tell me about him."
***
Chapter 185 : Dark Arts
Chapter 185
Dark Arts
Sagarius
The sun dipped low in the western horizon, its brilliant rays obscured by the rows of trees from the ancient woods. Yet, the cloudy skies still displayed a tapestry of red and golden hues. Beneath the Elandian sky lay an open encampment situated next to a burgeoning town at the crossroads. There, Sagarius resided in a simple tent, unbothered by the lack of luxuries. Unknown to anyone, she had cast a spell to block out sound¡ªnot to thwart eavesdroppers but to mute the ambient noise.
It was one of her most useful spells, as it allowed one to sleep quietly even in the middle of a deafening thunderstorm or when the summer crickets'' incessant chirping was in full swing. And it was certainly useful to preserve privacy.
"Pardon my intrusion," Sir Bald Eagle announced from outside before slipping into the tent, his hands carefully balancing two bowls. He offered one to Sagarius with a proud smile, declaring, "I have convinced the villagers to cook us some fine stew."
"Most pleasing," Sagarius accepted the bowl with polite gratitude.
He took his place on the thick carpet, directly across from her.
Midway through their meal, the old commander''s voice broke the silence. "So what are you going to do now?"
Sagarius understood the intonation and didn''t immediately answer. "Let me be frank with you," she finally said. "I no longer have a purpose. Not since I gathered increasing evidence that House Bengrieve is likely in cohort against the Imperium."
Sir Bald Eagle nodded, giving her time to reflect and collect her thoughts.
Sagarius continued, "Right now, I can only try to help you integrate with the local noble of your choice."
"Integrate," Bald Eagle repeated, tasting the word. "With ambitious warlords in disguise around us, I don¡¯t even want to think about it."
Unexpectedly, Sagarius extended her hand, grasping the old man''s coarse yet warm hand. "You don''t have to. You could have a farm and build a family."
"Maybe I can. I have enough coins and clout to do that. But for how long? A month, a year?" he asked gently, with a fatherly tone. "Eventually, the war will touch everything I hold dear. I fear that we''re in the eye of the storm yet to pass."
Sagarius didn''t argue but sipped her warm, hearty stew. She knew a succession crisis in an empire as old and vast as the Third Imperium would be disastrous. The thought almost made her reconsider her stance. However, she persisted, knowing it would only delay the inevitable.
"To integrate will only lead to us and your followers being split apart to avoid a coup, then being utilized as frontliners. With four hundred veterans, we pose a real threat to most local lords," Bald Eagle continued, his voice calm and free from pressure.
Sagarius nodded thoughtfully and asked, "Then what do you propose we do?"
Bald Eagle offered a wry smile. "I must admit, I''m ill-equipped to handle the fall of the known Imperium," he quipped.
Sagarius returned a faint smile.
"Anyone who claims they know what they''re doing right now is a dangerous liar. A succession crisis of this magnitude, with the throne and palace reduced to ashes¡ªit''s simply unbelievable," he said, exhaling deeply.
Setting down her half-eaten stew, Sagarius paused to gather her thoughts before meeting the old man''s gaze. "It seems we lack a clear path forward. I believe the military strategy dictates that if you can''t advance, you must either defend or prepare to flee."
"That is correct, My Lady," Bald Eagle affirmed. "We have only two options: defend or flee."
"And what does each option entail?"
"To flee is to continue our journey," Bald Eagle replied smoothly. His tone then shifted to one of caution, "To defend means to secure a strategic location and fortify it."
Sagarius took a soft breath and asked directly, "Do you really want to crown a daughter of a hat maker?"
Amused by her candor, he replied, "Under normal circumstances, no, I wouldn''t dare. But these are not normal times."
"Do not entertain such thoughts," she warned. "I have read about a new style of government. Perhaps it is time to explore such options."
"They''re a bit too radical for me, but I have nothing to lose."
"And what if I choose to flee?" she ventured, recalling the rumors of the new lord in Lowlandia she had only recently learned about.
"Then, we will gladly follow," Bald Eagle affirmed.
"I don''t believe you spoke for everyone," Sagarius voiced her doubt. "I can only hope they''ll find a just noble to serve and continue their lives."
"The men who followed you have lost more than everything. They''re... adrift," Sir Bald Eagle struggled to find the right words. "After their miraculous recovery and victory, they found no other purpose but to follow you. I believe, in doing so, they discovered a reason to live or at least a debt to repay."
"That is unwise," Sagarius chided. "They received a second chance and chose to squander it by following a nobody."
"Did they really?" the knight commander countered rhetorically.
Sagarius took her waterskin, poured water into a wooden cup, and offered it to the old man, who accepted it graciously. After he finished it, she ventured, "If I choose to defend, can we survive?"
"It depends on where and how," he replied.
"Explain," Sagarius prompted, almost instructively.
"A defensible position requires walls, good farmland, a river, and nearby population centers."
"It''s unlikely such a place doesn¡¯t already have a master," she observed.
"You''d be surprised, My Lady. Do you know why most towns and villages along our path welcomed us, despite us being strangers without a banner?"
She shook her head.
"Even before the fall of the Imperium, Elandia was overrun with bandits. Our men¡¯s presence deterred them, earning us a tepid but grateful welcome," Bald Eagle explained. "If we chose, we could claim the manor, and most of the people would likely support us."
"It¡¯s unwise to do so," Sagarius advised, though not entirely against the idea.
"Indeed. This area isn¡¯t remote enough to shield us from Gottfried¡¯s influence. Moreover, we have better options. To the south, the situation is far more dire. Last season, armed refugees from Nicopola raided deep into the territory and waged battles against Lord Bengrieve¡¯s forces."
"So you¡¯re suggesting we continue heading south, find a suitable city, encourage the populace to return, and then establish our independence?" she deduced, and Sir Bald Eagle nodded in confirmation.
"If you¡¯re still uncomfortable with southern Elandia, then perhaps we could cross the border into Nicopola. I¡¯ve heard that no one claims those lands anymore. They perished to the last kin."
Sagarius sighed, weighed down by guilt. She had heard about the great famine in Nicopola and couldn¡¯t help but feel responsible, despite lacking the power or position to have prevented it.
Oblivious to her internal struggle, Sir Bald Eagle continued, "If we proceed, and if House Bengrieve truly is conspiring, then we could use his Elandia domain as a buffer against Gottfried. It''s a sound plan."
"The Beastmen''s Marche," she mused, invoking the old name of the region. Sagarius had fought there as a Royal Mage in disguise. She had witnessed Kaen, the local champion, join the fray¡ªtalented and witty, yet recklessly impulsive. Despite his prowess as a mage-knight, his personality seemed shallow. The last she heard, he was doing penance, overwhelmed by guilt for the many lives he had taken, including those of young beastmen.
"Let''s revisit this discussion once we''re further south. It would be best if we have a map of the area," she declared with resolve.
"Certainly, My Lady. That can be arranged," Bald Eagle responded, pleased to secure a route to salvation.
...This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Sagarius hadn¡¯t fully made up her mind but decided to explore her options. Taking a lantern so that no one would come up to offer her one, she stepped out of her tent, intending to visit the officials with whom they had been traveling for several days. First, however, she needed to visit the outer boundaries of their encampment. There were no physical fences; just open fields dotted with trees where she planned to use a little bit of her magic to create a temporary ward that would alert her to any intruders.
Without being asked, Sir Munius, who was sitting near a campfire, stood up and escorted her, holding a simple torch that glowed brighter than the lantern.
"Visiting the perimeter again, My Lady?" the knight asked, familiar with her routine ever since they had arrived in Elandia.
"Indeed," she replied softly while walking under the starlight.
They walked quietly, her footsteps didn''t make a sound while the knight''s boots made some against the ground. Then Sagarius found a suitable object¡ªa gray rock with moss on one side. She extended her hand, channeling her magic onto the surface of the stone, and moments later began imbuing runes onto the magical layer.
Detect Parameters: physical movement, thermal body heat, or foreign magical energies.
Ignore Parameter: small signatures.
Execute: transmit to decoy.
End: Erase at sunrise.
She saw the magical circuit connect and briefly tested it. Satisfied, she walked away, carrying the lantern at her hip, not really needing it as her magic allowed her to see almost as clearly as in daylight. Arriving at a tree that would serve as another sentinel, she repeated the process, turning the tree into another one of her wards.
All the while, Sir Munius followed her without question. It had been several weeks, and tonight she felt it odd that he kept following without saying much. Thus, as she finished setting the second ward and headed toward the back of the camp, she asked, "Sir Munius, do you know the tales of the Champion, the Elven lady, and the sword?"
"I''ve heard of it but never actually heard it in full. But I know it''s a cautionary tale," he replied while keeping an eye on their surroundings.
"Indeed it is," she confirmed, then offered, "Would you like me to tell it to you?"
"Only if it doesn''t interfere with your business, My Lady."
"Not at all, we''re just walking," she reassured him, before beginning her story. "The Champion of Griate was known for his many exploits before he slew a notorious fell beast that landed on the eastern shore. But his story didn¡¯t end there. In the beast¡¯s lair by the sea, he discovered the Dwarven sword of Dainsleif. Though he did not use the sword to slay the beast, the tale grew in the telling. People and minstrels claimed he used the Dainsleif sword to cut through the monster¡¯s hide, which was as hard as stone as if he were skinning a young deer."
"It must be a magnificent sword to capture people''s imagination like that," he commented.
"Indeed. And it captured not only men''s imagination. A female elf heard of it too and began her journey to find him."
"Did she find him?"
"She did, after many years. By that time, the champion had already married and settled down. He kept his sword hidden as he didn''t need it anymore. The elf, wanting to see the sword, convinced him to go on another adventure, but the man declined. Until a fell beast appeared in a village some distance away."
The story took a grim tone at the end, not lost on the knight. "Was that the elf''s doing?"
Sagarius smiled but ignored his question. "Against his family''s wishes, the champion took his sword and went with the elf to slay the beast. They ended up doing more than just traveling. The elf wanted to see the sword used to hunt bandits and bears that terrorized the area. The champion agreed and the two became close, eventually becoming lovers. And then, when he least expected it, the elf was gone along with the Dainsleif. Her only motive was the sword, with which she had fallen in love."
Sir Munius took a deep breath before asking, "And then what happened to the champion?"
"He arrived at the village and still faced the fell beast, but as he was not in his prime anymore, he was slain, but not before giving the beast a mortal wound that the villagers could exploit."
Sir Munius gave no immediate reply, prompting Sagarius to ask, "What do you think of the story?"
"It''s certainly a cautionary tale," he then added, "If I may be so bold, you used this story to teach me not to blindly follow someone as mysterious as you."
"Perhaps," Sagarius refused to give him a confirmation, wanting him to reflect for a longer time.
"But, My Lady, you''re not after my sword, and you''re certainly not an elf," he noted.
Sagarius smiled behind the veil of the night.
Prompted by her silence, the knight asked, "Since the issue is a mystery, perhaps My Lady can explain what you are doing right now?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I don''t feel safe around here," she explained without hesitation.
The answer surprised the knight. "But you''re surrounded by men at arms."
"Perhaps, but it can''t hurt to keep my guard up," she replied softly, careful not to wound anyone''s pride.
"Are you from around here, My Lady?" Sir Munius asked.
"Well, I''ve been in this area multiple times, a long time ago."
"I see, then what do you fear in this part of Elandia?"
"Not here," she replied, "more toward the east; the ancient forest." She paused in her tracks and turned to him. "Can I trust you with something?"
"I am a keeper of secrets," Sir Munius stated.
She nodded and said, "The knight commander spoke of bandits that lurked in the area and how our presence here had deterred them. But I think that''s not the real reason. I believe the reason there are no more bandits around is that something else is preying on them."
"A fell beast?" the knight asked in a low voice, redoubling his efforts to scan their surroundings.
"I heard about the Nicopola refugee and mercenary war last season against House Bengrieve. The more I heard, the more I was certain that there would be many unburied carcasses from it. I doubt the fell creatures from the Ancient Forest would remain idle. They would multiply, and with the Imperium in this state, I doubt the Hunter Guild has an answer for them."
***
Lansius
The sun hung high, yet the sky darkened with the promise of rain, the wind carrying the earthy scent of an impending storm. Lansius stood by the window of the Eastern Mansion, his gaze sweeping over the vast stretch of land that belonged to his House. From a modern man¡¯s perspective, the expanse was staggering¡ªa city, a forest, plains, dozens of villages¡ªimmense even before considering his additional holdings in South Hill.
Despite actively governing them, he often marveled at the sheer scale of his domain, pondering just how many thousands of acres he had under his own name. A soft exhale escaped him as he reminded himself that the vast land was there as a foundation to secure peace and prosperity.
His eyes still peeled in the distance when thunder flashed brightly, striking somewhere beyond the wall, confirming the approach of rain.
Lansius turned from the window and slightly closed the curtain, not wanting the flashes of lightning to disturb the people working inside the hall on the second floor. Even on rainy days, when fields and roads turned to mud, there was still much to be done.
Last week, they had just finished a new chapter of The Iliad, depicting the early stages of the Trojan War. Surprisingly, from what he had gathered from those who listened to the herald outside the city library, his readers viewed the idea of launching an armed expedition to punish a wife-stealer as a noble act. Unlike modern audiences who often see an enduring love story between Paris and Helen, his readers perceived it clearly as a cautionary tale of wife-stealing.
When Lansius tried to argue to his senior scribes that Helen''s husband was a cruel king, they simply responded, "All kings are cruel to a point. But that doesn''t justify her eloping to another kingdom. That¡¯s a sure path to war, causing suffering in both kingdoms. Helen could have requested to return to her father. Eventually, the king, like any other, would grow bored and seek another. Women in power have used many strategies to retain their husbands'' attention. And I doubt someone who wouldn''t even make an effort would last long in a king¡¯s court, especially a cruel one. Such a king would be unlikely to remain faithful, no matter how beautiful Helen was."
Lansius found the different perspectives intriguing, yet it made a great deal of sense.
The story unsurprisingly resonated more with them than with modern audiences. Ending his musing, he gazed at the army of scribes and clerks who had been the backbone of his administration. They handled policies, tax collection, army wages, military expenditures, city expenses, guild dealings, and a myriad of other tasks. They were the ones he relied upon.
Last week they did Troy; this week, Korelia.
They worked here in the name of efficiency. Working in close proximity, they could ask Lansius directly about any issues they encountered, rather than formally presenting them at court, which would take too much time. Lansius found the traditional process rigid, plagued by formalities, and highly inefficient. By having them work here, they achieved an astounding level of progress.
The Lowlandia Office of Works, acronymed LOW.
Lansius couldn''t help but ponder whether the Toruna Office of Works would be acronymed "TOW," which reminded him of an anti-tank guided missile. The silly thought made him smile, and like clockwork¡ªyet to be invented here¡ªhe felt someone watching.
He turned to a particular soft cushioned seat across the chamber and found a beautiful pair of hazelnut eyes watching him. Like a hunter to its prey, Audrey had caught him smiling, and now her lips formed a smirk that could drive him crazy.
Mmm, temptations... Hold on the Paris in me. Don''t be swayed by this sword-buckling, horse-riding, knight-baroness of Lowlandia, Centurian-born Helen.
Lansius turned back to face the window again, his amused smile hidden from her compelling gaze.
He could afford a moment of idleness after outlining his latest plan. Now, he simply needed to wait for its finalization, calculation, and evaluation.
One aspect of his plan involved the production of flares and smoke signals. Having observed their effectiveness in training, he realized their demand would only grow. Unable to rely solely on Calub for their production, Lansius decided it was time to fulfill his promise and establish a proper laboratory¡ªor, in this world, an alchemy workshop.
Having enticed the guilds with southern trade, he aimed to leverage this advantage. He instructed the Lowlandia Office of Works (LOW) to propose to the alchemist guild that they establish an alchemy shop in Korelia. Before negotiating the price, LOW would broach the subject that if the barony bore all costs, then the alchemy workshop must pledge complete allegiance to House Lansius, ensuring all trade secrets became rightfully his.
Lansius expected that his proposal and the stipulation for trade secrets would spark their interest, likely leading to a counteroffer. This was exactly what he wanted. While he preferred to train local talents he could trust, training an alchemist was a lengthy and risky endeavor. The last thing he wanted was for his personnel, who depended on these signals, to face failure in critical moments¡ªa potential disaster.
Hence, a solution was necessary because talents were not merely tools.
If the guilds did not cooperate, the arrangement could become problematic, likely requiring the alchemists, likely from Midlandia, to move permanently to Korelia to safeguard the secrets. Such an arrangement was not only inhumane but could also backfire by attracting only less qualified individuals.
"Non-competing clause," he muttered to himself, watching a lightning fork in the distance.
Although understanding its utility and necessity, Lansius was not fond of it. Moreover, it contradicted his views on industrial secrets: keeping them too tightly guarded often led to theft, as the stories of tea and silk had shown.
Thus, he preferred cooperation, aiming to retain control and secure his margins. He hoped the guild would see the profit potential as distributors and be sufficiently interested in gaining access to either partial or full secrets, along with the capabilities to produce what Korelia manufactured after about twenty or thirty years.
Whatever the deal, the alchemy workshop would prove essential for continuing experiments with volatile oils. If Calub could delegate the production of flares, fire grenades, alcohol, fertilizer, and his famously potent poppy milk medicine to the new alchemists, he would then be free to pursue other projects.
For a long time, Lansius had intended to ask Calub, strictly for research purposes, to begin his studies in what he deemed the dark arts of his world. This meant delving into the study of guano, charcoal, and sulfur, or in simpler terms: explosives.
***
Chapter 186 : Haywire
Chapter 186
Haywire
Elandia
Sagarius had finished placing the third and final ward at the back of their encampment. With Sir Munius as her escort, she headed toward the area where the ministers'' group spent the night. They had better tents along with several carts guarded by armed men. Yet, the guards kept their distance, allowing Sagarius some privacy.
"Gratitude for the hospitality," Sagarius expressed as the old gentleman offered her a fragrant tea. She sipped it gracefully before muttering, "Bergamot and black tea, how quaint."
Her reaction was kindly received by the old gentleman, who smiled warmly, his full beard parting to reveal a friendly grin. "I''m glad to meet someone who knows their tea. And I do apologize that I only have morning tea to offer."
Sagarius smiled. "Please, in times like these, any tea is good tea."
The two did not immediately delve into business but spent some time enjoying the tea, the crackling campfire, and the night sky. It was peaceful, as Sagarius had tuned her magic to shield them from insects.
"I heard your group isn''t heading to South Elandia anymore?" the old palace official, Paulos'' chief, broached the subject.
"Indeed, we have learned enough about Lord Bengrieve. He''s not who I thought he was," Sagarius confirmed.
The old gentleman, who was a senior Palace official, kept his composure and said, "Unfortunate for us, there''s no one else worth serving."
"Perhaps so," Sagarius played along.
Caressing his beard, the man spoke, "There are new developments in this land. The people I''ve met say that Lord Bengrieve''s men are everywhere. Even in his absence, his couriers and messengers are riding almost everywhere."
"He must be busy, preparing for something," Sagarius remarked.
"He''s persuading the people," he revealed, catching Sagarius'' interest. He continued, "Rumors have it that he said: The end of the Imperium does not spell our end. Together, we must unite to stem the tide that threatens to wash away our Houses."
Sagarius, staring at the fire as she pondered, finally asked, "Are his words effective?"
"Given the hopelessness and lack of guidance in the situation, I believe his pitch should be effective. I''ve heard that more and more knights and neighboring barons have joined him."
"Does this mean the entire province will join him?"
"Likely, but we still have Duke Louis of Tiberia to consider," the official reminded her.
Sagarius had never met the current Duke of Tiberia, only his grandfather, but she held a low opinion of a House that for generations had shown no intention or effort to progress in science, production, or agriculture. This was why she disliked inherited power and generational transfer¡ªwhat merit and skills their forefathers had, their descendants rarely possessed.
Turning to the gentleman, who sported a fine beard, Sagarius asked, "What about the new Lord your friend was telling me about a few days ago?"
"How can I put this...?" he said, concern in his voice. "Paulos is naive to trust someone he¡¯s never met. The magic device he used could be connected to anyone, perhaps even brigands."
Sagarius found the remark funny. "If they¡¯re such technologically advanced brigands, then I have no problem meeting them."
The official chuckled and exhaled sharply, explaining, "You might have a point, but it''s inherently dangerous. For instance, Paulos initially thought the messages were coming from Centuria, but they actually turned out to be from Lowlandia."
"So you don''t have confidence in this new Lord of Lowlandia?" Sagarius asked.
"I''m afraid it''ll take quite a leap of faith to trust a Lord whose track record is only a few years. Moreover, he''s the Lord of the Lowlandians, and you know how their reputations are."
Sagarius nodded and sipped her tea again, finding its warmth and slightly bitter but fragrant taste delightful in her mouth. Then, holding the metal cup in her lap, she asked, "How about if you come with me? My followers and I are going south, trying to claim a place of our own. I''m sure your skill and experience would be priceless."
The gentleman was quite surprised by the offer. "I don''t want to be rude, but..."
"Yes, I may have no name, no reputation, but as you can see, I have followers," Sagarius remarked calmly.
"I''m aware, but so do brigands," he countered sharply.
Sagarius smiled, finding it true. "True," she remarked. "Usually, I wouldn''t go this far, but you and Paulos, I''ll need you two, otherwise, it''ll be, as you said, a brigand business in disguise."
"I''m not following," the old man replied indifferently.
Assuming a formal tone, Sagarius said, "The Imperial Palace complex had twelve outer gates, four main gates, and two inner gates." Her words captured the old man''s full attention; his eyes widened. Such knowledge was known only to those working or living inside the palace.
"However," she continued, "that is not entirely accurate. Beyond the Jeweled Gate, the main access for the nobility, and the Elvenwood Door for the servants, there are two lesser-known passages to the inner sanctum."
The precision of her details unnerved the gentleman. "Who are you? How could you possibly know this?"
Sagarius raised a hand, signaling him to pause, and spoke with measured calm, "There exists a third gate accessed through the Grand Armory, and a fourth, the grandest of all, concealed behind magnificent drapes of purple and red, inlaid with gold. The gate, carved from marble, features three dragons, the foremost with ruby eyes¡ª"
Overwhelmed, the old official fell to his knees, his eyes brimming with tears. "No need, no need," he pleaded as he crawled closer, then kowtowed at her feet. "O Great Ones, your servant is at your command."
Her revelation had clearly shaken him. "How can you be so certain of this?" she asked, surprised by his reaction.
"Only three officials ever knew these secrets, one being my mentor, and all have since passed away. After their deaths, the high ministers sealed the gates and the entrance hall."
"But then how do you know about the last gate to verify my claims?"
Still facing the ground, the official, no less than the last Master of the Record explained, "Before it was sealed, several officials managed to enter and slipped a memorandum through the marble gate. I know from my teacher that there was a¡ª"
"Yes," Sagarius interjected, "the third dragon''s leg engraving swivels sideways; you can insert a scroll."
Realizing the gravity of who stood before him, the official wept, trembling.
Sagarius, using her magic discreetly, blurred their forms from any prying eyes. While she could have rendered them invisible, she did not wish Sir Munius to come charging in, all worried. She then gently patted the old official on his back. "On behalf of my father, please accept our apology. We were not good rulers."
He sobbed louder, overwhelmed by his emotions.
Sagarius understood. She had been an official for more than several decades; for them, the Imperium was home, the Ministry was family, and the Emperor, was their father. Thus, she gently explained, "While people named him Ageless, the August One was still mortal. He passed away last winter."
"To the eternal emperor. May he ascend to the Ancestors," the official whispered, his voice breaking as he tried to compose himself.
Only after he calmed down, Sagarius instructed clearly, "Keep this knowledge between us."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Refer to me as Lady Sagaria. Although I am my father¡¯s last living child, I do not plan to claim the throne." Making her statement clear, she added, "Even if I were to claim a land, another would be the leader." She turned her gaze toward Sir Munius.
"Yes, My Lady. Your humble servant understands."
Laden with curiosity, Sagarius asked, "What have you understood?"
"You are a grand progenitor," he replied. "They say in their youth, they preferred to traverse the lands rather than govern."
Sagarius put a smile on her face. She almost revealed her House identity as Elven, but seeing him so shocked and grief-stricken, she didn¡¯t have the heart to do so. Moreover, she needed him, and the matter of her true identity could wait.
***
Eastern Mansion
In the chamber adjacent to the Lord¡¯s private hall, Ingrid collaborated closely with Farkas and Francisca, the few she could truly trust in this matter. As supervisor, Lord Lansius had assigned Sir Harold, since the wealth of information they had gathered from their contact in Elandia had become overwhelming.
"Wood Yellow, Red Green, Green Yellow, Red Green, Wood Blue, Green Wood, Red Green," Ingrid reported to Francisca, who, despite her notorious sharp claws, skillfully wielded a quill with deft precision.
As she was finished, the half-beast handed her neatly written notes to Farkas, who translated the color codes using a chart and then documented them for Sir Harold¡¯s review.
"So Bengrieve has returned and is on the move," Sir Harold whispered, careful not to disrupt Ingrid, whose focus was critical.
"Hard to believe he would abandon his ancestral home and gamble it all for Elandia," Farkas whispered back. Paulos, their contact, had reported Lord Bengrieve¡¯s unexpected return to Elandia.
"But what is his aim? What is he trying to accomplish?" Sir Harold pondered aloud.
"Perhaps, Midlandia is truly lost to him?" Farkas offered his opinion.
"You think so?"If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Farkas shrugged. "I''m not sure." Lord Lansius had always cautioned him to admit uncertainty rather than fabricate explanations. He believed it was safer for his agents to confess ignorance rather than construct assumptions that could lead to disastrous results and tragedy.
Francisca handed another parchment to Farkas, then joined Ingrid for a brief respite, awaiting Sir Harold''s directive.
Translating the new code, Farkas was stunned. Turning to Sir Harold while offering the translation, he explained, "Someone important named Sagaria is interested in meeting Lord Lansius."
"Sagaria? I¡¯ve never heard of anyone by that name," Sir Harold replied, his brow furrowed.
"You might want to know that the earring can also transmit a vague sense of feeling," Ingrid chimed in, capturing their attention. "And I felt that Paulus holds this Sagaria person in high regard."
This only confused Sir Harold further. He stroked his square chin, bidding time to think. "For an Imperial official, who used to work in the Grand Imperial Palace, to be impressed by someone... she must be special."
"You know, we should just bring them all here to make it easier," Francisca suggested. "There''s a lot of talk about this city needing so many talents; I''m sure this Paulos and his friends are quite the intellectuals."
They all nodded in agreement.
Prompted by their agreement, Francisca added, "So, how about just using the airship to get them?"
Farkas inhaled sharply. "Unfortunately, it hinges on the Nicopola campaign. And we don''t know when it''ll end."
"Still no news?" Sir Harold asked.
"With all the movements going on in the war and the distance to Korelia, even the Hawks would be hard-pressed," Farkas explained.
The room fell silent as they pondered the situation.
"If the Lord wishes, I could always travel by carriage and provide an escort," Sir Harold explored the option. "I''ll be riding from here to Korimor, then from Korimor to Midlandia, and finally crossing to Elandia."
Francisca looked at Sir Harold with hopeful eyes, but the knight turned her down. "Both of us can''t be absent from our Lord''s side. It would be a lapse in security."
"But, Sir, Midlandia is in such a state," Farkas cautioned.
"A civil war, yes, but I¡¯ve studied the report. It seems that the west of Midlandia has thrown their support to Bengrieve, and technically, our Lord is his ally, isn''t he?" Sir Harold reassured them, earning murmurs of agreement.
Turning to Ingrid as lightning flashed outside, Sir Harold instructed, "Ask Paulos who Sagaria is and if there''s a way to meet. Tell him Lowlandia is peaceful, safe, growing, and open to new talents."
His words brought smiles to everyone''s faces. It made them happy to think that their own place was in such a blissful state compared to the rest of the Imperium. However, before Ingrid could act, the door opened and Lord Lansius rushed in.
"My Lord," they greeted him, but Lord Lansius went straight to the table and found the large wooden switch that had been in the off position.
"Ah," they all understood the reason. The Lord had instructed them about the danger of lightning and how their bronze antennae could attract that very force of nature.
"I always remember your warnings, My Lord," Ingrid reassured him, with a proud smile evident on her lips. "Even if I forget, I can¡¯t ignore the tingling pain whenever there¡¯s a thunderstorm close by."
"My apologies," the Lord breathed a sigh of relief, clearly amused that they had heeded his warning.
"Please move away from the table, it''s risky," Sir Harold added, half-jesting. And the Lord followed with a chuckle.
"My Lord, if you''re not busy, how about a report?" Sir Harold asked on behalf of the team.
"Sure, but let''s get the Lady first; she might be interested to hear it," Lord Lansius said, clearly valuing his wife''s opinion.
Despite the building thunderstorm outside, the Lord and Lady listened to the report and were alarmed by the situation.
Lady Audrey turned to Lord Lansius, asking, "Why is Bengrieve back on Elandia?"
The Lord turned to her, simply shaking his head while stroking his chin, his face clouded with doubt.
The staff did not want to interrupt, keeping quiet as if their lives depended on it. They knew just how vital their Lord''s strategic insight was to their survival.
"For him to abandon Cascasonne," Lord Lansius muttered, unsure as he studied the map spread out on the table. He gazed at it, pondering under the glow of the hastily lit chandelier, as sunlight was blocked by the storm. "Could it be that Bengrieve is trying to save the Imperium?"
"In a sense, he''s similar to you," the Lady chimed in. "If there''s an action, there must be a deeper motive or an underlying one."
Her words were unexpected, prompting a thin smile on his lips. The Lord then turned to the staff, saying, "We can assume Bengrieve''s motive is growth and power. But his return to Elandia isn''t based on this."
Sir Harold, who stood next to him, asked, "Then what is it, My Lord?"
"Survival," the Lord revealed. "But not because of the civil war. No. I have a feeling that he had Reginald under control. He''s too cunning not to have secret troops somewhere or assassins ready to strike."
"I''m not so sure about that," the Lady disagreed. "I mean, it''s about warfare and he''s not you."
The lady''s words drew smiles from everyone and the Lord seemingly enjoyed the praise.
Sir Harold quickly added, "As My Lady said, My Lord, you''re most capable in the business of war, perhaps Lord Bengrieve isn''t as capable in this matter."
"He''s surely not incompetent," the Lord dismissed the notion. "Remember, he took Ornietia and Elandia with ease."
"I believe that''s Sir Stan''s doing," the Lady remarked.
The Lord nodded. "Your baronet brother is indeed capable. That''s why if I were Bengrieve, I would let Sir Stan handle Cascasonne while he''s doing his part in Elandia."
"But what is he doing in Elandia? Consolidating his gains?" the Lady asked.
"That is one good guess. But I believe it has to do with the Capital," the Lord said somberly. "Even in ruins, it remains a seat of power. Anyone who controls it could lay a claim over the Imperium."
The realization struck everyone hard, yet doubts lingered. Ingrid murmured, "Can they really? I mean, they don''t have the blood or the royal rights."
"It''s not even an issue," the Lord answered. "A woman could be found and identified as the daughter of the Emperor, imprisoned by the scheming High Ministers. The grateful freed princess would then marry the illustrious liberators. That way, the victor would become an Imperial Prince, and their future son, the next Emperor."
Murmurs of disbelief filled the room, but all knew it was frighteningly possible.
Sir Harold sighed. "I wish for the Imperium to continue, but not like this. I don¡¯t see peace coming from this. The rest of the provinces will rebel."
Lady Audrey also expressed her doubts. "People will eventually find out," she said to the Lord. "The woman will not be ageless, and neither will their descendants."
"Again, that¡¯s not an issue," the Lord replied, exhaling softly. "By the time they find out, the regime will already be twenty or thirty years old, stable enough to fend off any rebellion. And I doubt they''ll let the populace know. It''s very easy to conceal a puppet''s death, especially behind palace walls, or they could simply argue that not all descendants had the gift of being Ageless."
There was silence in the chamber, punctuated by a few thunder strikes that flashed brightly despite the curtains.
The Lady leaned toward the Lord and asked, "Do you really think Bengrieve is after the throne?"
The Lord shrugged. "I''m not sure, but I know that he''s afraid," he said, causing others to tense up.
"Whatever he plans to do, it''s likely related to the Capital and the throne. He might not want it, but possibly he also doesn''t want Gottfried to sit on it." With that, Lord Lansius concluded the main discussion. Although further conversations ensued, none possessed the depth or importance of the Lord''s insights.
Despite the revealing take on the situation in Midlandia and the Imperium as a whole, the Shogunate could do little in reality; they were simply too far from the Capital. Moreover, nobody wanted to get involved in the crisis, believing it to be a waste of strength and human lives.
As the meeting was winding down and they waited for the storm to pass, Francisca returned with trays of exotic-looking food resembling carrots or radishes, which she had grown herself. She introduced them as yams, explaining the varieties: some were golden, soft, and sweet, others white and starchy, and a few even purple, available both baked and steamed.
Lord Lansius took a special interest in them, inquiring about their origin and sampling several types, praising their delicious taste. His genuine enthusiasm encouraged others to try, and to everyone¡¯s surprise, the yams proved unexpectedly wholesome, filling, and tasty.
Seeing the Lord¡¯s and the Baroness''s enjoyment, the staff felt a new staple might soon be cultivated in Korelia, a prospect that delighted them greatly.
...
The next day, as was their routine, Ingrid wore her earring, turned the switch, and began to transmit her thoughts to Paulos. Outside, the sky was more friendly than yesterday; there were clouds but they were far from dark. Interested in the newest tidings, Lord Lansius sat conversing in whispers with Sir Harold and Farkas.
Lady Audrey was not around; due to the rainy season, whenever the sky was clear, she spent her time with Lady Astrid and their ladies-in-waiting. It was a happy coincidence that both women were pregnant at the same time, with Lady Astrid expecting in the summer and Lady Audrey due later in the fall.
They often went for a stroll in the mansion''s garden, now lush with rejuvenated fruit trees, meticulously trimmed foliage, and grass, as well as herbal plants and vibrant flowers, including ornate bird baths. Underneath the trees that provided cool, calm shade, they chatted and even engaged in some light gardening. Or so the Lord was told about the ladies'' activities. In truth, today''s meeting was a Defense Class for Ladies.
In turn, Lady Audrey and Carla demonstrated crossbow and spear techniques¡ªweapons that women could easily train with. Additionally, due to popular demand, Lady Audrey also showcased her archery skills with the nomad¡¯s bow.
Since they were outside, although technically still on the mansion''s grounds, not only were extra guards and Carla present, but Francisca and her group also provided a second layer of defense.
Because Francisca was occupied, the task of writing the letter fell to Margo; otherwise, Ingrid would have been overwhelmed. She believed that Paulos was likely a genius and no longer needed the color chart to communicate, which made her feel like the slower participant in their exchanges.
Inside the chamber, after a long silence, Ingrid''s lips curved into a smile. "He said hi," she informed the chamber, already familiar with several combinations of words coming from the device.
Lord Lansius nodded while Sir Harold rose and approached her. "Let''s ask him about Sagarius."
...
Sagarius
After last night''s exchanges with the old official, Sagarius had secretly become the palace official group''s matriarch. However, other members were kept in the dark, as the secret was deemed too significant to share with so many. Today, she visited the official campsite again while the rest of the group was preparing to leave, having gathered the supplies they needed from nearby towns and villages; they would head south the next day.
"So that is the item you used to communicate with that southern lord?" Sagarius asked Paulos as they met.
"Yes, lady Sagaria," Paulos confirmed. "In fact, I''m speaking with them right now."
"I see," Sagarius nodded, intrigued by the device similar to one she had used long ago.
Noticing her curiosity and amused by the attention, Paulos gladly offered, "Do you want to try?"
"Aren''t you in the middle of a discussion?"
"It''s alright, I''ll notify them," he said. He closed his eyes briefly and then readily removed his earring, which was attached to a copper wire.
"Gratitude," Sagarius extended her palm politely and accepted the earring, still connected by a wire to Paulos'' backpack. She examined the golden earring, noting its design and simplicity.
Interesting...
She mused, thinking it was likely a copy of the original dwarven think-to-talk communicator. She recalled the Imperium''s attempts to recreate such a device for long-distance communication, but they couldn''t replicate the complex dwarven rune, often a trade secret, that enabled thought sharing. The attempts were abandoned and rekindled several times, but the results were always inconclusive.
However, despite falling short of expectations, the devices saw action. They were issued to the Imperium''s many champions over the generations. She was sure that individuals like Kaen and his comrades were equipped with such devices during the beastmen war, and some were likely preserved in the Imperium Vault or studied by the respective Ministry.
"So you said you''re using some kind of code to talk?" Sagarius asked while beginning to don the earring on her right ear.
"Yes, a color chart, but I can decipher it without. Just let me know the color they send," Paulos reassured her.
"Is the wire necessary?" she asked, rather uncomfortable with how close they were.
"It works better that way. Somehow connecting it around my vest or my bag made it work better," Paulos explained cheerfully, completely oblivious to her discomfort.
Sagarius closed her eyes, familiar with having used the original device many times until she ran out of friends to communicate with. Memories of colleagues, both human and elven, long since passed away, flooded in momentarily. She cherished them always, but after hundreds of years, it was hard for her to even remember their faces.
Mm? It had no features and no mind interface.
She returned to the task at hand.
I doubt it can even send feelings, let alone thoughts. This is cumbersome, but probably that''s the limitation of human-elven craft...
As expected, she saw colors flash in her mind but did not act on them, choosing instead to use her magic to delve deeper into the device. She noticed some depleted energy cells and sent the tiniest amount of energy she could muster to invigorate them. These cells were old, likely reused from another dwarven artifact. The cells accepted the magical charge tepidly, and then the device began to reveal more functions.
Ah, so they attempted to copy the mechanism but failed to regulate it properly.
She pondered while tinkering with the device, noticing some pretty advanced runes embedded in it.
Could this be Father''s work? Maybe if I use myself as a regulator...
Sagarius'' eyes glowed briefly as she used her magic to connect with someone far in the southern land. Instead of achieving mind-to-mind communication, however, she experienced a vision. Pain immediately assaulted her, yet she persisted, mesmerized by the freakish accident. Unconsciously, she stared, realizing she was seeing through the other user''s eyes. There was no aural sensation, but she observed a chamber, bathed in light, airy and inviting. She noticed several people staring back at her, likely sensing an abnormal reaction.
Her? Ingrid...?
Sagarius'' spectacularly failed attempt had unintentionally caught a glimpse of someone''s memory before everything collapsed. She likely had broken the device, pushing it beyond its designed capacity. She could feel the cell vaporizing, but just before everything went dark, she caught a glimpse of a man with black hair.
Ingrid''s memory revealed a name, ''Lansius.'' Then, it all crashed down on her¡ªglimpses of the war, the inventions, the policies, the shogunate, the city fountain, barbed wire, nomads, half-beasts, the library, south trade, and airship.
Sagarius opened her eyes to find Paulos in a panic. Blood trickled from her nose, but there was no mistaking the nervous smile on her lips, contrasting with the tension in her gaze and a flicker of suspicion.
***
Chapter 187 : Ancient Order
Chapter 187
Ancient Order
Lansius
Everyone in the chamber was in a panic. Ingrid had fainted, jerking back from her seat and turning her head around as if seeking help. Suspecting an electric shock, Lansius rushed to turn off the lever switch. However, a glance out the window confirmed that a thunderstrike was an unlikely cause.
Sir Harold caught Ingrid as her body slumped from the seat, her eyes rolling back and her lips muttering unintelligibly.
"Get her on the floor," Lansius instructed, fearing she might have low blood pressure. He ran to the door and pushed it wide open. He saw the surprised guards standing not far from him in the corridor. "Go get Lady Audrey," he urged them with all the haste he could muster.
"Right away," one of the guards sprinted downstairs.
Turning back inside, he saw Farkas at the door, saying, "My Lord, I''ll get the physician¡ª"
"Yes, go," Lansius affirmed, watching him run downstairs.
Inside the chamber, Sir Harold had laid Ingrid on the wooden floor while Margo fashioned a cloth into a makeshift head pillow.
"How is she?" Lansius asked upon returning.
"I can''t be sure, but she looks much better now," Sir Harold said.
"Margo, remove her earring," Lansius instructed as he approached the desk and noticed the copper wire had snapped at the connection point, exactly as the artisan had designed. This precaution was intended to prevent injuries, and it had indeed saved Ingrid''s earlobe.
Lansius observed as Ingrid¡¯s breathing became calmer, and thankfully, there were no signs of injuries. To keep calm, he resisted the urge to question the others, knowing it all happened so fast and seemingly without provocation.
Slowly, Ingrid opened her eyes momentarily, frowned as if experiencing a strong headache, reached out for her head, and muttered incoherently.
"Ingrid, can we help you with anything?" Sir Harold asked gently but received no coherent response.
"Don''t give her any drink," Lansius warned, concerned there might be a deeper issue. "Keep her lying down; don¡¯t let her stand or sit for now."
They complied, and over the next few minutes, Ingrid slowly regained consciousness. "W-what happened?" she asked Sir Harold, her voice weak, her face sweaty, and her eyes unfocused.
"Everything is fine. Don''t worry about it. Just stay calm. You have no wounds or anything; just stay calm," he reassured her.
"What do you feel, Lady Ingrid?" Margo asked while massaging her shoulder.
"My head feels light, my eyes heavy, and my tongue unusually heavy," Ingrid''s explanation confused Lansius as it sounded somewhat like symptoms of an electrical accident.
"The physician will be here soon," Lansius assured her, kneeling next to her.
"My Lord," she greeted weakly.
"Just stay where you are. We''ll take care of you," he reassured her.
Ingrid nodded and closed her eyes again, murmuring, "It felt so odd. I felt someone else besides Paulos. And then she..."
Everyone paused, realizing her words were off, and Ingrid forcefully opened her eyes again, her face sweaty. "I think I met this Sagarius person."
They exchanged glances, and Ingrid continued, "She reached out to me, and then everything collided."
"A mage?" Lansius questioned.
Ingrid gazed at him, frowning. "Possibly..."
...
Sagarius
Turning to Paulos, Sagarius said apologetically, "I think I broke it."
Paulos was taken aback and muttered, "That can''t be; it''s a mostly stable artifact. I doubt you could break it."
"I tried something on it," she reasoned, removing the earring, but she couldn¡¯t resist recalling the fleeting image of the gargantuan object flying in the sky named Horsie.
Why is it named Horsie? she wondered.
"Y-you¡¯re a mage," Paulos exclaimed.
"My apologies." She bowed her head without giving him confirmation.
"No, no. Don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯m good at fixing things¡ªthat''s my skill," Paulos reassured her proudly, evidently pleased to befriend a mage.
Sagarius, fully expecting to be admonished since she knew just how precious the item must be to them, was concerned. "You''re not going to ask for money?"
"Why would I ask for money? Lady, this isn''t for sale."
She stared at him. "I mean, I broke it. Don¡¯t you want compensation?"
"Ah, don¡¯t worry about it. I¡¯ll fix it and even make it stronger," Paulos said with glee, likely seeing it as a challenge.
Sagarius was really impressed with him. However, she suspected it was likely beyond salvage. "You know, I think I can find a replacement for you."
"Replacement?" Paulos looked slightly offended. "These things are of ancient origin and are no longer being produced. They''re very rare."
"I know a likely place," Sagarius muttered. Her words and confidence momentarily silenced Paulos.
"You do?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of excitement.
"Yes. Besides, if we¡¯re going to meet someone, it''s best to bring a gift," she remarked, turning to find a map on top of a chest used as a table. "Mind if I take a look?"
"Certainly," Paulos responded, pocketing the earring and joining her by the Imperium Map that displayed provinces east of the Capital. "We are around this area," he pointed out.
Sagarius couldn''t help but notice the current borders around Elandia, Arvena, and Midlandia. "These are new borders..." she muttered.
"The three provinces'' borders?" Paulos followed her gaze, seeking clarification.
"Yes, let''s not go there. There''s danger in the forest," she hastily put up an excuse to dismiss the topic.
"So it''s true that the Hunter''s Guild is active around the ancient forest," he observed.
"Yes, I''ve heard reports of minor fell beasts in that area, and sometimes even major ones," she added reluctantly. "We shouldn''t venture near it, lest we disturb one," she cautioned, despite knowing that the ruins, once known as the Old Elandia Kingdom, likely held a vast amount of relics. However, the presence of fell beasts made it impossible, moreover, they were particularly sensitive to Elves.
"I''ve always wished to visit the ruins," Paulos unexpectedly said, causing Sagarius to widen her eyes in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, right, not even most officials know about this. There are records of an advanced kingdom''s ruins located deep in the ancient forest, but access is officially barred. Even the records are hidden or falsified."
"What are you, a record keeper?" Sagarius couldn''t help herself, intrigued by a human who knew as much as her.
"Yes, I am," he answered proudly, missing the suspicion in her voice.
Sagarius blinked several times, doubting what she had heard. "But with the earrings and all, shouldn''t you be in Dwarven Studies?"
"Well, my parents didn''t have enough to bribe my way into that department."
"Bribe? But why?"
"It''s a well-known secret that the ministers there could sell fake Dwarven artifacts to unsuspecting merchants. Thus, it''s quite lucrative," he sighed, pain evident in his voice.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"I see," Sagarius exhaled bitterly, never having expected the once-prestigious department that her Father had helmed to sink so low. "Then how did you manage to fix this earring?"
"An old minister allowed me to tinker with it. He must''ve noticed my curiosity. I couldn''t get it to work before he died, but his widow let me keep it on the condition that I promised to marry her orphaned niece." He turned and nodded toward a modestly beautiful woman dressed in a mismatched outfit suitable for travel, her only grace being the correctly chosen inconspicuous hood that covered it all.
With ease, she noticed her anxiety. "You need to take better care of her. She looks concerned."
"Well, we lost the Capital, and my parents aren''t exactly easy to work with." Paulos'' expression turned sad for the first time. "Poor girl, she must''ve wished to enjoy a carefree life in the Officials Quarters, playing with blue-eyed cats, chatting by the koi pond, or lounging in the vast Imperial garden."
"No," Sagarius disagreed with him. "She''s lucky to be here. If she were still in the Capital, she''d be in a far worse position."
"Do you think so?" Paulos turned to her with genuine curiosity.
"Of course. Stop feeling guilty about it and be happy that you escaped the fall."
Paulos smiled and nodded happily. "So, why are you asking about the map?"
"There," she pointed at a marked area on the map.
"Vin... de... bona," Paulos tried to read the small, blurred words, evident that it was just an unimportant site.
"Vindebona," Sagarius confirmed. "There was an Imperial storage there during the beastmen war."
"Not anymore, I think," he mumbled, then added, "I don¡¯t remember that name at all; it probably didn¡¯t make the list of important cities or towns. It must have been abandoned after the beastmen war, and its storage redistributed," he noted, oblivious to her unusual knowledge.
"Then there''s a higher chance that the secret stash is still safe," Sagarius pondered aloud without thinking it through.
"Secret stash?" Paulos raised his brow.
"I mean, there''s a probability that what''s now a secret stash is safe," she babbled, trying to cover her slip.
"Oh, I see," Paulos replied, convinced yet still harboring a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
"You better take care of your wife; she needs you. Also, let me borrow the map for a bit. I''ll talk to the chief for permission," Sagarius suggested, creating a diversion. Afterward, they went their separate ways, each preparing for the next day''s departure.
This time, Sagarius had a concrete destination for her growing group. Instead of just heading south, they were going to the forgotten city of Vindebona.
***
Eastern Mansion
Three days had passed since Ingrid''s incident with the earring, and the educator was now recovering. Although she exhibited no ill side effects, Lansius and Audrey insisted she take it easy for at least a week. As for the earring, nobody dared to touch it, fearing unknown dangers.
Sir Harold suspected that the earring had broken from excessive use, while Farkas was curious about the involvement of the other party and whether they posed a risk. Despite the potentially sad end of their experiment and their contact with Paulos, life in Korelia continued.
This evening, Lansius held a feast to welcome several prominent noble guests who had recently joined Korelia from their respective hometowns.
In the hall of the Eastern Mansion, a lively small feast unfolded under the warm glow of candlelight and a fiercely bright oil lamp. The lamp had returned to Korelia as a staple after the Lord had secured an oil reserve. Unknown to them, its main ingredient was leftover oil from the filter, considered too dirty for use in the airship furnace.
The hall resonated with the sweet strains of minstrel music and the rich aroma of roasted meats and spiced pies. Guests mingled and laughed, their voices harmonizing with the melodious sitar tunes and bursts of hearty laughter.
At the high table, somewhat secluded from the rest of the gathering, Lord Lansius and Lady Audrey shared a private world amidst the public revelry. They leaned close, their whispered words lost in the swell of festivity.
"How about that one?" Audrey, with a mischievous glint in her eye, nudged Lansius toward a guest.
Lansius turned and noticed that one of the guests had brought his daughter. He chuckled softly, observing the daughter''s slightly revealing clothes that highlighted her full-figured body, and remarked, "What a curious wardrobe choice. But, I''m happy for her future husband."
His jest made Audrey stifle her giggles. "I think the father wants you, not some other guy," she quipped.
Lansius continued to chuckle, the wine had gone to his head. "It takes more than just a big bosom to keep me happy."
Audrey''s giggles mingled with his. "Perhaps you need a closer look. Why not invite her to join us?¡± she teased further.
"Here or straight to the bedchamber?" Lansius countered boldly.
The two stifled their laughter, both becoming flushed from it.
"I don''t want to risk losing a barony," Lansius said jestingly, before gazing into her eyes that were mostly serene these days. "And I surely don''t want to lose you."
Audrey hid her smile by playfully slapping his arm, then took a sip from her goblet of water. The two then surveyed the crowd, half-expecting their jests to be overheard, but the hall was so lively that their words slipped unnoticed.
Suddenly, murmurs arose as an unexpected but welcomed development unfolded in the hall. Capturing everyone''s attention, a group of nine half-breeds entered, led by Francisca and the guards. Their arrival ignited a sparkle of murmurs and delight among the guests. The crowd graciously parted, giving the newcomers the floor, with some guests displaying wide eyes, and others offering subtle nods of respect.
The half-breeds made their way toward the high table, one of whom, taller and more beastly-looking than the others, was clad in ringmail.
"Male half-breed," Audrey commented as they rose to their feet. Lansius noticed Sir Harold, Farkas, and their men at the table, along with Carla and her guards standing nearby, all subtly assessing the newcomers. It wasn''t a matter of trust but rather what professionalism demanded of them.
"My Lord, My Lady, my kin have arrived to fulfill your invitation," Francisca announced.
The newcomers then greeted the Lord and Lady with deep bows, their presence a striking contrast to the usual attendees. "On behalf of Lord Beatrix of Umberland, please accept our greetings," a female half-beast formally addressed them.
"On behalf of the Shogunate, welcome to Korelia," Audrey declared proudly. Lansius noticed there was little suspicion or animosity in her voice, despite last year''s ambush at the hill fort.
He then added warmly to everyone in the hall, "Please enjoy the feast. We will extend the merriment until every guest has had their fill."
His words were a command that prompted the mansion staff to act accordingly. They quickly prepared an additional long table, chairs, and servings of meals and drinks, while the kitchen readied more dishes.
The music resumed as Francisca and the female who had greeted them stepped forward to speak.
"My Lord, my Lady, we numbered nine¡ªeight females and one male," she reported, her voice and countenance reminding Lansius of Beatrix.
"Nine new friends," Lansius remarked, much to their delight.
"We were more numerous when we set out, but six of our kin have decided to mingle with the nomads along the way," she explained, eliciting surprise from both Lansius and Audrey.
The two exchanged glances and chuckles. Lansius then reassured them, "I shall raise no issue with it. Everyone is free to choose where their soul leads them."
The half-breed leader looked pleased with the answer.
"You haven''t told us your name?" Audrey asked.
Her question caused the leader to glance at Francisca, who giggled and wagged her tail, before saying, "This one also wishes to be named."
Lansius and Audrey couldn''t resist smiling, amused by the exchange. "Looks like another task for Sir Harold," Lansius said.
"But you''re the one who came up with the name Francisca," Audrey reminded him.
"That''s why it''s overdue for Sir Harold to pick one," Lansius replied in jest.
As laughter lingered in the air, Francisca found it appropriate to add, "My Lord and Lady, you might want to know that Batu married one of my kin who decided to stay with the tribe. He wanted little Lancius to have a powerful little brother or sister."
Lansius grinned, and he knew Audrey did too, though perhaps for a completely different intention. "Then I should send a congratulatory gift. What would be appropriate?" he asked.
"Spiced wine," Francisca suggested immediately, while the other female sheepishly added, "And some mead."
Lansius turned to Audrey for her input. "I''ll arrange for our finest to be delivered tomorrow," she replied.
Servants brought snacks while the meals were still being prepared, providing enough for the feast to continue. The guests found themselves seated again, enjoying plates of assorted cheeses, slices of smoked meat, and an array of fresh and dried fruits, nuts, and small rye bread loaves with pickled vegetables.
"What do you think of them?" Audrey asked inquisitively as the two returned to their seats.
"A reason to celebrate," Lansius replied happily. "I dream of integration and peaceful coexistence. Managing peace between the nomads and the citizens was challenging, and I dare not think about the half-breeds. But they managed it themselves. Life indeed finds a way."
Truthfully, he had always advocated for such integration, but witnessing it unfold so organically was a sight he had scarcely anticipated.
Audrey nodded and murmured, "Marry and be merry," while caressing her belly where their child grew.
Lansius smiled, feeling the warmth spread through his soul as everything turned out just right. Audrey looked at him once more and asked, "Shall I arrange a meeting with the two old lords?"
"Absolutely, but make sure neither chooses a wife from among the newcomers. We can''t risk a House rift so soon after the shogunate''s inception," Lansius replied with a chuckle, thinking of Lords Robert and Galdia, who would be delighted by the presence of the half-beasts.
Once mythical and forgotten, the half-beasts were now emerging, making themselves known and enhancing the charm and allure of Korelia.
***
Korelia market
A few days after the Lord''s banquet at the Eastern Mansion, Korelia woke to a bright morning, and the market was a flurry of activity. The air was filled with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares and the murmur of a crowd bustling through the narrow alleys between stalls.
Vendors lined the streets with stalls brimming with goods. Piles of colorful fabrics waved slightly in the gentle morning breeze, beckoning passersby to touch and admire them. Tables were laden with trinkets that glistened under the morning sun¡ªsilver ornaments, intricate combs, beaded necklaces, and wooden toys for children.
The scent of spices filled the air, a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves, drawing customers closer to the stalls heaped with vibrant powders and dried herbs. Nearby, loaves of freshly baked bread enriched the fragrance further.
Amid the crowds of shoppers, a woman with a basket in hand browsed through the stalls, purchasing bread and some sweet treats.
Suddenly, a figure approached her from behind. She noticed, turned, saw the face under the cloak, and spared a smile. They walked off together, with him trailing behind her, away from the crowded market.
"When did you arrive?" the woman asked.
"Two days ago. Couldn''t find you yesterday," he replied.
"It''s a big market," she said. "How was the journey?"
"Sore in the butt," he responded bluntly, then added, "It''s fortunate they don''t really check people from the east."
"True, they''re well-guarded against people from Midlandia but mostly turn a blind eye toward those from Edessa," she confirmed, then teased, "So, what guise have you adopted this time? A dishonest and bankrupt merchant?"
"No, a bastard son of a fallen noble," he replied nonchalantly without a smile.
The woman formed a satisfied grin and led the way to a secluded alley, a shortcut to her inn. "That brings us to three," she continued.
"I''m the last one," the man stated. "I have the guild''s order and confirmation of payment. Edessa has paid."
The woman sighed heavily. "For Midlandia and Edessa to send two of us, and even a mage. They really want him dead."
"I care not for the nobles'' squabbles or their petty reasons," he said indifferently. "We lost so many in the Elandia forest. We need fresh funds to recruit, train, arm, and replenish our ranks; otherwise, many will be in peril."
"For our Order to remain faithful despite the fall of another Imperium," she murmured, then began to chant in whispers, "The guild is father¡ª"
"The guild is mother," he followed, and their eyes momentarily glowed¡ªa sight that would frighten both beast and human alike. To them, the Order, masquerading as a guild, represented parents, lovers, siblings, and even future children. And now, it demanded the elimination of one: Lord Lansius of Korelia.
***
Chapter 188 : Riverstead Blue
Chapter 188
Riverstead Blue
Korelia
It was nearing sundown in Korelia, and people gathered in the newly finished plaza beneath its many palm trees. Some came to draw water from the fountain, while others reveled in the bustling evening market with its plentiful food stalls. A guildsman strolled carefreely toward his inn. He had been in Korelia for several weeks, formally employed by a guild but never appearing for duty.
He didn¡¯t need to. He had been sent here to spy on the Lord of Korelia, his true person of interest.
The Lord of this city had been marked as troublesome by the new powers in Midlandia. However, the operation was actually financed and orchestrated by the Lord of Edessa and a few powerful guilds in Midlandia.
The guildsman in disguise cared not for the reason; he just needed money¡ªplenty of it to fulfill his desire to be rich and influential. Rich enough so he didn¡¯t need to work but could rely on his laborers. And influential enough that people in nearby towns and villages wouldn''t talk ill of him and his reputation.
He didn¡¯t believe he was asking for too much.
Often, he compared himself to the nobles, who could barely do anything but whine and groan, completely dependent on their servants for everything. In comparison, he was a mage. Surely, it was only just for highly skilled individuals like him to attain the same level of luxury. He believed this was the natural order of things and thus set himself on this ambitious path, unlike his more simple-minded peers.
That drive initially made him a favorite of his mentor, but later, an outcast as he defied the guild''s wishes for formal employment with a noble. He reneged, joined the underworld, and sold his services to the highest bidder.
His preferred work was elimination. It was the fastest and most rewarding; it also afforded him plenty of downtime, during which he could relax and enjoy the finer things in life.
Having become accustomed to living in Midlandia or the Capital area, he initially turned down the job in Lowlandia. Nobody wanted to go to Lowlandia. He recalled telling his contact to send others to do the job, but his contact insisted that the big names wanted the most competent. They even tripled his pay, which was enough to make him reconsider.
After passing several shops that did little to interest him, he arrived at the inn in the better part of the city.
It was a reputable establishment, but to him, it was bland, drab, and inadequate. Despite all the fresh coats of plaster and several minor advancements, Korelia remained in his eyes a backwater region, unworthy of all the attention it received.
As he entered the premises, the innkeeper greeted him warmly, "Return from work, maester?"
"Yes, when will dinner be served?" the mage in disguise replied, matching his kindness without sounding fake.
"Same time, we''ll have a lamb chop this evening," the old man revealed proudly.
"Lovely, then I''ll meet you at supper," the mage said, then climbed the stairs to the second floor where the expensive suites with actual rooms and furniture were located, rather than just a communal wooden hall for sleeping.
As he reached the floor and headed to his chamber, he detected faint magical traces¡ªa rare ability that set him apart. He feigned ignorance, casually continuing with a lowered gaze until a woman waved her hand to him.
She was his contact for this job, a hunter and poison master as well. Standing next to her, he spotted a well-built man whose inconspicuous appearance stemmed more from his casual attire and overly friendly smile than from his physique.
"Don''t worry, he''s with us," the woman reassured the mage and motioned for the two to head to the corner where a glass window was located.
The two men glanced at each other briefly before following her without question.
The corner was only several steps away but offered a secluded spot surrounded by their rooms. There was only one staircase, reducing the worry about intrusion. The woman started first, explaining to the mage, "He''s an acquaintance. He brought details from Edessa and will be joining us on this mission."
The man simply waved his hand, and the mage did a double-take. Despite possessing only small traces of magic, at this close range, even a glance revealed just how absurd his physique was. Unlike mages who used their source to enhance their muscles and bones temporarily, the man must have used a vastly different method.
"I''ve never met a hunter-assassin before," the mage remarked.
"And nobody will. They don¡¯t exist," he replied casually, dropping his silly smile. "They are just myths perpetuated by foolish nobles. I''m just a hunter on an errand."
The mage turned his gaze to the woman. "I was never informed or agreed to this. I thought they only sent two of us."
"Will this be a problem?" the hunter asked.
"No. Your strength will certainly be a great addition; however, in this line of work, trust and communication are paramount, and we have never met or worked together before."
"I just arrived. We have plenty of time to prepare," the hunter reassured him.
But the mage shook his head. "There¡¯s not much time."
His words tensed up the other two. "What do you mean? Is there a new development?" the woman asked.
"Words have yet to get out, but at least nine half-beasts have just joined the lord¡¯s ranks."
The hunter licked his lips and dropped his facade completely, showing a cold, calculative gaze as he turned toward the window, observing the busy road below.
"This will not be pretty," the woman exhaled deeply, hinting at their unwritten code to make it look natural or, at the very least, like a freak accident.
"It''s the least of our worries now," the mage said.
"If you''re here, I guess infiltration wasn''t successful?" the hunter asked as he turned around to face her.
"Unfortunately, unlike in other places, they don''t need a physician, herbalist, or educator. They''ve got it all covered," the woman explained. "And when we tried to take them out, we learned it was usually for the staff and not the lord and lady."
"Mm, they''re quite resourceful," the hunter commented.
"They have capable people," she confirmed, then added, "I wish I could just apply as a cook so this would be over very soon."
The men were amused. It was well-known that cooks were selected through a thorough vetting system and kept under scrutiny. They would be required to work for years cooking for the staff before they were allowed to touch the food prepared for the lord and lady. This was before even considering the food taster''s ability.
"How about a direct approach?" the hunter suggested, hinting at an assault.
The woman turned to the mage, who explained, "It''s impossible to hit the target at his home. Even at night, the place is crowded with guards. Moreover, I saw faint traces of magic. And they also have half-beasts prowling the vicinity."
The hunter stroked his chin. "Then our best bet is when the lord is traveling. Do we know when he''ll be out of town?"
"This is exactly the plan I''m going to propose," the mage responded. "Unlike other nobles, he often travels incognito with a light escort. He uses a modest carriage like guildsmen or guests use, but I have memorized his carriage''s features."
***
LansiusThe genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Today, Lansius traveled to the market. Something had recently piqued his interest, but he had never had the time to pursue it properly. Now, with the telegram earring on pause because of an unknown accident, he had the time to explore this curiosity. One of the new stalls at the market offered something that resembled pasta. The last time they traveled with Audrey, the squire had brought one to appease the lady¡¯s curiosity, and Lansius took a keen interest in it.
It was pale white, thick, and broadly cut, visually more akin to thick lasagna skin, yet it tasted similar to pasta, more so than the one he had in Riverstead.
Lansius knew, sooner or later, he had to develop pasta. Not because of a culinary breakthrough, but to enhance the Shogunate¡¯s food security and resilience.
The importance of pasta lies not only in its taste but also in how it was stored dry, significantly extending its shelf life and making it resistant to mold and spoilage. Unlike wheat, bread, or even hard biscuits, dry pasta can be stored almost indefinitely. They just need to boil it in water to make it edible again.
Now, with the existence of such a shop, Lansius felt that half of the work had been done. While he knew, theoretically, how to make pasta, he had never kneaded the dough himself and didn''t know what durum wheat looked like compared to other types. He also didn¡¯t know whether it used eggs or not. He could try to work with the kitchen staff, as he had done with the croissant-like pastries, but he felt it would require a lot of his time and effort.
For the croissants, the chef at least had significant experience with pastry and could recreate the layers to a degree even without a refrigerator. The chef had even experimented alone to make the skin crusty. But pasta was a different matter. Nobody knew what it looked like or how it should taste. They had nothing to compare it to, which made it difficult. Until now.
So, Lansius was looking forward to visit the stall, observing their craft, and seeing whether they actually made it the way he knew. Ideally, he would just summon them to Eastern Mansion and let his chef study their craft, but that would likely invite gossip and attract the guild to start sniffing around.
He didn''t want to spoil the guild with another invention, not when he already had them hooked on the southern trade. Moreover, the Lowlandia Office of Works was already busy dealing with spring beds and the new carts with leaf spring suspension. Those two were beginning to generate significant profits for him. Each spring bed sold netted him almost three gold coins in pure profit, while modifications to carriages with suspension earned him a solid five gold coins each.
As for pasta, Lansius wasn¡¯t seeking profit but rather protection against bad harvests.
However, just like other inventions, this would require his presence, and in such a busy market, that would draw too much attention. Fortunately, Lansius had a new tool at his disposal. At Audrey¡¯s behest, Lady Astrid had brought an artisan from White Lake to make several wigs for Lansius.
It was rather itchy and hot at first, but he got used to it. At least he was reassured that the brown hair was selected from clean, noble-born individuals and boiled thoroughly to prevent any issues.
Armed with a new wig that caused his entourage to grin suspiciously, Lansius stepped down from the carriage. Today, he was wearing his old blue tunic, the same one he had bought second-hand in Riverstead. It was still comfortable but now felt tight against his body.
Must be from all the spring riding and the firewood I''ve chopped.
The blue tunic reminded him of what the old tailor had once said, "You can wear it until you''re too old to work."
It wasn¡¯t directed at the blue tunic he wore, but Lansius felt nostalgic all the same.
Wish we could meet again, Keith. This time, I''ll buy that red tunic. He mused, making a solemn oath, though unaware of the old tailor¡¯s fate.
His nostalgia didn¡¯t alter his state of mind as he walked toward the busy street, nervously glancing left and right, pleased that nobody looked at him with reverence. Carla and another guard in normal clothes blended in at his front and rear, while another pair of guards walked a distance away.
He hadn''t expected that looking ordinary would be so liberating. Nobody scrutinized what he was doing, where he was heading, or what he was observing.
...
"This is good," Lansius remarked to Carla as the two munched on the hot food that resembled pasta. Originally wide and flat, the stall owner had cut them thin, making them resemble broad fettuccine. They enjoyed it with a white gravy sauce and a slice of brown bread.
Lansius paid extra, so they also got some cheese, which unfortunately wasn''t shredded on top but was cut into cherry-sized pieces and placed in a corner to be eaten separately.
There were no tomatoes or garlic, but there was plenty of butter and salt from diced salted meat.
"Jans," Carla called, using his alias. The brown-haired Lansius nodded, signaling her to continue. The commotions from the street masked their voices from the rest customers despite their proximity in the small stall.
"You seem to enjoy it; how about bringing several bowls home?" she asked.
"Do you carry two bowls?" Unlike in the modern era, they had no access to easy packaging; even waxed parchment was not inexpensive compared to the price of the meal, making takeaways troublesome if one didn''t bring their own bowl or linen wrap, especially if the goods weren''t dry.
Carla showed four wooden bowls inside her wicker basket. "Jean told me to bring extra."
Lansius could only chuckle. His wife''s preparedness was evident. "Then order for her," he said, placing two copper coins on the table for Carla to take. "Also," he added as he put down two more coins, "get some of the ingredients and a portion of the uncooked meal. Tell them we want to try to make something out of it."
Carla nodded readily. "Do you want me to ask about the egg as well?"
Lansius nodded and gave a thumbs up. They had discussed beforehand the need to secure the flour and a dough sample for the chef to experiment with. In his era, this would be considered corporate espionage. Carla should have seen enough to explain the process to his chef and recreate it to a certain extent.
If things went well, and the chef successfully developed a dry pasta, Lansius would credit the stall owner for his invention and provide financial support. Under his rule, he vowed that no inventor would ever descend into poverty.
***
Lansius rode home in his unassuming carriage, accompanied only by two riders who shadowed them from afar to avoid attracting attention. Inside, he cradled a carefully prepared pasta meal for Audrey, anticipating a warm welcome. Seeing her eat heartily was one of his greatest pleasures. The ride was enjoyable as the carriage had undergone several modifications to its suspension; almost every week, someone from the workshop attempted to implement new ideas, and Lansius gladly lent his support.
They were halfway to the mansion, passing through the newly developed noble quarter, which was still largely empty and quiet. As they rounded a bend, a large tree sprawled across the road, its roots unsettlingly fresh as if it had been felled only moments ago. The guard beside the coachman leaped down to inspect.
"Just a fallen tree," the guard remarked, finding no signs that it had been chopped down.
With no way around on the narrow road, the coachman steered the horses onto the grass to circumvent the obstruction, when an eerie stillness penetrated the air¡ªthen shattered into chaos.
With explosive force, a figure burst from the underbrush, his movements blurred by unnatural speed. "We''ve got company!" the coachman called out as he deftly spurred the horses into action.
The guard who had inspected the tree launched himself toward the assailant. However, despite the coachman¡¯s best efforts to accelerate, the masked man quickly closed the gap and slammed into one of the horses with the force of a battering ram, sending the beast sprawling into the grass and panicking the other.
The panicked horse veered the carriage further from the road onto uneven ground, trapping those inside from leaving.
The assailant gave chase, sprinting with an unnaturally long stride. The guard might have given chase too if not for a dart that struck him in the back. He turned, brandished his sword, and after several attempts, managed to pull out the dart, the tip so fine it penetrated his ringmail. The odd burn he felt confirmed it was poisoned. Realizing it was a well-planned ambush, he stood his ground instead of pursuing, knowing another attacker was likely aiming to finish him off.
The guard calmed his nerves as he reached into his inside pocket. Expecting an attack, he sidestepped a sudden flash. Instead of charging toward the source, he calmly twisted the item he had retrieved¡ªa small, waxy paper container. Initially, nothing happened, but then an oily liquid seeped out, igniting to produce rich, blue smoke.
Watching this, a woman emerged from her hideout, charging toward him. The guard recognized her clothes. She was the same woman who had brought flowers and carrots to their horses at the market.
The realization that they had been blindsided didn''t dishearten the guard; instead, he sported a wide, threatening grin. He might have been tricked, but he knew he had disrupted the assailants'' plan. The fact that the woman charged at him proved he was doing something right. "Come," he taunted, his throat feeling dry and suffocated from the poison. "You shall see what the Black Lord has taught us."
The lone guard prepared his stance, his form immaculate and precise. Soon they clashed, trading blows that sent sparks flying from their finely honed steel blades. One protected the smoke signal with his life while the other tried to take it out.
Meanwhile, inside the carriage, the situation had turned worse. Lansius felt the world lurch as the horses panicked, their cries piercing the inside as they reacted in terror. The warm pasta he had carefully packed was now splattered everywhere.
"Can you see anything?" Carla shouted as she and the other two guards tried to find the assailant through the window, but their world soon turned upside down.
"Hands over your heads and curl up," Lansius shouted to his men, bracing themselves for the worst.
"My Lord." Carla grabbed him tightly while the carriage began to roll. One of the guards also reacted instinctively, wrapping his arms around them and using his body as a human shield. The carriage tumbled, slamming them against the side. The world outside turned into a dizzying blur of earth and sky.
A crushing thud marked each impact, accompanied by sharp, piercing shrieks as Lansius and the others were jostled mercilessly. The wooden frame of the carriage groaned and creaked under the enormous stress. The sensation was overwhelming; pain and wooden dust assaulted everyone¡¯s senses.
Finally, the carriage came to a shuddering halt, lying on its side amid a chaotic sprawl of wooden debris.
Inside, there were wild coughs and groans, but all Lansius could see was red.
Outside, the assailant, muscles bulging and eyes wild with bloodlust, paused to observe the wrecked carriage. He had exerted tremendous force and then sprinted a great distance to chase the running carriage.
A rider approached him, wielding a steel bow. He had been the one who took out the coachman and the second horse. "I saw no other threat," he said from atop his saddle, calm and in control despite the carnage. "No knight, no mage, and no half-beast."
"That we know of," the first assailant replied, breathlessly.
The rider smiled, looked around, and commented, "I''m glad we followed your plan. And the drug for the horses worked wonders." He glanced toward the two dead horses. The drug accelerated their heartbeats, pushing them into panic. This caused their hearts to race uncontrollably, bursting veins or damaging their brains, ultimately incapacitating or killing the beasts outright. The blunt force to their body also served as a great catalyst to spook them.
The two observed the silent wreckage. Nobody emerged.
The first assailant tapped into his magic source again and regained his breath. "Let''s finish this and flee the city. One must not tempt Fortuna."
***
Chapter 189 : The Shadow of Death
Chapter 189
The Shadow of Death
Assassins
The mage and the hunter advanced toward the overturned carriage. Mounted on his horse, the hunter accelerated, circling to cut off any escape attempt. As they drew closer, his attention was drawn to a plume of blue smoke billowing from the location of their ambush near the main road. "Colored smoke," he announced sharply, alerting his companion.
The mage cast a glance at the ominous signal and clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Cursed! No wonder the escort felt comfortable taking some distance," he muttered to himself, then shouted, "That¡¯s a signal. Expect a pair of riders."
Thunderous hooves came as expected. Two horsemen quickly bore down on them from the direction of the main road, their crossbows at the ready.
"Keep going, I''ll handle this," the hunter barked, readying his bow and arrow, and spurred his horse toward the new threat.
The mage tapped into his source and sprinted toward the carriage, but his focus now split.
The two mounted guardsmen divided their attack; one moved toward the hunter, the other pursuing the mage.
The hunter and the guardsman released their projectiles simultaneously, nearly hitting their horses. Clearly, there was no honor here, with both targeting the horses to ensure their opponents'' defeat. As they closed the distance, they did not break off but instead drew their swords, steel glinting as they prepared for a killing strike.
Both squared off, their gazes cold and murderous, and then they clashed. The hunter powerfully launched his swing, his heavy blade cutting through the air with raw strength. Sparks erupted as steel clashed against steel, and the mounted guardsman was hurled from his saddle by the sheer force of the blow. The impact was powerful enough that even the two horses staggered off the path, but a faint smile crept across the guardsman¡¯s lips¡ªhis instincts had been right.
He hadn''t trained with Francisca and Sir Harold to die like common guards. He had anticipated the opponent''s strength, suspecting that with such a small number of assailants, there was likely a mage involved. Thus, he had loosened his foot in the stirrup and relaxed his grip on the saddle before the clash. This maneuver prevented him from being fatally dragged by his horse.
Determined to fight even for a single breath longer to save his lord, the guardsman braced for the fall and rolled as soon as he hit the ground. Bruised and bleeding, he quickly knelt, dusted off his crossbow, primed it using the lever and fired a bolt at an unsuspecting target.
His aim was true, striking the hunter''s horse as it moved away, eliciting the beast''s shocked and wild reaction. Although the hunter managed to maintain control and pulled the bolt from the beast''s hind, another bolt whizzed too close, forcing him to turn and retaliate.
Despite the hunter bearing down on him, the fallen guardsman didn''t flinch; he cocked the lever, aimed, and released another bolt. His rapid-fire forced the hunter to pull his steed to the side to evade¡ªnot out of fear for himself but to save his mount. He couldn''t afford to lose the horse, should his main target run away.
"How can he fire so many bolts so quickly?" the hunter cursed, trying a different approach.
The guardsman unleashed bolt after bolt, but the hunter regained his composure. He had faced worse monsters. With eerie calmness, he directed his steed into a circling gallop and drew his steel bow to full draw, aiming with the accuracy befitting a master marksman. He then released two well-aimed arrows that pierced the immobile guardsman¡¯s shoulder and chest. The heavy arrows, typically used for hunting large game, penetrated his ringmail and threw the guardsman aside.
As the guardsman felt his life ebbing and blood seeping from deep wounds, he crawled back, sat in the grass, and with labored breath and shaky hands, cocked the lever. But the hunter was prepared and released another arrow, striking the guardsman''s chest just below the neck.
Before he lay dead, his final bolt took flight and struck the hunter''s right wrist. Despite his toughened body tissues, the sharp bolt head painfully grazed the skin. It wasn''t deep but was enough to cause blood to stream out. He cursed his carelessness but wasted no time in proceeding to his main target.
Riding to assist the mage, he found that his ally had just dispatched the mounted guardsman heading his way.
Breathing raggedly, the mage had used a powerful static charge to kill both the horse and the rider from afar. Although he drew the charge from an external power source¡ªa dwarven gemstone¡ªit still strained his body immensely, almost reducing him to crawling.
Seeing the hunter, the mage shouted, "Go, go to the carriage! I see three climbing out, at least two with those crossbows."
The hunter didn''t need to ask and spurred his horse toward the wreckage. Despite a trail of blood on its hind, the beast complied energetically. He had paid a good price for this horse, and it was quite ironic to use fine Lowlandian horses to hunt down their own lord.
From a distance, he saw the carriage door was already open, and three figures had positioned themselves behind their overturned carriage, using it as a makeshift wall. As the hunter approached, they unleashed a flurry of bolts without hesitation.
The hunter reacted quickly, already familiar with the quick-firing crossbows. He dodged as two deadly steel bolts flew by, while another two screamed toward him. It would have been fatal had he not noted how quickly they could fire and maintained his distance.
Even with bolts flying toward him, he pressed on, aiming to circle to the enemy''s rear. His horse labored heavily beneath him, its sides heaving with fatigue from the relentless gallop, yet it kept going. Finally, after dodging two more bolts that whizzed dangerously close, they managed to circle behind the enemy. Without hesitation, the hunter drew on the strength of his steel bow, taking full advantage of his position, and released two rapid arrows at the exposed defender.
He had managed to injure one of the guards, pinning his shoulder to the carriage, and was about to deliver the final blow when another guard persistently fired bolt after bolt at him, while a third took over the injured guardsman¡¯s crossbow. Consequently, the hunter widened his circle and returned to his ally¡¯s position.
"Change tactics, keep the horse safe," the hunter commanded as he dismounted, preparing to sprint on foot when the mage grabbed him.
"We''ve spent too much time on this. I fear more are coming."
"Then I''ll be quick," the hunter replied.
"Let me help you," the mage insisted. He channeled his source toward the carriage area and drew energy from the gemstone, instantly unleashing a blinding white flash.
A violent thunderclap followed, its ear-splitting sound shocking everyone; even the horse reared up, ready to bolt if not for their effort to hold it down.
Afterward, the mage collapsed into a seated position, his face sweating profusely. He knew he had overexerted himself.
"Take the reins, or escape if you have to," the hunter commanded, then sprinted toward the carriage to finish the job.
Even from afar, he could see smoke rising from the overturned carriage. At full power, the static charge was akin to a lightning strike. Witnessing it closely, he couldn''t help but feel envious of such a versatile ability.
Out of the blue, a distinct buzzing sound sliced through the air, catching him off guard. It was distant but pronounced enough to make him pause. "Bolts?" he readying his bow, his eyes glowing golden as he scanned the landscape. Yet, he saw none.
Screams from behind alerted him to turn; he saw the horse galloping away, a projectile protruding from its back. Meanwhile, his ally was on the ground, pierced by another bolt. It was a lapse; they hadn''t seen the threat coming. Now, the mage crawled and maintained his ethereal shield, but his wounds suggested he might not last long.
More buzzing sounds filled the air and one landed near the hunter''s position. It was only then he realized they were arrows, with several more in the air aimed at him.
"Where are they? Why can''t I see anyone?" the hunter muttered irritably as he dashed toward the upturned carriage, dodging random hails of mysterious arrows. Unlike mages, he had no ethereal shield to block projectiles. Based on the poor accuracy, the bowman was likely shooting from afar, but the speed and strength required to do so at such an extreme range, beyond his sight, boggled his mind.
He scanned the cluster of trees, but even with his enhanced eyesight, he found nothing. Faced with the unnerving reality of unseen assailants, he steeled himself to fight under a hail of mysterious arrows. The mission in Korelia had proven deadly, and despite the involvement of three assassins, success was still elusive. But he wouldn''t allow it to fail.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Mere arrows wouldn''t dissuade him from his prize. He pumped his legs and made a huge leap straight onto the top of the overturned carriage.
He landed with a creak from the wooden structure. Drawing his dagger, he glanced at the three guards outside, finding them either unconscious or dead. He was about to search inside the carriage for a person with black hair when his instincts alerted him to three small figures in the distance, sprinting on all fours, moving fast. "Half-beasts¡ª"
"Guh," he grunted, recoiling from the bolt that struck his stomach. He was only momentarily distracted, but it was enough for the guard to sneak in that bolt. "How are you still alive?" he demanded.
The guard remained silent and pumped the lever on his crossbow. Enraged, the hunter snapped the bolt shaft in half and dove into the upturned carriage. He intended to kill the Black Lord first and deal with the guard at his leisure, but instead, he found only an unconscious woman. This fueled his fury even more. With all his might, he leaped from inside the carriage, the force of his exit rocking the carriage so violently that it shocked the surviving guard.
He landed nearby, deflecting a bolt in one swift motion as he unsheathed his heavy sword and charged. "I''ll kill you all. One of you must be him!" he bellowed, lunging at the guard with ferocious intent. But the man was not easily subdued; with a desperate heave, he slammed his crossbow into the hunter''s face.
The hunter smacked the crossbow away with a flash of his sword, but the guard in the blue tunic was ready with his sword. Without hesitation, the hunter lunged with a powerful thrust; sparks flew, but the man blocked him.
The exertion made blood seep from his wounded stomach, and then the hunter realized his opponent had unique traces of magic on him. "A gemstone of might, the champion''s secrets," he muttered. His attention briefly shifted to the pack of half-beasts charging toward him, and behind them, a towering cloud of dust¡ªlikely raised by galloping horses¡ªloomed. "Fuck," he cursed.
"Who sent you?" the lone guard demanded, but the hunter had already launched into a flurry of strikes aiming to overwhelm him. One strike aimed at the head was parried before the guard countered with an equally vicious strike toward the hunter''s leg.
The hunter blocked it smoothly. A smile formed on his lips. "Does it matter?" he retorted, his eyes glowing with a golden hue that could petrify even the fiercest animals. The guard flinched, and the hunter advanced, poised to strike, but instead, he took a firm fist to the face. The blow smashed his nose, rattled his brain, and wounded his pride.
"Why you!" he stumbled back, blood trickling from his nose, but quickly regained his footing and parried another near-fatal blow. Enraged, he overpowered the parry, turning it into a grapple. He surprised his opponent with his raw strength, surpassing even that of mages.
As they wrestled with their swords, the hunter suddenly leaned in, disrupting their balance, and headbutted the guard. The impact sent the man reeling back, revealing a hint of black hair under his helmet. A smile of realization spread across the hunter''s face. "My Lord, I apologize, I didn''t know¡ª"
His mockery stopped as the Lord sent him an uppercut from a blind angle. A sharp pain to the head almost made him stumble, but it wasn''t the end. The Lord of Korelia gathered his strength, intertwined his fingers, and hammered down a ferocious double-fisted blow that jolted his opponent''s skull.
The man finally went down, grinning, blood trickling from his lips and streaking down his battered face. Yet, against all odds, he stood up, his blade still secured in his hand, and challenged, "Come at me, O famed lord! Is this all you can do?"
In response, the lord launched a powerful overhead slash. The hunter parried with all his might; the clash of their swords rang sharply in the air. The force was so great that the lord''s blade chipped and was flung aside. Meanwhile, the hunter''s sword was directed against the lord''s stomach but was deflected by a swift hand.
The hunter tried to capitalize on his advantage to end his target for good, but the lord, defying any conventional tactics, lunged forward, sweeping the hunter''s legs with both arms. Both men tumbled to the ground hard, with the hunter taking the worst of it. He barely regained his breath when the lord attempted to maneuver on top of him.
The hunter resisted fiercely, and both exchanged brutal punches. The lord finally gained the upper hand by slamming his fist onto the broken bolt shaft in the hunter''s stomach. "Guhh!"
A lapse was all the lord needed to secure a dominant position, pinning the hunter down. He rained down a flurry of punches. "Who sent you?"
The hunter managed to block a dozen of blows, then found an opening. With a powerful punch, he struck the lord''s face, breaking his nose and causing blood to gush from a nostril. "Gold sent me," he spat as he scrambled to his feet and drew a dagger.
But his triumph was short-lived. A gargantuan half-beast burst onto the scene, swiping its wide arms and sharp claws toward the hunter, who desperately blocked each attack with his dagger. The creature¡¯s onslaught was relentless, driving the hunter back. Yet, he remained standing, cleanly parrying each blow, until, at last, the beast paused, panting heavily to catch its breath.
Despite his injuries, the hunter stood defiantly before suddenly scrambling toward the upturned carriage.
"He''s retrieving his bow," the Lord warned, and the beast leaped to chase.
The hunter spotted his steel bow and several arrows scattered from his quiver. He dashed forward, drawing with all his strength. As he nocked an arrow and lay down to aim, the half-beast, as expected, charged blindly toward him. "You''re just a beast!" he mocked, releasing the fully drawn arrow straight into the beast''s face.
The beast groaned, but instead of whimpering and retreating, it pounced with vengeance.
"Oh fuck!" the hunter exclaimed as a giant fist crashed into his chest. His vision blurred red, his lungs gasped for air, and the last thing he heard was, "Don¡¯t kill him, we need him alive. I want to know who¡¯s responsible for this."
***
Lansius
Amid the green scenery and beneath the blue skies, Lansius was carried by Francisca, who tried her best to keep him comfortable while maintaining her speed. Sir Harold rode at their side, with twenty more surrounding them, accompanied by a large male half-beast that had taken an arrow to his left cheek.
The strength provided by the gemstone had depleted, and Lansius felt all his bruises and wounds sting him mercilessly, jolting him awake. His head was dizzy from the burst of strength that had heavily taxed his body. "The man is beyond a mage," he muttered, recalling the fight that was still fresh in his mind.
"Conserve your strength, My Lord," Francisca replied, her breath ragged from sprinting to reach him.
"How are the men? How''s Carla? Did she...?" Lansius asked, pressing a bloodied piece of cloth to his nose to stop the bleeding.
"She''ll make it, I''ll ensure she makes it," Sir Harold reassured him.
Turning to the knight, Lansius asked, "Who''s in charge of the capture?"
"Sir Omin and the guards are currently handling it. Sir Michael will soon arrive with his cavalry," Sir Harold reported.
As they reached the Eastern Mansion, everyone in Lansius'' group appeared fatigued yet relieved. His attention was then captured by the tall wooden tower where a bronze parabolic dish was mounted. Atop it stood a figure with a bow, her posture as regal as if she were a guardian spirit of the realms. The sight caused murmurs and whispers of awe among those nearby.
"Who?" Lansius began, but before he could finish, he recognized the silhouette and the kimono. "Why is the baroness standing there? It''s dangerous," he exclaimed.
"My Lord," Francisca called gently, "My Lady is the one who truly saved you. The arrows that landed near your position were hers. She saw the blue smoke and climbed up with quivers of arrows, assisted by several of my kin, whom I ordered to stay."
Lansius was stunned and gazed at the angel of his life. "You mean she, at such range, with a bow?"
"She even managed to take down one," Sir Harold reported. "One of her arrows protruding from one of the assassins we captured."
Lansius was stunned to hear it. He knew Audrey had remarkable eyesight, likely amplified by magic, but he had never realized it was that good. Now, he was curious about what bow she used, because he didn''t recall they had one capable of reaching such a range without breaking.
He was still mulling this over as they crossed the courtyard and entered the hall. Then, they closed the gates and began to barricade everything.
"As of right now, Korelia is on lockdown!" Sir Harold announced to the worried staff, who crowded around to see the lord. "If they have accomplices in the city, or even here, we''ll find out."
"Don''t spread panic," Lansius urged, forcing himself to stand despite the painful sensations throughout his body and the still-bleeding lacerations on his wrist and arm.
His staff noticed the lord''s blue tunic was bloodied and tattered, yet it only enhanced his heroic appearance. Lansius approached his seat, grimacing from pain as he settled down. His gaze was deep and solemn as he looked around at those gathered. "Hear my order," he commanded in a clear, authoritative voice.
"My Lord," they all responded, surrounding him with looks of deep concern, care, and renewed respect.
***
Korelia
As the first mark of blue smoke curled into the sky, all city gates clanged shut. The sight of blue was rare and ominous; to those in the chain of command, it signaled one thing: their Lord was in danger. No one else had access to this specific smoke color except the Lord''s bodyguards. The response was immediate and formidable: every available dragoon and man-at-arms was mobilized.
The sudden surge of horsemen and men-at-arms throughout the city took everyone by surprise. Rumors flew, compelling residents to barricade themselves inside their homes. Soon, even more patrols filled the streets, including the famed Black Knights.
As the hours passed, the air thickened with anxiety. The city, gripped by concern, wondered: Was this an attempted coup or something more sinister? As suspicion and fear enveloped the city, the uncertainty stretched on.
Finally, the Lord''s knights, acting as heralds, brought news: the Lord had been attacked by unknown assailants but had survived with only minor bruises.
Upon hearing this, the Korelians breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yet, their initial fear quickly turned to anger as they demanded to know who was behind the attack.
In taverns, baths, and the city plaza, people gathered and debated. Such a brazen attack on their leader and the nascent Shogunate stirred something within them¡ªan ember, long unrealized, now burned brightly. To them, the shogunate was more than just some lord''s plan. It was the dream that bound them, a hope of a peaceful future in Lowlandia, an era of no more strife over the Great Plains.
To them, the shogunate was the glue that united natives, migrants, and nomadic communities alike.
To them, the shogunate was the new identity.
And now, this dream was desecrated by an act as shocking as an assassination attempt. The attack on their leader mocked every Lowlandian''s hope. It was as disrespectful as dishonoring the graves of their fathers, sons, husbands, and relatives who had died in countless previous conflicts. Such an outrage turned their collective grief into burning anger.
That night, as the initial shock gave way to a smoldering fury, the people of Lowlandia steeled themselves. A solid resolve was born, and with it, an equally strong craving for one thing: retribution.
Everyone openly wished to contribute to the war effort. And when morning came, they got what they had yearned for.
The entire military had been mobilized. The vanguard, the main army, and the reserves had received their commands. Korelia was now on a war footing. Someone had cast the dice against their Lord and the Shogunate, and now all of Lowlandia would rise.
***
Chapter 190 : Burning Within
Chapter 190
Burning Within
Lord Jorge
Flanked by his Black Knights, the Lord of Three Hills, clad in a striking black and silver-trimmed brigandine, arrived at the ambush site a mere hour after it was secured. He passed this place almost every day on his way to supervise the construction of his new house. "To think something so sinister could happen in such a serene place," he muttered.
Jorge dismounted and approached the gathered men-at-arms. The air was heavy with grief. Tears streaked even the toughest men''s faces and no one spoke above a whisper. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling his knights for silence, forgoing the need for a herald to announce his arrival.
As they approached, the Korelian guardsmen noticed and quietly stepped aside, creating a clear path for them. The men''s expressions were painted with sorrow but also profound respect.
There, Jorge encountered an unexpectedly poignant sight: a guard clung to a woman in a dark-colored brigandine. Both had departed from this world. The woman''s empty gaze was fixed on the fading sky. Their bodies bore the brutal marks of combat¡ªsword cuts, lacerations, and stab wounds, all highlighted by dark blood stains. Their fingers and nails were caked with soil, and grass was strewn around them, indicating a fierce struggle.
But those details were not what held everyone''s attention. What drew the whispers of everyone, even Jorge''s Black Knights was the deceased guard''s face. It had turned deep blue¡ªthe sign of a potent poison¡ªbut an unmistakable, peaceful smile lingered on his lips. The guardsman knew he had performed his duty well. Even in death, he held the assailant tightly in his final embrace.
"A beautiful death," Jorge praised solemnly, moved by the loyalty and duty displayed.
"Aye, my Lord," the senior guardsman replied. "He was one of our instructors and one of the Arvenians who followed Lord Lansius from Midlandia. He will surely be missed."
The somber mood was only interrupted when Sir Omin returned to the site. "Please step back, my Lord," he advised. "The woman had traces of poison on her; it¡¯s best if we wait until someone with medical or alchemical expertise can determine if it¡¯s safe to move them."
Jorge nodded and asked, "Did you capture anyone alive?"
"We captured two. Both are critically wounded; one probably won''t make it, but who knows," Sir Omin sighed. "We''re dealing with mages here."
"Multiple mages..." Jorge muttered, feeling the weight of the words on his lips before turning to his former enabler. "This is beyond any Lowlandian lord''s ability. Unless someone¡¯s suggesting that the Royal Assassins are selling their services cheaply due to the Imperium''s demise, I think there''s only one name."
"I''m sure Lord Lansius will know," Sir Omin replied.
"And the Shogunate will back him," Jorge gave his assurance.
With those words hanging in the air, the two men left the site to retrace the events.
¡°They must''ve struck one of the horses,¡± Sir Omin said, pointing to the drag mark in the grass. ¡°The poor creature was dragged until the harness finally snapped.¡± Jorge nodded as they walked under heavy escort. Sir Omin continued, "With only one horse left, likely stressed, and the rough, uneven terrain, the carriage veered to the south."
Jorge observed, "From the tracks, it looks like the coachman tried to head east."
"Indeed. He must''ve been racing toward the Eastern Mansion for safety, but alas, he took two arrows. Thrown from the carriage, and without his guide, the horse likely panicked and the carriage crashed."
Jorge spotted the upturned carriage further down the path, now surrounded by dozens of armored men. He noticed Calub, the Tarracan-born alchemist, alongside Sir Michael and his cavalry.
"Have you seen Lord Robert?" Jorge asked as they continued their approach.
"He went straight to the Eastern Mansion," Sir Omin replied. "As for the Lord of Galdia, he remained at his inn. We''ve sent more men for protection."
Jorge exhaled deeply. "The Old Lion must be worried sick. He looked at Lord Lansius like the son he never had."
Sir Omin''s gaze softened. "And what about you, my Lord?"
"Yes, the Lord of this city is dear to me. I''ve called him cousin on many occasions."
"Even his former enemies speak of him with such regard..."
Detecting a subtle shift in tone, Jorge glanced at him, "What do you mean by that?"
"Talents like him are rare¡ªone in a hundred generations. And everyone sees the fruit of his works and generosity," Sir Omin replied. "So for someone to attempt an assassination..." He sighed briefly and muttered, "I pity the one who orchestrated it. They''ve just given the Lowlandians, for the first time, a common enemy."
"Do you think we can take them if Midlandia is behind this?" Jorge asked.
"United and enraged like this, we could raid to our heart¡¯s content. Winning, however, won¡¯t be easy." Sir Omin replied, but then his face broke into a faint smile. "But that''s before we factor in Lord Lansius'' abilities."
Jorge chuckled. "The might of the entire Shogunate under Lord Lansius. This will be phenomenal to see."
"Aye. We''ll need more resources to build the Shogunate, and someone just volunteered themselves."
The former lord''s remark made Jorge stifle his laugh. Soon, the gathering crowd began to notice their approach. From among them, Sir Michael and Calub offered their respects, "My Lord, Sir Omin."
"Measter Calub, Sir Michael," Jorge and Sir Omin greeted in return, and then Jorge added, "I apologize for being a nuisance. I merely wanted to see the scene with my own eyes."
"Understandable, my Lord," Sir Michael replied, gesturing for them to approach the wrecked carriage. Meanwhile, Calub and Sir Omin separated, heading toward a different area.
"How many perished?" Jorge asked, his tone heavy as they walked through the chilling remnants of the attack.
"One guard near the road with the woman, the coachman, one mounted guardsman, and another guard next to the carriage. We lost four and three barely clinging to life," the one-eyed knight reported.
Jorge inhaled sharply. "I''m glad Lord Lansius survived. They must''ve fought courageously," he remarked, trying to find a sliver of hope amid the tragedy.
"Indeed, but it wasn¡¯t enough." Sir Michael¡¯s tone darkened.
"Not enough?" Jorge raised an eyebrow.
"By the time the rescue party arrived, the lord was alone."
"Alone?" Jorge''s eyes widened, struggling to grasp the implications. "Then?"
The knight gazed firmly and said, "Lord Lansius fought the assassin, likely a mage, mano a mano."
A mixture of disbelief and admiration swept over Jorge. "A truly terrifying situation, but also, what a feat of strength."
"I don¡¯t know what gave him the strength¡ª"
"We don¡¯t need to know," Jorge interrupted. "The fact that he survived is proof enough."
The knight gave him a questioning gaze, prompting Jorge to explain. "Even I, an outsider, am aware that people cherish him. Not only the Korelians, but also the defeated people of White Lake, Korimor, South Hill, and even the Nicopolans adore him."
Sir Michael listened intently.
"Winning wars only makes one a warlord. But to be loved and respected by so many, even former enemies¡ªthat is a quality beyond mere nobles." Jorge paused to examine the scorched marks near the upturned carriage, a clear sign of unnatural power. "Allow me to indulge myself and think that I wasn''t defeated by Bengrieve''s henchman. Perhaps the Coalition, and even the Lion, were defeated by a higher power."
Sir Michael''s lone eye darted, trying to grasp the implication of Jorge''s words.
"I won''t be the only one who thinks so. Soon, everyone will know that Lord Lansius survived a mage assassin''s attack with nothing but his strength." The Lord of Three Hills turned to Sir Michael, his gaze proud, but with a hint of fear. "It will be seen as proof. The commoners will undoubtedly believe this is the work of the Ancients¡ªa sign that the Lord of Korelia is destined for something far greater, perhaps even beyond the confines of the Steppes."
Sir Michael, perturbed, whispered, "My Lord, you can''t possibly suggest¡ª"
Jorge patted the knight''s arm. "I fear this is just the beginning."
***
Ingrid
The educator was still on leave due to the accident with the magical earring when a carriage, accompanied by a guard and a maid, arrived at her doorstep. Horrified by the news, Ingrid quickly packed her bag and left for the Eastern Mansion. In great haste, the horse-drawn carriage spirited her to the mansion, now filled with armed men, patrols, and checkpoints.
Ingrid waited for a while until Sir Harold arrived and personally led her to the makeshift hospice in the mansion¡¯s west wing. There, she found two guardsmen and Carla, all unconscious and being treated by the physician and his assistants.
Sir Harold cleared his throat to gather attention. "Please take a break and leave them to us."
His words prompted the physician and his assistants to prepare to leave the chamber. Before departing, the old physician gave his report: "I searched everything, but I cannot find the cause for the two. There are no traces of poison on their skin. I fear the issue is likely magical." He sighed and muttered, "I wish Lady Hannei were with us."
"Certainly, her presence would be of great help, but please allow the educator to try. She may find something we¡¯ve missed," Sir Harold responded, gesturing toward the educator.
The physician and the educator bowed their heads as a gesture of respect.
The knight continued, "She might be able to find something based on her knowledge, and then we can try something."
"Then I wish you luck. I''ll return later with stronger smelling salt to try." After that, the physician and his assistants left the hospice.Stolen story; please report.
Ingrid wasted no time and immediately began examining the patients. The first guardsmen had a clear arrow wound. The wound dressing was sufficient, and she noticed that the arrows had penetrated cleanly through. Despite the puncture, it was easier to treat such a wound than extracting a lodged bolt head.
Meanwhile, the other guardsman, dressed in riding attire, had no wounds. Similarly, Carla also had no discernible wounds aside from some bruises. "This looks like an accident."
"Indeed, the carriage was attacked and upturned while they were fleeing," Sir Harold replied.
"By the Ageless," she muttered softly and began to check Carla¡¯s head. Naturally, she suspected head-related injuries, but she found nothing except light bruises. Then, she noticed something peculiar: burn marks marred Carla¡¯s extremities, and some of her hair stood unnaturally upright.
Her face filled with concern as she checked the other patients and found similar markings. These findings confirmed her suspicions. "This is Static Charge," Ingrid said, turning to Sir Harold. "It¡¯s a rare mage skill."
"It is as we suspected. Maester, you¡¯ve just confirmed that the assassins are mages."
"Mage assassins," she muttered, feeling conflicted. It went against the core tenet of the Mage Guild. "Based on this, at least one of them is powerful. Do we have any of them alive?"
"Are you willing to identify them? Perhaps one is familiar to you."
Ingrid took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "I¡¯d be glad to. My Guild doesn¡¯t engage in this kind of thing. Besides, my loyalty is to this House."
"We''ll call for you when the time comes for interrogation. For now," Sir Harold¡¯s gaze fell on the three patients before them, his voice thick with concern, "can you treat them? The physician could only treat the burn marks but found nothing else to address."
"There¡¯s no real treatment, but I''ll be damned if I don¡¯t try," Ingrid replied, hurriedly picking up a wooden stool and sitting between the guardsman and Carla to treat them both. She began her chant, knowing this would require her full concentration.
...
Sir Harold left Ingrid to manage the aftermath of the assassination attempt. By now, news of the attack had spread, and he was needed in his role as acting Marshal of the ruling House. His first duty was to deploy his troops to ensure security and order. The Lord had also sent a herald to calm the populace.
Like it or not, Korelia had grown into a capital, with a large populace that included nobles and wealthy individuals who needed both protection and attention. Meanwhile, he also needed to form a hunting party. Farkas and his Black Bandits were already scouring the city''s underbelly for information regarding the assassins.
It was near sundown when Sir Harold returned to the makeshift hospice, and he was greeted by a pair of beautiful eyes and a weak smile. "Carla!" he exclaimed, hastily approaching the bedside.
"Sir," she whispered. "How¡¯s the Lord? Is he recovering well?"
"He¡¯s fine," Sir Harold replied vigorously, heartened by her recovery.
"My apologies for the interruption," Ingrid said while tending to the other two unconscious guards, "but it¡¯s best to get her to her chamber for rest. Also remember to ask someone to gently clean and treat the burn marks¡ªnot with water, but with salve or apothecary¡¯s oil. Let them not fester, and watch for signs of inflammation. No bloodletting. Eat and drink in moderation."
"No wine?" she meekly asked.
"Just a sip," Ingrid replied with a smile.
Carla grinned and tried to rise from her makeshift bed. "My limbs feel stiff," she remarked, but Sir Harold quickly stopped her.
Ingrid quickly added, "Please, don¡¯t try to walk for at least two days." Then, turning to Sir Harold, she said, "I¡¯ve called for Francisca to carry her upstairs."
"No need," Sir Harold responded. "I¡¯ll carry her." With one swift scoop, the knight gently lifted her as if she were as light as a child. "Is this comfortable?" he asked gallantly.
"It¡¯s too much, Sir," Carla replied, her face reddening.
Ingrid smiled, pausing her healing to drape a blanket over Carla. "Go on. You¡¯re fortunate your condition is better than the others. Get some rest. With all that¡¯s happened, I believe everyone will be busy in the coming weeks, or even months."
...
When supper time came, Sir Harold returned with the physician and his team to take over the treatment. Ingrid was relieved of her duty and escorted to dine with the other staff. The Eastern Mansion was now packed with more people, and there were guards at every entrance. A glance outside the window revealed several groups of armed men with lanterns periodically patrolling the mansion''s grounds as extra security.
There were also horsemen on patrol, along with even a few half-breeds. After she had her meal, Francisca had been waiting to take her to the Lord and Lady.
"Are you feeling better?" the half-breed asked as they walked down the long corridor.
"Well, I feel fine after that day, but the Lord and Lady insisted," Ingrid replied.
Francisca smiled, her maw forming its usual cute expression, accompanied by an equally pleasing "ha ha" sound, almost like a happy dog¡ªbut Ingrid would never say that out loud. Still, she knew she wasn¡¯t alone; half of the staff here wanted to pat Francisca¡¯s head and hug her silly.
"I¡¯m glad to hear nothing happened because of my earring," the fluffy beast said.
"That¡¯s a precious heirloom. I hope I didn¡¯t break it. You know, I can¡¯t wait to give it another try."
"I doubt the Lord will allow it," Francisca teased, glancing at Ingrid. "They like you too much to risk you again."
"Oh, you," Ingrid replied, finding an excuse to hug her, much to the half-breed¡¯s amusement. She then noticed the happy, yet envious, eyes of the guardsmen, servants, and maids around them.
Half-breeds like Francisca had a certain scent to their fur that made them unexpectedly pleasant, if not entirely odorless, unlike horses or other animals. She often joked that humans must have only chosen female half-beasts who didn¡¯t smell to marry. However, she also said it was only natural for them to be odorless, as they relied on their noses to hunt and survive. A smelly half-beast, after all, would be easy to track, even deep in the woods.
Moreover, it was a known secret that this particular fluffy woman loved to bathe frequently, and the bathhouse manager allowed her to do so for free because her presence attracted women and girls to the bathhouse. They even supplied her with flowers and scented oils, but what she liked best was ale.
They arrived on the second floor, where Margo spotted them, and the guards opened the door for them. Only then did Ingrid realize that she had forgotten to ask about the lord¡¯s condition and now felt anxious to meet him.
"Go on," Francisca encouraged. "I¡¯ll have to take care of my new kin¡ªthey¡¯re still adjusting with many things."
Led by Margo, Ingrid entered. Inside, she saw the Lord resting on the daybed. Linen bandages covered his right arm and several other places. His face was bruised, especially his nose, which looked like it had been broken. The Lady sat beside him, her gaze momentarily suspicious of Ingrid, as befitting the situation.
"My Lord, My Lady, I was horrified to hear the news," Ingrid said, keeping her distance and trying not to gesture too much.
"I¡¯m alright, Ingrid," Lord Lansius replied warmly. "Your gemstone has saved me again."
Ingrid smiled at his response.
"Maester Ingrid," the Lady called, "if you aren¡¯t too tired, I would like you to check the Lord¡¯s injuries. Just in case the physician missed something."
"Certainly. May I approach?"
Lord Lansius motioned for her to come without hesitation. "All this added security is unfortunate. The sooner we return to normal, the better."
"I hope ¡®normal¡¯ includes adding Sir Harold and Francisca to your security detail," Lady Audrey commented.
"Yes, as the baroness wishes," he reassured her. "With more half-breeds, I can be sure that you and the Mansion are protected."
Ingrid noticed that the Lord looked surprisingly energetic, his gaze defiant, and he had even retained his sense of humor. "My Lord, pardon the discomfort, but I¡¯ll need to check your limbs and fingers."
"Why? They¡¯re mostly fine," he replied, raising both hands and wiggling his fingers.
Ingrid was momentarily stumped. "Pardon my words, but I just treated Carla and the guards¡ª"
"How is she?" the Lord interrupted, his spirits lifting. "When Francisca carried her out, she looked like she was just asleep."
"She has awakened and is now resting in her chamber."
The Lord heaved a big sigh of relief. "And the guards, are they recovering?"
"They are, My Lord. The physician and I are doing our best to treat them," she replied without hesitation.
The Lord nodded, and the Lady seemed pleased.
Ingrid continued checking the lord''s fingers but found no burn marks, letting out a sigh of relief. That didn¡¯t go unnoticed.
"What''s the matter?" the Lady asked.
"Well, as I mentioned, I just treated Carla and the guards. It appears they were likely affected by a mage''s technique called Static Charge, or Static Shock. However, it seems the Lord was fortunate enough to avoid it."
"I was hit by it too," the Lord refuted. "All of a sudden, a flash enveloped us, and I was paralyzed, dropping like a lifeless log. The crossbow I was holding even hit me on the chin," he added, gently touching his chin and wincing at the sting.
Hearing this, Ingrid was puzzled. "My Lord, if you were hit, how were you able to move? Carla believes she had it easier than the other guards because she was inside the carriage and likely more protected by it."
"Static charge, huh?" The Lord mulled over the term. "It felt like being struck by lightning."
"It does. One of my mentors could perform it, and we always heard a thunderclap," Ingrid confirmed, still puzzled about how the Lord hadn¡¯t fainted on the spot. Not even the gemstone of strength could have healed him that quickly.
"Indeed," the Lady murmured as if recalling the event.
"Oh yes, you must have seen it. What did it look like from afar?" the Lord asked.
The question made Ingrid raise an eyebrow. Noticing her expression, the Lady explained, "When I saw the signal smoke, I climbed the tower." She casually pointed toward the wooden tower outside the window. "From there, I could see the ambush and the fighting."
The Lord¡¯s face showed both concern and admiration. Ingrid wanted to ask more, but the Lady continued, "All I saw were small, faint flashes. Nothing like a thunderstorm." Her voice grew somber. "Then I saw you and the guards fall. I thought you were dead." Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"Now, now, let¡¯s not revisit that moment," the Lord consoled her, taking her hand gently. "I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m strong, and I have this magical gemstone to protect me."
"My Lord, may I?" Ingrid interrupted, afraid she might forget. "I need to maintain the gemstone again."
"Oh," he mumbled, then turned to his wife. "Audrey, help me with it."
"Right," the Lady helped to unlatch the necklace and handing it to Ingrid.
"I shall reward you and the Guild for this," the Lord promised. "It has saved me twice now."
"Gratitude for the kind words, My Lord," Ingrid replied, bowing her head.
"I hope we don¡¯t need a third time," the Lady remarked. Then she turned to Ingrid, "So, this Static Charge¡ªcan you perform it?"
"It¡¯s quite complicated. It also drains a significant amount of magical energy. Even one use can tire the body, making it difficult to access the source again afterward."
"I see. Then the assassin must be skilled. I saw him use it at least twice," the Lady remarked.
"If you''re interested, I could describe it more fully. It¡¯s in some of the books I¡¯ve studied," Ingrid offered.
Before they could continue, there was a knock at the door. "My Lord, My Lady, Captain Farkas is requesting an audience," Margo reported from outside.
"I asked for him, let him in," the Lady responded.
Farkas entered, clearly having been in a hurry. His clothes were dusty, and his face showed signs of exhaustion. "My Lord, My Lady, Maester, my apologies for interrupting, but we¡¯ve managed to treat one of the assassins. He¡¯s ready to speak and there¡¯s reason to believe he might not survive the night."
"I¡¯ll come," the Lady said firmly.
"It will be gruesome," Farkas warned.
"I expect no less," she replied coldly.
"Audrey," the Lord pleaded. "You have a baby in your womb. Let others handle this."
"No," she said, turning to him. "I need to see the person who tried to kill my husband and have a little chat."
Ingrid didn''t want to intervene but felt the need to warn her. "My Lady, it¡¯s dangerous. He might be the one who can use Static Charge."
"That¡¯s why you¡¯ll be coming with me," the Lady said, looking directly at Ingrid. "Don¡¯t you want to uncover the mastermind behind this?"
"At your service, My Lady," Ingrid said, her voice steady with resolve.
***
Eastern Mansion, West Wing
The Lord and Lady resided in the East Wing, so they had repurposed a cellar in the opposite wing to serve as a temporary holding cell. Ingrid had reunited with Francisca, and the two walked ahead of Lady Audrey. Upon seeing the prisoner, Ingrid immediately confirmed he was indeed a mage.
Even Francisca seemed to sense it, her posture growing guarded. The prisoner had been stripped down to a simple tunic, with basic wound dressings to stop the bleeding from an arrow wound. An iron pillory clamped around his neck and hands, chained to the wooden beam above, forcing the prisoner into a kneeling position.
Farkas had informed them beforehand that the arrowhead was lodged inside the prisoner¡¯s chest. From experience, they knew it would likely be fatal. An operation might save him, but it was just as likely to kill him outright, given how close it was to vital organs.
Sir Harold had decided that only this prisoner would be kept here. The other captives had been taken to the Great Keep under the supervision of Sir Michael and Sir Omin.
"Fascinating," the prisoner muttered weakly, struggling for breath. "To see two mages in this backwater city."
The jailers were quick to raise their rods, but Audrey was faster. "Hold," she ordered.
The jailers stopped and bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Wasting no time, Francisca quickly approached the prisoner with a terrifying grin. "So, we meet again. Shall I tear you apart, limb by limb?" She knelt and used only the tip of her finger to slowly trail along the man¡¯s thigh, barely grazing his skin. Yet even that light touch drew blood.
The prisoner¡¯s face betrayed his fear. Like many who had never faced a half-breed up close, he was overwhelmed by the sight of her claws and fangs¡ªsharp, large, and capable of easily tearing apart limbs.
Behind them, Ingrid carefully scanned the area, ensuring there was no neutral ground, which would be necessary for any attempt at using Static Charge. The Lady, clad in a gambeson that also protected her belly, moved forward. Her movement made Farkas and Francisca grip the prisoner tightly, preventing him from attempting anything.
The prisoner looked at the lady, confusion spreading across his face.
"How does my arrow feel? Do you like it?" the Lady asked, prompting the prisoner to show a flicker of anger. But suddenly, his expression changed drastically¡ªhe began to shrivel and tremble.
Ingrid and everyone else saw it: The lady¡¯s eyes darkened with a frightening intensity.
The prisoner trembled harder, but Farkas and Francisca held him tight.
"Tell me, who ordered you?" the Lady demanded.
Instead of answering, the prisoner trembled harder, his shouts turning into desperate wails. The Lady¡¯s patience visibly snapped. Suddenly, something radiated through the air, so alarming that Ingrid involuntarily stepped back. Only then did she realize this was far more than just a Hunter''s gaze.
A shudder ran through her as she sensed the prisoner''s magic¡ªhis source and soul¡ªburning from within. Even from a distance, she could feel his pain radiating like scorching heat. Yet Farkas remained oblivious, while Francisca seemed aware but unbothered. Ingrid¡¯s hands, however, shook uncontrollably¡ªshe had just witnessed something far beyond anything her training had ever prepared her for.
***
Chapter 191 : The Beginning of a Dance
Chapter 191
The Beginning of a Dance
Ingrid stood in the damp cellar, clutching her hands as she witnessed the exchange between Lady Audrey and the prisoner. The air felt suffocating, though she couldn¡¯t tell if it was from the physical space or something more sinister. As if possessed, the prisoner screamed in terror, his body writhing in agony while Francisca and Farkas held him fast against the iron pillory.
And all that, to most, would seem caused by a mere stare. A Hunter¡¯s Eyes, they believed. But Ingrid knew it was something far beyond that¡ªsomething even a trained mage like her couldn¡¯t fully comprehend.
Whatever it was, the prisoner¡¯s reaction was evidence of immense pain. The way his back arched, his entire body convulsing as if struck by lightning, was beyond faking. His screams tore from his throat¡ªhigh-pitched and animalistic, filled with the fear of someone losing everything.
Ingrid¡¯s heart pounded, fearing the man would drop dead at any moment. Something was tearing at his source, burning from within.
Suddenly, the prisoner¡¯s body sagged forward, his limbs going limp, his face utterly drained, his breathing shallow and ragged. The arrow wound in his chest seeped blood through his tattered tunic.
Ingrid¡¯s heart raced as she glanced at Lady Audrey, who stood unblinking, her gaze now returned to normal.
The prisoner, slumped and broken, continued to heave shallow breaths. The look in his eyes said it all¡ªhe would tell them everything, anything, to stop the pain. He tried to mutter something, prompting Ingrid to step forward. The prisoner had been injured in the chest, and his source was likely compromised, making it unlikely for him to wield magic¡ªbut there was always a risk. For any seasoned mage, taking air from someone''s breath at close range was child''s play¡ªone reason why they were, ironically, the better assassins.
Certainly, Lady Audrey could hold her own, but Ingrid wouldn¡¯t allow such a thing to happen to her.
¡°Speak,¡± the Lady commanded, her voice chillingly cold.
The single word sent the prisoner shivering and trembling uncontrollably. "I¡¯ll answer, I¡¯ll answer, anything."
The staff exchanged glances, surprised and amazed that the Lady¡¯s stare had broken the prisoner¡¯s stubbornness.
Farkas had told them that the jailers had already tried a few techniques to convince the mage to speak, but they had proven useless. The man was defiant, clearly conditioned not to answer upon capture. Despite being injured and stuck in the pillory, he could evidently still draw strength and offer resistance. As a result, the jailers requested permission from Farkas to employ stronger measures.
However, they were also concerned they might kill the prisoner outright, especially with the arrowhead lodged inside him. This was why Farkas consulted the Lady directly, leading to the current situation.
Now, against all expectations, just as the prisoner was about to speak, Lady Audrey redoubled her efforts. Her eyes glowed once more, and instantly, the prisoner recoiled, trembling in fresh waves of pain.
"My Lady," Ingrid urged, feeling compelled to intervene, "he¡¯s willing to speak."
¡°I heard,¡± the Lady replied, her gaze still locked on the prisoner as his screams filled the cellar. ¡°But just in case he tries to lie.¡±
The iron pillory rattled as the prisoner desperately tried to escape, his screams growing louder. No matter how strong he might have been, Francisca and Farkas held him firm. His eyes, wide, reddened, and filled with agony, seemed frozen¡ªunable to close, no matter how hard he tried.
"My Lady, you''re hurting his source," Ingrid tried again.
"Then there''s less chance of him hurting one of us," the Lady replied with scorn, but relented, stopping her stare.
The prisoner, as before, slumped, his body limp and drenched in sweat. Without pausing for breath, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. His eyes darted frantically around the room, briefly landing on Ingrid. She could see the raw fear on his face, pleading to be freed from the pain. There was no fight left in him, no pride.
Suddenly, he found his voice. "I''ll answer. I''ll answer." His words were slurred as if his tongue were too heavy to articulate properly.
The Lady clicked her tongue. "You''re probably going to feed me lies and make me ask twice. Maybe a little more of this will help. It¡¯s just a stare, after all¡ªit shouldn¡¯t hurt."
The prisoner''s face contorted, his chest heaving, more blood seeping into his tunic, tears streaming down his face. He was clearly breaking.
Ingrid noticed something more: the man¡¯s source was flickering like embers losing their flame. She wondered if this was the cause of the pain and the ethereal burning heat she felt.
Then it hit her¡ªshe had been struggling with her own magic for some time. Her source had become harder to wield, more elusive, and scarce. She¡¯d thought it was because of her age or the natural limits of her source. But now she remembered that it had first happened in Umberland, the night of the half-beast ambush¡ªthe same night she¡¯d seen the Lady¡¯s eyes glow for the first time. A chill ran through her.
"My Lady, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯ll be in the corner," Ingrid said as calmly as possible, not wanting to offend the Lady.
The Lady turned to her and nodded. "You may wait outside if you wish."
Her eyes, once terrifying, were now warm and caring. It seemed her control over them had improved since studying magic under Ingrid, and that realization filled Ingrid with both pride and relief.
Ingrid bowed her head and reassured her, "No, I''ll stay right behind."
"Please," the prisoner¡¯s desperate plea filled the chamber. "Please," he repeated, offering nothing more as if that word was all he could manage.
"Fine," the Lady said, and Farkas promptly brought her a chair. She sat down, leaving Francisca to hold the prisoner.
"Time. Slowly. My tongue... hard to speak," the man struggled to explain, his effort palpable.
"Fetch him a drink," the Lady instructed, sitting back in her chair.
They gave him several minutes and two cups of water before the Lady heaved a sigh. The man¡¯s back jolted in response. "I-I''m being ordered by the Lord of Edessa. I''m a mage for hire. I do things for money. I came with a hunter, a woman. Then, a male hunter joined us several nights ago. That man is the one who fought the Lord of Korelia."
The Lady raised an eyebrow. "You said, the Lord of Edessa?"
"Yes, I met his steward directly. He paid me."
"How much?" she inquired.
"I-I received seven gold coins, and he promised me eleven more after the job was done."
"Eighteen gold coins!" the Lady snapped. "You tried to kill my husband for eighteen gold coins?"
Only then did the mage realize who he was facing: the Lady of Korimor. It was as if a part of his soul left his body. His eyes lost focus, his mouth hung open, frozen in fear. The sight was disturbing enough that Farkas shook him until the prisoner mage blinked back into reality, trembling.
"My Lady, My Lady," he stammered, and in a moment of desperate genius, he added, "Your humble servant was a fool to accept. But they paid the hunter more than me. It¡¯s worth far more than just eighteen¡ªprobably if combined, closer to a hundred gold."
Somehow, the mention of a higher price on the Lord¡¯s life seemed to appease the Lady.
"It was a bad, bad deal. I feel deceived. I¡¯d never consider it again, not even for a thousand gold and a manor." His tone carried a hint of honesty.
The Lady smirked. "It seems you''ve found your voice. Now, my good canary, sing me a song. Tell me who¡¯s truly responsible for this grave mistake, because I''ll plan a visit."
The mage gulped and quickly said, "It''s the ruling House of Edessa, no doubt."
"Try again. Simply uttering a name isn¡¯t the tune I¡¯m looking for," the Lady replied, her tone bored.
"They... they never gave me a reason, but I know! I know," he stammered, terrified of failing her. "Edessa heard about the new southern trade route from the guilds. They want to protect their monopoly on trade to Navalnia."
His words prompted glances among the group. Ingrid noticed Farkas seemed ready to ask something.
"Go on, ask him," the Lady said, gesturing to Farkas.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Farkas stood next to her and asked, "Tell me, why would the Margrave of Edessa be concerned about the new trade route? The southern trade passes through his land and will benefit him greatly."
"They are not separate entities," the prisoner began. "The Margrave¡¯s House and his family are tied to Midlandia. Every noble in the region knows that their wealth comes from joint holdings in Midlandia¡ªdozens of exclusive workshops whose goods are transported to Edessa and sold to Navalnian traders." He paused for breath, the effort taxing. His wound was deep, likely close to puncturing his lung.
The arrow wound puzzled Ingrid. After all, the Lady said it was her arrow. Was she present during the fight? But considering the Lord''s condition, it seemed impossible. Everyone who knew the Lady understood that, even while pregnant, she would have fought right at the front. So how did she use an arrow if she hadn¡¯t been with him?
Ingrid stopped her pondering as the prisoner continued, "Imagine if the goods now come from another place¡ªLowlandia, or even from Baronies or Earldoms beyond Nicopola. Yes, the Margrave would profit from taxes, but it would be nothing compared to the lost sales."
"I''m curious," the Lady said. "Why does the Margrave set up workshops in Midlandia, not on his own land? Surely it costs a lot to transport the goods."
"That¡¯s his protection against Navalnia."
Everyone''s eyes grew curious, and the mage explained, "If the workshops and talents were in Edessa, there¡¯s a risk that Navalnia would conquer it. Navalnia always pays handsomely for artisans, craftsmen, or other talents."
"To enslave them," the Lady said, her voice filled with veiled anger.
The mage dared not say more and simply waited.
"Is Midlandia involved in this?" the Lady asked.
"Y-yes. The new Lord is involved. While the Margrave of Edessa orchestrated this, I know the funds and connections come from Midlandia."
"How can you be so sure?" Farkas asked.
"The Margrave is powerful, but he¡¯s not exactly a High Noble, and his land is on the edge of the border. He has no access to assassins. If this was solely his doing, he would have sent only me, a rogue mage. But he also sent two Hunters¡ªnot the ones who handle hawks, but hunter-killers, assassins. Even for me, they are as elusive as the fell beasts they¡¯re rumored to hunt."
"The old order," the Lady muttered, as though she were familiar with it.
The man dared not question her and simply said in a weak and faltering voice, "That is all I know. Please, I''ll not betray your generosity."
Perhaps intrigued, the Lady asked, "And what do you ask in return?"
"I dare not," he replied, his expression frail and pale. "I wish only to repent until my last breath."
The sudden declaration could have been seen as a desperate attempt, but for those who had witnessed his agony, it was clear that the man feared the Lady¡¯s gaze more than any torture device. Somehow, it was far more powerful than the jailer''s tools.
...
Farkas
After the short interrogation, the Lady instructed Ingrid and the physician to tend to the prisoner. She believed he might still be of use, or at the very least, the Lord could question him personally to uncover other important insights. Her staff agreed. It wasn''t a difficult decision¡ªthe man was condemned, and even if they commuted his death sentence, he would likely rot in a dungeon.
While the Lord often showed leniency by sending prisoners to work for the Nomads in the Great Plains, the mage was clearly too dangerous to be given such an option.
"How about the Hunter?" Lady Audrey asked as they walked down the long corridor, returning to the east wing under escort.
"Sir Harold has departed to personally oversee his interrogation," Farkas replied.
His answer surprised both the Lady and Francisca. "He didn¡¯t die?" the Lady asked.
"He didn¡¯t, My Lady," Farkas confirmed.
"His ribcage was caved in. He took Big Ben¡¯s full-force blow to the chest," Francisca muttered, and the three exchanged uneasy glances.
Farkas added, "Despite all the wounds he took, he¡¯s still breathing."
"What else do you know?" the Lady asked.
"The bolt wound in his stomach healed faster than the physician thought possible. His nose and jaw are recovering as well. Based on his recovery, we suspect he¡¯s one of the fabled assassins."
"A Ranger," the Lady muttered, drawing attention from the others.
"You seem to know about them?" Francisca asked innocently, what Farkas dared not.
"Yes, my master befriended one," she revealed, prompting wide-eyed disbelief from the others.
"I used to hunt with them," the Lady added, to their amazement.
Farkas, unable to contain his curiosity, asked, "My Lady, forgive me, but what kind of beasts do Hunters like that chase?"
"Bears," the Lady said without hesitation, betraying Farkas'' expectations of exotic animals or fell beasts. "Sometimes others," she added, though she seemed unwilling to elaborate, before quickly continuing, "but mostly different kinds of bears."
Francisca, who was usually quiet on escort duty, seemed to enjoy the conversation. "My Lady, since you¡¯re familiar with them, is there anything else you can tell us about such Hunters?"
"I never called them Hunters. My master used to call them Rangers or Scouts... or lazy bastards," she added with a faint smile. "They¡¯re strong, physically strong. Stronger than my master, who was a mage, and far more durable in a fight. They can survive fatal blows, deep wounds from claws, even bites, and keep fighting¡ªall while only wearing gambeson."
Farkas gulped. He was a hunter, but this was a completely different kind of fighter.
"How do you think one would fare against me?" Francisca asked, grinning.
"I can¡¯t be sure until I fight you in a spar," the Lady said with a smile, prompting Francisca to laugh adorably. "Perhaps after I¡¯ve given birth."
"I¡¯m looking forward to that, but let¡¯s not use the eyes against me," the half-breed teased.
"Why?" the Lady asked.
"It¡¯s too scary! I don¡¯t want to be seen writhing in agony," Francisca giggled, wagging her tail happily.
The Lady chuckled softly as they reached the wooden stairs.
Farkas stood straight and bowed his head. "Please look after the Lord, My Lady," he said, more out of formality, without expecting an answer.
"Rest assured, I will not fail," the Lady replied firmly. With Francisca''s assistance, they ascended the stairs.
Her words caused Farkas to take a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. Then, one of his assistants, a Black Bandit member, reported, "One of our affiliates recognized the dead woman. They traced her to an inn. The innkeeper confirmed there were only three of them. Two had been renting rooms for more than a month, and the other just arrived."
"It fits," Farkas remarked. "Perhaps there are only three, and they acted alone without support."
"Is it possible to do something like this without a support group?" the assistant mused aloud.
"They¡¯re either overly confident in their strength, or they worked alone to prevent leaks."
"A frightening opponent," the assistant muttered.
"Indeed." Farkas turned to him and said, "You¡¯re smart, born into an esquire¡¯s family, and talented with a gittern."
"Captain, why do you speak like that?" the man asked, troubled and suspicious.
"The guards let not one, but three assassins into the city," Farkas replied grimly.
"But Captain, you''re not to blame. We weren¡¯t dealing with that."
"Still, I feel responsible," Farkas shrugged. "The Lord might forgive me, but¡ª"
"You talk shit for someone I picked," a clear voice called from the entrance. The two guards and others turned to see a stalwart man in flamboyant attire and a young girl beside him.
"Captain Sigmund!" they all shouted in surprise, moved by his presence.
"Yes, I¡¯ve returned," the skald replied cheerfully. "And it seems my services are urgently needed."
Behind him, two men in bright troubadour clothing, their muscles concealed beneath the fine fabric, stepped forward. One had a beautiful sittern strapped to his back, and the other carried flutes, but both had blades discreetly hidden. Their easy, confident smiles were charming, and often used to distract others from their keen, observant eyes.
Farkas recognized them¡ªthey were his tutors. Their return signaled that the Orange Skald, a cross-province spy network, was ready for action.
***
Lansius
Even with everything that had happened, Lansius kept his calm. Against even his own expectations, it wasn''t difficult, as he had seen how his wife and retainers reacted and knew that justice and vengeance in the name of honor were beyond question. His position as their leader demanded that he act rationally. Ironically, an army needed a cool head to direct both his and his men''s anger in a precise, effective, and orderly fashion.
Because anger alone didn¡¯t win wars. Victory required immense preparation. "Veni and Vidi, before Vici," Lansius muttered as he walked, with some effort, to his desk. His brown wig was placed nearby. It would need delicate hands to clean out the pasta flour and repair it.
He groaned softly as he sat down, his broken nose bleeding again. He carefully pressed a cloth against it, wincing as the pain stung. The swelling had also blurred his vision somewhat.
As the discomfort subsided, he returned to his thoughts, focusing on Midlandia. Though investigations were still ongoing, he had enough written evidence to believe Sir Reginald was likely responsible.
"Responsible," he repeated, feeling the word on his tongue.
Truthfully, the letter alone provided enough justification. Sir Reginald was either a fool or too arrogant to consider the consequences. But Lansius could understand. It was simply unthinkable for a mere power in Lowlandia to challenge the might of Midlandia. Even at the height of the succession crisis, it was a laughable idea.
Lansius glanced at the window, wanting to crack it open, but the aching in his body made him relent. Still, he couldn''t help but notice some of his men outside, standing guard, their X-bow ready. He sighed. "To be drawn into war again," he lamented.
Midlandia was on a different scale compared to his previous campaigns. Compared to Lowlandia, the province was vast, wealthy, and heavily populated. It boasted dozens of cities, hundreds of towns, and likely thousands of villages. It would be a massive undertaking.
While he had better training, superior doctrine alone didn¡¯t win battles. Campaigns were won by skilled commanders, courageous soldiers with high morale, and, most importantly, a sound, robust, and flexible logistical chain.
Without those, one or two battles might be won through experience, feats of strength, or bravado, but the campaign would eventually be lost. The greatest work in war, therefore, lies in the humble yet complex art of logistics. As they say, an army marches on its stomach.
This was the reality of large-scale war and campaigns.
The Veni part of the campaign would be the hardest, but it was often overlooked. What troubled him most, however, was that victory didn''t always manifest when one side claimed it. In a war against a large population, even after he secured a victory, he could still face serious resistance. Resistances that his small force couldn''t possibly handle in the long run.
Even the Shogunate was small compared to Midlandia, with limited resources and manpower.
He sighed and pushed that train of thought aside¡ªit was going nowhere. Opening a drawer, he found what others might consider unimportant writings, but to him, they were his prized war plans. He had created them during moments of idleness, constantly revising them with new knowledge or changes in the situation. Like the great generals he admired, Lansius believed in having a plan for everything¡ªeven for his allies.
Be polite, be courteous, and have a plan to kill everyone in the room.
He couldn''t help but recall the famous quote. As he read his notes and carefully reviewed the latest report on his realm, he drew a long, deep breath. "The numbers don¡¯t lie," he concluded.
All his efforts since taking Korelia and preparing her for war had come to fruition. He had enough provisions for a short campaign.
Even without him knowing, the preparations had already been completed. Sir Justin, Calub, and Cecile had proven themselves capable administrators. Moreover, Lansius had underestimated the strength of a united Lowlandia, with its growing but powerful horse-driven trade routes and caravans.
As a result, the Vidi part he had been worrying about turned out to be a non-issue.
With his heart beating faster, Lansius pulled out another parchment from the drawer, filled with scribbles, markings, and scratched-out notes. It looked like a child''s drawing, but it was his latest strategy against Midlandia.
He looked at his writings and focused on two words he had circled. "Decapitation Strike," he read, as he began to visualize the movement of his armies: the vanguard, the auxiliaries, the logistical component, and the special forces. Someone had cast their dice against him, likely expecting him to play along, but Lansius wasn''t planning to join. Instead, he planned to upturn the table¡ªand while he was at it, burn the entire gambling house down.
***
Chapter 192 : A Step to Follow
Chapter 192
A Step to Follow
Eastern Mansion
Soft knocks pulled Lansius from his work. He glanced up from his desk, expecting the usual¡ªa report from Margo about an important matter or someone requesting an audience. Instead, he saw Audrey peeking in from the hallway. He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you knocking?"
"Well," Audrey said, still standing outside, "you looked busy, and I didn¡¯t want to be a bother."
Lansius chuckled softly. "You''re my wife, My Lady, and soon to be the mother of my child," he said tenderly, motioning her inside.
Audrey smiled, pushing the door open and stepping into the chamber. "I may be your wife, but I¡¯m still a squire at heart. I don¡¯t want to interrupt my lord while he plans his war."
"War, you say?" Lansius replied, amused.
Audrey closed the door behind her and pulled a chair closer to sit beside him. "You said it was just your musings, and that I could read them if something caught my interest."
"True. But I did warn you that my writing is terrible. I think better while doodling half the time."
She leaned in closer, a playful smile on her lips. "Since I¡¯m not a bother, how are you? Any aches or pains? Are you tired?"
Lansius smiled softly and let out a sigh. "Just a little," he reassured her, though his mind momentarily drifted to the loss of his four guards. They had been more than mere security details; they were comrades-in-arms, even friends. He had treated them like seniors or uncles; in return, they treated him like a favored nephew.
"Are you sure you don¡¯t want that duck egg broth?" Audrey¡¯s voice cut through his thoughts.
Her words prompted a groan from him, and then he noticed the teasing grin on her face. At that moment, the physical pain from his injuries, the lingering fear of death, and the mental weight of losing his men all collided. Without fully understanding why, he leaned in and kissed her deeply. He almost lost her and everything. Despite the deaths and the chaos swirling around him, his mind craved comfort.
Audrey¡¯s eyes widened in surprise at first, but it didn¡¯t take long for her to respond with equal passion. As their lips met again and again, the weight of his near-death experience flooded him. If the assassin hadn¡¯t been toying with him, if Audrey hadn¡¯t made that impossible shot, if one of the guards hadn¡¯t sacrificed himself; he would¡¯ve been nothing more than a cold corpse.
After several more kisses, his mind finally began to calm, but by then, Audrey had taken charge, her usual fiery self fully reemerging. As the haze of emotion lifted, Lansius began to realize her sudden shift in attitude. Not because it was unexpected, but because of how smoothly it had happened. There was no more hesitation, no lingering confusion. It was effortless.
It seemed that Audrey had succeeded in mastering a public persona. A mask, much like his own. Whether this mask had come to her naturally or from observing him, he wasn¡¯t sure. After all, she had been there when Sir Callahan taught him the importance of concealing one¡¯s true self. Lansius never brought it up, allowing her to grow into her role on her own.
He himself had two masks. One, rarely used, was that of a crazed conqueror, meant to confuse and deceive his enemies. The other was the mask of a benevolent ruler, shown to his inner circle and allies.
Audrey¡¯s mask, however, was more pragmatic. It reminded Lansius of modern businesses, where personal and professional selves had to be kept apart. Sometimes, to lead effectively, one had to be cold, calculating, and even heartless. He couldn¡¯t recall exactly where he had worked in his past life, but he remembered the feeling of a role where friendship had no place.
The softer Audrey was her lady persona, but the real Audrey was hot-tempered, brash, and fiery. When the mask was removed, only in front of him, she reverted to the girl he had first met in Bellandia and then Toruna.
Now, the Baroness of Korimor stood before him, her cheeks slightly flushed, her hair taking on a bronze hue in the light of the three lanterns. Her skin had a new fairness with hints of sunspots from their recent campaigns, and her eyes were as captivating as they were dangerous. She was more beautiful than ever, and even her body had changed¡ªher chest had grown noticeably.
Audrey gently lowered herself onto his lap, facing him, and the black lady from Toruna whispered, "I¡¯ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, and you can¡¯t stop me."
"I won¡¯t," he replied, inhaling her familiar scent.
"Then it¡¯s settled."
Lansius blinked. "Wait¡ªwhat''s settled?"
"I¡¯m going with you," she declared, cutting off any protest with a kiss that left him breathless.
Despite his wounds, he felt desire stir, but he kept his focus. "Drey, you''re pregnant."
"We¡¯re traveling with physicians," she countered cheerfully. "And Midlandia has even better ones."
"But it''s war," he tried to reason.
"Our seventh if you count Riverstead as two," she retorted effortlessly.
"Mm..." he mumbled, unable to argue that they had been living in a constant state of war. Still, in a last effort as blood rushed and clouded his mind, he argued, "But you''re not pregnant at that time."
"Quiet," she whispered with a mischievous grin. "You failed to guard this body of yours that belongs to me. Now, surrender and prepare for punishment."
"Mercy," Lansius chuckled. "I¡¯m wounded."
...
It was near dawn when Lansius awoke. His wife had already donned her traveling attire, signaling that she was ready to march at a moment¡¯s notice. "Is this for real?" he asked.
"Either you let me join you, or I''ll join the SAR team," she quipped.
Lansius massaged his temple. Despite her insistence, he could have ordered her to stay, but he knew it would only make her wither away. He extended his left hand and said, "Then help me get dressed. I can''t look bad next to you," he quipped.
After washing his face, Audrey helped him dress with the skill of a seasoned squire. As she worked, they spoke freely.
"I believe Margo told you that Sigmund arrived aboard one of the airships?"
"Indeed," he confirmed. "I''m surprised they were able to take Kapua and defeat such a large mercenary army." He added, "I''m glad to see some semblance of order and governance restored in Nicopola. And the way Lord Avery and Sir Morton handled the team¡ªthat''s beyond belief."
"That surprised everyone. Your SAR earned great honor and made a name for themselves. Be sure to reward them properly."
"I''ll see to it that each of them gets a house," Lansius reassured her. There was enough plunder to afford such a gift. "But why is Sigmund here?"
"Just a quick visit. He brought his two minstrels to assist us."
"Ah, the Orange Skald," Lansius muttered, referring to his covert spy network known for their distinctive bright clothing. Internally, he¡¯d nicknamed them his Neon Ninjas.
"Yes, they have capable agents, and some have naturally infiltrated our neighbors, including Midlandia."
"They¡¯ll be perfect as our eyes and ears," Lansius remarked.
"Indeed." She took a deep breath before continuing. "The investigation points to Midlandia and Edessa. The men are ready¡ªthey spent the entire night preparing. But where will you point the sword?"
Lansius paused momentarily. "I¡¯ve consulted with Lord Robert. He and the Lord of Galdia will head east and send an envoy to Edessa to demand answers while preparing a joint force in case of a conflict. We¡¯ll send a token column as support."
"And the rest of the troops?" she asked.
"To Midlandia," Lansius replied without hesitation. "They¡¯ve sent us an invitation we can¡¯t refuse."
Audrey gazed at him. "And what shall we do to Midlandia?"
"There are several plans, and more will likely form. I intend to stay flexible," he explained.
She paused and repeated, "I mean, to what end?"
"To see it fall," he confirmed, his eyes firm, even though he knew her gaze could undo him.
Audrey smiled, likely satisfied by his determination, and prepared his doublet. "Which route will we take?"
"All routes," he replied. "We won¡¯t burden the communities and lands we pass through. As much as we carry supplies, it¡¯s better to buy food locally."
"It¡¯ll also help confuse the enemy," Audrey commented.
"Exactly. We might even maintain the element of surprise. And it could serve as bait if they¡¯re foolish enough to take it."
She nodded and checked the fit of his doublet, frowning slightly.
"Why is it so tight?" he asked.
"You''ve grown," she replied.
"My belly?" he ventured.
"No, your arms and shoulders." She frowned. "You''re starting to look like a lumberjack."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
"That''s good," he replied, proudly.
"How unbefitting of a lord. You should eat more," she complained unexpectedly.
Lansius laughed and countered, "These arms saved me from assassins."
"Well, I''m not saying I don''t like it," she said in a mischievous whisper before shifting to her usual tone, "So, when do we leave?"
"The vanguard and select elements of the army depart today with a token supply train to establish camps. As for us, we¡¯ll wait for the knights and nomads, then move together with the main army. Besides, I need to take care of a few things."
"Something important?" she asked, intrigued.
Lansius nodded, his eyes sharp and focused. "Yes, a few tasks and two important letters to guarantee victory."
***
Korelia
An hour after dawn, the Korelian army was already prepared and eager. There was no need for a bannerman¡¯s call to assemble them; the Lord¡¯s army was always active, their lives centered around training and study in their billets or the Great Keep that served as barracks.
The Captain of the Vanguard returned from the Eastern Mansion with his officer staff. Having received their orders, the troops began their march. It was no ordinary march¡ªit was a merry procession, each step met with the Korelians'' spirited cheers and pride as they headed toward the main plaza.
The Vanguard was the pride of the people. They were the column that had stood firm against the Coalition Army and saved the city. They had also loyally followed through the Korimor campaign, South Hill, and Umberland. While the main army would not depart from the city, they were present in today¡¯s march. Only the knights were missing from the ranks, as they would march separately with the cavalry.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the city, the plaza buzzed with excitement. Citizens lined the streets, their murmurs turning to shouts as Lord Lansius stepped out of one of the carriages. Beside him was the Lady, flanked by other notable nobles¡ªLord of White Lake, Lord of Three Hills, and the recently joined Lord of Galdia. Their presence alone stirred awe.
Joining the ranks were Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Sir Omin, Sigmund, Farkas, Francisca, Calub, Cecile, Sterling, and Claire, among many others. There were also several half-breeds, the city''s honored guests, and symbols of pride in the golden era they were living. Their arrival, like the airship, brought an air of development and myth to the burgeoning Shogunate.
The forward element reached the plaza, where the marble white fountain stood. The water fountain, adorned with duck ornaments alongside statues of the lord and lady, had become a beloved landmark. And there, in the flesh, stood the Lords and Lady, surrounded by powerful allies and trusted retainers.
The Vanguard¡¯s faces, composed of the bravest from all over Lowlandia, beamed with pride as they marched past, their eyes fixed on their leaders. Just yesterday, their peace had been shattered by the news of an assassination attempt. They had heard of three mages involved and that four of the lord''s most loyal guards had been killed. To see him now, standing with a bandaged right arm and bruises on his face, gladdened them beyond measure.
Everyone present in the plaza knew in their hearts that the foreigner with black hair was the anchor behind the vision of a united Lowlandia. Without his guidance, the province would likely descend back into endless blood feuds. Thus, their respect, hope, and love for him transcended the normal servant-master relationship. Many even carried small wooden carvings of him, each marked with his distinctive black hair.
His arrival, his endless victories, his powerful allies, the half-beast''s friendship, the airships, the saint candidates, the city''s abundance of food, his innovations, his care for the people, and lastly, his survival against the assassin mages had solidified his status as the Ancients'' favored son.
Now, as they approached, Lord Lansius, the Shogun¡ªthe man on whom they pinned their hopes¡ªraised his hand and commanded, "Men, break formation and circle around me."
With military precision, the army followed his command, eagerly gathering around the leaders. The plaza wasn¡¯t large enough to hold everyone, but enough contingents were present that any message spoken would eventually spread through the ranks.
"Gentlemen," the Shogun addressed them warmly. "I don''t have the heart to send you off without speaking to you at least once. And drop your bags¡ªI don''t want to tire you out."
The army responded with grins and cheerful murmurs. Suddenly, someone shouted, "My Lord, we pray for your fast recovery."
As if those words had broken a dam, an overwhelming surge of emotion followed. Men from every rank raised their voices, faces filled with fierce loyalty and concern. "Who dared harm you, my Lord?"
"Just give the word, and we¡¯ll make them pay!"
"Direct us to the ones who wronged you, my Lord."
"Revenge for the fallen four!"
The last shout burned their spirit further. The chorus swelled louder with a mix of love and rage. The men surged forward, their fists clenched in fierce determination. "They want war, we¡¯ll give it to them!"
"Tell us where to go, and who must answer for this insult!"
It was clear they were ready for war. Not just for honor, but for revenge and survival. To them, the fallen guards and Lord Lansius embodied the dream of a united, peaceful, and prosperous Lowlandia, a dream they were determined to protect at all costs.
The Lord''s allies exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring the men''s fervor, equally moved by the raw display of loyalty and affection.
"Gentlemen, gratitude for your concern, but make no mistake that this war will not be easy, and we may end up facing a siege," the Shogun began, his voice wavering under the weight of this outpouring of support.
"Guide us, my Lord," the men insisted.
"We were ready for sieges since Umberland. That didn¡¯t work out, but Midlandia is as good as any," someone quipped, garnering hearty chuckles and laughter.
Lord Lansius enjoyed the response and waited for the crowd to calm before walking to a tall, pristine marble pillar. He patted it for all to see its solid thickness. "This marble is currently empty, but I¡¯ll have craftsmen and artisans to create a marvelous work of art," he began, capturing their attention.
"However, my face will not grace this stone. It will be sacred." He turned to them and declared, "On one side, the names of the four bravest who fell yesterday in the line of duty will be etched into the stone. Their names and acts of gallantry will be remembered forever."
The men nodded in solemnity. The fallen guards were well-known to them¡ªsome had even been their instructors.
"As for you," the Lord continued, tapping the other side of the stone. "This side will bear the names of those who have shown the utmost courage and valor in combat. Their names and deeds will be forever carved into this stone, to be honored by every generation of Korelians who passes by."
The idea of a monument dedicated to bravery stirred the men.
"But that¡¯s not all." The Shogun smiled, his eyes gleaming, earning expectant grins from his men.
The Lord then took what looked like a silver crown, brought by Sterling, the squire who had returned victorious from the Nicopola campaign, and handed it to the Captain. "Inspect it and tell the troops."
"It''s heavy," the Captain remarked to his men. "Must be more than the weight of a great helmet."
"It''s made of iron, so everyone will recognize your resolve," the Lord declared. "I shall present it to the bravest first who successfully scale the wall on a siege. The winner can use it to weigh the silver prize they will receive as a reward for their valor."
The idea of a silver as heavy as the iron crown brought greedy grins to their faces. It was a sum worth dying for.
"Make no mistake," the Lord repeated. "This will be a hard campaign. And even if we win, what comes after may also be filled with hardships. Now, are you still with me?"
The Captain briefly turned to his men, gathering their responses, before answering, "My Lord, on behalf of the men, please command us. We shall not fail."
With the weight of everyone''s expectations upon him, the Lord finally revealed, "Midlandia."
The men, the army, the entire crowd¡ªall erupted in a deafening roar. Even the mention of the vast province¡¯s name failed to deter them. Instead, it unleashed a different raw emotion that surged through the ranks. Men banged their weapons against their shields, fists raised high, voices rising in unison.
The Lady, sensing the rising momentum, took the Lord¡¯s arm in quiet support. With a commanding tone, Lansius gave his order: "March north, and we¡¯ll meet again in Midlandia."
***
Lansius
After the army had marched out, the area around the plaza was swept and cleaned in preparation for a solemn procession. After a ride through the city, the four coffins arrived at the plaza, carried by honor guards¡ªmany of whom were their comrades-in-arms. The crowd watched in silence; today had become an unofficial holiday as everyone gathered to witness yet another important event.
The families of the deceased were welcomed by Lansius and Audrey, along with the remaining staff members still in the city.
This was one of many reasons Lansius had chosen to delay his departure. He felt compelled to give the last rites for the fallen. Two of them were Arvenians, and the other two Midlandians. These hardened men, with gentle souls, had followed him since the battle against the Lion of Lowlandia.
They were among the first to place their trust in him, and their loss was as heart-wrenching as the loss of Sir Callahan. They were more than mere guards; they were his seniors, his confidants, who had never failed him¡ªin peace or war, in keeping his secrets, and in protecting him.
The coachman had been a dear friend, and Audrey was especially fond of his service. A gentle soul with an endearing care for the horses, he was also a capable cavalryman. Meanwhile, the three guards had been with Lansius in every battle, fighting shoulder to shoulder with him, drawing blood on many occasions.
Sigmund, who was present, lent his skills by playing a ballad of their bravery. As the coffins were temporarily laid to rest in the plaza, to honor them and allow them their final hours under the sun, Lansius and Audrey placed a wreath of flowers on each one.
Knowing it would be too difficult for Lansius to speak, Audrey gave the eulogy. She had known them well, having worked with them as part of Lansius'' security detail during her time as a squire.
As she read, Lansius stood silently, his eyes fixed on the four wooden caskets. He tried to listen, but his mind wandered, recalling their faces and the last meal they had shared¡ªa simple pasta-like dish. It was unfamiliar to them, and two of his closest guards hadn''t really liked it. Now, those memories were forever burned into his mind.
"You were all the most courageous I¡¯ve known," he muttered, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
His gaze shifted to the white marble, soon to be a monument to courage. Many more would die in the war, and he knew he might come to regret his choices¡ªbut the die was cast. Just as these four had made their choice long ago, so too had Lansius. He was their lord, and he had a duty to honor their deaths, their dreams, and the dreams of everyone who depended on him.
"Rest easy. Korelia will take care of your family," Lansius said softly before their caskets. And then he vowed, "I''ll find those who wronged you. The sky will be my witness. They''ll know our wrath."
...
After the funeral, Lansius returned under heavy escort. He had several matters to attend to, one of which was to visit the airship hangar. Lord Avery had lent them an airship to transport his share of trophies from the campaign, and Lansius knew the crew would be eager to return home.
"Sterling," he called, sharing a carriage with Audrey, Claire, and the squire.
"My Lord," Sterling replied.
"My apologies for not giving you and the crew a victory celebration."
The young couple exchanged an amused glance before Sterling responded, "Not at all, My Lord. We had enough in Dawn and at South Hill. To ask for more would be wasteful."
Lansius chuckled at his squire and observed, "Somehow we ended up marrying mages."
"Beautiful mages, too, My Lord," Sterling smoothly added, earning approving smiles from the ladies.
Their banter would have continued if not for the sudden halt. Guards mounted quickly, and Francisca stood alert beside the coachman.
"Please excuse us," Claire said, rising to shield Audrey from the window, while Sterling instinctively positioned himself to protect Lansius.
Lansius caught Audrey¡¯s nod of approval, but a feeling of unease lingered. He made a mental note to rotate the guard duty. While he had allowed the young couple to participate in the Nicopola campaign, he couldn¡¯t bear the thought of them coming to harm to protect him.
Unexpectedly, Sigmund and Farkas appeared at the window. "My Lord, there''s an urgent message," Farkas said before Sigmund leaned closer and whispered, "It''s from Lord Bengrieve."
Everyone inside exchanged glances.
"A verbal message, My Lord. Only two riders," Sigmund continued. "We allowed them entry as they insisted on seeing you immediately."
"Bring them to me," Lansius instructed. "With assassins lurking, there¡¯s a risk they could be silenced."
"But it''s risky¡ªthey might attempt poison or use some kind of gas like Calub¡¯s," Sterling warned.
"I can search them, and I¡¯ll be thorough," Farkas assured, putting their worries to rest. With a nod from Lansius, the two riders were soon brought before him.
"My Lord," the riders greeted him, their faces haggard, lips dry, skin leathered from the relentless sun, and their clothes dust-covered from the road.
"You¡¯ve requested my audience, invoking the name of Lord Bengrieve, but even if I hear your message, how do I know you speak the truth?" Lansius questioned.
"My Lord, Lord Bengrieve said that once you hear the news, you¡¯ll understand," the messenger replied.
Lansius nodded and instructed, "Speak freely."
"My Lord, Lord Bengrieve dictated this: The fall of the Capital was not in anyone''s plans. He now must abandon Midlandia, even amid crisis, to return to Elandia. His goal is to unite the lords of Elandia to hold their border and prevent Lord Gottfried from claiming the title of Emperor."
Lansius exhaled heavily, understanding his benefactor''s motives. Audrey leaned in and urged the messenger to continue.
The messenger hesitated, looking around as though wanting privacy. Lansius noted this and said, "Speak openly. I am in the company of trusted people."
The rider nodded. "Lord Bengrieve also said that Arryn and Tanya from Bellandia are in Cascasonne."
Lansius¡¯ eyes widened, and Audrey placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Leaning close, she whispered, "You have my support. And I believe all of Lowlandia will stand with you."
***
Chapter 193 : A Measured Advance
Chapter 193
A Measured Advance
Lansius, for the first time in years, heard news of his family. It had been several winters, but their names had never faded from his mind. Yet, the news came as a complete surprise; he had long since stopped expecting Bengrieve to keep his promise. With the succession crisis and the war in the north, everything had seemed too chaotic for such matters.
He swallowed and turned to Audrey, who met him with a reassuring gaze. He then glanced at his retinue¡ªSterling, Claire, Sigmund, and Farkas¡ªall of whom nodded, likely grasping the significance of the names to him.
Sensing the shift in his favor, the messenger pressed on. ¡°Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan request your reinforcements to liberate Cascasonne.¡±
Lansius saw the bait in the request and understood why his benefactor had sent a messenger rather than a letter. He feigned frustration and replied sharply, ¡°You can¡¯t possibly expect me to relieve a siege and risk my retinue and troops just to save three souls that were promised to me.¡±
¡°My Lord is right,¡± Sigmund interjected. ¡°By agreeing to this, Lord Bengrieve would secure Cascasonne, but Lord Lansius would only secure the few already promised to him. Unless you grant us the right to loot the city for three days, this offer has no merit.¡±
The two messengers exchanged glances before one spoke. "We saw the army moving to Midlandia. Surely it is beneficial to face a common enemy? Moreover, you are an ally to House Bengrieve and relative to House Stan."
"Do not mistake my issue with Sir Reginald will involve Cascasonne," Lansius warned. "Moreover, it''s such a bad taste to use relationships to interfere with war settlements. Surely you must be in agreement that merit alone should be the measure of honor and reward."
"But My Lord, the besieger army in Cascasonne will eventually block your way. Surely you''ll be better off fighting with the city and Sir Stan on your side."
"If it is, then there''s no point in your request," Lansius countered. "If my movement against Sir Reginald will eventually pull the besieger army out, then Cascasonne will undoubtedly benefit without me having to liberate it."
The two could only exchange glances, knowing they couldn''t refute the logic. The senior of the pair nodded before turning to speak. ¡°My Lord, in exchange for this great assistance, Lord Bengrieve is prepared to offer his blessing for a stretch of land that did not originally belong to our camp.¡±
The mention of such an offer turned heads, and a ripple of murmurs spread among the group. The air seemed to hold its breath as they considered the weight of the proposal.
Many understood that while the Shogunate could raid and attack at will, they had no legitimacy to hold the province. Without it, the elite could easily sway the population into resistance, which could eventually lead to open rebellion. But with Lord Bengrieve¡¯s backing, they could gain a stamp of legitimacy. Even with the succession crisis, there was no doubt that the commoners respected the Seneschal of Midlandia, and his support would be immensely powerful leverage.
Moreover, the stretch of land promised was vast; potentially as much as a quarter of the province, if not more. It was a great offer, on top of ensuring his family¡¯s safety.
Lansius did not immediately agree, instead, he put on an indifferent expression and clicked his tongue. The absence of a letter and the way the messenger had hidden the offer did not sit well with him. ¡°If Lord Bengrieve offers me such a proposition, then Midlandia must be a lost cause.¡±
¡°My Lord¡ª¡± the messenger began to protest, but Lansius waved him off. From his side, Audrey¡¯s hand pressed upon his arm as she leaned closer. ¡°Let me handle them," she offered.
Lansius gave her an immediate nod, grateful. Audrey exited the carriage with Sterling and Claire. From above, Francisca leaped down swiftly, accompanied by two of her kin. One of them unfurled an umbrella to shield the lady from the sun. Her commanding presence, coupled with the fierceness of her retinue that included half-beasts easily overwhelmed the pair, who had never expected to encounter such a creature.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± Audrey addressed the messengers, her tone cool and controlled. ¡°I apologize for my impatience, but my brother and Lord Bengrieve seem to have made many promises. Now, tell me¡±¡ªher eyes gleamed, and her voice grew resonant, carrying a power that transcended mere words, ¡°what else have they offered us?¡±
...
The carriage arrived safely at Eastern Mansion without incident. The two messengers had joined them as guests, and Lansius planned to meet with them again after gathering his thoughts and adjusting his plans. There was no doubt that he would march to Cascasonne. His vengeance against Sir Reginald could wait, as Lansius would prioritize his family''s safety. Moreover, the messengers had mentioned that Hannei and Tia were also there.
"The problem is whether the castle still holds," Lansius said as he and Audrey slowly ascended the stairs to their chambers.
"The messengers seem confident," Audrey replied.
"How many months has it been? At least six?" Lansius exhaled deeply.
"Have some faith. It''s Bengrieve we''re talking about," Audrey reassured him.
Lansius nodded. "I can''t believe we''re relying on Bengrieve''s acumen now."
"They have Sir Stan too," she pointed out. "Even if you don''t trust Bengrieve, Sir Stan is more than capable."
"Indeed. He''s eccentric, but a great rider and knight."
They reached the second floor, where Margo promptly opened the door. Francisca entered first, ensuring everything was safe.
"I''ll be making my rounds then. I need to see Carla, Ingrid, Lady Astrid, and the rest," Audrey said.
Lansius gazed at her warmly. "Don''t overexert yourself."
Audrey smiled. "You too. You''re still recovering."
"I know," he reassured her and then headed to his chamber. It was close to midday, and Lansius expected a hot, humid room¡ªthe reason he disliked working with papers at noon. However, he found the chamber comfortably cool. The change was so unexpected that he stepped back when Margo opened the door.
"What''s the matter, My Lord?" Margo asked, alert. Francisca quickly approached.
"Is it too cold?" someone asked, prompting Lansius to turn toward the speaker.
"Claire, you can do that?" Lansius asked.
Claire gave an awkward smile. "I''ve done it several times, My Lord. My apologies if it¡¯s not as good as My Lady¡¯s."
"No, no, you''re doing fine," Lansius reassured her, while internally wondering why he had never noticed if Audrey had done that before. Suddenly, he recalled why their winter hadn''t been so frigid.
I never knew I had an air conditioner...
Lansius chuckled at the thought, prompting Margo, Claire, and Francisca to exchange questioning glances.
"No, don''t worry about it," Lansius reassured them. "You''re doing fine. Please, take a rest. I''ll be writing a thing or two."
"Should I summon the scribe, my lord?" Margo offered.
"Yes, Margo, that would be helpful. Also, please summon Calub for me." While waiting, Lansius headed to his chamber and began drafting letters at his desk. The first draft was addressed to Lord Avery, congratulating him on his recent victory and campaign. Lansius also extended well wishes and proposed future cooperation. He finished the draft after several tries, and, as if on cue, Margo knocked lightly, announcing the scribe''s arrival.
Lansius gathered his parchment and headed to the study chamber. There, they settled into a quiet rhythm, the scribe transcribing Lansius'' words onto finer parchment and occasionally offering suggestions. After some time, they sealed the letter with wax, pressing Lansius'' crest into the still-warm seal. The wax had barely cooled when Calub arrived, carrying a bundle of fresh, leather-bound parchment notes.
"You come prepared," Lansius said with a grin.
"I''ve worked under you for quite a while now," Calub responded lightly.
Lansius approached him and gripped his arm firmly. "Work with me, Calub," he corrected. "I owe you too much to think that you''re working under me."
Calub smiled proudly. Even the scribe, observing their exchange, seemed pleased.
"So, as you know, I''m going on another campaign." Lansius heaved a heavy sigh.
"It can''t be helped, and I''m ready if you need my assistance."
"I always want you on my side, but I have nobody in Korelia. Unless you have some business in Midlandia?"
"I have business there, but it can wait until the conflict ends," Calub reassured Lansius, who nodded in understanding.
"So," Lansius motioned to the chair, and they all sat. "First, before I forget, have you tasted what our fellow half-breeds call yam?"
"How could I forget? Cecile loves them," Calub replied, then quickly understood Lansius¡¯ intent. "My Lord, do you want us to grow them?"Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
"Indeed. Can we do it?"
"Of course. The fact that Francisca could grow them here is proof enough. Moreover, we have a half-beast community now."
Lansius leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "One thing. I don''t intend to grow them as a delicacy for the rich and nobles. I see them, especially the unsweet, starchy variety, as a future staple."
"Staple?" Calub frowned, deep in thought, while the scribe beside them also appeared intrigued by the statement.
"Yes," Lansius replied confidently. "There are some differences, but I recognize their taste. In my homeland, we call them pomme de terre. Many cities consume them in great quantities, even more than grains. They''re good-tasting and versatile. You can puree them, boil them, fry them with tallow... the possibilities are endless."
"Such a shift toward them will require a lot of work," Calub muttered, unsure.
"We''ll start small¡ªbut not too small. I¡¯m telling you this now so you can grasp the scale. That yam has a higher yield than wheat. I want my people to have a variety of food. And even if Korelia can''t grow them, we can introduce them to Korimor, South Hill, or White Lake."
Calub nodded in agreement. "That would be a tremendous boon for the Shogunate members," he commented.
"Indeed. The only challenge is how to promote them. I believe the commoners may be reluctant to grow or eat them."
"Not at all, my lord," Calub disagreed. "Francisca has brought it to the tavern and bathhouse she frequents and shared it with them. So, people are aware of it and might be willing to try it."
Lansius stroked his chin, realizing how fortunate he was. It reminded him of the story of King Frederick II of Prussia, who struggled to convince his people to grow potatoes. The king eventually resorted to planting them under guard, sparking so much curiosity that people began to steal and cultivate them. Lansius had thought he might face a similar challenge, but his situation seemed far better.
Calub, noticing the pause, leaned in slightly. "My Lord?" he asked.
"Yes," Lansius replied, "we''re fortunate if the populace is willing. In my homeland, it took decades to convince people to grow them. At first, many were simply suspicious of it."
"Not here," Calub said, shaking his head. "The people of Korelia love change, especially if it means more food on the table." The two of them, along with the scribe, chuckled in agreement.
Afterward, Lansius spent the next hour outlining his other plans for Korelia. At the top of the list was securing the Southern Trade Route, which would require at least fifty cavalrymen and an equal number of nomads as protection. Second, they discussed the various needs of the Lowlandia Office of Work. Lansius emphasized to Calub that he wanted them to keep experimenting and that failure was a natural part of learning.
With help from the two, Lansius also formulated several new laws, including stricter regulations regarding the river. He wanted to ensure that the city¡¯s growing populace would not foul the water, allowing the nascent fishery to thrive.
"With the city growing, we''ll also face a higher risk of plague. We need to promote better hygiene, including public restrooms with working sewers to avoid polluting the river," Lansius instructed.
"I¡¯ll bring it to the Office of Works. They can start drafting something," Calub replied.
"Also, beware of body lice; they spread disease easily. We may need separate bathhouses for travelers and require them to bathe and clean their clothes on arrival."
"Are you proposing a traders-only area?" Calub asked.
"A travelers-only area," Lansius clarified. "And only for hygiene and disease prevention. I know it might not be popular, but if we make it attractive and well-designed, the area might grow on its own. Besides, our current market is packed, so I don''t see why we can''t expand."
Calub nodded and glanced at the old scribe, who chuckled. "A new market means more tax revenue. And if body lice are a concern, we could add regulations for lodgings to improve cleanliness."
"If needed," Lansius agreed. "But make sure someone monitors it. I don¡¯t want a rule that no one enforces."
Calub and the scribe jotted down his instructions.
"Next is the fire watch," Lansius continued. "How is their extra training going?" Last winter, Lansius had ordered them to focus more on building safety.
"As we agreed, I''ve tasked them to learn about building inspections. Now, the day group monitors buildings for fire or collapse risks," Calub reported.
"How skilled are they?"
"Not as qualified as masons, but many have a background in carpentry."
Lansius nodded, pleased. "I hope they can detect fire risks. We can¡¯t have a fire wiping out large parts of Korelia."
"Indeed, with summer approaching," the scribe muttered.
"The three new fountains should provide good access to water in case of a fire," Calub pointed out.
"Yes, they¡¯re strategically placed to serve the most populated areas and assist the fire watch," Lansius confirmed, glancing at his list. "Lastly, the orphanage and school. Any issues?"
"They¡¯re doing well. We have many young talents, and last year we sent some graduates to work in the library and castle as assistants for training."
A satisfied smile crossed Lansius¡¯ face. "Are they still under Lady Astrid and Cecile?"
"And Eleanor, Sir Justin¡¯s daughter," Calub added.
"Oh, right..." The name sparked Lansius'' memory. "How is she? I promised to look after her, but I rarely find the time."
"She¡¯s fine. She seems happy as Lady Astrid¡¯s lady-in-waiting," Calub reassured him.
The scribe added, "There¡¯s no need for concern, my lord. Lady Audrey meets with her daily."
Lansius was relieved. He had known about Audrey''s shadow court, which assisted in running their House, but only now did he begin to grasp the full scope of its responsibilities. It covered a wide range of duties, including matters he often overlooked. The court, humorously named something like the "Hot Water Club," allowed Lansius to focus on larger issues.
At that moment, Francisca entered the study chamber and met his gaze, though her expression was uncertain.
"It¡¯s all right; we¡¯re finished. What is it?" Lansius inquired.
"My lord, you may wish to intervene." She motioned to the window.
Lansius frowned. "Excuse me," he said to Calub and the scribe, rising to follow Francisca. When he looked outside, he was taken aback. "That¡¯s my wife riding, isn¡¯t it?" he asked, noting Francisca''s awkward smile.
He sighed as Calub joined him at the window, squinting. "My Lord, that looks dangerous."
Lansius rubbed his forehead. "The physician said her pregnancy was far enough along for light activity."
"No noble physician would allow that," Calub replied, his brow furrowing.
Lansius shot him a look, visibly concerned. "Really?"
The alchemist leaned closer to the window. "Is¡ is that a bow?"
Lansius turned to Francisca. "Can you stop her, gently? Tell her I want to share lunch with her."
"Of course, my lord." With impressive agility, Francisca opened the window, leaped out gracefully, and landed smoothly, drawing the awe of several guards. She then made her way toward Lady Audrey.
"My lord," Calub began as they watched the scene unfold in the courtyard.
Lansius glanced at him. "Speak."
"With the airship under maintenance after that long journey, how will you travel?"
"Carriage," Lansius replied. "The workshop recently completed something remarkable, and I intend to test it."
***
The following day, preparations for their departure progressed steadily. Lansius attended to every last detail that required his approval or consideration. This included the humble but highly important pasta. He had tasked Cecile and Carla, who was still declared unfit for duty, with developing a method to create pasta, allowing them to experiment with flour blends, dough consistency, eggs, and drying techniques.
However, he couldn¡¯t devote too much time to this, as another matter of greater importance awaited his attention. Since last season, Dame Daniella had maintained a steady correspondence with him, sending questions, reports, and updates on establishing the Moneylender Guild.
After several exchanges, they were finally ready to launch their services in Three Hills. As Lansius penned his letter of approval to open an account, effectively becoming member number one and founder, a nervous smile tugged at his lips. He held in his grasp something far more formidable and dangerous than armies: banking.
Thomas Jefferson believed that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies.
Yet Lansius knew this was largely a misquote and did not refer to a modern banking institution. Still, concern weighed on his mind as he finished his letter with a final stroke of the quill. With the seal of his House¡ªeffectively, that of the Shogun¡ªthe Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank, or SKY Bank, had come to life.
The scribe, fully aware of the letter¡¯s significance, accepted it with reverence and personally saw to the rider and escort. Such a letter wouldn¡¯t travel by small, rolled hawk mail but would be entrusted to an official messenger.
The rise of this banking institution would ultimately secure funding for future military campaigns and countless innovations. It would, hopefully, allow local businesses and entrepreneurs to thrive. However, Lansius wasn¡¯t naive enough to think he could control such an entity. But he believed that understanding them was the first step toward regulating their power.
He recognized that, in a century or two, banks could disrupt kingdoms and empires even more than nobles and their petty wars. His world¡¯s history was filled with examples of great economic crises brought on by unchecked and reckless practices.
One might even argue that World War II had its roots in banking crises. He exhaled deeply, recalling his knowledge of these matters. Contrary to popular belief, the Weimar Republic post-World War I hadn¡¯t been impoverished. Germany had regained its economic status after the war. However, due to poorly understood currency exchange phenomena, the republic faced bankruptcy when it attempted to purchase pounds sterling to pay for war reparations.
Hyperinflation severely devalued the German mark. Despite a strong economy, the currency and the republic itself became pariahs as prices soared uncontrollably. Eventually, thousands of marks were needed to buy necessities like bread, eggs, and milk.
This artificial economic crisis caused immense suffering for the German people. Just as the situation began to improve, however, the US stock market crashed, ushering in the Great Depression. Driven by greed and highly unregulated practices, this devastating crash had global repercussions. Overnight, many Germans, having invested their savings in the US, saw their wealth vanish. This second blow further damaged the already crippled German economy. With purchasing power lost, businesses began to close, people lost jobs, and the nation was left bitter and resentful, paving the way for radicals to seize power.
Lansius drank his water, absorbing the weight of his reflections. Despite the risks, he understood that banking institutions fueled growth like no other invention. The availability of funds enabled inventors, entrepreneurs, and businesses to flourish, heralding the birth of the modern era. He only hoped that his rules and regulations would be enough to prevent the worst from happening.
Soft knocks sounded on the door. "Yes?" Lansius said, and Margo opened it just a crack to report, "My Lord, the two messengers from Bengrieve request an audience."
Lansius smiled. "Did they tell you their reason?"
"They said they need to deliver your reply to Sir Stan immediately. They even purchased two fresh horses to speed their journey home."
Lansius chuckled, pleased to have competent and motivated people on his side. "Tell them there¡¯s no need to ride alone. They should join me tomorrow, as I¡¯ll deliver the answer to Sir Stan myself in five or six days'' time."
***
Late Spring, 4426
In the aftermath of the failed assassination, the combined might of the Shogunate marched out of Korelia, heading in three directions.
Two hundred Vanguard troops had marched north, led by Sir Harold and Sir Omin, toward the Ornietia Barony, still believed to be under their benefactor''s control.
One hundred Shogunate troops and the Black Knights headed to Korimor, led by Lord Jorge and Sir Michael. There, they would await five hundred reinforcements from Three Hills, including the famed Crimson Knights. Although more men could have been provided, the Lord Shogun chose to keep an adequate reserve within his realm.
Another one hundred Shogunate Troops marched east, led by Lord Robert and the Lord of Galdia, to strengthen their defense in case of provocation from Edessa.
Each force was further bolstered by another hundred voluntary troops¡ªarmed, trained, and equally motivated.
The herculean task of managing the supply lines fell to Sir Omin, who had proven remarkably capable and efficient. Once the central figure in the last Western Lords'' Coalition, he was now working for the Shogunate¡¯s cause. His shrewd leadership, diplomatic skills, deep understanding of merchants, and deft calculations were all crucial in keeping the supply chain moving rapidly and seamlessly.
Meanwhile, the Lord himself had set out for Cascasonne Midlandia, commanding:
Approximately 100 Knights
500 Light Cavalry, Dragoons, and elite Cranequiniers
500 Men-at-Arms as the main army
700 voluntary troops armed with spears, swords, shovels, barbed wire, and crossbows
Under House Lansius and the Shogunate, Lowlandia had transformed from the backwater province it once was, and so had its army and doctrines. Almost everyone was equipped with a backpack and had trained extensively with it, enabling them to march at incredible speeds and easing the burden on the traditional baggage train.
In total, no fewer than 3,000 souls were mobilized, not including the nomads and the supply chain.
The Shogunate¡¯s swift reaction and rapid marches would soon shock Midlandia, which had never anticipated the full might of a united Lowlandia bearing down upon them.
And so, the war for Midlandia began.
***
Chapter 194 : The Blitz Counterturn
Chapter 194
The Blitz Counterturn
Sir Stan
The rainy season had ended, and the fighting around Cascasonne grew fiercer by the day. Lord Bengrieve¡¯s much smaller relief force, led by Sir Stan, was doing its best to support the besieged castle. Through surprise attacks and flanking maneuvers, they¡¯d dealt the larger enemy force a bloody nose. Yet, it was only in a hit-and-run fashion, as they lacked the numbers to offer a pitched battle.
After all, it was two hundred against nine thousand. Lord Bengrieve, however, had entrusted them with an alternate plan. Knowing that an army of that size required a massive amount of food, he instructed them to target the supply lines.
The supplies likely came from Sir Reginald¡¯s staunch allies. Thus, Sir Stan focused his efforts on stalking and ambushing the weaker supply convoys that followed predictable routes.
Early on, he achieved great success, capturing two convoys and, when heavily outnumbered during a third encounter, destroying the supplies by dumping them into a nearby river. Now, after five days of risky stalking, Sir Stan¡¯s men had tracked down another grain transport, moving near an abandoned village.
This would be their fourth, but they knew it would be different from the start. The enemy was better prepared this time, with a heavy escort accompanying the transport. The ambush quickly devolved into a brutal, grinding battle. What should have been a swift, decisive strike turned into a bloody slog as Sir Stan¡¯s men were unable to break the ranks of the four hundred who defended the supply carts.
Knights and foot soldiers hacked through mud and grit. The two sides had once fought under the same banner, but now they were their worst enemies. Any hesitation had long since turned to hatred, each side convinced that their cause was worthier than the others.
Blood soaked into the earth, and the once-peaceful village became a grim battlefield.
"Sir Stan!" an aging lieutenant shouted, stumbling through the chaos, his battered armor weighing him down as he pushed through the thinning line of his allies. Up ahead, he caught sight of his commander directing his forces, trying to regain the momentum.
"Sir Stan!" he called again. This time, the baronet of Toruna turned toward him.
"I hear you. Say your piece," Sir Stan ordered amidst the sound of fighting nearby. He was preparing to rejoin the fray, his squire standing by with his helmet, freshly cleaned except for smudges of blood.
"We can¡¯t keep this up," the lieutenant reported breathlessly. "Our flanks are buckling. We''re far too outnumbered!"
"We¡¯re always outnumbered," Sir Stan replied dismissively, preparing to rally his men. He had fought on foot, unwilling to risk one of his few remaining horses in case of a counterattack.
The lieutenant gripped the baronet¡¯s armored arm, which, like the rest of his gear, was filthy, stained with blood, and battered. "Sir, the new recruits will break and flee at this rate," he urged his voice tight with urgency.
The tone halted Sir Stan. He paused to scan the battlefield and cursed at what he saw. "Damn it!" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. The ambush was unraveling, and they hadn¡¯t even managed to take or destroy the precious grain. "Where are our reinforcements?" he complained, more to himself than anyone else.
Misinterpreting, the lieutenant replied, "There¡¯s been no word from our allies."
Sir Stan stood with his face twisted in frustration and fatigue. He knew he couldn¡¯t win this ambush; not without breaking his men. He looked at his soldiers, their eyes fixed on him with expectation. Gritting his teeth, he finally relented. "Pull back," he called, his voice cutting through the battle noise. "Pull back!"
The order swept through the ranks, and the exhausted force of barely two hundred began their retreat into the cover of the woods, abandoning the grain transport and bloodied escort.
***
Lubina Castle
A knight, his hair damp with sweat, wearing an equally damp arming doublet, approached the corridor with a hurried stride that seemed to herald bad news. The guard recognized him and quickly allowed him entry. As he stepped into the hall, the sounds of heated debate washed over him. A dismissed scout was heading his way, so he motioned for him to report his findings.
The scout obliged and whispered, "The Lowlandians have reached Krasna."
The knight exhaled sharply and nodded, signaling for the scout to leave the hall. Meanwhile, the council continued their debate.
"Radima, Yarosla, and now Krasna. What is our border garrison doing?" shouted another knight who looked as if he¡¯d never fit in a saddle. He was there because he was a close ally of Lord Reginald.
"What is our border garrison strength? I assume they¡¯re likely holding out but being bypassed by cavalry," Lord Reginald commented calmly, seemingly unfazed by the Lowlandian incursions.
"The border defense should have a hundred men-at-arms, along with another hundred from the local garrison and forty riders. Surely they can at least delay, if not prevent, an outbreak," the newly appointed Seneschal replied from his seat.
Lord Reginald turned to his ally. "The garrison should hold. We can probably expect them to break out and start their counterattack."
"My Lord," the newly arrived knight interjected.
"Sir Edmund," Lord Reginald greeted, "Glad to have you joining us."
"What news do you bring?" the Seneschal asked, motioning for Sir Edmund to take a seat.
"There¡¯s no need for that; I¡¯ll be departing again shortly. But let it be known: the situation is dire."
"We¡¯ve assessed it," replied the Seneschal, "and we believe sending Sir Waller with a contingent to the border should¡ª"
"There is no border anymore," Sir Edmund interrupted, his voice rising. "I was three towns away from the border when I found our garrisons in Ostra and Letwana retreating, leaving the towns to the enemy."
The council¡¯s eyes widened in shock, their faces a mixture of disbelief and dread.
"We¡¯ve been flanked from both east and west," Sir Edmund continued somberly. "And worse, we don¡¯t even know where their main force is. Their army advances as rapidly as their cavalry, leaving our garrisons confused. One group from Kornika hailed them, believing them to be allies and asking for directions, only to be ambushed."
"By the Ageless," muttered the large-bellied knight beside Lord Reginald, slumping into his seat.
"That¡¯s exactly how a cavalry-based army moves. Don¡¯t be disheartened; it¡¯s just a large-scale raid," Lord Reginald reassured the hall.
From outside the hall, the guard let in another man under escort, his hurried footsteps echoing as he breathlessly announced, "My Lord, a report from the front."
"What is it this time?" Lord Reginald asked, bracing for bitter news.
"Luka. They¡¯ve surrounded Luka. The city requests your immediate assistance," the soldier pleaded.
The news sent a ripple of murmurs through the council.
Sir Edmund stepped forward, asking the soldier, "Luka? Then they¡¯re not heading for Cascasonne?"
The soldier could only shake his head, unable to answer, and was soon escorted out, his plea left unanswered.
"It¡¯s too far east; it must be a diversion," another knight commented.
"Toruna," the Seneschal remarked, drawing attention to the map of the realm. What they saw unnerved them. The fact that the Lowlandians had managed to encroach on Toruna, a barony loyal to Bengrieve, in just a few days of fighting was a dire development.
"Tell me, what¡¯s their end goal? Think! We can¡¯t have a plan if we don¡¯t know their aim," Lord Reginald pressed his council.
"From Toruna, they could follow the river into Lubina, passing through settlements rich with crops," the Seneschal replied grimly. "They must be heading here," he concluded, and the chamber fell silent.
Sir Edmund placed both hands on the table. "We need everyone here. We must prepare to defend Lubina."
"No," Lord Reginald replied, his voice firm, almost emotional. "Cascasonne must fall," he exclaimed strongly. "With stout heart, Lubina can withstand any siege." He echoed a famous line spoken hundreds of years before.
The council members exchanged unsatisfied glances but decided to comply. "How about pulling garrisons from our northern side?" the Seneschal suggested. "If we''re lucky, we could even hire hired swords from Feodosia."
The council began to hatch a plan to reinforce Lubina while maintaining their stranglehold on Bengrieve¡¯s bastion.
***
Lansius
After their arrival in Orniteia, which had decided to pledge loyalty to Bengrieve, the Shogunate army used it as their staging ground. From there, Lansius launched his Vanguard, Dragoons, and main army in three directions.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Before his main push to Cascasonne, he aimed to paralyze the enemy''s defense by bypassing well-defended places and advancing as deeply as possible, spreading panic and pressuring towns to surrender or forcing their garrisons to flee.
What he encountered, however, was a disorganized defense followed by a major collapse. Against his three-pronged advance, Midlandia¡¯s southern border crumbled like a house of cards. However, this fortunate development concerned Lansius, especially after confirming reports of the 9,000-strong fanatical army besieging Cascasonne. He had naturally expected heavy resistance.
"Ostra and even Krasna," he muttered, naming the small towns that had just surrendered. "This is progressing too smoothly for my liking. I never imagined we¡¯d be advancing this deep in just a few days," he said to Audrey as they rested in their tent after a weary day of travel. Margo was preparing additional amenities inside the newly erected command tent as they settled in for the evening.
"You fear a trap somewhere?" Audrey ventured, studying the map on the table. Lansius didn¡¯t respond, instead leaning over the table and gazing at the map, his chin resting on his right hand.
"Perhaps it¡¯s because of the succession war," he speculated, trying to find a reason.
"No," Audrey responded firmly. "I think we¡¯re simply too good."
Her seemingly oversimplified explanation left Lansius perplexed.
Margo silently brought over a plate of green grapes that Francisca had tested earlier, her instincts keener than any human¡¯s.
"Our brigades are moving so swiftly that it must look as if we¡¯re everywhere at once," Audrey clarified, taking a bite of a green grape.
It was one of the goals he had hoped to achieve, but Lansius was still troubled. "Don¡¯t the Midlandians fear the Lowlandians?"
Audrey frowned. "I thought you¡¯d planned for this, with all the drills and the speeches." She mimicked his firm voice, "Do not damage the farms or the people¡¯s livelihood, or else your blood and soul will fertilize this soil."
Lansius was amused. "I didn¡¯t say the blood and soul part. Who made that up?"
Audrey giggled softly.
"But really, I haven¡¯t prepared for this." Lansius sat back, more relaxed. "Indeed, I¡¯ve kept discipline high so the populace will be more likely to support us. But they should only realize this after they¡¯ve opened the gate, not before."
"Ah, you forget that, above all, they fear your punishment," she said, a teasing glint in her eye.
Lansius chuckled but countered, "I did not eat the souls of the living."
"Well, you did dock my pay last year, remember? Your troops remember it well," Audrey retorted smoothly.
"How does that even help make the Midlandians more compelled to surrender?" Lansius asked, at a loss. Lingering anxieties about ambushes, reports of enemy movements, and constant adjustments to war plans had mentally drained him.
"Our men haven¡¯t faced heavy resistance, so there¡¯s little reason for them to mistreat the populace. Meanwhile, on the other side, you¡¯re quite famous among the Midlandians."
"Famous?" Lansius looked genuinely surprised, which drew polite chuckles from Margo and Francisca nearby.
Audrey turned to them, clearly enjoying the chance for some fun. "It seems the Lord of Lowlandia is completely unaware of his own reputation."
Instead of a grin, Lansius was frowning, shifting uncomfortably. "You mean the ''Black Lord¡¯ who flogged old Servius three times? That hasn¡¯t died out yet?" he asked weakly.
Audrey laughed, as did the others, leaving him even more perplexed.
"The Great Lord Shogun of the Steppe hath forgot his great deeds," Audrey continued, ramping up her teasing. "The victor of four battles, the salt giver, the liberator of Korimor, the grain provider of South Hill, the champion of the Nicopolans, and the savior of Umberland."
"Well..." Lansius tried to keep a firm expression, but a smile broke through. He hadn¡¯t realized he had such a strong reputation.
Audrey took another grape before continuing with a proud smile. "Farkas¡¯ men and the Orange Skalds have confirmed that your reputation precedes you."
"But how?" Lansius asked, curious. "It all happened far from Midlandia."
"You forget that most of your troops were recruited from Midlandia¡¯s lowest ranks," Audrey replied, picking another grape.
"Ah," Lansius realized, feeling a bit foolish.
"Many who joined us in Toruna were once cutthroats, drunkards, and gamblers. Their families had no hope for them. And then they returned as reformed men, clad in fine surcoats, rich tunics, and sturdy boots, their jaws hardened, their eyes softened, their tongues filled with tales of valor, while their purses were heavy with coins. Imagine a hundred of them in towns, cities, and villages."
Lansius nodded, listening intently.
"They will undoubtedly attract attention. Even less interesting stories have spread far. I imagine they become the darlings of taverns, with minstrels flocking to them for tales. Farkas told me he¡¯s already heard at least five songs about you. Not all are flattering, but at least you¡¯re well-known," she added with a sly grin.
Lansius refrained from giving a response, allowing Audrey to continue in a steady tone, "The Midlandians may fear you and distrust the Lowlandians, but they¡¯re also intrigued by your reputation. Besides, we¡¯re not invaders. We¡¯re loyalists to Lord Bengrieve."
He looked at her tenderly. "Your insight is invaluable, My Lady."
Audrey smiled proudly, enjoying his praise, and gently caressed her belly. "I must be getting some help from my son. He¡¯s smart, like you."
"Don¡¯t you mean our son?" Lansius corrected.
"No, he¡¯s mine," she retorted playfully and tossed another grape into her mouth.
Lansius couldn¡¯t resist her teasing anymore; he rose just enough from his seat and kissed her quickly, sucking the juicy grape from her mouth.
"Noo, that one was sweet," she complained, finally realizing what had just happened. Lansius chuckled and left the tent. He wanted to see Sir Omin to oversee their logistics and consult the Hunter guildsman in case of any issues with his hawks.
He had tried to establish a connection with the secretive side of the Hunter guild. They couldn¡¯t afford to be ambushed by another group of assassins. As he walked, the sunset breeze stirred around him, as if beckoning him to admire the golden tapestry of clouds in the sky.
Francisca and several guards were with him. The half-breed was now his personal escort; otherwise, Sir Harold refused to leave his side or take a separate command, reasoning that they were now in a hostile land.
"Hostile land, eh?" he muttered to himself as he walked through the large encampment. With Midlandia crumbling like a sandcastle, Lansius knew he had the chance for a bigger victory. There was truly no longer a reason for a decapitation strike; he knew he could break Reginald and force him to live with his shame.
So heading to Cascasonne is the right choice.
But the issue remained: how to maximize his gain. He needed to capture the people¡¯s support and keep the populace intact.
That very thought stopped him.
"What is it, My Lord?" Francisca asked on behalf of the guards.
Lansius turned to her, knowing she would give an honest answer. "Is it overly ambitious and crazy for me to think of ruling more land?"
Francisca looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "My lord, it would be even crazier if you didn¡¯t. You have a pretext, legal support, and an army that is currently striking fear into the garrisons. I''ve heard the locals singing your name. What more do you need?"
Lansius chuckled. "As you know, I can be foolish at times. Do you think I¡¯ll make a good ruler?"
"You already are," the half-breed replied, then opened her maw to let out a hearty laugh, drawing the attention of his weary men and guards, who watched them eagerly, smiles on their lips.
...
"My Lord," Sir Omin greeted Lansius as he approached his tent, accompanied by Francisca and several guards. Inside, a few men in fine clothing also greeted him with polite bows.
"At ease. I''m just checking things around, but it seems you have company," Lansius remarked casually.
"This is an impeccable timing. Please, allow me to introduce you to the esteemed families of Varsovia." Sir Omin motioned to his guests warmly.
"It¡¯s an honor to meet you," they greeted Lansius.
"I assure you, the honor is all mine," Lansius responded, then got down to business. "I apologize for my army¡¯s intrusion. What I¡¯m doing is regrettable, but alas, your new lord is forcing my hand. Still, on behalf of Lord Bengrieve, please accept our heartfelt apologies."
"My Lord, you don¡¯t need to." Their voices and smiles showed they were thrilled to hear such empathetic words from him. "It is indeed a regrettable situation, but we¡¯re confident we can find a middle ground to resolve this unfortunate issue."
Lansius had long known that humility from a man in his position opened doors more effectively than a haughty appearance. Using Bengrieve¡¯s name, guild connections, and a mix of honeyed words and bribes, they had secured considerable cooperation.
"Gentlemen, I¡¯m all ears," he encouraged them to proceed.
The esquires, likely local landlords, shop owners, and wealthy merchants, exchanged glances before one continued, "As Sir Omin advised us, we wish for Varsovia to declare neutrality in this conflict."
The term "neutrality" was music to Lansius'' ears. It was merely a white pretext to shield them from potential repercussions. In reality, they would offer him anything he needed and more. He had even heard reports that some of his troops had been welcomed into inns, as the city¡¯s hospitality was extraordinarily friendly.
While Sir Reginald claimed to be backed by the educated elites, Lansius had grassroots support. This wasn¡¯t due to his reputation alone but also to House Bengrieve''s centuries-long legacy.
"What wonderful news," Lansius remarked with genuine amusement. "Then, gentlemen, how do you think we should proceed? Perhaps some supplies for my troops? A bit of wine, medicine, and footwraps? We¡¯ll pay upfront and be pleased to inform Lord Bengrieve of your support when he returns."
The esquires¡¯ faces lit up as they considered the proposal. They had likely come risking their lives to protect their city, and in return, they were securing a favorable deal.
Yet, it was also a great deal for Lansius. As the war stratagem stated, a pound of enemy supplies was worth twenty pounds of your own. By purchasing supplies rather than raiding, Lansius depleted his opponent¡¯s resources while preserving his own. This approach also allowed him to gain the locals¡¯ trust and support; a boon too good to pass up.
The money spent was almost insignificant compared to the cost of besieging town after town, losing precious time, and risking troops¡¯ lives before the upcoming battle for Midlandia''s supremacy.
With their business concluded, Lansius assigned horsemen to escort the esquires back to Varsovia.
"The fool conquers the land; the wise conquer the mind," Sir Omin recalled, turning to Lansius as he praised, "I must say, it is an excellent plan, My Lord."
Lansius smiled at the praise as they watched the esquires depart. "You did all the brewing; I¡¯m merely pouring it into a goblet. The question is, who¡¯ll enjoy the goblet?"
The former Lord of Korimor chuckled softly. "It wouldn¡¯t be Bengrieve; preferably the baroness."
Lansius chuckled before commenting, "These people clearly adore Bengrieve more than the Saint Candidate."
"Aye, the border and southern parts of Midlandia are like that. But as we go northwest, we¡¯ll be more likely to meet the tip of a spear than open arms," Sir Omin warned.
"That is only natural," Lansius replied, undeterred. "After all, we don¡¯t come in peace."
With Varsovia declaring neutrality, Lansius would begin his pivot toward Cascasonne. It would be three days of forced march for his main army, while his cavalry would remain behind to sow chaos as a smokescreen. Their situation was now precarious, as they had moved deep into Midlandia with no reliable allies but opportunists and turncoats.
***
Sir Stan, Cascasonne
The baronet and his weary troops had just returned to their hidden camp in the woods. It was their tenth or so campsite, as they had to keep moving to avoid capture. They were up against an enemy force of ten thousand, with at least two thousand dedicated to hunting them down. Because of this constant threat, Sir Stan¡¯s once-fierce surprise attacks on their flanks had been severely diminished.
Now, they had to operate from a greater distance, slowing their response times and limiting their flexibility, with the fear of traps lurking everywhere. Moreover, their strategy of harassing the enemy¡¯s food supply had failed. Not only had their last attack fallen short, but Sir Stan had also learned that their opponents were accustomed to hunger and showed no sign of rebellion despite dwindling rations.
The enemy was evidently giving their best, even so far as to dedicate three saint candidates to accompany the army, rallying the soldiers daily with sermons that preached poverty and hunger as the swiftest path to salvation.
Sir Stan had barely reached his tent¡¯s entrance when one of his captains, along with several men, found him. "Sir, you¡¯d better come with us to the front. The situation has changed," the captain said cryptically, though concern was evident.
The mood immediately grew tense. "What¡¯s happened?" Sir Stan asked.
"They¡¯ve intensified the assault since yesterday. We''ve seen it ourselves, and we fear the castle may fall today," the captain reported grimly.
Sir Stan was immediately alerted and asked, "And what about our men in the south? Any movement from our allies?"
The men exchanged glances and shook their heads weakly. It was a question born of desperation. Everyone knew there was simply no way for even the Lord of Korelia to reach Cascasonne this early. Even if he received the messenger on time and reacted spontaneously, without considering gathering the banners or stocking supplies, the march alone would take at least fifteen days, just to reach the outskirts of the province.
Sir Stan looked to the sky, recalling Hannei and the maids he had once flirted with. His throat felt parched as he exhaled deeply. Never before had he felt so powerless. It seemed Cascasonne would fall before reinforcements could ever arrive.
***
Chapter 195 : A Spin of Fate
Chapter 195
A Spin of Fate
Cascasonne
The guardsmen burst into the gatehouse, breathless and bleeding, their eyes wide with panic. Inside, crossbowmen kept releasing bolt after bolt through the arrow slits, their shouts mixing with the clash of steel as more enemies reached the battlements.
¡°Are you the last ones?¡± the lieutenant roared, eyes darting as chaos erupted around him. ¡°Answer me!¡±
¡°We¡¯re the last!¡± a guardsman wheezed from the floor.
His confirmation sent his allies scrambling to bar the door with a thick wooden plank. The metallic scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, while the shouting grew louder outside. It was clear the enemy had taken the battlements. After enduring a siege that lasted through the entire winter and almost all spring, Cascasonne¡¯s defenses had finally been breached.
Amid the chaos, two men sat in a shadowed corner of the room as if detached from the ongoing battle. The senior guard stroked his thin beard, observing the scene with calm, tired eyes. ¡°It seems we¡¯re losing it,¡± he said to the steward, his voice unnervingly steady.
¡°Well, it can¡¯t be helped.¡± The old steward turned to meet his friend''s gaze. "Ever since our alchemist ran out of supplies, the result was inevitable.¡±
¡°Indeed, it can¡¯t be helped,¡± the old guard echoed with a resigned nod.
It was unfortunate that their whole defense had been built on the liberal use of burning sands. The fine white powder caused a debilitating burning sensation to the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, and worse if inhaled. They depended on it so much that the alchemists assumed the role of defense coordinator, as they knew best the spread and limitations of their potent weapons.
It was the only thing that prevented a mass assault and made their situation controllable despite being greatly outnumbered. But even with the alchemists working day and night, scrambling to create fresh batches from any ingredients they could get their hands on, they had depleted the stockpile.
Nearby, Hannei sat on the floor, still clad in plate armor splattered with blood and grime. Surrounding her was a ragtag group of courageous individuals: kitchen assistants, gardeners, and even servants who had taken up arms in desperation. As expected, many were injured, even in their roles as reserves. The brutal toll of combat had reached everyone. Their stares were now empty, aimless, tired, and in pain.
The Frenchwoman''s hair was now short-cropped and matted, and her face was streaked with sweat and blood. She had fought tirelessly, leading her makeshift force and joining the guardsmen repeatedly, only to see them pushed back and cornered, barely surviving a desperate stand. Hearing and absorbing the nonchalant exchange between the two old men finally ignited her frustration. Rising to her feet, she approached them. ¡°What can¡¯t be helped?¡±
The two turned to her but were slow to respond.
Hannei slammed the table with her bandaged hand, raw and aching from wielding her sword. ¡°What can¡¯t be helped?¡±
The steward tried to reason. ¡°Please, Lady Hannei¡ª¡±
¡°Do not advise me as if I were a noble! We are losing the castle,¡± Hannei howled, her voice driven by anger at Bengrieve''s seemingly botched plan and the fear of torture and certain death. By now, the enemy must have learned that the defenders employed mages, and what besiegers did to captured mages was always brutal. Worse, she knew there was no way out for her.
Mages couldn''t escape from sieges; they would have to surrender, or the enemy would kill everyone suspected of magic out of fear of assassination. Thus, for Hannei, losing would mean facing the certainty of torture that made her skin crawl.
Meanwhile, the two old men did not answer but slowly rose from their seats. The wounded servants, gardener boys, kitchen assistants, and guardsmen at their posts looked on, except for the crossbowmen who were frantically reloading and firing through the arrow slits.
With moist, reddened eyes, Hannei was about to press further, but the steward raised his hand. ¡°Patience. We¡¯re still following our lord¡¯s orders.¡±
That failed to stop Hannei. ¡°You know I have a lot of respect for you, but any moment now, they¡¯ll come with axes and hammers to tear down this door. If you have something, do it now,¡± her eyes glowed an unnatural golden hue.
The steward, suspecting her intention, quickly tried his best. ¡°Please, calm down. We can still avoid this."
¡°Avoid? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re going to surrender?¡± she asked, her eyes blazing with disbelief and fury. She had no intention of allowing herself to be tortured. It pained her to recall that mages couldn¡¯t suffocate themselves by drawing air from their lungs; they would lose focus and faint before succeeding. Yet, the thought of using her knife on her own throat was unthinkable. Suddenly, the old dread of being mutilated and eaten by goblins resurfaced. She had seen several explorers end that way. Her breathing quickened, and the air felt suffocating. Her mind raced as she struggled to recall the familiar faces of Calub and Felis.
¡°No. We¡¯re not surrendering. There¡¯s always a plan, even when losing,¡± the steward exclaimed firmly, trying to reassure her.
¡°What plan?¡± she pressed, regaining control of herself while reminding herself that she still had Tia. The little girl needed her. Moreover, she had taken it upon herself to be responsible for Lansius¡¯ family.
Instead of answering, the steward and the senior guard motioned for the guards to help move the large wooden cypress table they¡¯d been using for maps. The men rushed to help, revealing that underneath the table, the wooden planking was removable, concealing a hidden trapdoor.
¡°Don¡¯t tell me it''s an escape route,¡± Hannei said.
The old guard chuckled, while the steward explained, ¡°No one would build an escape route here; it would be too difficult to construct or conceal.¡±
¡°Then?¡± Hannei asked as the men opened the trapdoor, revealing a storage space filled with wooden caches.
¡°They¡¯re coming with shields,¡± one of the crossbowmen warned, still firing tirelessly to keep the encroaching enemy at bay. Stacks of bolts and crossbow parts lay scattered around them, three crossbows had been broken from prolonged use since the start of spring.
¡°We have time; they¡¯ll be more focused on bringing ladders and climbing down into the castle yard,¡± the senior guard shouted to steady the men, as the others carefully pulled out the boxes one by one.
¡°Is that a weapons cache?¡± Hannei asked as they pried one open.
"More burning sand grenades?" another asked with great interest. It took several attempts; the lid was glued shut with a thick, tar-like substance.
¡°We¡¯ll soon find out,¡± the senior guard said. Meanwhile, the steward moved to another chamber, where large kegs of water were kept for fire emergencies. He ordered the men to remove several older, smaller kegs, each sealed with the same black, tar-like substance.
Hannei watched, her eyes darting between the men and the encroaching noise outside the gatehouse. Just then, they managed to pry open the wooden lid, revealing the contents: long objects carefully arranged on dried hay. The sight stunned her¡ªit wasn¡¯t the round clay or glass bottles she had expected. Worse, she recognized the shape.
¡°It¡¯s just an old prop,¡± one man commented to his friend with a frown. They recognized it too.
But the old steward suddenly exclaimed, ¡°You know this. You¡¯ve been trained with it. Now, it¡¯s time to use it for real.¡±
...
Sir Stan
In great haste and with the ever-present fear of patrols hunting them, Sir Stan and his men advanced closer to the besieged castle. They crept from the edge of the forest, where their scouts had been keeping watch. It wasn¡¯t the most advantageous position, but it was relatively safe, and they had secured the area.
Immediately, Sir Stan¡¯s eyes caught sight of dozens of ladders propped against the walls, with steady streams of attackers scaling them. The ferocity of the assault was staggering. His heart sank as he surveyed the scene, quickly realizing the dire state of the defense. Since his departure to attack the supply convoy, the deep defensive ditch had been completely filled in, and the attackers had brought forward wider ladders.
The counterattacks from crossbow bolts were sporadic, coming only from the tall towers, and no attackers fell from the battlements anymore. It was clear that several wall sections had been overrun. The assault was so overwhelming that, even with Hannei, two other mages, and an alchemist armed with a healthy stockpile of potent items, the defenders were losing their hold on the battlements.
Now, the attackers had secured a foothold, and more swarms of men climbed the ladders unimpeded.
¡°What do you see?¡± one of their hidden men whispered.
¡°The castle¡¯s west battlements have fallen,¡± the lookout beside Sir Stan replied.
Several men turned, their faces marked by shock. ¡°What?¡±
¡°Cascasonne has fallen,¡± Sir Stan stated, the bitter words leaving a sour taste in his mouth.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
A stunned silence swept through the gathered men, broken only by sharp intakes of breath and disbelieving murmurs.
Sir Stan struggled to place the blame. Was it on himself? Yet, he recalled that Bengrieve had never explained anything about Cascasonne¡¯s defense, only insisted that it would hold. ¡°Where is his master stroke?¡± he muttered, clenching his fist until his knuckles turned white, aching to strike something.
¡°Sir, a scout has seen us," the lookout warned. "We must retreat.¡±
But Sir Stan was still conflicted. Losing Cascasonne would be the final nail in the coffin for him. All the effort and blood of his men would be in vain. Worse, his Toruna barony, held by his family for generations and built with his father''s hard work, would be confiscated.
¡°Sir,¡± the man urged again, this time with more urgency, as horsemen began to close in on them.
¡°I hear you,¡± Sir Stan said, his voice strained as he wrestled with the reality before him. He couldn''t fathom that he couldn''t save the maids he had shared a bed with or that he would have to abandon Hannei. Even bold, condescending, and fierce, the mage was more than just a friend.
The captain emerged from a different spot and grabbed Sir Stan¡¯s arm, pulling him back. ¡°We must leave. There¡¯s nothing we can do here.¡±
Staring at the captain, the baronet asked, ¡°Bengrieve said Cascasonne would hold. You heard it, right?¡±
The captain¡¯s face was somber as he continued to tug Sir Stan toward the rear. ¡°I heard it,¡± he said. "I heard it clearly," he repeated, preparing their escape.
Suddenly, piercing screams and strangled shrieks erupted along the battlements. It was so abrupt and chilling that Sir Stan and the captain exchanged a stunned look before scrambling back to their observation spot. They saw a sickly green fog rolling over the attackers'' ranks on top of the battlements, spreading like a living, corrosive tide.
Wherever the green gas crept, chaos followed. Men clutched their throats and fled in panic, their bodies convulsing, limbs twisted in unnatural spasms. Some clawed at their eyes and faces, gasping as if their very nerves had ignited with fire. A few, maddened by pain, threw themselves from the battlements, while others were too paralyzed to move, vomiting or choking on air that seemed to burn them from the inside.
"Green miasma," Sir Stan muttered, recognizing the weapon, one even more potent than the burning sands.
"Is this a clever trap?" the captain asked, his spirits rising.
"No," Sir Stan shook his head. "Green miasma is better used near the ground, where it lasts longer. On top of the battlements, it¡¯ll easily scatter in the wind."
The captain glanced at him. "So this is desperation?"
Sir Stan clicked his tongue. He knew even the green miasma wouldn¡¯t be enough. It might cause panic and accidental deaths, but it would only buy the defender a small amount of time. They would still need to wrest control of the battlements with spears and swords.
Out of nowhere, loud, jarring cracks filled the air. The sound was sharp and unlike the clash of swords or the dull thud of arrows striking wood. It made even Sir Stan and his men cower in surprise.
¡°What was that?¡± the captain asked.
¡°It¡¯s nothing like alchemist bottles," Sir Stan commented, eyes wide. They scanned the castle walls just as the noise reverberated again. From their vantage point, it wasn¡¯t clear what caused the sound, but panicked shouts and screams erupted from the contested battlements.
"By the Ageless," the captain muttered as a tense pause settled over the battlefield. Confusion had spread among the attackers. Even the advancing group halted, their horses skittish and agitated.
Thin trails of white smoke coiled up from the battlements. Suddenly, red-golden flashes erupted, coloring the smoke as piercing sounds shattered the air again. Attackers fell from the battlements, and mass confusion broke out as those on top frantically tried to climb down. To their horror, more flashes and piercing sounds erupted. Blood and bodies rained downward.
Even from a distance, Sir Stan could see the carnage unfold. He was about to speak when a tremendous explosion erupted somewhere beneath the wall, right in the thick of the enemy¡¯s formation. The blast and shockwave flung dirt, splintered ladders, and dismembered limbs into the air. Against all odds, unearthly powers had been unleashed by the castle defenders.
Sir Stan didn¡¯t understand why the defenders had waited to employ such a weapon¡ªwhether it was a ploy to break the attackers¡¯ spirit, or a last resort¡ªbut he knew it meant the castle still had a fighting chance. He locked eyes with his captain, who quickly nodded in agreement.
¡°Bring the horses!¡± the captain shouted to his men. ¡°The wind favors us.¡±
¡°Men, the time is nigh! We shall join in this carnage!¡± Sir Stan rallied his men, who quickly took to the field. They knew it would be like a cat against a lion, but even a small bite might give their side a fighting chance.
***
Battlement
The smoke had yet to dissipate when the female mage led her men in a rush against the remaining survivors. Their arrival at the harrowing scene struck terror into the attackers. The tide had turned, and now they were the prey. Yet nobody wanted to surrender their lives. In a great struggle, they gathered their courage and brandished their arms.
"Come and take it!" the new Midlandia army roared. Their lives were not yet forfeited.
"Saint Nay will save us from this wretched life," echoed another, as they regrouped to form a cohesive line. However, their effort was fraught with hardships as many were debilitated by their wounds and the terror-inducing green miasma.
To the defenders, the new Midlandia army''s shouts rang hollow. Clad in full plate, the female mage charged head-on at the front of her men, a force half composed of guardsmen, half a ragtag group. Her sword style matched the men she led: bold and reckless, without finesse or honed skill, yet deadly. Her movements were basic, almost a mockery of formal sword styles, but none could deny their bloody results.
The mage believed she was granting her opponents a merciful death, as inhaling a great deal of green miasma led to a slow, agonizing end. More importantly, their survival depended on this fight, and she had no reservations left about taking lives. She wielded her magic to the fullest like when she¡¯d fought fell beasts in the labyrinth, and with every blow, thrust, and strike, she pressed the enemy further into a corner along the narrow battlements.
Advancing much further than the rest of her group, she fought like a possessed spirit in the thick of the enemy¡¯s ranks. Her armor turned red from the blood of her opponents.
Deafening screams did not make her pause, and none of the spear and sword tips brandished against her could dissuade her from claiming lives. What finally stopped her was a splatter of blood that seeped through the gaps in her visor. Only then did she realize that hot blood had leaked into the crevices of her armor, soaking into her arming doublet and dripping uncomfortably down her neck.
She stood poised for another attack, her sword ready, while the panicked Midlandians shrank back, pointing their spears like cornered men facing a red-clad monster. Their shield-bearers struggled to protect them from bolts that still raining down from the towers.
The mage noticed that the stone floor had become dark and slippery beneath her feet. Her eyes were blurred, her breath ragged, and she felt the stifling heat building inside her armor. After several attempts, she opened her visor, revealing a fierce yet feminine face with golden hair peeking from beneath her helmet.
Her opponents gasped; they had never expected to see a blonde knight¡ªlet alone a mage. One soldier clutched his wooden rosary necklace, beginning to pray to Saint Nay.
¡°I hear your murmurs,¡± the blonde mage addressed them in a clear, cutting voice, while her own group formed at her back, brandishing swords, spears, crossbows, and their new accursed weapons.
The attackers dared not respond. ¡°Your hearts beat with false conviction,¡± she said, continuing. ¡°Sons of Midlandia, listen to me. There is no salvation to be found here, only death. Go home, return to your wife¡¯s embrace. Don¡¯t follow your brethren to their tragic fate.¡± She nudged toward the bodies strewn across the floor, limbs missing, wounds gaping, and eyes empty.
¡°Don''t listen to her!" one of the men insisted from the crowd. "Saint Nay will save us!¡±
¡°Blasph¨¨me!¡± the mage responded harshly in her foreign tongue. ¡°Your Saint is nothing but a false god. That¡¯s why you¡¯re losing¡ªeven after months of fighting against women and children.¡±
Only then did the attackers realize that among the defenders were young and feminine faces.
Suddenly, noises from below caught their attention, and both sides looked to see a surprise cavalry charge tearing through the encampment, wreaking havoc and causing great destruction. For the first time in months, the forces loyal to Lord Bengrieve finally committed to an all-out attack. The surprise attack finally forced the remaining attackers to throw down their weapons.
¡°We yield,¡± some declared, and when the fanatics tried to protest, they shoved them forward, pressing them toward the blonde knight.
¡°Do you yield?¡± the mage asked the three fanatics.
¡°Never,¡± one spat. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than betray my Saint¡¯s teachings.¡± Grabbing her sword, he lunged at her.
Her men rushed to her aid, but none could approach. An ethereal wind formed around her, holding everyone back, including the fanatic¡¯s blade. She took his sword from his hand with her left hand as effortlessly as a maiden plucking a flower.
The fanatic was about to try again, but shouts and tremors from below caught his attention. He looked down to see the cavalry, which had wreaked havoc across the field, now turning toward the wall, forcing the remaining attackers to abandon their ladders.
Before anyone realized it, the mage had placed the tip of her sword on the man¡¯s chest. ¡°If you wish to die for your faith, be my guest.¡±
The man finally relented, shrinking back in fear, marking the end of their struggle.
¡°Lady Hannei, we¡¯re victorious!¡± one of her men shouted, tears streaming down his face as the defenders rushed to secure the remaining attackers.
The mage turned to him, offering a faint smile before beginning her walk back toward the gatehouse. She knew that this victory could only be attributed to the Lord of this castle. She had only taken a few unsteady steps when she collapsed into the waiting arms of her men. They carefully carried her to the gatehouse, where many gathered around, calling her name in reverence.
¡°That¡¯s not my name,¡± she whispered, feeling the heat radiating from her body, which kept rising. She wasn¡¯t like Sir Morton, who had trained all his life. Her last reckless action had taken an extreme toll on her body.
¡°Tanya and Tia, take good care of them,¡± she said urgently to the people who grasped her hand. Suddenly, fresh blood came from her nose, alerting everyone who hurriedly undid her armor to look for wounds.
¡°She has a fever,¡± one shouted.
¡°Get me a sharp knife,¡± another replied, preparing for bloodletting.
She was in pain, yet oddly, she had no regrets. For the first time in her life, she was doing it for someone else. She fought at the front not for glory or fame, but to ensure no more losses on her side. Her eyes became unfocused, and her voice turned faint. ¡°My birth name. It¡¯s Valerie.¡±
While many hastily tended to her with gentle care, outside, the defenders seized the opportunity. With the battlements firmly in their grasp and the ladders left unguarded, they, in a stroke of ingenuity, pulled them up, capturing dozens. This secured a critical advantage, delaying the enemy¡¯s supremacy for several more days.
The steward stood at the tower overlooking everything. One of his men stood next to him, resting the new weapon against the window.
¡°You¡¯re trained for this, yes?¡± he asked.
¡°Trained?¡± The man looked uncertain. ¡°I thought it was just a prop for play. I never knew it was actually real.¡± He offered a nervous grin.
The steward chuckled dryly. Only a few of the most trusted knew about the dwarven weapon brought to life again. It was one of House Bengrieve¡¯s secrets. They hadn¡¯t maintained a costly relationship with explorers simply to fill their collections like mindless nobles. In truth, they were gathering samples to study and replicate. The musket and the gray powder were among their creations, constantly improved upon.
¡°A prop for play,¡± the steward mused as he headed downstairs through the stone spiraling staircase.
For three generations, the men of the castle had been trained for a play unique to Cascasonne. They learned to use these dwarven weapons and were taught to handle them as if they were real. They practiced with sand in place of gray powder and metal balls as projectiles, even using loud metal clashes to simulate the noise.
They hadn¡¯t known until now that the real weapon existed. It was only to be used if the castle were overrun. However, they had never anticipated facing the full force of Midlandia. Sir Reginald¡¯s rise to power, along with his alliance with the fanatics they had originally introduced, was beyond their wildest imagination.
The new concept of organized religion had been intended to counter the Ageless One¡¯s influence, to prepare Midlandia to separate itself from the Imperium. Instead, it had turned against them. Now, even with these new weapons, the steward wasn¡¯t sure if they could hold out.
With the abundance of forest nearby and likely thousands of men remaining, siege ladders could be rebuilt within days. Worse, the castle certainly didn¡¯t have ten or twenty thousand bullets and gray powder to fend off all the fanatics. They were running out of options.
***
Chapter 196 : The Final Flourish
Chapter 196
The Final Flourish
Lansius
House Lansius¡¯ vanguard continued advancing deeper into Midlandia, moving in the general direction of Cascasonne. They bypassed enemy strong points to encircle and destroy token garrison forces if the opportunity presented itself. Their main objective was to probe and break through the opponent¡¯s lines of defense, confusing the garrisons, and making it difficult for them to respond.
Following the training instilled by Lansius, the vanguard operated differently from traditional armies, which still adhered to established, unspoken rules. The vanguard made decisions independently to reach their objectives, including when to eat, rest, and march. And after they incorporated two half-breeds as honorary members, even movements in the dark were possible.
As a result, their movements were unpredictable and difficult to follow. To the enemy, it appeared as if several hundred troops were appearing everywhere, alarming and confusing the garrison commanders.
What Lansius demanded of them was, in essence, a coordinated lightning warfare, or what allied commanders referred to as blitzkrieg.
In support of this strategy, Omin had been busy, since Korelia, pulling strings with the guilds and now currying favor with the Midlandian lower nobility. These efforts were finally bearing fruit. For the guilds, aligning with the Shogunate was the wisest choice. They cared only for growth and wealth accumulation, and Lord Bengrieve had been a generous patron¡ªone they hoped to see restored.
Lansius capitalized on that sentiment to move unimpeded, avoiding unnecessary skirmishes, buying supplies freely, and generally not needing to pacify every city and settlement.
Moreover, he had prepared a solid diversion. In the east, Lansius had ordered his Dragoons to advance toward Toruna, trusting Farkas to lead them. Although the detachment¡¯s strength was only 300, each rider carried a soldier on a spare horse, effectively doubling their manpower.
Their last message had been favorable: they had managed to liberate Toruna after several skirmishes. Lansius instructed the skirmishers, more famously known as the Black Bandits, to defend the barony, while allowing the Dragoons to press forward, sowing chaos deeper into enemy territory.
Meanwhile, Lansius, with his main Tercio formation, marched rapidly, bypassing towns and cities and garrisoning several neutral ones to secure his supply lines.
Though he didn¡¯t use the airship, Lansius was in prime condition, as was Audrey. Their journey in a carriage with an improved chassis and suspension had been surprisingly agreeable. Somehow, they had found a way to make it comfortable. It all started when the group of smiths and craftsmen struggled to find the right suspension for the upcoming campaign. There were several factors to consider, but it boiled down to comfort, handling, speed, and durability.
Too much comfort would sacrifice handling. Great durability meant slower speed, harsher ride, and less maneuverability. However, lower durability increased the risk of breakdown or catastrophic failure.
Instead of selecting one solution, they proposed accompanying Lansius on the campaign, reasoning that they could assist with repairs for all carriages and carts, especially Lansius¡¯ own. He quickly saw parallels to a modern off-road rally and gave his full support. Thus, on this march, he had a dedicated team of mechanics who checked, fixed, and adjusted the carriages at every stop.
For Lansius and Audrey, crossing the Great Plains felt like a rally: the Korelia-Midlandia Rally.
Because of their great efforts, sometimes working from dusk to dawn to replace or tune the undercarriage, Audrey could sleep comfortably along the road. This was also thanks to the scouts'' diligence in providing the best paths for the carriages and informing them of road changes so adjustments could be made. They traveled at a good speed, able to keep up with the main army¡¯s rapid march across the Great Plains and Midlandia.
However, their progress was finally stalled.
The vanguard was but a day¡¯s march from Cascasonne when they were bogged down by marshes. The fanatics had demolished the only bridge in the area, forcing them to construct a pontoon bridge. When Lansius and the main army arrived, the bridge was still under construction.
Observing the progress, Lansius decided to let his army rest early. ¡°Keep patrols. I don¡¯t like the situation,¡± he said to Sir Harold, who accompanied him.
¡°You suspect foul play, My Lord?¡± asked the tall, ever-reliable knight and champion of his House, as he watched a few townsfolk observing them from atop a hill.
¡°What exactly did they say about who destroyed the bridge?¡± Lansius asked.
¡°They mentioned a group of unknown men in dark robes working behind their backs, and that they found the bridge already broken when they looked the next day.¡±
"Dark robes," Lansius muttered, considering it likely a convenient lie as he observed the remains of the bridge. ¡°Do you believe them?¡±
Sir Harold, a Midlandian, shook his head. ¡°I rarely come here, but I know it¡¯s a fairly old wooden bridge. However, I think it would take at least a hundred men to do this.¡±
Lansius nodded in agreement and instructed, ¡°Pick smart, capable, but unassuming men, and go quietly into the town. See if children are playing or women working.¡±
¡°If not?¡± The knight caught on.
Lansius gazed at him. ¡°If not, it means the townsfolk are the fanatics themselves.¡±
The knight turned to the townsfolk observing them from atop a hill. ¡°What do you want us to do if that¡¯s the case?¡±
¡°Nothing except to keep our guards up. We can¡¯t afford to confront them. My concern is blades in the dark or saboteurs among them. Alert the staff, and tell them not to accept food or buy ale or supplies from there.¡±
¡°Acknowledged, My Lord.¡± The knight then left with his staff, leaving Lansius with Francisca and the guards.
As Sir Omin had warned, the farther they went, the harder the resistance became. Several towns had barricaded themselves and even set fires to some villages. Worse, Lansius had heard reports from his agents that the granaries in the neighboring towns and villages were nearly empty. He had to admit that the situation had deteriorated rapidly.
His army was now exhausted; despite good boots, their feet were blistered from the long marches, and their shoulders were burdened by the straps of their backpacks. They had lost count of how many villages and towns they had crossed. The spirits of the Lowlandians were only buoyed by the Midlandians among them, who were all too happy to return despite the circumstances.
Lansius observed the marshes again and studied the long wooden bridge stretching from one patch of solid land within the marshes to another. He made estimates based on the partially constructed pontoon bridge and didn¡¯t like what he saw.
It would take at least two days, even if he put his small corps of trained military engineers to work day and night.
The marshes were deep and wide, effectively isolating several towns and villages from one another. The map hadn¡¯t shown this, and the scout hadn¡¯t anticipated that anyone would destroy such a remote bridge, far from the main route. Right now, they were scrambling to find another crossing, but they knew it was futile. If another suitable spot existed, the locals would have built a bridge there long ago.
Despite the failure, Lansius didn¡¯t place the blame on them. He knew such oversights were fatal but unfortunately common. Still, he hadn¡¯t expected the situation to be this bad. Gazing at Francisca, he said, ¡°If the enemy advances from the rear, we¡¯ll be in big trouble.¡±
¡°But, My Lord, your army is eager and could easily turn around to face them,¡± Francisca replied.
¡°Yes, but our only chance is to strike them hard and fast. We can¡¯t afford to hold out here for more than three days.¡±
Francisca was alerted. ¡°How come?¡±
"The water,¡± Lansius explained. ¡°With the marshes this deep, finding fresh water will be difficult. We have nearly two thousand men, and I doubt the wells in the town and nearby villages can sustain us.¡±
¡°Then we should make haste and move to a better spot,¡± Francisca suggested.
¡°Backtracking will cost us a four-day delay,¡± Lansius heaved heavily. ¡°For them to destroy the bridge... This is a competent, well-informed, and desperate foe. We¡¯re not just up against Reginald; the Saint fanatics have a mind of their own.¡±
Francisca could only nod. Not wanting to dishearten her, Lansius said on a lighter note, ¡°Well, at least now we know that Cascasonne is still safe.¡±
The half-breed looked surprised. ¡°Was the Hunter guildsman able to make contact?¡±
¡°No, he wasn¡¯t. His hawk was from Nicopola, so it¡¯s unfamiliar with Midlandia,¡± Lansius explained.
¡°Then how do you know about Cascasonne?¡±
¡°The bridge,¡± he replied. ¡°If Cascasonne had fallen, they wouldn¡¯t need to break the bridge. Breaking it indicates that the city is still resisting, and they¡¯re trying to delay us.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
After a pause, Francisca said, ¡°My lord, I¡¯ve been thinking.¡±
¡°Yes?¡± Lansius replied.
¡°Since you¡¯re with Sir Harold, I believe two of my brethren and I should make the crossing and run toward Cascasonne. I can still make it tonight. Even with just three of us, we can disrupt the enemy¡¯s camp and spread terror.¡±
Lansius smiled. He wanted to pat Francisca on the arm but refrained, unsure whether it was appropriate. ¡°I admire your courage, but I won¡¯t let you risk yourself on such a reckless mission, especially without adequate support.¡±
Francisca bowed her head at his praise.
Lansius inhaled deeply and said, ¡°I¡¯ve already told the army to rest, but I think it¡¯s prudent to move another detachment to bolster our rearguard.¡±
Just as they were about to head back to camp, a wave of activity rose from the direction of their rear.
¡°Something is happening,¡± Francisca warned the group.
Two riders galloped toward Lansius, prompting Francisca and the guards to form a human barricade. Their swords and Xbows ready.
¡°State your intentions,¡± one of the senior guards called toward the newcomers.
¡°My lord, we¡¯ve spotted movement,¡± one of the riders reported as he dismounted.
¡°What movement? Who?¡± Lansius demanded, stepping toward them.
¡°Cavalry approaching from the other side of the marsh,¡± the other rider reported.
Lansius frowned. ¡°On the other side of the marsh?¡±
Nobody welcomed this news. Building the pontoon bridge alone would be difficult, and now they would likely have to fight their way across. Things had gone from bad to worse.
***
Korelia
It was nighttime when Sigmund invited Sir Morton for a late dinner in the Great Keep. The knight was about to board the airship, which had just finished its much-needed maintenance after the long journey to Nicopola. Tonight, they would be heading to Korimor and then on to Midlandia to participate in the campaign.
¡°Gratitude for this fine meal, and I apologize for not taking you back to South Hill,¡± the Black Knight captain said as they enjoyed a pale ale after dinner.
¡°The gratitude is all mine. Thank you for your help in South Hill and the ride,¡± Sigmund replied.
¡°It¡¯s going to be a long ride back,¡± Sir Morton said as a matter of fact.
¡°Not an issue. I¡¯ll be enjoying my leisurely ride to South Hill through the new postal route.¡± The skald then added humorously, ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone, but frankly, I¡¯m not in a hurry to return. Governing a city is a mess.¡±
Even the usually stoic Sir Morton chuckled, amused by the honest remark. ¡°I don¡¯t envy any man in such a position.¡±
¡°That is wise. Aside from South Hill¡¯s less-than-merry nobles, I also have this new pirate issue brewing in the Three Hills coastal area, and I don¡¯t know what to do with them.¡±
Sir Morton didn¡¯t express anything on his face but said, ¡°If Corinthia is behind it, then¡¡±
Sigmund nodded. ¡°The ride will give me plenty of time to think about it.¡±
Sitting straight without looking weary, the black knight captain did not respond but listened attentively.
Sigmund continued, "Pirates aside, I''m quite excited to see the upcoming South Trade caravan."
"With most of the retinues heading to Midlandia, I think it''s only proper for you to take charge of the caravan''s security," Sir Morton suggested.
"The Lord has already appointed someone else. And I''m only too happy not to take on more burdens," Sigmund quipped.
His statement piqued Sir Morton¡¯s interest. "My stay in South Hill has been limited. How much trouble is there?"
"I fear the region will remain challenging for several years. As the Lord Shogun has told me, it¡¯ll be hard to change people¡¯s habits¡ªespecially when it comes to asking spoiled Houses to endure hardships." He smiled, finding the notion ironic.
"The Lord Shogun seems knowledgeable in broad matters."
"Indeed, he is," Sigmund replied with a hint of pride. "That''s why I''m grateful for your brief stay; it¡¯s helped stabilize things."
"I''m not sure how, but I''m glad my presence helped," Sir Morton replied, his tone steady.
"It really has. The look on the nobles'' faces as you arrived on the black airships was beyond satisfying," Sigmund confirmed, amused. "They fear the Black Knights. And to see a gargantuan airship, they must be thinking it could easily bring a contingent of Black Knights to their doorsteps. That¡¯ll put more mental hurdles in place, keeping them from trying anything foolish."
Sir Morton offered a stiff yet satisfied smile at the praise.
Amid their conversation, Sterling and Claire appeared in the hall, dressed in fur clothing, ready for their flight.
"There goes our evening," Sigmund remarked, pouring more ale into their goblets. "I can''t keep you any longer, but please, let me honor you with one last toast for your safe flight to Midlandia."
"A pleasure," the knight replied, lifting his goblet in a toast. "Till we meet again, governor," Sir Morton said as he stood.
"I look forward to receiving news of your victory." The skald extended his hand, and the two rising figures clasped hands firmly.
***
Kapua, Nicopola
After securing Kapua, the Dawn and Free Legion quickly cleaned up the surrounding area. The Mercenary Army had dispersed, but there were always remnants who tried to hide and turn to banditry. Thus, the two armies marched out to find and eliminate any potential trouble.
In the following week, the combined forces liberated two more cities, seven towns, and dozens of villages. It was but a small fraction of the province. Lord Avery burned one town to the ground, as the mercenaries there were steadfast, and he couldn¡¯t afford to slow down with limited resources or risk a counterattack.
Fortunately, after much struggle, the neighboring area around Kapua was finally liberated, giving them much-needed breathing room.
With Kapua safely in Dawn''s control, Sir Servius finally departed to the area between Kapua and Elandia. Both Lord Lansius and Lord Avery had entrusted him with establishing his own base to sustain his supporters. There, his Lowlandian riders and Nicopolan men-at-arms encountered some resistance but found that most were willing to capitulate.
Sir Servius had yet to assume any official title, but he was now de facto ruling over a hundred villages, a dozen towns, and cities. Ruined as they were, it was still an area as large as Umberland and more populous than Three Hills.
As the situation improved, Lord Avery and Sir Servius acted quickly, welcoming the willing populace into their domain. To ease any lingering fears, they paraded their armies from town to town, marching in good order to show that civil order had returned.
Streams of refugees and locals came to them, nervous yet hopeful. The two leaders swiftly allocated land, farming tools, and seeds, urging the newcomers to plant as though their lives depended on it.
Despite their victory, the entire campaign remained a risky gamble. Several thousand commoners had joined their ranks, and soon there would be tens, if not hundreds, of thousands to feed. If they failed, riots would erupt again, and the cycle of hatred would continue.
Several weeks had passed as the populace worked tirelessly to prepare and cultivate the land. People from all social classes¡ªesquires, mercenaries, craftsmen, and traders¡ªlabored in the fields. However, not all were merry.
Peace was still threatened from within, as many continued to harbor hatred from old feuds. There was a constant fear that someone might accuse them of involvement in past crimes. Any serious accusation could lead to lengthy interrogations, time in cells, or even torture, as many who had lost family members demanded answers, closure, or revenge.
The brutality of the Nicopola campaign would continue to haunt everyone¡¯s peace for the foreseeable future.
With the heart of the Nicopola region still untouched, suspicion remained rife, especially toward non-Nicopola natives, whose loyalty was seen as questionable. However, the two leaders were prepared and handled each case as amicably as possible. After several weeks, all signs pointed to progress: the streets were calm, and accusatory whispers among the populace had lessened.
The biggest contributor to this calm was the functioning market. Fueled by captured grain from the mercenaries¡¯ caches, along with small but steady supplies of grain from Umberland and the barony of Dawn, the availability of food¡ªalbeit limited¡ªquickly instilled confidence.
In light of this, more and more community centers outside their territory surrendered as armed refugees from Centuria and Sarmatia, unwilling to join the new order, began their withdrawal, fearing reprisals from the two rising powers.
Calm fostered reconstruction as towns and villages were repopulated. As the people labored, the late spring rains finally came, washing the land anew. Only then did they receive news of the assassination attempt against the Lord of Korelia and the possible campaign to Midlandia. Many were troubled. Although the conflict was distant, they understood that its repercussions could easily reach Nicopola.
Amid this uncertainty, a large noble delegation arrived in Kapua from the south, bearing lavish gifts, among them a ruby-encrusted golden scepter fit for a king.
***
Sir Stan, Cascasonne
After their last attack, which had dealt a hard blow to the opponent, the loyal Midlandians and volunteers retreated deeper into the woods. They were severely weakened; even Sir Stan''s best retinue had their stamina drained. They had fought too many skirmishes and had yet to recuperate properly between engagements.
In comparison, the enemy could still absorb casualties and stubbornly continued their siege. Thus, on the grand scale, despite their great efforts, nothing had really changed.
Sir Stan¡¯s original two hundred had dwindled to slightly more than a hundred. Many were riddled with wounds, and medicine was scarce. Worse, a dozen of his men, including one of his captains, had been captured. His diligent squire had died as well, having fallen from his horse and been dragged into a crowd of angry fanatics.
By now, the novelty of the fearsome weapons wielded by the defenders had worn off. The situation had gotten so bad that Sir Stan refrained from taking any more chances. Now, he sat in his dilapidated tent deep in the woods, thinking their days were numbered. They were so low on personnel, and fewer and fewer townsfolk were willing to answer their call. Everyone was too afraid to oppose the new ruler and the popular Saint Order.
Their only salvation was their robust provisions. Their first and second successful raids had given them an ample supply to sustain themselves; otherwise, everyone would have deserted by now.
Sir Stan was considering allowing most of his men to retreat and recuperate. Only he, his elite guard, and the remaining volunteers would stay until the city fell or reinforcements arrived. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that men from Elandia would arrive first, as there had been no word from Lowlandia.
He couldn¡¯t help but lament Bengrieve¡¯s confidence, recalling his words: ¡°My original plan is to wait for Reginald¡¯s army to go hungry. The incompetents on their side will rely on numbers to win quickly before our return. This is why I emptied all the big granaries for our campaign in Elandia. I deliberately kept the records as they were, to confuse them.¡±
The baronet closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. The plan hadn¡¯t worked. Bengrieve had further explained, ¡°Once the rains come, they¡¯ll go hungry in no time as all transport bogs down in the mud. If they try to confiscate food from the surrounding nobles, then those nobles will flock back to us. With us moving behind their backs, supporting the populace, I¡¯ll lead an open revolt to dethrone that usurper by summer.¡±
Sir Stan sighed, feeling the irony. When he first heard it, the plan had seemed nothing short of brilliant. Reginald, the usurper, was already checkmated before he¡¯d even launched his coup. Bengrieve had laid his traps carefully, but as they say, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.
¡°It should have worked against a normal army, but we¡¯re facing fanatics,¡± the baronet muttered.
The trap had been sprung, but the beast was too large and had gone on a blind rampage. Somehow, their opponent was able to continue the siege despite being so low on food. Even the neighboring city had been abandoned as the populace was left with nothing to eat.
Sipping his water and slouched in his seat, he ran a hand over his rough jaw, realizing he needed a shave. He had also developed rashes from sleeping in the damp, wooded region.
Hurried footsteps approached the tent¡¯s entrance, making him turn. Sir Stan was wearing only his arming doublet, but his hand was already on his sword¡¯s hilt. Yet, when he heard his guard calmly greet the newcomer, he relaxed again.
¡°Sir." The familiar face of his scout appeared.
¡°Anything to report?¡± Sir Stan asked.
¡°Reginald''s men have completed ten assault ladders.¡±
Sir Stan could only nod; there was nothing they could do about it. ¡°It could be a trap intended for us,¡± he ventured, hoping not to dishearten his men.
¡°I see,¡± the scout replied, his tone flat.
The lackluster response prompted Sir Stan to ask, ¡°Do you have something else to report?¡±
¡°I¡¯m... not sure,¡± the scout replied, a trace of hesitation in his voice. ¡°You won¡¯t believe me.¡± He rummaged through his inner pocket and pulled out a small banner. ¡°I was observing alone, and when I finished and turned to leave, I found this lying behind me, held down by a stone. I didn¡¯t hear a thing.¡±
Sir Stan¡¯s eyes widened. Rising from his seat, he took the banner and carefully unfurled it. A white shield with a black horse stared back at him; a clear mark that Korimor had arrived.
***
Chapter 197 : The Return Waltz
Chapter 197
The Return Waltz
Sir Stan
A hundred men moved in tight formation through the forest, each step cautious and quiet. Leather boots and linen tabards brushed over damp leaves, muffling their passage as they stayed close to thick tree trunks for cover. Dark cloaks further blended them into the late spring green foliage.
Their leader, Sir Stan, had decided to trust his instincts and rallied his troops once more, leading them toward the forest¡¯s edge where they could observe without being seen. They knew they were pushing their luck; after the havoc they¡¯d wrought, the fanatics likely had eyes scouring the woods, anticipating another strike.
Where the trees thinned, they could see the vast open field where the enemy camped, laying siege to the castle.
Suddenly, from an unseen direction, a clear voice rang out: ¡°You¡¯ve come too early.¡±
The voice startled the men, who immediately drew their swords, eyes darting through the shadows. Tense murmurs rippled through the group as they gripped their weapons and glanced around, searching for the source of the unexpected words.
¡°Please, friend. Don¡¯t be afraid.¡± There was subdued laughter before the feminine voice added, ¡°I¡¯ve taken care of the pesky ones. Your hunters should be able to locate a few survivors.¡±
The friendly claim reassured them only to a point. Sir Stan stepped forward and spoke openly, ¡°If we¡¯re friends, then why hide? Show me your face.¡±
Soft, distinct laughter drifted through the woods before the voice replied, ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯d be alarmed.¡±
¡°Why should I be alarmed?¡± Sir Stan replied, signaling his best men to fan out in both directions, eyes sharp.
¡°Because the House I serve employs not only humans but also half-breeds and horsemen.¡±
The response sent a chill through the group, murmurs rippling as the men exchanged uneasy glances, many suddenly realizing that the voice didn¡¯t sound entirely human.
As the discussion continued, one scout, intrigued by movement at the forest¡¯s edge, couldn¡¯t contain his curiosity any longer. He crept forward, eyes narrowing before he pointed confidently toward the shifting shapes beyond the trees. ¡°Look, horses.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± the voice acknowledged. ¡°My husband and his horsemen have arrived.¡±
A low rumble rolled through the ground like distant thunder, growing louder with each passing second. Shapes began to emerge across the open field, moving with a fluidity that defied their numbers. As they came closer, the figures sharpened into ranks of light cavalry, but in style unlike anything seen in Midlandia. Soon, more than they could count surged forward, a sweeping wave of horses cresting over the landscape.
Even from afar, the enemy encampment showed signs of panic. Men who had been collecting water and firewood scattered, abandoning their carts. Meanwhile, on the castle walls, the defenders came alive, shouts echoing as they waved their banners, rallying at the sight of the approaching riders.
The riders advanced with fierce grace, clad in iron, layered linen, and fur, each figure merging seamlessly with the powerful beasts beneath them. Braids and feathers caught in the wind, while bows rested across their backs, and the gleam of curved blades flashed at their sides.
Flanking the cavalry were knights riding beside skilled horse archers, banners flying the colors of Korimor.
It was then that a few riders broke from the formation, steering their horses toward Sir Stan¡¯s scout.
¡°You should meet the one-eyed knight,¡± the voice suggested.
Sir Stan¡¯s eyes remained on the advancing riders, a flicker of doubt lingering on his face. He turned and nodded to his men, a cautious smile surfacing. ¡°Men, this might be the reinforcements we¡¯ve been waiting for.¡±
His men, though nervous, were gladdened by this unexpected support. As the riders grew nearer, Sir Stan and his troops moved to the edge of the forest; they no longer needed to stay hidden.
When Sir Stan, the knight, and the nomadic warriors finally met, some groups of riders split off to reconnoiter the area, much to the horror of the New Midlandian army.
¡°Well met! To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?¡± Sir Stan greeted.
¡°I''m Michael, knight of White Lake,¡± the leading knight introduced himself. ¡°And next to me is Captain Dietrich, the leader of this expedition. And¡ª¡±
¡°Let me do the honor,¡± the voice from the woods interjected, as a blurred figure, moving with the swiftness of a panther, landed gracefully beside the leading nomadic horseman. The rider grinned widely, pride shining in his eyes.
The sight of a half-beast¡ªclad in ringmail, with wolf-like features, sharp eyes, and fangs¡ªsent murmurs through Sir Stan¡¯s men. Yet the newly arrived allies seemed unfazed, though their horses stamped and shifted, a bit agitated.
Undeterred by the reaction, the half-beast continued, ¡°He is Belgutei, Batu Noyan¡¯s Champion, the leader of the brave Lowlandia warriors, and also my husband.¡±
¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± said Belgutei in a friendly, almost humble manner. ¡°Pardon my wife¡¯s boldness¡ªwe¡¯re newly married, and she¡¯s still getting used to our ways.¡± From the care in his words, it was clear he was more than just a warrior. He was also a diplomat by nature.
¡°Gentlemen, the pleasure is all mine. I¡¯m Stan, the baronet of Toruna. On behalf of Lord Bengrieve, I welcome you to Cascasonne.¡± Sir Stan extended his arm with a sweeping gesture, dramatically indicating the besieged castle and city.
The three visitors exchanged a glance and a nod. Together they dismounted and Sir Stan eagerly approached, clasping each of their hands in turn.
¡°I will not forget that you¡¯ve come in my hour of need. No matter what, I¡¯ll honor you as guests and brothers," Sir Stan declared, gratefully.
The sentiment pleased the three allies.
¡°Then, while the enemy is in disarray, let¡¯s test their defenses together. Your men can follow my¡ª¡±
¡°Sir Stan, that¡¯s unnecessary for now,¡± Captain Dietrich interrupted, his seasoned face and commanding presence leaving little room for argument.
¡°Do you prefer to rest first?¡± Sir Stan ventured.
¡°No, but we¡¯ll need to wait,¡± the captain insisted.
¡°Any specific reason?¡± Sir Stan asked, concerned. ¡°We¡¯ve caught them off guard, and we can still strike decisively.¡±
Sir Michael and Belgutei exchanged knowing smiles, and the nomad answered, ¡°Sir Stan, I understand your thinking, but we must wait¡ªbecause the great sovereign will soon be here.¡±
***
Lansius
The lingering stench of stale, putrid water and composting earth clung to the mud smeared on the outside of their carriage after a minor mishap during the crossing had made it float like a boat, much to everyone¡¯s laughter. The laughter had long faded, but the stench lingered, mingling with the faint breeze from outside.
Yet, unbelievably, Audrey acted as if nothing were amiss, not even using her magic to shield them from the foul odor. She merely cooled the air occasionally. The thought that his wife seemed immune to such trivial discomforts was both humbling and endearing.
There she sat beside him, propped with pillows to ease the bumpiness of the ride¡ªnot for her own comfort, but for the baby¡¯s. Astonishingly, she was reading a book with enviable focus.
I really did marry a warrior lady, he mused, watching her in admiration.
But did I spec¡¯d her correctly...? Adding INT so late to an AGI / STR build? That''s bad for min-maxing.
Lansius¡¯ playful thoughts put him at ease as they marched on. Then a new thought struck him, softening his expression.
Actually¡ maybe more INT will be good for the baby.
Outside, the road had turned to cobblestone, marking their entry into the town¡¯s vicinity, and the army moved forward with renewed speed. Their rapid progress owed much to good leadership, and a stroke of luck.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The blitzkrieg tactics had thrown South Midlandia into disarray. His vanguard had pushed deep into enemy lines, while the Dragoons in the east had joined forces with Toruna, leaving the defending garrisons in a state of shock. This chaos allowed the Korimor forces to slip through the western sector largely undetected.
Rather than launching an immediate attack, Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael recognized that they had gained a surprising advantage and chose to stay hidden. They relied on scouts, set up camp in remote clearings, and marched in secrecy.
They advanced farther than Lansius had expected. He had assumed the Korimor column would encounter strong opposition and had primarily counted them as another distraction. However, his merit-based military structure and goal-oriented leadership had paved the way for an unexpected yet welcome surprise.
The Korimor column, seeing an opportunity, decided to push into Cascasonne independently. Their leaders, having learned from the Dragoons'' success, adapted their cavalry tactics so that each rider carried an infantry soldier on a spare horse, making the three-hundred-strong column fully mounted.
Another factor Lansius hadn¡¯t accounted for was the nomads. He hadn¡¯t expected them to participate in great numbers, yet they were not only fully supportive of the campaign but also thirsting for vengeance after Reginald dared to raise hidden blades against their Noyan.
All these uncoordinated actions, guided by intuition and executed without communication due to distance and speed, led them all to converge at the opposite end of the broken bridge.
This opportunity arose because Dietrich and the nomads trusted their instincts and listened to the advice of their Midlandian-born troops, who believed that an obscure bridge could play a critical role. The bridge could possibly be used by the main army to advance toward Cascasonne. And they were right.
Arriving at the bridge, they discovered it damaged but were astonished by their fortune when they saw that Lansius and the main army had chosen this exact route.
Dietrich, Sir Michael, and the nomads quickly put their infantry to work. Without the necessary tools, equipment, or know-how to build a pontoon bridge, they simply attempted to repair the bridge from their end. Meanwhile, Lansius directed the rest of the forces to continue advancing toward Cascasonne.
Knowing their allies had secured the other side of the bridge, they worked in peace, managing to assemble the pontoon overnight while the other group repaired a short section of the bridge. By morning, the vanguard had begun crossing, with the rest of the force following close behind. Now, just past midday, after the minor accident and several hours of riding, they finally caught sight of the white towering spires of Cascasonne Castle peeking above the treeline.
¡°Cascasonne,¡± Lansius remarked, drawing Audrey¡¯s gaze to the carriage window beside them.
She sighed, her expression a blend of emotions. ¡°I¡¯m back.¡±
Lansius turned, curious. ¡°Why do you speak as if it¡¯s home?¡±
¡°Well, like it or not, I did spend a month there. And Bengrieve did give me a name.¡±
¡°I wish I could still call you Stefi.¡± Suddenly, he felt a faint tickle in his throat that made him straighten involuntarily. He turned to her with a raised brow. ¡°Hey, stop that.¡±
¡°What? I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± Audrey replied, though a mischievous smile betrayed her innocence. Her control over her magic had grown enough to summon a playful, ticklish breeze.
Lansius chuckled, feigning innocence as he leaned over and buried his face in her belly, tickling her in return. ¡°Don¡¯t, don¡¯t!¡± Audrey protested, laughing. ¡°Or we¡¯ll have to make another stop¡ªI¡¯m going to need to pee again!¡±
The carriage rocked slightly, but the coachman and Francisca in front only exchanged amused glances. Ahead of them, Cascasonne came fully into view.
***
Cascasonne
By the time Lord Lansius and his main army arrived, the vanguard had already set up camp at the forest¡¯s edge, while the nomads continued to harass the enemy, keeping them contained without fully engaging. They had also quietly secured the only other access point to the town, cutting off the enemy¡¯s retreat if needed.
The Blue and Bronze banners, alongside the Black Horse, fluttered in the wind as the shogunate honor guards escorted the carriage with pride until it came to a halt.
Francisca jumped from her seat next to the coachman, landing with ease at the carriage door to secure it, while Sir Harold, Margo, and the guards quickly formed a perimeter. It might have seemed excessive for a baron, but the recent assassination attempt warranted such precautions. Besides, Lord Lansius had come to be seen as more than just a baron. With the fall of the Imperium, people in Lowlandia had come to regard him almost as a sovereign, and a growing number of intellectuals in his employ quietly wished for him to declare independence.
As the area was secured, Lord Lansius disembarked, followed by Lady Audrey, greeted by his knights and officers.
¡°My Lord, my Lady,¡± Captain Dietrich and Sir Michael greeted them.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± Lord Lansius replied, turning briefly to gaze at Cascasonne Castle.
¡°Do you wish to meet them today?¡± Lady Audrey asked softly, her eyes steady.
¡°I intend to, but it can wait a moment,¡± Lord Lansius replied. He turned toward the assembly in front of him and spotted the baronet of Toruna.
Noticing his gaze, Sir Stan offered a warm, genuine smile. ¡°Lord Lansius, Lady Audrey, long time no see. And congratulations on your pregnancy.¡±
His words and smile brought warmth to their hearts. Both knew Sir Stan was a force to be reckoned with. His financial backing and combat prowess were formidable, even unnerving. The only drawback was that he was often given a leadership role, which prevented him from fighting as fiercely as he could. He was better off let loose on his own, with someone else overseeing the entire battlefield command.
¡°Brother," Lady Audrey called warmly. "How¡¯s the old man?¡±
¡°Father? Last I heard, he¡¯s still planting that sour cherry tree. He¡¯s that stubborn, he''ll survive this,¡± Sir Stan reassured her. ¡°Gratitude for your concern.¡±
Lady Audrey smiled and turned to Lansius. ¡°Shall we go inside?¡±
¡°Certainly,¡± Lansius replied, and they made their way to the command tent prepared for them, situated at the center of hundreds of surrounding tents.
Meanwhile, the main army had not rested after their march; instead, they had immediately taken up their axes and iron-tipped spades and set to work. The vanguard had already laid out the camp, and the men began digging ditches, chopping wood, and preparing palisades. Their training in the Hill Fort had proved invaluable, and the men were eager, for unlike Lowlandia, Midlandia was rich with good timber.
Once inside the command tent, with only their closest staff present, Lady Audrey continued, ¡°As much as I hate to admit it, your House has treated me well. For that, I¡¯m forever grateful.¡±
Sir Stan¡¯s gaze softened. ¡°You¡¯ve changed, my Lady. Tell me, does motherhood do that to you?¡±
The Lady gave a faint smile. ¡°My role has forced me to change. And, of course, there¡¯s the expectation of the man who chose me as his wife.¡±
Lord Lansius smiled with pride as he helped her to her seat. Despite sitting all day in the carriage, the solidity of the ground beneath their feet was a welcome change.
¡°The journey must have been exhausting,¡± Sir Stan acknowledged. ¡°I apologize for requesting reinforcements, but the situation has grown dire.¡±
¡°Think nothing of it,¡± Lord Lansius replied. ¡°If Midlandia falls to Sir Reginald, it will be dangerous for us as well.¡±
¡°I heard about the assassins from Sir Michael. I¡¯ll be sure to send a messenger to Elandia to report this to Lord Bengrieve. Perhaps he can exert some influence over that guild.¡±
¡°My gratitude,¡± said Lord Lansius, hesitating a moment. ¡°Duty calls for war briefings, yet¡ my heart is elsewhere today.¡± His gaze drifted to Cascasonne Castle, where he knew his family was waiting.
¡°I understand.¡± Sir Stan¡¯s eyes brightened. ¡°Reginald¡¯s men have abandoned the outer edges of their encirclement; we should be able to secure the southern gate. I shall escort you there myself.¡±
***
Tanya
The sun was low, casting long shadows across the castle¡¯s tall walls. Yet the young Arvenian-born lady continued diligently working in the vegetable garden, weeding and watering seasonal greens, carefully ensuring each plant grew properly. They would need every bit of fresh food, as supplies were dwindling.
Once, Tanya had been groomed to be a castle maid, receiving an education. But the siege had changed all that¡ªher tutor was called to the war effort, and she was working in the garden instead. She didn¡¯t feel downhearted, however; in fact, she was grateful not to be directly involved in the fighting. Everyone she knew had taken up arms, training with crossbows or spears.
Meanwhile, Tanya remained with her mother, tucked within the inner courtyard where life felt sheltered, almost cloistered. With a cheerful heart, she continued her work without complaint. Her modest gardener¡¯s dwelling had become a haven from the brutalities of the war outside. Yet the occasional screams from the hospice, especially piercing at night, were constant reminders that the war still raged on.
During the day, distant war cries and echoes of battle continued to haunt them. Several days ago, it had grown so terribly loud that they cowered inside their house, huddled beneath the table. If the castle were breached, would they be spared? They were only gardeners, but there were rumors of everyone inside a castle being sold as slaves. With whispers of the fall of the Imperium, everyone was secretly frightened.
Mother Arryn was deeply troubled but kept herself mostly occupied with work to keep her mind off it. Being confined within the castle walls while enemies outside sought to kill them was a new and terrifying experience. Yet there was little they could do but carry on. So, despite the mortal threat, they tended the garden as usual, helped with extra cooking, laundry, and every sort of cleaning.
The workload had only increased, as much of the castle staff had joined the war effort, and many were injured or exhausted. Recently, they had been tasked to help boiling linen bandages and hanging them to dry. Many were no longer white, darkened by bloodstains.
Despite everything, they did not dwell on their misfortune. In time, they grew grateful for the protection of the tall walls. Cascasonne was a massive fortress, and they didn¡¯t feel so trapped. They even found themselves admiring the defenders¡¯ valor, sharing a quiet sense of camaraderie with them.
¡°Mother, I¡¯ve brought you cabbages. Some are ripe enough,¡± Tanya said, holding a wicker basket filled with four pale-green cabbages.
¡°Bring them here. I¡¯ll wash them later,¡± Mother Arryn replied, stirring the ladle in a pot of gruel simmering for dinner. She didn¡¯t know exactly who would eat it, but she would make it as palatable as she could.
A knock at the door startled them. ¡°Goodwoman, are you inside?¡±
Turning toward the door, Arryn replied, ¡°Just a moment.¡± Then, glancing at Tanya, she said, ¡°Here, take this,¡± offering her the iron ladle.
Arryn wiped her hands on a cloth and muttered, ¡°It¡¯s still early. The gruel isn¡¯t ready¡ª¡±
She stopped mid-sentence as the door opened, revealing the usual youngster draped in an oversized gambeson. But beside him stood a man in lordly armor, flanked by several equally imposing figures. Even she, with her limited knowledge of armor, could tell by the engravings, styling, and ornaments that he was a high-ranking lord. Instinctively, she wanted to curtsy, but something about his face struck her as familiar.
Her eyes widened, and she took a step back as she caught sight of his jet-black hair. Her mouth went dry, and her lips trembled slightly. She recognized some of his features, yet the man before her looked so much stronger than she remembered. His build was broader, and his neck and face bore chafed skin and bruises¡ªthe markings of armored combat.
And in his deep brown eyes was a commanding charisma, something possessed only by those with authority¡ªa stark contrast from the gentle teacher she remembered.
¡°I apologize¡ªdid I interrupt?¡± the man asked tenderly.
Arryn wanted to speak his name, but her tears came first. Suddenly, the sound of a basket hitting the ground startled her. She turned to see Tanya, wide-eyed, staring at the guest. The sight of her precious cabbages scattered at her feet, forgotten, confirmed Arryn¡¯s intuition.
¡°Mother!¡± Tanya¡¯s voice, thick with disbelief, broke the silence.
¡°Come here,¡± Arryn said softly, her own voice laden with emotion.
¡°Tanya?¡± the man at the door asked. ¡°You¡¯ve grown,¡± he added cheerfully, dispelling any remaining doubt. His voice was as familiar as his black hair. At that, Tanya¡¯s eyes filled with tears, the name she had tried so hard to bury rising to her lips like a powerful chant. ¡°Lansius!¡±
***
Chapter 198 : The Paused Rhythm
Chapter 198
The Paused Rhythm
Lansius
Tanya shouted his name, and Lansius knelt, arms outstretched as he had done many times before. Seeing this, Tanya ran toward him without hesitation, flinging herself into his embrace. They held each other tightly, warmth flooding through them despite the cold iron of his armor. Arryn stood nearby, tears streaming silently down her face as she fought to keep from breaking into sobs.
¡°You¡¯ve grown,¡± Lansius murmured, lifting Tanya effortlessly, just as he used to. ¡°Tell me if the armor hurts.¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t care. If it¡¯s you, it¡¯s fine,¡± she whispered, her voice catching in sobs as she clung to him, unfazed by the unyielding steel.
Lansius found solace in the tenderness of his family and glanced back at his entourage, who nodded with satisfied expressions. He entered alone. ¡°Sorry for the boots¡ªI¡¯ve come straight from outside.¡±
¡°Please don¡¯t worry; it¡¯s just a wooden floor,¡± Arryn replied, forgetting the siege as she was too caught up in his return.
Still carrying Tanya against his chest, Lansius approached Arryn. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you again. Sorry, it took so long.¡±
Arryn wiped her tears and forced a smile. ¡°Are you really the same man I helped in Bellandia?¡±
¡°I am Lansius,¡± he confirmed gently.
Arryn could no longer resist; she embraced him, pulling Tanya into the hug. Their family, long scattered, was finally reunited.
¡°Can I get some water?¡± Lansius asked after a moment, his tone light to ease the tension. ¡°And oh, that gruel is boiling over.¡±
Arryn let out a chuckle, wiping her tears again as she returned to the cauldron, stirring the bubbling gruel and adding more water. Meanwhile, Tanya slipped from his hold, quickly pouring water into a cup. But as she approached to offer it, she hesitated, noticing it was just a simple wooden cup¡ªnot even a pewter goblet. Meanwhile, the man before her wore the most dazzling armor she had ever seen, rivaling the finery of Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan, whom she had only glimpsed from afar.
¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Lansius asked.
Tanya shuddered, then knelt, offering the cup of water with respect. She had learned enough to know her place. ¡°Please, accept the water, sir.¡±
¡°Tanya, you still don¡¯t believe that I¡¯m your brother Lans?¡± he asked as he gently pulled her to her feet.
Tanya looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. ¡°I dare not call you brother.¡±
Arryn, still stirring the gruel, added softly, ¡°I¡¯m proud of you; to see you wearing such fine armor, with men-at-arms in your company, and even a gold belt buckle. It¡¯s clear that you¡¯re now above my humble station.¡±
Lansius glanced down and noticed the gold buckle for the first time; it had come with the armor. He thought back to his days as a clerk when he could barely afford a simple sword belt.
¡°How should we address you?¡± Arryn asked again, her tone polite but distant.
¡°Mother¡¡± Lansius said softly, with a faint sigh, sounding just like the man they used to know. The two women giggled.
Finally, Tanya¡¯s curiosity got the best of her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me you were noble-born? But I¡¯m glad you remembered your family and home.¡±
¡°I still don¡¯t remember.¡± Lansius crossed his arms, giving her a brotherly grin. ¡°I was never noble-born.¡±
Tanya glanced at him, puzzled.
¡°I only gained all this recently.¡± He took a sip of the water, which tasted sweet and more refreshing than anything he¡¯d had all week. Setting the cup down, he glanced at Arryn. ¡°I went south on an errand, and they made me their leader,¡± he added, downplaying his achievements as much as he could.
Arryn and Tanya nodded, feeling much more at ease now, believing his story.
¡°Lower the fire a bit and come outside with me,¡± Lansius said. ¡°I want to introduce you to a few people.¡±
Arryn and Tanya exchanged glances. ¡°But we¡¯re not dressed for it,¡± Arryn murmured, a hint of worry in her voice.
¡°Anything is fine. I¡¯ll get you something better later,¡± Lansius reassured her, moving to the fire and helping her settle the cauldron. He extended his hand, and Arryn took it, a bit hesitant.
With Arryn at his right and Tanya at his left, Lansius led them toward the door.
¡°But who are they?¡± Tanya asked as they stepped outside.
¡°Just my retinue, the baroness, and Sir Stan,¡± Lansius replied, amused, as he pushed the door open. The golden sunset cast a warm glow over the garden, and a gentle breeze, scented by the herbs growing in the corner, was refreshing.
"Retinue? Sir Stan?" Arryn gasped, but Lansius had already guided them out to a waiting crowd of knights and attendants, with Sir Stan standing just beyond, watching with a polite, respectful smile.
Arryn and Tanya curtsied, feeling the weight of so many eyes upon them.
¡°Gentlemen, this is Arryn and her daughter, Tanya. They are the family who saved me when I was nothing but a lost soul in Arvena. I owe them everything, and now that we are reunited, I ask that you hold them in the same esteem you would to me or my House.¡±
¡°Yes, my lord,¡± came the firm yet gladdened response from Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Margo, and the guards. Others in attendance also offered murmurs of approval, overpowering the gasps from the servants and maids watching from afar. Some exchanged pleased glances, while others simply nodded, smiles breaking through as they shared in the joy of this reunion.
¡°A lord?¡± Arryn covered her mouth in surprise, while Tanya grinned and whispered to her mother, ¡°Mother, he''s rich!¡±
Lansius chuckled, overhearing her. He said to them, ¡°I promise to treat you as family. Unless you¡¯d rather stay somewhere else, please join me and let me repay some of the hospitality you¡¯ve shown me.¡±
Arryn could only nod, still taken aback, while Tanya found it hard to conceal her joy.
Just then, a young woman approached gracefully. Her soft, chestnut-brown hair was cut in a sleek, chin-length bob, framing her hazel eyes, which radiated with a hint of gold¡ªbeautiful, enchanting, yet carrying a hint of danger. She wore an elegant black doublet intricately embroidered with gold patterns, giving her an air of noble refinement. Her belly was noticeably rounded, suggesting she was several months pregnant, yet she still carried an arming sword at her waist.
Lansius readily extended his hand to her. ¡°Mother,¡± he called to Arryn, ¡°there¡¯s someone I want you to meet.¡±
Audrey curtsied, and Arryn and Tanya quickly did the same.
¡°Mother, Tanya, please meet Lady Audrey, the baroness of Korimor, and the mother of my future children.¡±
Arryn and Tanya let out soft gasps, followed by joyful murmurs. Audrey smiled gently, understanding how significant the title must be. ¡°You may not recognize me,¡± she began, ¡°but I was the squire who recruited Lansius in Bellandia. So, please, there¡¯s no need to be too formal.¡±
Sensing the intimacy of the moment, their retinue quietly motioned for onlookers to step back, giving them some privacy.
¡°Especially when we¡¯re alone,¡± Lansius added with a hint of playfulness.
¡°We couldn¡¯t possibly do that,¡± Arryn said, clutching Tanya¡¯s hand, who added, ¡°Maybe we could do that with you, but not with her. She¡¯s noble-born.¡±
¡°Well, technically, I wasn¡¯t born noble,¡± Audrey reassured them, placing a protective hand over her belly. Tanya¡¯s attention was quickly drawn to it.
¡°Is little Lans inside?¡± Tanya couldn¡¯t resist, stepping closer to Audrey.
Audrey nodded, allowing Tanya to caress her belly while Lansius chuckled, pleased that his family was getting along well.
"Tanya, isn''t it?" Audrey asked. "You have such beautiful hair. I¡¯m truly glad to meet you properly. Lansius is always worried sick about you,¡± she added, earning a pleased nod from the girl.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
¡°Audrey,¡± Lansius called, and she glanced over. ¡°We should get them out.¡±
Without needing to ask, Audrey understood. Although they and Cascasonne were technically allies, there were still lingering doubts about Bengrieve''s motivation, and they preferred to remain in control. With a quick gesture, she signaled Margo, who approached, ready to assist.
¡°Good ladies, I''m Margo, your squire. My crew and I will be helping you pack.¡±
¡°But we¡¯re needed here to cook, clean, and help,¡± Arryn replied.
¡°No worries,¡± Lansius assured her. ¡°We¡¯ll be sending more men to the castle, so there shouldn¡¯t be an issue anymore. Help has arrived.¡±
...
Arryn and Tanya, with Margo¡¯s help, went inside the hut to pack their belongings. Meanwhile, a group from the inner court approached, prompting Lansius'' entourage to stand ready. Francisca and her kin, concealed under large traveling cloaks, moved closer, shielding Lansius and Audrey.
"At ease," Lansius instructed as he spotted Sir Stan and the steward walking at the head of the group.
¡°Lord Lansius,¡± Sir Stan called urgently. ¡°I need you to see this¡ª¡±
¡°Sir, we can¡¯t. It¡¯s restricted, not even accessible to all House members,¡± the steward interrupted, casting a wary glance.
¡°Our allies need to know,¡± Sir Stan insisted, his tone unwavering, puzzling the onlookers.
Sir Harold cleared his throat, his gaze turning predatory as he locked eyes with the steward. In his view, no one held more authority here than Lansius. Not even Bengrieve, who was, for now, merely a minor lord after losing his seneschal role.
¡°Master Lansius,¡± the old castle¡¯s steward greeted.
¡°Lord Shogun,¡± Sir Harold corrected him firmly, gathering everyone¡¯s attention and bringing a few satisfied smiles. ¡°Lord Shogun of Lowlandia,¡± he repeated, his expression serious.
¡°Lord Shogun of Lowlandia,¡± the steward echoed, quickly amending himself.
"That¡¯s alright,¡± Lansius signaled to Sir Harold, his voice calm. ¡°So what do we¡ª¡± He stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fell on the object in Sir Stan¡¯s hands. The baronet held it vertically, gripping it in the middle as if it were an oversized staff. But wood covered only the lower half; the upper part was metal, shaped like a barrel that ended abruptly without a point.
Though there were differences in style, the overall shape and the presence of a trigger mechanism left Lansius with no doubt¡ªhe was looking at a musket. The sight struck him like a physical blow. Turning to Audrey, he said, ¡°Can you escort Arryn and Tanya out? I¡¯ll join you soon."
¡°With pleasure,¡± Audrey replied, noticing how serious he¡¯d become.
Then, to the steward, Lansius said, ¡°My family will be taking their leave.¡±
The steward inclined his head respectfully, a look of regret in his eyes. ¡°I regret that I cannot provide them the hospitality they deserve. I hope they¡¯ll forgive the circumstances.¡±
Lansius felt a slight grudge at why his family was treated like mere servants, but he chose to be magnanimous, reasoning that it could be another layer of protection. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with secret guilds and all; we can¡¯t be too careful.¡±
Sir Stan handed the weapon to Sir Harold, who inspected it closely. At one point, he looked to Francisca, and the half-breed remarked, ¡°There¡¯s a lot of burnt residue inside. It¡¯s a fire weapon.¡±
Lansius waved to Arryn, Tanya, and Audrey as they were escorted to the safety of their camp. Afterward, he turned to the others and declared, ¡°I know of it.¡± He struck first, gathering their attention.
Bengrieve, you bastard! How could you create something like this?
He approached and took the musket from Sir Harold, determined to investigate without raising suspicion. The steward was overly guarded, so Lansius asked casually, ¡°Where¡¯s the projectile ball and the powder?¡±
The steward swallowed hard, signaling to his men to comply with Lansius¡¯ request.
Under the watchful eyes of Sir Harold and the others, one of the guardsmen produced a round lead ball from a small leather bag and a powder horn.
¡°What do you call this? A dwarven artifact?¡± Lansius asked casually.
¡°Yes, we call it that, My Lord,¡± the guardsman answered without hesitation.
So it wasn¡¯t Hannei, but the Dwarves...
Deep down, he knew Hannei wasn¡¯t capable. Furthermore, he wasn¡¯t entirely surprised that the Dwarves had muskets; after all, he had seen their ball bearings, which indicated a mastery of precision engineering, including boring and lathing. Gunpowder-based weaponry, then, was not an unexpected development.
¡°My birthplace has a similar weapon,¡± Lansius said, making his case as he handled the musket with ease, finding similarities to large crossbows like the cranequin or windlass. He set the stock on the ground, keeping it vertical, and drew the ramrod from beneath the barrel.
He put the correct end with the cloth and pushed it into the barrel, twisting it twice before pulling it out and securing it. This step wasn''t strictly necessary, but he wanted to be thorough since it wasn¡¯t under his care. Turning to the guardsman, he took the powder horn and poured a small measure into the barrel. ¡°Is this enough?¡± Lansius asked.
¡°Yes, that much is adequate,¡± the guard confirmed.
Lansius followed with the ball, then used the opposite end of the ramrod to pack everything down firmly.
He ensured the muzzle was pointed at the sky before tackling the flint-based mechanism. Though it differed in style, it was still a spring-loaded hammer. ¡°Is this how you prime the mechanism for this one?¡± he asked the guardsman, who nodded, impressed.
¡°It¡¯ll be ready once it¡¯s tensioned,¡± the guardsman confirmed.
¡°No safety mechanism? No cover or anything?¡± Lansius asked, just in case.
The guardsman shook his head, allowing Lansius to pour a small amount of powder into the priming pan where the flintlock would strike.
Lansius raised the musket to his shoulder, feeling awkward with the cumbersome stock, far less refined than his crossbow. He aimed at an empty section of the wall where no one stood and called out, ¡°Everyone, cover your ears. It¡¯s going to be loud.¡±
He squeezed the trigger, finding it stiff and unyielding. A metallic click echoed, and then the muzzle erupted violently in a burst of fire and thick smoke. Lansius was briefly overwhelmed, enveloped by the dense smoke, but he let out a grim smile, proud that he¡¯d managed to hold steady despite his unfamiliarity.
Despite his warning, the noise startled many of the onlookers. ¡°Everyone alright?¡± he asked.
His men nodded, some visibly shaken. Lansius handed the musket back to Sir Harold, commenting, ¡°It¡¯s safe now. But be careful, it¡¯s hot.¡±
Then Lansius turned to Sir Stan, who watched him with a satisfied, knowing grin. ¡°Why did I have a hunch you¡¯d know about this?¡±
¡°An old hunter in town used this to hunt big game,¡± Lansius replied, downplaying the musket¡¯s significance.
He then looked to the steward, who appeared dazed, still processing what he¡¯d just witnessed. ¡°Steward, how many of these can you produce in a month? We¡¯re going to need them if we¡¯re to win back Midlandia.¡±
He was lying. He didn¡¯t need it. But if he treated the musket like a wonder weapon, the steward would likely guard it like treasure. By acting as if it were just another tool he was familiar with, and removing any sense of secrecy, Lansius had a better chance to extract information¡ªand, more urgently, to acquire as many as he could.
¡°Lord Shogun, unfortunately, all who knew have been moved to Elandia.¡±
Lansius snorted, feeling a bit foolish for expecting Bengrieve to be so careless.
¡°That¡¯s him, all right¡ªalways a step ahead.¡± Sir Stan stroked his chin. ¡°No wonder we brought so many blacksmiths and artisans.¡±
Lansius nodded and turned to the steward again. ¡°Sir Stan¡¯s men will be moving inside to bolster your ranks. As for me, I¡¯ll be happy to exchange some supplies should you need them.¡±
"On behalf of my master, please accept my sincere gratitude," the steward said.
¡°Meet me in the command tent for supper," Lansius continued. "We¡¯ll discuss our battle plan and Midlandia. And don¡¯t forget to bring a cache of any weapons you can spare. I could use a few for a ruse.¡±
The steward bowed his head, giving Lansius hope that he might secure enough of the weapons to eventually manufacture them on his own.
¡°Wait,¡± Sir Stan said grimly. ¡°We still have another problem.¡±
¡°Pardon?¡± Lansius asked, uncertain.
¡°It¡¯s Hannei. She¡¯s been unconscious for days.¡±
Lansius sighed deeply. "Sir Stan, I have a skilled healer. Please, let me take care of her."
The steward almost spoke, but Sir Stan had already given his word. "I¡¯ll carry her myself."
Just as he spoke, a sharp metallic clanging echoed from the tower, cutting through the castle''s quiet hum. The men stilled, eyes lifting toward the sound as shouts and hurried footsteps broke the silence.
¡°The enemy is on the move,¡± Sir Stan announced, his expression hardened, prompting Sir Harold and the rest of the entourage to prepare to move out.
"But at this hour?" the steward was gravely concerned.
Meanwhile, Lansius looked at the reddening sky and calmly remarked, "That''s too brash."
***
New Midlandia Army Camp
The crowd stirred, their eyes wide and captivated as the three Saint Candidates appeared before them. This was usually the time for sundown mass, followed by supper. But today, tension hung heavy in the air. News of new enemies advancing from the south had spread, their overwhelming numbers striking fear into the minds and souls of the gathered faithful.
Sensing the growing unease, the Saint Candidates had decreed a fast, forbidding the evening meal. Instead, they tasked their underlings with delivering speeches to shame the crowd for their fear. For an hour, the faithful endured ruthless lectures and scathing sermons. Then, as the last glimmers of daylight bathed the camp in crimson hues, the three Saint Candidates ascended the tall wooden platform at its center, each cloaked in flowing gray robes that shimmered in the waning light.
The sunset cast a blood-red hue over them and the first Saint Candidate, a wiry figure with a voice like thunder, raised her hands to the sky before slamming them dramatically to the wooden platform. Dropping to her knees, she screamed, ¡°Repent! Repent! Repent! I have seen salvation slipping from our grasp. We were so close, yet your fear has defiled it! All your prayers and sacrifices are now for naught!¡±
¡°Taints! Shameless taints!¡± the other two Saint Candidates echoed in unison, their cries ringing out like a judgmental chorus. The crowd erupted into sobs, falling to their knees in waves, their tears streaming freely as guilt and despair consumed them.
¡°There is no salvation for you!¡± the wiry Candidate continued, her voice rising with unrestrained fervor. ¡°The Living Saint Nay will not grace your dreams, nor your deathbeds, nor will she care for your tainted, unworthy souls! No, you and your lost loved ones will never be accepted into her heaven. Instead, you¡¯ll be condemned to be reborn in Navalnia, forever fated as slaves to the eastern humans, who will eat your sons¡¯ livers and sell your daughters to the highest bidder!¡±
The words fell like a hammer blow, shattering the crowd¡¯s composure. From the wreckage of their despair, a desperate zeal emerged. They shouted, cried, and screamed for salvation. In a dramatic display, the Saint Candidates raised their arms to the darkening skies and chanted fervent prayers, beckoning the throng to join their feverish cries.
Thousands of voices merged into one rhythmic chant. Swords and makeshift weapons clanged against shields and armor as the crowd worked themselves into a frenzy, their eyes blazing with the hope of redemption.
Inside a nearby command tent, the knight-commander watched the scene with a smirk, his staff standing behind him in uneasy silence. One officer hesitated before speaking. ¡°Sir, with sermons like these, even our seasoned captains and lieutenants won¡¯t be able to control them.¡±
The commander chuckled, dismissing the concern with a wave. ¡°No need for that. Just let them kill anyone who isn¡¯t one of them.¡±
The officer frowned, glancing back at the roaring mass of fanatics. ¡°But¡ what if they can¡¯t recognize who they¡¯re killing in this failing light?¡±
The commander¡¯s gloating smile widened. He had no intention of allowing his column to take part in this madness. ¡°We''ll let the Living Saint do her work.¡±
Leaning back, he savored the chaos about to unfold. Truthfully, the New Midlandian army cared little for the lives of these fanatics¡ªthey were expendable, and their deaths were even preferred. Lord Reginald had never intended to include them in his plans.
As thousands of torches lit the night, six thousand fanatics, consumed by fervor and blind zealotry, divided into three massive columns. They advanced toward the Lowlandian camp, heedless of who their enemy was or why they were there. To them, it was all irrelevant. The Living Saint Nay demanded their destruction, and they would deliver her judgment.
***
Chapter 199 : Encore
Chapter 199
Encore
The Shogun''s Camp
¡°Man the walls!¡± Captain Dietrich¡¯s voice cut through the clamor as men-at-arms and volunteers scrambled to their posts. The palisade groaned under the weight of the defenders pressing against it, their jagged silhouettes stark against the fiery sky. Beyond the horizon, the enemy¡¯s torches flickered like a restless sea, growing brighter as the fanatics surged closer.
The camp wasn¡¯t fully fortified; only the side facing the enemy had been completed. The flanks remained exposed, with no gate installed. Aside from the ditches, the camp might as well have been open ground.
The Korelian volunteer watched as knights dismounted, joining the men-at-arms at the west and east, fortified only by makeshift barricades. Meanwhile, the elite cranequiniers took up positions at the west, the most vulnerable side, while the east was nearly connected to the castle.
Crowding along the palisade, the defenders squinted into the failing light, where shadowy forms in formation steadily marched toward them like a restless tide, half-obscured by the dimming horizon.
¡°Have you heard? They say our enemy numbers as many as all of Korelia,¡± one volunteer muttered uneasily.
¡°That many? By the Pregnant Lady,¡± another whispered.
¡°Are you sure?¡± a younger man asked, keeping his eyes on his crossbow, resting atop the palisade.
¡°I didn¡¯t march this far into Midlandia to die here,¡± a spearman murmured bitterly.
"You won¡¯t. Lord Lansius has never been defeated,¡± an older man replied, though his voice betrayed his nerves.
¡°How many are we again?¡± another asked, his voice filled with anxiety.
A grim silence followed until a lieutenant, who had been quietly standing among them, finally spoke. ¡°Last I heard, roughly two thousand. Lieutenant Farkas took the Dragoons and 300 skirmishers, so we¡¯re short a few. But we¡¯ve joined up with Captain Dietrich¡¯s Korimor column, so it evens out.¡±
¡°Two thousand,¡± someone muttered. ¡°But why does it feel like so little?¡±
¡°Because our opponents are much larger,¡± the lieutenant replied casually, a smirk playing on his lips.
¡°Lieutenant, don¡¯t scare us,¡± another begged, prompting the officer to chuckle.
¡°We still have the nomads, you know,¡± the lieutenant reassured them, but his words felt rather hollow, given that the nomads were camped farther away.
The volunteers exchanged uncertain glances until one asked, ¡°But¡ I doubt even the nomads can ride in the dark.¡±
¡°Oh, right. None of you were in Korimor,¡± the lieutenant muttered, his tone cryptic, leaving the men looking puzzled.
Before they could press for answers, their attention was drawn to the arrival of several prominent figures at the center of the camp. Lanterns and long torches flared along the paths, casting flickering light on the men in gleaming plate armor who moved purposefully through the gathering. The crowd parted to make way, their faces illuminated in the warm, unsteady glow.
From the center, the figures turned toward the corner where the captain stood guard, the firelight dancing across their polished armor. First to emerge was Sir Harold, his tall, imposing frame sharply defined by the torchlight. Then came Sir Michael, his expression sharp and focused, followed by the formidable Francisca and her kin, shrouded in oversized traveling cloaks that swayed with each step.
Finally, the Lord Shogun appeared, his dark silhouette stark against the lantern¡¯s glow as he moved alongside Maester Ingrid, whose deep blue robes shimmered faintly in the flickering light. Together, they ascended the wooden stairs toward the tower, their presence on the battlement commanding the attention of everyone nearby.
¡°It¡¯s Lord Lansius,¡± one of the men murmured. The name spread through the ranks like a calming wind.
From their post, they could overhear the conversation between Captain Dietrich and the Lord Shogun.
¡°They¡¯re getting close, My Lord,¡± the Captain reported, his tone steady but urgent.
¡°Have you prepared the markers in time?¡± the Lord asked.
¡°Yes. I¡¯m glad we worked on them in advance.¡±
¡°Good. Then at 200 steps, let¡¯s ask our new members to light up the field,¡± said the Black Lord, his voice calm, as though the advancing sea of enemy formations was of little concern to him.
Hearing his words and seeing him stand resolute among them eased the tension on the volunteers¡¯ shoulders. Their fear started to melt away.
But just as they found a measure of comfort, the Lord did the unexpected. ¡°Sir Harold, Francisca,¡± he called.
¡°My Lord,¡± the two greeted, stepping forward.
¡°Take the knights and half our vanguard. Proceed with the plan.¡±
The two exchanged a glance. ¡°But, My Lord, that would leave you with only one mobile column,¡± Sir Harold said.
¡°I understand your concern,¡± Lansius replied in a steady tone. ¡°Half the vanguard, yes, but I still have the main army. Rest assured, this is the best plan we have. Besides, I¡¯ll have Dietrich and Sir Michael with me, not to mention Sir Stan and the nomads.¡±
¡°It¡¯s still too risky. At least allow me to stay by your side,¡± Sir Harold pressed.
¡°I¡¯m honored by your concern, but the plan needs you. I cannot let such an opportunity slip away,¡± Lansius said firmly. ¡°This is a calculated risk I¡¯m willing to take.¡±
Resigned, the two nodded and saluted before turning to carry out the command.
The volunteers watched with growing unease as the knights and half the vanguard were pulled from their posts and led toward the castle. Whispers and murmurs broke out among the defenders. Now the volunteers made the bulk of the defense¡ªroughly 700, supported by 200 cranequiniers and two columns of men-at-arms, just over 1,000 against 6,000.
No matter how they tried to rationalize it, the situation seemed mad. Had the Lord underestimated the enemy¡¯s strength? Or worse, had he miscalculated entirely? Nervous glances passed between them, and some whispered to their lieutenants, who could only offer forced smiles in response.
Questions lingered on their lips, but no one dared voice them. Many, however, drew courage from Lord Lansius¡¯ presence, standing with a calm authority among them, his top retinue by his side.
Nearby, a group of carpenters frantically worked on a wooden structure. More and more materials arrived from the castle, briefly piquing the defenders¡¯ interest. But their focus quickly returned to the enemy''s march as the thousand entered their shooting range.
***
Lansius
At several thousand strong, the enemy¡¯s formations moved like a living tide against them. Their armor glinted in the torchlight like tiny flashes of embers scattered across the plains. Aside from several banners, there were no instruments to signal their movements, like horns or cornu, only the sound of feverish chants. The thought staggered Lansius.
¡°Just how are they going to coordinate their attack?¡± Lansius muttered to Dietrich.
¡°I was wondering the same,¡± Dietrich admitted. ¡°I see no fire signals or anything to guide them. Could they really be rushing us blindly?¡±
¡°They can¡¯t be that incompetent,¡± Lansius replied, stroking his chin.
Dietrich hesitated before locking eyes with him. ¡°My Lord, I can command this. You should return to your family¡ªthey need you.¡±
Lansius let out a sigh. ¡°No worries. I have several Skirmishers and Sir Omin protecting them. Still, I feel bad bringing them out of the safety of the castle to this half-finished camp.¡±
Dietrich chuckled softly, but Ingrid¡¯s voice cut through the moment.
¡°200 steps,¡± Ingrid reported to Lansius, gazing through the Ekionia optics at the painted stone marker the enemy column had just crossed.
Her words prompted Dietrich to look at Lansius, who gave a nod. As captain, he signaled his men. ¡°Let the fire bottles fly.¡±
At his command, the slingers, employed by the alchemist from Ornietia, swung their ordnance into action. One by one, the volatile mixtures inside the clear glass bottles soared into the darkening skies before crashing to the ground and erupting into small puddles of flame.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Meanwhile, at the center of the camp, carpenters worked tirelessly. Sir Michael had arrived with more materials and additional workers. Under a cluster of lanterns, they labored to construct a simple wooden platform, like a scaffold, designed to house a device Lansius had "borrowed" from the castle. The device itself wasn¡¯t a weapon, but it would be spectacular in this kind of battle.
Lansius turned to Ingrid. ¡°Go to Sir Michael and assist him. Or, if the battle becomes too much for you, you may return to the Lady¡¯s side.¡±
¡°Yes, my Lord,¡± the educator replied with a nod before hurrying off.
Outside, the fires at first appeared insignificant; some enemy soldiers even kicked dirt and grass onto them. But the flames persisted, licking hungrily at the ground and spreading as if alive, their orange glow casting a haunting light over the battlefield.
The constant barrage of fire bottles hurled by the slingers caused multiple injuries but did little to slow or panic the enemy. At their size, and in this darkening hour, even a hundred deaths were a mere drop in the river. Still, causing deaths was beside the point.
¡°Now we have light,¡± Lansius muttered to himself. The fire bottles acted like flares, giving his crossbowmen the distance reference and depth perception they needed.
Then he turned to face his men. ¡°Men,¡± Lansius addressed them, his voice firm, dispelling some of the tension in the air.
His troops looked at him with eager eyes, but the dim, swaying light of torches and lanterns betrayed their fear and nervousness.
¡°Do not hesitate,¡± he began. ¡°These Reginald''s underlings are not to be trusted. First, they sent threats, then assassins, and now they haven¡¯t even extended the courtesy of a messenger. They don¡¯t see any of us as honorable enough for discussion. They want us dead or shackled for Navalnia. And they won¡¯t stop until they have all of Lowlandia under their foot.¡±
Having reinforced their purpose, Lansius signaled Dietrich to proceed.
¡°Crossbowmen!¡± Dietrich roared, and the men snapped to readiness, gripping their weapons tightly. Meanwhile, the slingers continued hurling their fiery payloads.
¡°Aim to Kill! Aim for the torchbearers! Loose!¡± Dietrich barked.
Immediately, the air filled with the sound of snapping steel prods and thick strings whipping back as the crossbows unleashed their fury.
¡°Shower them! Let them taste Lowlandian bolts!¡± the lieutenants shouted. Hastily, the men reloaded. The first volley landed in the dark, black bolts whistling faintly over the pounding chants of the advancing enemy.
But struck true they did. Torches fell as their bearers crumpled to the ground, and the rhythmic chants faltered, interrupted briefly. Another salvo took flight, then another.
Despite the cover of darkness, the bolts found their marks. Faint cries emerged from the masses, but it wasn¡¯t enough. The fanatics pressed on, stepping over their fallen comrades with wild fervor. The smell of blood and the wails of the injured only seemed to fuel their advance.
Another volley was loosed, faster this time, yet the relentless tide surged forward, closing in as they reached the western entrance.
¡°My Lord, permission to join the fight,¡± Dietrich asked, intending to join his tercio¡¯s mobile column.
¡°Go with my blessing,¡± Lansius replied. Then, turning to his men, he commanded, ¡°Keep sending those bolts into the air! The more we fire, the more likely they are to retreat and end this madness!¡±
His men obeyed, launching bolt after bolt, but the sea of torches below steadily surrounded them. Some attackers carried ladders and, despite heavy casualties, navigated the moat to begin their assault.
Some brave but foolhardy men climbed the walls fearlessly, their shouts rising with the chaos, only to be met with staunch resistance. Lansius watched as his Korelian volunteer troops engaged in their first battle. Fighting erupted along the palisade wall, but it was nothing compared to the western entrance, which bore the brunt of the assault. A large mass of fanatics was hammering themselves against the barricade.
Lansius wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His mind was heavy with concerns. First, his palisade wall had yet to be reinforced with rammed earth; if those thousands attacked methodically, they could potentially dismantle it. Moreover, his men were exhausted¡ªthey had just finished a long march, built the fort, and managed only a quick supper before the attack began.
Yet, like it or not, the most decisive part of the battle was about to unfold.
***
New Midlandia Army
Erratic light atop the palisade gave the six thousand bearings on where to go. Now, closer to the camp, they could see the opening. With each step, the exposed side of the camp drew nearer. Despite the hail of crossbows that felled many of them, especially the torchbearers, they stubbornly advanced across the uneven ground.
Another wave to their left went directly to the walls, attacking with ladders. After enduring a relentless barrage of bolts, they finally engaged the Saint''s enemies, invoking her wrath against the intruders who dared to defy her holy plans.
More bolts landed among them, peppering them like a rain of iron. Yet even those wounded, with bolts protruding from their bodies, forced themselves up again and kept advancing. With faith burning in their hearts, there was no retreat.
Each death only made their chants grow louder. "Healing for the living, salvation for the dead!"
Their throats, raw from relentless shouting and hard marching, rasped cries of devotion to the 150-year-old Saint, who still looked ever youthful. Her believers claimed that her holy hands could heal any sickness.
As the foremost column charged with spears brandished high, the rest followed breathlessly, hurling themselves into the unfinished side of the camp.
Then disaster struck.
The front ranks suddenly vanished, swallowed by a ditch they failed to notice. The darkness had concealed it until it was too late. Bodies tumbled into the pit, while others, caught unaware, tripped and fell atop their comrades. Bones snapped, and the weight of the fallen crushed those below, leaving them to die in suffocating screams.
¡°Moats!¡± they collectively warned as more attackers stumbled upon the ditches where their brothers had fallen. Some faltered at the edge, trying to stop, but the mass of bodies behind them shoved forward relentlessly. More tumbled in, still clutching their weapons, which undoubtedly drew blood in the panic.
More horrifyingly, the barrage of bolts was now directed at them. Agony rippled through the attackers, momentarily overpowering their chants.
¡°Push through!¡± bellowed one, echoed by others. Driven by sheer desperation, the survivors clawed their way out. The trench, now shallow from the mass of bodies, had become a grim bridge of the dead. Those who managed to climb out desperately tried to regroup on the other side, only to find the wooden barricade looming directly before them.
The cheval de frise stood at chest height, bristling with sharpened wooden spikes. Bound together with stakes or ropes, this simple wooden structure was a formidable obstacle. No fewer than ten barricades blocked the western entrance. Some attackers immediately tried to scale it, but the defenders'' spears welcomed them mercilessly.
Blood sprayed, and the pungent stench of guts filled the air. Only when brothers with shields joined the fray did they manage to hold, forming a crude shield wall. All the while, bolts whistled through the air, causing wounds or snatching lives seemingly at random. But worse still was the fire attack, which kept even the bravest among them on edge.
Yet they pressed on, their orderly chants driving them forward. Before long their numbers swelled as more climbed over, and the assault began anew.
Like madmen, they surged toward the barricade; the final obstacle blocking them from unleashing the Living Saint''s fury.
But then, they encountered something entirely unfamiliar.
"Brother!" one cried amid the assault. "I''m stuck!" His voice was strained with pain as hundreds surged toward the wooden barricade. And he wasn¡¯t the only one. Many more were trapped, tangled against something unseen. The feeble light from torches, whether ally or enemy, failed to reveal the source. Something clung to them, gripping like a predator¡¯s snare, tearing into flesh and refusing to let go. The more they struggled to free themselves, the worse the pain grew.
¡°Cut it! Cut it down!¡± shouted many, but striking blindly in the dark was futile. Worse still, their cries only drew the enemy spearmen, who attacked mercilessly, striking down those immobilized at the barricade.
Ensnared, there was little they could do. The debilitating pain sapped their strength, leaving them helpless. Their brothers climbed past or over them, unintentionally crushing them further. Wails of agony pierced the night as their faith and courage dissolved like vapor.
Yet their sacrifices were not in vain. Amid the bloodbath, the attackers managed to cut loose a barricade and gain an opening. In great ecstasy, the first wave surged toward the defenders¡¯ men-at-arms. At last, they entered the camp.
They fought fearlessly. Hundreds poured through the gap with shields raised and weapons brandished. They clashed with the defenders, seemingly gaining the upper hand. They thrust, they struck, and they fought with a near-frenzied zeal.
However, their triumph was short-lived.
Fearless as they were, exhausted and disorganized, they were no match for the battle-hardened veterans of Lowlandia. Wild thrusts and erratic strikes were parried with ease, their crude formations shattering against an unyielding wall of spears and swords. For every fanatic who charged with blind courage, a veteran¡¯s blade awaited with cold precision.
These were the troops who had fought in multiple battles over two brutal years. They understood the rhythm of war and the value of resilience. They neither faltered nor wasted energy, cutting down their foes with grim efficiency. Their formation held firm, stepping back only to counter in a deadly dance of blades.
Soon, the assault devolved into a bloody stand.
Then, slowly, the attackers'' first wave was ground to a bloody end.
As the front ranks were slaughtered, those in the rear began to falter. Chants lingered on their lips, but their momentum slowed, and their steps grew shaky. Bravery gave way to dread as they witnessed the fate of their brothers. By the light of fallen torches and the defenders¡¯ lanterns, the horrifying aftermath lay bare before them.
The first wave was gone, leaving behind a mass of broken bodies and silenced chants.
The ditch overflowed with bodies, limbs twitching as flames and shadows danced across the carnage. The barricades told a similar story¡ªbodies hung, stuck, or scattered in unnatural poses. But the worst was beyond the barricades, where the ground was littered with the unmoving remains of the first wave.
No fewer than five hundred of their brothers had reached the camp¡ªonly to be slaughtered to the last.
"Midlandians!" a defender bellowed from atop the wall. "We come for vengeance. This puddle of blood ain''t nearly enough. Send more!"
The taunt triggered a roar of laughter from the defenders'' camp.
So many had died, only for the enemy to laugh. This unnerved those in the rear ranks, halting them in their tracks. Many scattered, seeking cover or gripping their shields tightly overhead. Many hesitated, but the chants from the rear grew louder¡ªpressing, pushing them to take action. Desperation and Saint Nay''s promise of salvation drove many forward despite the horrors ahead.
But for others, they had seen enough. They turned and fled into the woods, knowing that brutal deaths were not salvation.
...
New Midlandia Army''s Encampment
Thick incense filled the large opulent tent, its cloying scent mingling with the faint metallic tang of sweat and iron. Ten men in black-painted ringmail knelt on the ground, their heads bowed in reverence beneath the flickering light of oil lamps. Shadows danced along the canvas walls as smoke from the burning incense swirled lazily in the air.
¡°You and your brother are the chosen ones. Your faith equals your martial prowess,¡± the wiry Saint Candidate declared softly from her seat.
The men merely nodded, accepting the blessing in solemn silence.
¡°You shall lead your people to salvation,¡± intoned a younger Saint Candidate, her ethereal voice cutting through the haze as she stepped forward, carrying five clay bottles carefully wrapped in woolen bags.
¡°This is the alchemist¡¯s burning sands,¡± the wiry Saint Candidate explained as he rose to stand before them. ¡°Remember what it did to your brothers. Now, we have the chance to return the favor.¡±
The leading man accepted the gift with steady hands, distributing the bottles to those he deemed most capable without a word.
Another Saint Candidate stepped forward, this time carrying a golden chalice cradling a gem-crusted necklace. The wiry Saint Candidate¡¯s hands trembled with reverence as she took it and presented it to the leading man.
¡°Behold,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling. ¡°This necklace belonged to the Living Saint herself.¡±
The men stared in fervent awe, their lips muttering gratitude incessantly. With ritualistic care, the wiry Saint Candidate placed the necklace around the leading man¡¯s neck.
¡°This will grant you the Saint¡¯s power when you need it most,¡± she said. ¡°Use it wisely¡ªand return with it in victory.¡±
¡°Yes, blessed Sister,¡± the leading man replied, his voice filled with conviction.
¡°Now, join your brother,¡± she instructed. ¡°They have paved the way for your arrival. It is time to fulfill the Living Saint¡¯s will. Kill the enemy¡¯s reinforcement leader¡ªwe have a castle to conquer.¡±
***
Chapter 200 : The Last Bow
Chapter 200
The Last Bow
Lansius
Lansius kept his gaze fixed on the western part of the camp. Despite the relentless assault, they had withstood the first wave, and the situation remained under control. The combination of ditches, cheval de frise barricades, and barbed wire was proving its strength.
Deep down, Lansius pitied the fanatics who fought against the coiled barbed wire in the dim light, unaware of what they were up against. For them, it was certainly a nightmare. The sharp barbs clung to fabric, pricked, and tore the skin. The wire, intentionally kept loose in coils, was bendy and refused to snap.
The more they tried to climb, the more they became entangled, until pain eventually halted their movement, trapping them in place. While some fanatics managed to breach the barricades, it came at a great cost. And those who broke through were met by Lansius'' mobile column, comprised of his battle-hardened veterans.
In the end, the mobile column held the western entrance with only light¡ªif any¡ªcasualties, not needing reinforcement from the main army.
The palisade wall also held firm. Despite Lansius'' concerns about its unfinished construction and the absence of rammed earth for support, the volunteer troops, armed with crossbows, spears, and swords, managed to repel the assault. Moreover, they had greatly thinned the first wave, forcing the attackers to reel back from their wall.
Now, Lansius watched as Dietrich sent his men to secure the loose barricade and add several more strands of barbed wire¡ªthey would need it for the next attack.
Everyone understood that despite their early success, this was only a taste of the main attack.
¡°Get more bolts! Don¡¯t let the quivers run dry,¡± the lieutenant barked to the men below, who hurried to refill the spent ammunition.
With the main assault seemingly waiting in the dark beyond the range of their crossbows, Lansius turned his gaze toward Cascasonne and beyond but thought it too early to see any movement there. From the castle gate, he noticed Sir Stan personally overseeing the delivery of the borrowed item from the castle.
Lansius shifted his attention to the carpenters and Sir Michael, who were finishing the wooden platform for the borrowed device. He also spotted Lady Ingrid there, accompanied by three others¡ª
A streak of fire tore through the sky, leaving a red trail in its wake before arcing overhead. It landed with a sharp crack of clay shattering.
Lansius held his breath, and soon enough, a small but violent fire erupted from the impact site.
¡°Alchemist bottle! Bury it!¡± the nearest lieutenant howled, spurring men into frantic action. But as they scrambled, a puff of white smoke hissed ominously into the air.
¡°Burning Sands!¡± Sir Stan shouted as he sprinted toward it. ¡°Bury it now, or it¡¯ll spread!¡±
¡°Put dirt on it!¡± Lansius added, descending the stairs two at a time.
¡°My Lord, it¡¯s dangerous! Let us handle it,¡± one of his guards warned, rushing toward the growing blaze.
Before they could act, another projectile streaked through the sky, landing inside the camp with a fiery burst, followed by another that slammed into the palisade wall. The last impact sent shards of clay and flaming liquid outward, igniting a section of the wall in a smoky blaze and forcing the crossbowmen to reel back.
"Move away from the smoke!" Lansius called out, moving toward them. Tens of men hastily abandoned their posts, frantically searching for water to douse their stinging eyes.
"Wash your eyes and face, and remove your clothes if they have the white dust on them," Lansius added before returning to check on the first bottle. As it turned out, his men had buried it, and the smoke had fizzled out.
Elsewhere, Sir Michael and his men scrambled to deal with the second. Lansius had barely sighed in relief when noises from the western entrance caught his attention. There, he saw Dietrich''s men facing the same threat. One of the burning sands had ignited somewhere in the barricade, cloaking them in a choking cloud.
With pained breaths and teary eyes, the vanguard and men-at-arms stumbled back from their position, coughing violently. Some clutched their throats as if trying to expel the burning sensation.
The sight unnerved Lansius as he frantically searched for Ingrid, but his gaze caught Audrey and Margo instead at the center of the camp. Audrey was using her magic to summon wind, forcing it toward the enemy''s position in an attempt to scatter the suffocating fumes.
This might work, Lansius thought.
But clashes and shouts erupted from the opposite side¡ªthe east. Lansius spotted a daring surprise attack and knew instinctively it could undo all he had worked for. "Guardsmen, with me. It''s time to join the fight!"
There was no hesitation in Lansius'' tone, prompting his four guards to follow without question, each carrying a different weapon suited to their preference. To Lansius, they were as good as his Varangian Guard: exceptionally talented in combat, royally paid, and fully devoted to his cause.
***
The Living Saint''s Side
Two brothers acted as diversions, hurling their burning sands into the enemy camp. The first throw sailed cleanly over the wall, shattering somewhere inside, but his second throw arched too low and struck the palisade, scattering sparks across the ground. The second man sprinted toward the western entrance and hurled his clay bottle at the column beyond the barricades. It erupted into a choking cloud of gas, spreading chaos among the defenders as they reeled from the sudden attack.
Meanwhile, the leading man, Andras, led seven of his brothers to the east, where a column of men stood in defense behind wooden barricades. He smirked; it was easy to see that the defenders were overconfident in their proximity to the castle, believing that the crossbowmen stationed there and the dreaded new weapon would protect them. They relied too heavily on their allies and grew careless.
One bottle of burning sands was all it took. The clay shattered within the column, and panic seized them as acrid smoke billowed. The defender''s formation unraveled as they stumbled back, abandoning their position. That was the opening Andras and his men had been waiting for.
Familiar with the cheval de frise, they began their climb with practiced steps. However, they were caught off guard by the sharp, barbed wire coiled around the structure, which quickly ensnared many of them. With cool determination, they used their small numbers to their advantage, assisting one another to break free. Moreover, unlike their common brothers, they were better equipped.
Their ringmail was crafted with tightly woven, riveted rings, fine enough to stop even a metal toothpick. As a result, the jagged metal thorns around the barricade could do little more than slow them down. And they had ample time, as the burning sands worked in their favor.
After leaping over the barricade without losing anyone, they pressed forward into the dense gas cloud without hesitation.
"Andras," a brother called out, his voice muffled by the mask, ¡°May the Saint¡¯s blessing reach your deceased family!¡±
¡°Her teachings will save us all,¡± Andras replied, smiling faintly behind his mask. ¡°What she did for my brother, she will do for us all.¡±
While the defenders had little experience with such weapons, the attackers were all too familiar with often being on the receiving end of that vile gas. Through harsh lessons, they had developed some methods to counter its effects. The brothers under Andras had slathered their limbs and faces with a thin coat of tallow and wore masks dampened with a posca-like concoction of water and wine vinegar.
Well-prepared and experienced, they pushed through the choking fog as it burned their eyes and nostrils. Soon, the gas began to thin, and with great fervor, they launched themselves at the column, blades first.
Earlier, the column was bristled with spears and shields, their formation tight and disciplined. But now, their ranks were scattered and relaxed. Men gasped for breath, helmets discarded, splashing water from their waterskins over their faces in a desperate attempt to soothe the burning. Suddenly, eight men in black ringmail broke through the fog.
One Korelian soldier never saw Andras coming. His sharp, curved steel blade swept in a tight arc, slicing deep into the man¡¯s jugular. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as the soldier¡¯s mouth fell open in shock. To his left and right, Andras¡¯ brothers charged the startled defender, delivering the Living Saint¡¯s wrath upon the unbelievers.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
But their opponent were not levied troops. Amid the chaos, a blade thrust toward Andras. He sidestepped with the agility of a man forged by countless fights. His eyes locked with his attacker¡¯s for the briefest moment before he drove the rondel dagger in his left hand deep into the man¡¯s ringmailed chest. The ice-pick-like nail pierced through, striking the man down. Nearby, one of his brothers swung an axe, cleaving a soldier¡¯s arm in a single, brutal motion.
The defender''s column was completely unraveled. Its members fled in panic, disoriented by the gas and unsure of the number of attackers. They tripped over one another in a desperate attempt to escape the black-clad killers, who seemed immune to the smoke. Shouts and screams filled the air, the chaos working to Andras'' advantage as he struck down another man and slipped deeper into the camp.
But the cost was steep. One brother fell¡ªa crossbow bolt struck him point-blank before a spear finished him off. Another was captured, wrestled to the ground by sheer numbers. Yet, the remaining brothers were more than enough to sow chaos, cut down commanders, and make their escape. Andras led the charge, his black-painted ringmail melding seamlessly with the shadows of the night.
Amid the flickering light of lanterns and torches, Andras spotted a figure clad in fine armor, standing taller than the rest. His gilded breastplate marked him as a nobleman, while his commanding presence and the several men flanking him left no doubt that he was the commander.
The target shouted orders, seemingly directing his men to move a mule-drawn cart out of the way. Andras launched himself toward him, sprinting. His brothers followed without question, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
Suddenly, Andras felt the Living Saint¡¯s blessing surge through his veins. The strength was so overwhelming that, for a moment, he faltered, unsteady on his stride. But with his next step, he found himself moving faster, each pump of his legs propelling him forward with inhuman power.
The Living Saint had saved Andras'' brother, who was badly burned¡ªhis skin, even his hair and eyebrows, completely scorched in the house fire. Now, the recovering boy was a devout gardener in the Saint''s monastery. When the Saint learned that his mother and father had also perished in the blaze, she said she would find their souls and bring them to the Garden of the Ancients.
Since that moment, no clouds had lingered in Andras'' soul. The former street brawler turned cutthroat had found his purpose. He lived now as the Living Saint''s blade of justice.
"Watch out! The leading one is a mage," a female voice rang out. Her warning unintentionally sparked further panic, giving Andras a good opening.
One of the nearest guards who moved to intercept hesitated. Without breaking stride, Andras hurled the rondel dagger in his left hand with all the strength he could muster. The weapon flew blindingly fast, hitting the guard¡¯s shoulder with such force that it sent him stumbling backward.
The surprised nobleman and his remaining men readied their sword stances. But Andras had the momentum. "In the name of the Living Saint, I command you: Perish!" he roared as he pounded his heavy boot on the ground and brought his blade down in a vicious overhead slash against the nobleman. His brothers were close behind him, flanking from both sides.
***
Lansius
He saw only five or six figures, all clad in black armor. Such a small number, yet they had wreaked havoc on his column stationed behind the barricade. Still, nobody had expected burning sands attacks, and certainly not with this level of ferocity.
"One of them is a mage!" Ingrid warned from the crowd behind, surprising Lansius.
"Good!" Lansius bellowed without hesitation as he kept his pace. "I¡¯m getting bored."
His four guards broke a smile at his words and doubled their pace toward the intruders, who were focused on Sir Stan.
"In the name of the Living Saint, I command you: Perish!" the likely assassin mage roared, launching toward Sir Stan.
A sharp whistle pierced the air. Lansius caught sight of the arrow as it momentarily distracted the mage. It lasted only a blink, and the arrow strayed harmlessly, but the broken focus was enough. The two blades clashed with a resounding ring, and Sir Stan swiftly followed with a sly counter aimed at the opponent¡¯s face. His blade nicked the cheek, smearing first blood across the black mask.
"What¡¯s with the mask? Did Saint Nay say you¡¯re ugly?" Sir Stan taunted with a childish grin. His answer came in the form of a powerful diagonal blow, which the baronet was forced to block.
The duel had begun when Lansius and his guards arrived, just as more black-armored men appeared on the other side. Two of Lansius'' guards leaped into the fray, while the others moved to intercept anyone attempting to target him. Reinforcements began to converge, but one attacker slipped through and charged directly at Lansius.
Lansius readied his stance, but another arrow sliced through the air, striking the attacker. It failed to penetrate the ringmail but staggered the man just long enough for Lansius to quick step forward and deliver a swift sword strike to the side of his head.
The attacker¡¯s ringmail coif protected his scalp, but the blunt force was enough. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, preventing Lansius from delivering a follow-up strike.
Nearby, one of Lansius'' guards had fell another attacker, while the men gathering around had overpowered a second. A third lay pinned to the ground, choking from suffocation¡ªlikely Ingrid¡¯s handiwork.
The black-clad killers were strong and experienced, but the Shogun''s men proved to be their equals. Worse for the attackers, Lansius'' personal guards had been handpicked and trained by Sir Harold, outclassing the killers in nearly every way. Their fatigue soon became evident, and the guards cornered them as their fight grew increasingly desperate.
Fierce fighting continued, but the center of attention was the fight between Sir Stan, two guards, against the mage assassin. For the first time, those outside the Toruna household witnessed Sir Stan¡¯s prowess. Physically, he was a first-rate knight, and his connections to Bengrieve likely afforded him rare artifacts or relics that few could rival.
A powerful parry by the guard, followed by Sir Stan''s swift counter, sent their opponent stumbling backward. Meanwhile, the other attackers were being cornered as more defenders converged, cutting off their escape.
"It¡¯s not a mage," Ingrid corrected as she approached, a squire by her side. "It¡¯s a gemstone of strength."
A smirk spread across Sir Stan¡¯s face. "Leave him to me," he said to the guards beside him.
"But Sir¡ª"
Sir Stan did not respond. Instead, he lunged forward, wielding a spear taken from a fallen man. Sparks flew as the spear clashed against the assassin¡¯s blade in a fierce duel.
The assassin unleashed powerful parries and masterful counters, but Sir Stan dominated the exchange. There was a certain beauty in his near-reckless fighting style. He didn¡¯t bother dodging shallow cuts, allowing grazes to land on his full plate armor without hesitation, completely ignoring them to maintain his edge in attacking. In this way, his speed, feints, and superior technique allowed him to control the fight.
As the duel raged on, the remaining black-clad killers were defeated. Yet Lansius couldn¡¯t afford to let his guard down. The western entrance was under heavy attack. A few hundred enemies had already swarmed through the barricade, with likely another thousand advancing behind them. Their chants now drowned out all other noise from the west side.
Lansius¡¯ mobile column, still wary and reeling from the effects of the burning sands, fought fiercely to plug the gap. Crossbowmen and cranequiniers fired relentlessly in a desperate attempt to halt the onslaught.
Lansius dared a glance toward Sir Michael, who was frantically assisting the carpenters in installing the device brought by the mule cart. He felt a flicker of relief that they kept working despite the chaos surrounding them.
It¡¯s almost ready.
A cry erupted, drawing Lansius'' attention back to the duel. Sir Stan had struck a spear into the opponent''s belly. The man knelt, clutching the spear to prevent it from penetrating deeper.
"All that extra strength, and what did you achieve?" Sir Stan asked, his tone half-mocking, reminding Lansius of their training days in Toruna. "You seem poorly trained for this kind of fight. Tell me, is this your first time using the necklace of strength?"
When the man gave no response but a pained grunt, Sir Stan, in a show of dominance, lifted him off the ground with his spear. Then, with a wide vertical swing, he slammed the man several steps away, crashing to the ground.
Everyone was stunned by the feat of strength, and Lansius seized the moment. "Don''t just gawk! Return to your stations. We have a war to win!" he shouted.
Driven by Lansius'' command, the men hastily returned to their posts, leaving the failed assassination attempt behind.
The man began to gurgle blood from the impact and the wound in his belly. Slowly, he reached for the spear tip, but the pain was so excruciating that his muscles refused to obey.
"Don''t even try. That spear is the only thing keeping your guts from spilling out," Sir Stan said, stepping closer.
The man stared up with bloodshot eyes as Sir Stan knelt and forcefully removed the lower part of his black ringmail coif.
"Be careful. He''s still powerful," Lansius warned.
"Not to worry," Sir Stan replied calmly. "The gemstone is working hard just to keep his vitals up. Right now, he''s as harmless as a dying man."
Lansius recalled his own experience with his gemstone of strength. Sir Stan seemed to know much more, suggesting he likely owned one and had secretly trained extensively with it. While Lansius trusted Ingrid, it appeared the gemstone of strength wasn¡¯t as rare as she believed.
But then again, Bengrieve even had muskets...
"Oh, what do we have here?" the baronet mused aloud, removing the necklace from the man¡¯s neck. As soon as it left his body, the man convulsed violently and vomited blood.
One of Lansius'' guards drew his dagger while two others stepped forward. "My Lord, we¡¯ve captured three alive," one reported.
Lansius observed the man silently for a moment before giving a single nod. The two guards, each grabbing an arm, hauled the dying man into a sitting position. As the leading guard unfastened the straps of the black ringmail coif and removed it along with the padding and mask beneath, he asked, "What''s your name?"
The man''s strength was nearly gone, but he muttered through bloodied lips, "Andras, son of Varsovia."
"Well met¡ªand goodbye," the guard said as he delivered a merciful stab to the back of the neck. Andras slumped forward, his struggle finally over.
"Lord Shogun," Sir Stan called. Lansius turned to see the baronet holding out his palm, revealing a gem-encrusted silver necklace.
"Not the prettiest, but it¡¯s still a functional gemstone of strength," Sir Stan commented. "Have you heard of it?"
Lansius opened his mouth to deny it, but Sir Stan already continued, "Well, you have a mage who sensed it, so this will be easy."
"What will be easy?" Lansius asked, resting his sword on his shoulder.
Unexpectedly, Sir Stan held the necklace up, offering it to Lansius.
Lansius frowned. "But you won it in a duel."
"It¡¯s a gift, take it!" he insisted. "You raced all the way from Lowlandia to save Cascasonne. And I even heard you sent a detachment to free Toruna. For that, I¡¯m grateful."
Amused, Lansius sheathed his sword and quickly accepted the necklace. "Gratitude for this remarkable gift."
"Don¡¯t be. We¡¯re in-laws, remember?" Sir Stan quipped, unfazed by the deaths around him.
However, there was little time for respite. The western entrance had been overrun, and the wooden barricades were pushed aside. Meanwhile, the enemy had renewed their assault on the palisade walls, where more fanatics were scaling them, swarming the defenders¡¯ positions like endless waves of ants.
"Any brilliant ideas on how to survive this mess?" Sir Stan whispered, leaning closer. "Or do we need to use the new weapons?"
"No," Lansius replied confidently, though a hint of nervousness crept into his voice. "The plan is ongoing. Now, it¡¯s time to turn the tables on them."
***
Chapter 201 : Curtain Call
Chapter 201
Curtain Call
Western Barricades
The white burning sands gas had dissipated, leaving only thin trails of a choking, acrid stench. Its absence acted like a signal. The fanatics, led by one of Andras'' brothers, launched a renewed assault on the western entrance. With a furious push, they forced the barricades aside, widening the gap. A wave of righteous fury surged through them as they poured into the breach, torches in one hand and swords in the other.
"Salvation! Salvation!" they chanted in unison as they charged into the defenders'' line.
The brother in black climbed over the barricade and shouted, "The Living Saint is watching! Take it! Salvation is in your enemy¡¯s blood!"
His voice rallied the fanatics further, who swung their swords or thrust their spears with fearsome determination. Blind courage made up for their lack of skill, and when their brave but clumsy attempts failed, they hurled themselves forward, clutching knives or weapons they could find. Their faces twisted with wild enthusiasm, eyes blazing with the desperate hope of salvation¡ªfor the loved ones they had already lost or those still clinging to life, yearning for the Saint''s gentle, healing hand.
The shrieks and cries of women and young boys in their ranks pierced the air, adding to the madness. Their screams of encouragement and chants drove the column forward, transforming it into a stampede. There was no sense of order, and soon many died from being crushed, unable to breathe as they were pushed from all sides and trapped within the crowd. Bodies fell, trampled beneath the crush of unforgiving feet.
Yet even this animalistic assault was not enough. The defenders¡¯ column fought on like madmen, unflinching despite the odds. They delivered puncturing wounds, deep slashes, and severed limbs like butchers carving meat. There was no remorse or guilt, only vengeance to serve and more men to kill. They stepped back only because of the growing piles of bodies they had slain.
The true killer, however, was the bolts in the dark. Crossbowmen and cranequiniers wielding improved designs unleashed a relentless rain of steel against the onslaught. They spent an enormous stockpile of bolts to hold the line.
Their sharp whistling might have been drowned out by the chants, but their deadly impact was unmistakable. Each bolt struck with a sickening thud, piercing flesh through the gambesons the fanatics wore. The wounds rarely killed outright, but they caused tremendous pain, draining their wills and strength with every crimson drop.
Many could have been saved with proper care, but within a stampeding horde, their fate was sealed. Like hundreds of other victims, they drew their final, laborious breaths, collapsing with bolts protruding from their bodies, only to be crushed beneath the relentless press of their allies.
Before long, the ground grew slick with blood, and the air thickened with the stench of iron, guts, and piss. Despite the darkness and dim illumination, it became clear to everyone that the charge had claimed more lives among themselves than the defenders. The assault began to falter. The relentless bolts had done their grim work, leaving the mass thinned and reduced to a sea of broken bodies.
While the front of the assault struggled to grapple with the brutal reality, the situation at the rear was entirely different. There, the remaining four thousand fanatics were still in high spirits. Darkness had shielded them from the bloody carnage and the horrific demise of several hundred of their comrades. Worse, their impatience was growing.
The crowd had heard of the salvation promised at the front, and rumors that the Living Saint was watching them. This belief elated them beyond measure. They were eager, almost ecstatic, to take part in the attack. Their chants rose louder and louder, but it wasn¡¯t enough. They yearned for action, pushing and shoving in their frenzy, completely unaware that their impatience was causing the deaths of their brothers at the front.
Blissfully ignorant of the stampede and the death of so many, they wore bright, eager expressions, their jubilant chants rising unwavering amidst the sea of torches. So, when a sudden, brilliant white light broke through the darkness, illuminating the area in an otherworldly glow, the crowd erupted in euphoria, convinced that the Living Saint herself had descended among them.
¡°It¡¯s the Living Saint¡¯s Blessing!¡± someone shouted.
¡°Your Holiness!¡± others called.
The fanatics fell to their knees en masse, arms stretched toward the direction of the light, ignoring the fact that it came from the defenders¡¯ encampment. Their faces were lit with awe and joy, their voices trembling with reverence. Some wept openly, while others clutched their chests as though feeling the Saint¡¯s presence within them.
But instead of a beautiful choir, a strange sound emerged from the opposite side.
"Hrrruuuummm..."
"Whee-oooh..."
"Yiii-oooii..."
From the direction of the woodlands, a low, reverberating hum cut through the air like a living presence. Its guttural tone seemed to rise from the very earth, a deep vibration that resonated in their guts and rattled their resolve. They had never heard anything like it.
"What is that?" one muttered to another, but not even the most zealous had an answer. The sound was too bizarre to explain.
Then, all of a sudden, the hum turned into a high, piercing melody that shattered the night.
The fanatics quivered, their chests tightening with uncertainty, and nothing could have prepared them for what came next. Hundreds of arrows shrieked through the air, streaking toward their exposed position, illuminated and bathed in light. Within moments, the sickening thuds of arrows piercing flesh echoed across their lines, and pained screams quickly blanketed the area. The surprise attack and sudden deaths of so many turned the crowd into frightened animals.
Primal fear took hold. The crimson blood that gushed from their fallen comrades had shattered their beliefs. Worse, the brilliant illumination forced them to witness the full horrors of war, ironically the very spectacle they had blindly craved before. Routed, they fled in all directions, avoiding the woods and the camp.
The woodlands were now lit with lanterns. Those who dared to look caught sight of men clad in fur and leather, their rugged outerwear concealing the faint glint of ringmail beneath. Their voices roared out with raw, powerful war cries.
With precision honed by years of guarding their flocks against marauding wolves and the predators of the great plains, the nomadic archers continued to rain down accurate shots from their recurve bows. As the fanatics¡¯ column collapsed, Belgutei launched his general attack.
Having sung throat-singing praises to their khan and brimming with vigor, their warriors took to the field. The thousand-strong force, led by Belgutei, had waited patiently in the forest for this ambush. Their signal to strike had been the brilliant white light.
As they joined the fray, they immediately noticed that the light from the camp was capable of moving, guiding them, and showing exactly where to aim and strike.
"Lansius Khan has shown us the light," Belgutei shouted in jest despite the carnage, prompting laughter from his ranks even amid the opening of the fight.
As if things couldn''t get any better, Lord Lansius sent his fresh main army out of camp. Marching in order, with bugles blaring and swords and armor gleaming under the bright light, it was clear that the main counterattack had begun.
"Brothers! The Sky watches our fight," Belgutei''s voice thundered through the air. He raised his sword high before pointing it toward the scattered enemy. "Now, drive them into the earth!"
His warriors'' expressions turned savage, their eyes gleaming like Great Plains wolves as they dove into the panicked foes, cleaving the routed thousands in two. Together with the Shogunate''s main army, their joint maneuver crushed any chance of regrouping, trapping no fewer than a thousand for capture. The Khan had led them to another glorious victory.
***
Lansius
Standing on top of the wooden platform attached to the palisade walls, Lansius observed the deployment of the massive, human-sized gemstone that they had raided from Cascasonne''s Great Hall. It was one of House Bengrieve''s heirlooms. Certainly, the steward and castle staff had strongly opposed its removal, but they ultimately bowed to Sir Stan and Lansius'' wishes.
To Lansius, this was a military operation, and even an artifact of such magnitude paled in significance compared to the ongoing battle.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Installing the gemstone on the hastily constructed wooden platform had been no easy task. Castle craftsmen had been employed to help with the work. Using ropes and pulleys, they hoisted the large and heavy object into place. When the work was finally complete, the illumination it produced was staggering. The light emitted from it flooded the entire area with a beam of bright white light, enabling the nomads to begin their deadly attack.
Just how many lumens does it produce...?
He had first encountered this type of gemstone during his stay in Toruna, though in much smaller and more hidden forms. Later, on his visit to Cascasonne, he saw this exact gemstone in the Great Hall¡ªone of many wonders that mesmerized him. Yet he knew a dwarven artifact was far beyond his means. It was an object worth more than gold, and most were probably heirlooms.
This was why Lansius fondly recalled his inner joy when Ingrid gifted him the small gemstone of light, which became his House''s first dwarven artifact, now proudly mounted on their airship.
This crystal-shaped gemstone initially acted like a floodlight, scattering a soft glow across the field. However, Ingrid, who stood atop the wooden platform aided by several men, quickly gained mastery of it. She was able to tune it into a more focused beam, functioning like a spotlight.
The ability to control the light''s focus allowed Lansius and his staff not only to observe but also to give directions, influencing the battle from afar. Now, the continuous beam of light was guiding the nomads and their main army toward key positions and troubled spots on the battlefield.
This single device had effectively turned the tide of the battle. From the start, it had allowed the nomadic archers to showcase their full worth against foes many times their number, thinning their ranks and breaking their wills before the footmen entered the fight.
Lansius saw that his men and staff, like Sir Michael, were mesmerized by it. Even Sir Omin had left his logistical camp to witness the light. Feeling he had seen enough, Lansius climbed down the wooden planks on the palisade. With his four guards flanking him, he headed to the center of the camp, where he had spotted Audrey with her guards and entourage.
The baroness was wrapped in warm fur clothing, standing tall, her face softly illuminated by the lantern carried by her guards. Next to her stood Arryn and Tanya, both clad in new garments.
"My Lord," they greeted in unison as Lansius approached.
"Why are you here? You should be in the tent," Lansius asked tenderly, his gaze moving between Audrey, Arryn, and Tanya.
"No gratitude for my arrow?" Audrey replied playfully.
Lansius chuckled, then turned to his guards. "Give us some space."
Without hesitation, the guards directed the entourage to step away, giving the family some privacy.
Lansius turned quickly to Arryn and Tanya, who remained quiet. "Mother, I hope this hasn¡¯t frightened you."
"I saw you fight. Are you hurt?" Arryn asked.
"It¡¯s nothing; the guards keep me safe," Lansius reassured her.
Arryn nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, her nervous smile betraying the tension she tried to hide. Tanya added, "Brother, we¡¯re okay. If you have important matters to attend to, please don¡¯t worry about us."
Lansius smiled at her. "I wish you were still three years younger so I could pat your head."
Tanya smirked happily, seemingly unperturbed by the war. Lansius noticed that Audrey had wisely kept them away from the carnage. Here, in front of the command tents and under heavy guard with sturdy shields, they were safe. Even a beast-kin guard stood ready, her sole responsibility being to protect Audrey and the family. The fact that the beast-kin didn¡¯t jump to his defense showed she understood her assignment.
"So, how¡¯s the plan going?" Audrey asked.
"As you can see, it¡¯s working," Lansius replied, his gaze drifting toward the white light.
Arryn and Tanya watched the white light with wide-eyed reverence, its radiance seeming almost unnatural against the dark skies. The mother clutched her daughter slightly closer and murmured, "It¡¯s like the sun..."
Tanya nodded, then turned to Lansius, who seemed curious. "I saw this light in the castle corridors and halls, but I never thought... it could do this."
"Frankly, I¡¯m surprised too," Lansius said, his tone reassuring. "I didn¡¯t expect it to be this powerful."
A brief pause settled over them before Audrey asked, "Are our enemies routed?"
"Yes," Lansius confirmed firmly, much to his family¡¯s relief.
"Veni, Vidi, Vici," Audrey said proudly, quoting what Lansius had taught her on their journey.
Her words made Lansius snort in amusement. "I only hope Bengrieve doesn¡¯t charge me for the chandelier repairs."
"I doubt it. He¡¯s reasonable and not stingy with money. Otherwise, he¡¯d have already asked us about that salt debt," Audrey replied.
Lansius heaved a sigh but nodded. Despite all their suspicions, Bengrieve was reasonable. Moreover, he had never raised a sword against him and had delivered on his promise to get Lansius'' family out of Arvena. Lansius knew they were likely taken as hostages, a guarantee of his loyalty, but even he employed similar tactics in his Shogunate. To blame Bengrieve would be like the pot calling the kettle black.
Just then, the castle gate connected to their camp opened, allowing tens of cavalry to emerge, fully armored. Two of them carried lanterns casting bright white light, likely powered by smaller gemstones like the one they had mounted.
"Cascasonne is indeed rich in artifacts," Audrey commented as if reading Lansius¡¯ thoughts.
"I¡¯m tempted to take it over and loot it myself," Lansius joked.
"And I know how bad you are with temptations," Audrey quipped.
The two chuckled, with Arryn and Tanya smiling nervously at their exchange.
"My Lord," one of his guards called out, "Sir Stan is heading this way. I''ll have him to stop and continue on foot."
"Yes, do what you must, but avoid any incident," Lansius instructed. Then, turning to his family, he added, "You¡¯d best return to the tent. There¡¯s nothing good to witness on the battlefield."
"Indeed," Tanya exclaimed, turning to Audrey. "My Lady, we can¡¯t let the baby in your belly see such sad sights."
Audrey nodded readily, turning to Lansius. "Take care. I¡¯ll wait for you in the tent."
"Don¡¯t stay up for me; make sure you get some sleep," Lansius said to her.
As his family departed, Lansius waited for Sir Stan, who dismounted and approached.
"Lord Shogun," Sir Stan called with newfound confidence. He looked at the white light and mumbled, "Ain''t it a beautiful ray? Never thought it could be used like that."
"Sir Stan, you¡¯re in full harness. Do you intend to join the fight?" Lansius asked.
"Indeed, I do."
"It¡¯s an honor to have you join, but I can assure you it¡¯s not necessary. The nomadic allies and my main army are already dominating the battlefield."
"I¡¯m not heading west," the baronet explained. "I¡¯ll be going east. I believe your plan could use an extra distraction."
"I see," Lansius said, pausing in thought before murmuring, "That would indeed be helpful."
The baronet, as tall as Sir Harold but with a leaner build, smirked. "Gratitude for the opportunity. I just can¡¯t let the Korelians hog all the glory, you know?"
Lansius found it amusing and turned to the horse¡ªa powerful breed with a broad chest, intelligent gaze, strong legs, and a coat that gleamed like polished obsidian. Sir Stan¡¯s squire stood beside it, adjusting the reins with care. "I don¡¯t recognize that horse," Lansius remarked.
"It¡¯s Bengrieve¡¯s warhorse. She¡¯s restless, and I think it¡¯s a good reason to borrow her for a stretch," Sir Stan replied.
***
East Side
Everyone allied to House Bengrieve was well aware of its extensive collection of dwarven artifacts. The House¡¯s fascination with relics from the old continent was nothing new and had long been regarded as one of their more extravagant pitfalls. But such pursuits were often dismissed as harmless distractions from the labyrinthine politics of the court. After all, costly hobbies was all too common among nobles, and this was one of the least harmful and least notorious. Compared to some of the vile excesses that happened behind closed doors, it was even considered tame.
Since he was young, Lord Bengrieve had shown a fascination akin to that of his father and grandfather. He sponsored expeditions and maintained cordial relations with explorers of the old world; at first from his own allowances, and later from his inheritance. Yet, for all their allure and exorbitant cost, dwarven artifacts rarely offered practical benefits.
Despite the legends of their durability, six thousand years of abandonment had rendered most tools, devices, and even magical gemstones broken and inert. If he didn¡¯t know better, Sir Stan might have assumed that the Grand Gemstone of Light, which Lansius used spectacularly in this battle, was the House¡¯s crowning achievement. It was one of the few artifacts that made up a small list of functional relics.
However, after learning about the flame-bursting weapons, even Sir Stan grew skeptical. Just how much more was hidden, even to them, Bengrieve''s most trusted?
The horse neighed, pulling him back from his thoughts. His eyes darted left and right as the night breeze brushed his face. With a single firm thought, Sir Stan activated his dwarven gemstone. A gentle surge of power spread through his body, filling him with warmth and vigor. But the most important enhancement was his eyesight. His eyes now glowed a dim gold, allowing him to see clearly in the darkness.
Among the relics discovered, gemstones like this were the only ones that cavaliers like him truly cared about. Occasionally, explorers struck gold, finding one still sealed inside a dwarven storage. The one he wore was one of those, a fully functional dwarven gemstone miraculously intact despite the ravages of time.
Cousin Bengrieve had told him that there were several grades of personal gemstones. The lesser ones had only a healing effect, something the dwarves had issued to help their people survive accidents. Above those were the dual-function gemstones, which granted both healing and strength, allowing the dwarves to evacuate themselves in emergencies.
Even these dual-function gemstones, known as gemstones of strength, were rare. But there were higher-grade ones. For the dwarves who lived underground, it was natural for them to desire the ability to see in the dark. Even with the availability of gemstones of light, they were nothing compared to the ability to see in the dark directly.
For him this gemstone was even more special. The explorer Stan had sponsored on a whim¡ªthe one who found it¡ªwas none other than Hannei. The sum Toruna paid allowed her to leave behind the perilous business for good. Yet that path also revealed her identity to Bengrieve. It was a sad story, one that Sir Stan tried to mend.
Now, the strength embedded in the gemstone allowed him to guide his riders unopposed, approaching the enemy camp from an unguarded route. The horse neighed again as if wanting something, prompting Sir Stan to smirk. He reached toward the animal''s left side. There was a gap in her barding for his hand to reach inside.
He tapped it, aware of what Bengrieve had embedded in the harnesses, and said, "Come, it''s nighttime. Let''s see what you¡¯ve got."
The large intricate gemstone on the harness, positioned near the beast''s heart, emitted a gentle strength. The horse was familiar with its energy, unafraid as her vision sharpened in the dark. She could see clearly now and felt the surge of energy coursing through her. Her steps were light, her stamina seemingly endless.
With no darkness veiling her eyesight, the horse ran confidently, navigating the maze-like camp defenses with ease and guiding their small party of mounted knights behind her. They evaded patrols and confused groups of sentries who could barely see and were too slow to react.
Soon, they spotted what was likely a command tent, guarded by a column of rear guards who appeared to be in disarray, swords and spears clutched tightly as they tried to fend off an attack. Sir Stan turned to his knights behind him. "We found them. On my lead!"
They all closed their visors, intent on unleashing destruction. But destruction was already underway in the camp. Dozens of men had pinned down the rear guards with a volley of crossbow bolts. A group had nearly aimed at Sir Stan and his knights, but a beast-like creature recognized him, smirked wide, and waved off the crossbowmen, halting their attack.
It was clear that the Lord Shogun had already delivered his firm fist upon their enemy.
***
Chapter 202 : Auriga鈥檚 Whisper
Chapter 202
Auriga¡¯s Whisper
New Midlandia Army Camp
The three Saint Candidates sat together inside their large, lavish tent, murmuring nighttime prayers dedicated to the Living Saint. In their prayers, they honored her who had come to show another path to the Ancient''s paradise. The scent of incense lingered, strong despite having burned out moments ago.
Earlier, they had sent their troops and the Brothers in Black to war, hoping for success or even news of a decisive victory. Instead, troubling sounds seeped through the tent walls: clashing steel and distant cries.
"Sister, I hear a clash of swords," the youngest Saint Candidate whispered once their prayers ended.
"Yes, I heard it too," the wiry and oldest Saint Candidate replied, her tone cool and dismissive. "It must be the clamor of men hauling the wounded to safety. The noises we heard must be from the clatter of weapons and armor being hurriedly removed."
Her answer briefly reassured the two, but now the sounds of horse neighing, cries, and screams drew closer.
"Could we be under attack?" the middle Sister ventured.
"Impossible. Not even Bengrieve himself could triumph against 6,000," the oldest Sister snapped, though her expression betrayed her growing anxiety.
The clamor of battle grew louder as shouts, grunts, clashing steel, heavy thuds, and agonized screams filled the night. The three exchanged worried glances. Without a word, they retreated deeper into the tent, searching for hiding places behind their traveling chests and furniture.
"Get the lantern out," the oldest Sister commanded.
The middle Sister, skilled in magic, snuffed out the expensive oil lamp with a flick of her fingers from afar. Not a moment too soon, a guardsman crashed into the tent, his boots sinking into the ornate rugs. Despite his efforts to steady himself, he lost his footing and stumbled back, stopping just short of toppling the mahogany table the Sisters used for rituals.
Another guard was wrestled to the ground near the entrance. He groaned, still struggling, until the blunt side of an axe struck his helmet with a sharp, metallic ring. His body slumped to the side, motionless.
Then, a tall knight in full plate armor entered. His visor was up, revealing sharp eyes, a firm jaw, and a calm, almost gentle face.
The first guardsman struggled to get up, but the knight spoke firmly. "Don''t. Your hip is broken."
"I yield," the man muttered, before raising his voice, "I yield."
The knight lowered his axe and stepped further into the tent, his gaze scanning the interior. A lantern near the entrance cast flickering light on the Sisters'' ritual tools and scattered belongings. Finding nothing, he said, "Drop your weapons, and I, Sir Harold, will take you as hostages."
Meanwhile, the three Sisters crawled frantically. Their earlier hiding spot had proven inadequate, and now they scrambled to conceal themselves behind stacks of blankets and clothing taken from Cascasonne City.
But Sir Harold unexpectedly climbed atop the ritual table, his armored greaves thudding on the polished mahogany. He easily spotted the Sisters crawling on all fours from his elevated position, even in the dim light. "Well, well," he said, his tone cold and cutting, "what do we have here?"
Instead of attempting to talk, the oldest Sister pulled a bottle of poison from her inner pocket and hurled it at the knight. It wasn¡¯t meant for throwing, but she hoped it would harm him. At the same time, she barked at the middle Sister, ¡°Go at him!¡±
Sir Harold caught the small ceramic bottle mid-air with ease, tossing it out of the tent without so much as a glance. Then he descended from the table, axe at the ready.
But the middle Sister was undeterred. She tapped into her soul, her eyes glowing gold as magic surged through her. Gripping a golden ceremonial scepter, she charged at him with a defiant cry.
The knight raised his axe to block the strike, his arm jolting from the unusual force behind her attack. His smirk widened.
From outside, two men rushed into the tent, swords drawn. "Sir Harold," one called, their faces illuminated by the dim light of a single lantern.
"Search the other tents. This isn¡¯t the commander¡¯s," the knight ordered, his voice calm. "But I think I¡¯ve found the Saint Candidates." Without hesitation, the two men retreated, leaving him to handle the Sisters alone.
The middle Sister swung her scepter with relentless energy, her strikes fierce but unrefined. Sir Harold blocked every strike with practiced ease, his movements calm and deliberate, until she faltered, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
His gaze softened briefly as he took in her appearance¡ªflushed cheeks, loose, tumbling hair, and golden eyes filled with determination. She was not unattractive, and even in exhaustion, her calm composure commanded respect. Unlike her older Sister¡¯s frenzied, fanatical gaze, her eyes held a quiet intelligence that was impossible to ignore.
She lunged at him again, aiming for his head. He deflected the blow and blocked her follow-up strike with his armored wrist. His gaze flicked to the other two Sisters, who had armed themselves with a sword and spear scavenged from the tent. But they failed to notice the massive shadow looming outside.
Sir Harold smirked and caught the middle Sister¡¯s wrist mid-swing. She gasped in surprise as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, cradling her as one might carry a bride. Turning to the shadow beyond the canvas wall, he shouted, "Francisca, now!"
A deafening tear ripped through the air as two enormous clawed hands shredded the tent wall, canvas flapping like torn parchment. The other two Sisters froze, their eyes wide and mouths agape, before screams erupted from their throats.
Francisca stormed inside, her hulking form casting a menacing silhouette. With a swift, brutal motion, she slammed her massive hands onto the other two Sisters, pinning them to the carpeted floor as if they weighed nothing.
The wolf-like creature opened her maw, revealing sharp, glistening fangs.
"Oi, be gentle. Don''t break them," the knight warned.
"Can''t help it. I smelled magic." Francisca guffawed as she withdrew her hands from the trembling Sisters, rising to her full height with an air of dominance. The two gasped for air, clutching their limbs in pain.
Her sharp gaze lingered on them, and she commented with a smirk, "But only the girl in your embrace seems adept at it. This young one is still growing, and this old one has only faint traces..." Her voice turned ominous. "Now, what should I do with you?"
The sudden sound of gushing water made Francisca giggle as the scent of urine filled the air. "Scared, are you?" she mocked, eyeing the two who had wet themselves. "As you should be. Why challenge the Lord of Korelia? Not even mountain folk like us would risk it."
"You''re giving them too much information," Sir Harold remarked, striding toward the tent¡¯s entrance while still clutching the middle Sister. She remained limp in his grasp, too exhausted from the fight and too aware of their insurmountable gap in strength to resist.
"What should I do with them? I''m still needed elsewhere," Francisca asked, her tone casual, though her claws and fangs made the Sisters on the ground tremble.
"Take them to the nearest vanguard lieutenant. Tell them to bind them and treat them as mages," the knight instructed. "But keep them away from the mages from Cascasonne."
"Understood," Francisca replied cheerfully. She knelt, scooping the two frightened Saint Candidates against her broad chest, and sprinted outside with ease.
On his way out, the knight passed the man with the broken hip. "I''ll send a squire for you later. Do you have a waterskin?"
"I do, Sir."
"Good. I still have business to attend to," Sir Harold said, leaving the tent, cradling the middle Sister with one arm supporting her back while the other gripped his axe."
Outside, the sight of the battlefield struck her speechless. It was far worse than she had imagined. Tents burned in the distance, while men surrendered en masse under the watch of crossbowmen. Cavalry charges swept through scattered pockets of resistance, breaking what little cohesion remained. A column of soldiers moved systematically from tent to tent, leaving no room for anyone to hide.
"So, do you still want to fight after witnessing all this?" Sir Harold asked lightly, his tone casual, as though the chaos around them were nothing more than a fleeting distraction on a quiet evening stroll.
"I''m the Living Saint''s servant, not some man''s plaything," she replied firmly, her tone resolute yet free of arrogance.
"I''m not that kind of man," he said, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt.
More of his men emerged, lanterns casting flickering light over their raised shields and drawn swords, forming a small lance group. Behind them, a continuous beam of white light swept across the battlefield, revealing the crushing defeat of the New Midlandia Army. Cascasonne Castle loomed in the distance, its towering walls standing unconquered against the odds.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
***
Lansius
Touring the defeated camp under heavy escort, Lansius saw how his battle plan had succeeded. His encampment¡¯s last stand had been both a diversion and a trap. The half-erected defenses served as bait, while the nomads hiding in the nearby woodland were the snare. Yet, even with those measures, victory had been far from certain.
Lansius was aware that even if he routed the fanatics, they would simply regroup and fight again. With just two thousand men at his command, defeating the entire New Midlandian Army¡ªnumbering seven to nine thousand¡ªwas still a daunting task.
This was why he entrusted his best with a critical mission: a decapitation strike. Believing his crossbowmen, nomads, and the gemstone of light was enough to hold their ground, Lansius sent his hardest-hitting force under Sir Harold, Francisca, and two Cascasonne mages to the castle. At the right moment, using captured ladders, they scaled down from the castle wall unnoticed and made their way to the enemy camp.
They infiltrated the camp and began targeting every chain of command they could find. However, things didn¡¯t go as planned. There were multiple large tents, and the guards were competent, unlike the fanatic army. Additionally, their small numbers and the absence of light, while advantageous for stealth, made identifying their targets challenging.
Fortunately, Sir Harold was a fearless man, undeterred by hardships. He ordered his men to attack methodically, eliminating the need for guesswork. Personally leading the charge, he secured tent after tent. In the end, they succeeded in capturing not only the key commanders but also the three Saint Candidates.
Lansius could only smile when he heard the reports.
¡°With this victory, South and East Midlandia¡ªor perhaps more¡ªare yours, My Lord,¡± Sir Michael said as they rode side by side.
Lansius chuckled but replied, ¡°Is it, really?¡±
His words prompted a questioning glance from the one-eyed knight.
¡°Sir Michael, all I hear from the wind is a reminder: you are only a mortal and all glory is fleeting,¡± Lansius explained.
Sir Michael found the statement profound and nodded in contemplation.
¡°Besides, I don¡¯t feel worthy,¡± Lansius admitted, letting out his true feelings.
¡°With all due respect, My Lord, even modesty must know its bounds,¡± Sir Michael said firmly.
"What made you say so?" Lansius asked.
"The first thing that comes to mind is how you acted to resolve the Nicopolan crisis. Other lords would have stayed in their castles and turned a blind eye. No Lord of Lowlandia would send aid to Korimor against marauding Nicopolans. None would send his army to South Hill to feed the surrendering Nicopolans. And certainly, no lord would venture into Umberland to save another lord''s domain. My Lord, you are beyond worthy."
Lansius blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. Their words had left him warm, yet uncertain how to respond.
"You sowed good seeds, My Lord. Now you reap a good harvest," one of his four guards chimed in respectfully.
"Fortune always favors the brave, My Lord," another added proudly.
Lansius smiled faintly, muttering, "Is that so," as he spurred his horse forward. He was heading to oversee the security detail handling the captured fanatics. He wasn¡¯t willing to take any chances with fanaticism. If necessary, he was prepared to put them to the ground.
After all, he was deep inside enemy territory with unreliable allies and supply lines stretched thin to Korimor and Ornietia. Worse, the neighboring cities had empty granaries. Remembering Sun Tzu, he recognized this as ¡°deeply involved ground" or "entangling ground."
It was the kind of situation where one was deep in enemy territory, making retreat dangerous and survival precarious. To triumph over such conditions required strategic focus, secure supply lines, and discipline to avoid overextension.
On entangling ground, keep your forces together.
Lansius recalled the words as he came upon a large group of captured men sitting on the ground, surrounded by crossbowmen. With hundreds of them, there weren¡¯t enough ropes to bind them, but they had been disarmed. He stopped his horse and dismounted, his men following closely with long torches and lanterns.
He surveyed the captives: scarred, exhausted, thirsty, and generally in pain.
"Behold, you are in the presence of the Lord of United Lowlandia," Sir Michael announced, his voice booming and commanding, much to the shock of the surrendered fanatics.
Lansius turned to Sir Michael, his gaze sharp, silently seeking an explanation.
¡°To them, you¡¯re as good as that,¡± the White Lake knight replied. ¡°Explaining the Shogunate would take too long, and it might weaken the impact.¡±
Lansius nodded in understanding and patted the knight¡¯s shoulder twice. He then approached the captives, his men instinctively stepping forward to form a protective line of shields in front of him.
His gaze met their weary, frightened eyes. He quickly noted that they likely weren¡¯t as fanatical as he had feared; there was no unyielding, blazing glare or crazed intensity. It wasn¡¯t surprising, given that no organized religion had ever truly taken root in the Imperium.
¡°Gentlemen,¡± he addressed them.
The crowd of men exchanged uncertain glances before replying, ¡°My Lord,¡± with little hesitation.
¡°I do not come in peace, but that doesn¡¯t mean I intend to kill, loot, or pillage. The Lowlandians under me are civilized people, we will not exact our wrath on innocents. Our issue is with Sir Reginald¡ªnot with commoners, nor with the good people of Midlandia.¡±
His words seemed to soothe the crowd. Lansius could see it in their expressions, the way they listened intently, their faces showing a glimmer of hope and longing.
¡°Years ago, I walked many of these roads on foot,¡± he continued. ¡°I even trained in Toruna for a time. I served as Lord Bengrieve¡¯s retinue before becoming a Lord in Lowlandia. This is why your behavior¡ªbesieging Cascasonne and looting the city¡ªconcerns me deeply.¡±
The captives collectively lowered their gazes, guilt and uncertainty filled their faces.
¡°Has Lord Bengrieve wronged you?¡± Lansius asked, his voice calm but probing. ¡°And who is this Living Saint I keep hearing about?¡±
He braced himself for angry replies, but none came. Their silence convinced him that these men were far from the zealots he had expected and were tame by comparison.
¡°Why does this Saint want Cascasonne to fall? Does she have a claim over this land? And who is she to Reginald?¡± he pressed further.
Still, there was no answer.
¡°This business of Reginald, Cascasonne, Lubina¡ªto me, it¡¯s all just a lot of horseshit," Lansius remarked, easing his tone. He noticed several of the captured men flash a faint smile.
Then he hit them with the cold reality. "Gentlemen, their horseshit caused two thousand people to die in just two hours. And many more are dying. Another two thousand are unlikely to see the morning sun. Don¡¯t you feel any regret for being involved in this?"
His words hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft sound of muffled cries here and there.
¡°If your leaders had backed down, none of you would have had to die. Instead, your commanders didn¡¯t even have the courtesy to send me an envoy to negotiate. They sent you to attack at the first chance, and now you¡¯re paying for their pride and arrogance. By dawn, you¡¯ll be burying thousands of your comrades. Let this be a lesson: blind faith leads nowhere!¡±
¡°But she promised us salvation!¡± someone shouted from the crowd, followed by a wave of nods and murmured chants.
¡°Can you heal our suffering family members?¡± another voice asked boldly.
¡°I have a healer in my ranks,¡± Lansius replied with unflinching honesty. ¡°It¡¯s no secret. I¡¯m going to task my healer to care for my men first. With so many wounded, it will likely take several hundred days if I try to tend to them all. So, even if I wanted to heal everyone here or your families, how long it would take? Three thousand days? How many years is that?¡±
The crowd fell silent, dumbstruck by the simple truth.
Lansius pressed on. ¡°Healing is not an act of faith. It is a skill practiced by mages and Saint Candidates. The problem isn¡¯t faith¡ªthe problem is scarcity. Too few healers, too many patients. Thus, it is reserved for emergencies. If one can wait for treatment, then it¡¯s unlikely to be an emergency.¡±
"But Salvation?" another repeated desperately.
¡°Salvation does not come from the outside,¡± Lansius countered emphatically. ¡°Salvation is on the inside. Search it in your soul. Be at peace with yourself. To do that, if you have a grievance with someone, apologize to them and take the fair penalty willingly.¡±
¡°What if they¡¯re already dead?¡± a voice asked hesitantly.
¡°Then make peace with the dead,¡± Lansius replied without hesitation. The men looked at him expectantly, their hope rekindled under the wrong belief that the Lord knew a way.
Lansius sighed. He didn¡¯t want to deceive them, but he needed to prevent rebellion. If a small trick could achieve that, he would bear the burden of the lie. ¡°You see that white light?¡±
They all nodded, captivated but also afraid.
¡°I¡¯ll ask my Saint to use the Dwarven Gem, made by the Ancients, to shine light to the Heavens above.¡±
A murmur of awe rippled through the crowd.
¡°Prepare your prayers,¡± Lansius instructed, ¡°the names of those you¡¯ve wronged or those you cherish. Do not expect an answer; it¡¯s just a one-way message to the Ancient¡¯s Everlasting Garden. But believe that, whatever your message, your loved one will smile back upon you.¡±
As Lansius turned to leave, he spoke to Sir Michael. ¡°Can you brief Ingrid on this?¡±
¡°Certainly. But who will be the Saint?¡± the knight asked, stifling a grin as he helped Lansius mount his horse.
Lansius let out a grin as he sat on the saddle. ¡°Certainly not my wife,¡± he said, though he couldn¡¯t deny that with her skill with the bow, she could easily pass for a goddess if he wanted to claim it. But bringing Hellenism and their pantheon was not on his plan.
...
The day after the battle, Lansius awoke sluggish and fatigued. Forcing himself to rise, he splashed water on his face and dressed quickly. Audrey and Margo were absent, as he had expected. He donned his brigandine and stepped outside, where his guardsmen promptly assembled to escort him.
"The Lady has already reviewed the morning report," one of them said.
"Good. Can¡¯t have urgent matters waiting on a sleepyhead like me," Lansius replied lightly.
His men let out a faint grin and followed him as he walked the short distance to another tent. Inside, he found Audrey playing a medieval tabletop game with one of the half-breeds, a scholar within her tribe. She was smaller than Francisca but equally skilled as a fighter.
¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Audrey greeted him cheerfully, rising from her chair and approaching him, while the half-breed bowed respectfully before quietly returning to her post.
¡°Sorry I wasn¡¯t there to help you dress,¡± she said with a soft smile.
¡°No, don¡¯t worry about that.¡± Lansius took her hands gently in his. ¡°How are Arryn and Tanya?¡±
¡°Tanya¡¯s still sleeping¡ªshe had trouble resting last night. As for Mother, she¡¯s at the field kitchen helping out. I hope that¡¯s alright¡ª¡±
¡°Of course,¡± Lansius reassured her. ¡°Arryn is a hard worker. If she wants to do it, then I don¡¯t see a problem.¡±
Audrey nodded happily. ¡°I¡¯ve sent Margo and a few of our guards to watch over her.¡±
¡°My gratitude, then.¡± He gently caressed her belly, clad in soft linen. ¡°And how¡¯s the baby?¡±
¡°I can feel him moving sometimes,¡± Audrey said with a satisfied smile. ¡°Care to join me for breakfast?¡±
¡°That¡¯d be great,¡± Lansius replied, sitting down with her for a meal.
As they ate, Audrey briefed him on the morning report. The beauty of having a corps of scribes was their ability to deliver reports in writing. Despite the ongoing chaos and lack of accurate numbers, even estimates were better than nothing. He needed casualty reports and the number of captives to better understand the extent of his victory.
There were also reports of stragglers and scouting parties. The war didn¡¯t simply end on the eve of victory; remnants of the enemy still posed a potential threat.
After breakfast, Lansius returned to the command tent and summoned his staff for a meeting. Most arrived with reddened eyes, still bearing the fatigue from last night¡¯s battle. Only Francisca seemed unaffected, thanks to her unique sleep pattern. Half breed like her could fall into a deep sleep instantly, rest in short bursts, and stay awake through the night without issue.
"Where¡¯s Dietrich?" Lansius asked as he opened the meeting.
"He¡¯s still recovering from minor injuries," Sir Omin reported readily.
Lansius nodded, making a mental note to visit him in the infirmary. "Gentlemen, let it be known that I¡¯m planning to withdraw from Cascasonne and possibly end this campaign without besieging Lubina," he revealed. His statement drew surprised looks from his staff, who exchanged uncertain glances.
"But, My Lord, the opportunity is clear and present. We¡¯re victorious, our casualties are minimal and our supplies are enough. The road to Lubina is practically open," Sir Michael said. Meanwhile, Sir Harold, the acting Marshal, remained silent.
"Yes, I¡¯ve reviewed the reports," Lansius reassured his staff. "But this isn¡¯t about our strength. From this point on, we¡¯re dealing with a much more delicate issue. Believe it or not, taking Lubina now could very well mark the beginning of our undoing."
His staff¡¯s gazes sharpened as they tried to decipher what Lansius was thinking. They understood that his decision didn¡¯t arise from timidness but from considering things from far greater heights¡ªat the level of grand strategy.
***
Chapter 203 : Birds of a Feather
Chapter 203
Birds of a Feather
Lansius
The morning breeze brushed against the command tent¡¯s weathered canvas walls, giving it a pleasant, airy, and cool interior. Yet, the atmosphere inside was tense as Lansius¡¯ staff wrestled with the unanswered question: why had their lord refused to besiege Lubina and instead ordered a withdrawal?
Finally, Sir Michael, the charming one-eyed knight, pressed for an answer. "May we learn the reason, My Lord, why you do not wish to attack Lubina?"
"May I?" Sir Harold interrupted, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.
Lansius nodded at him. "Please," he said, motioning for his acting Marshal to continue.
"Is this because of our stretched logistics?" Sir Harold ventured.
"One of many reasons," Lansius confirmed. "First of all, Lubina is a nightmare to besiege. It was built with a stone bridge spanning a mighty river. This geography alone makes it challenging without a grand army. Any attempt to besiege it would require sending large groups to cross the river and conduct a siege on both sides, sacrificing flexibility and reaction time."
Lansius continued, "Not to mention, Eclipse Castle itself has outer and inner high walls with overlapping towers and a keep large enough to store ample resources. I¡¯ve even heard tales of it being fortified to the brim as if their lord vomits gold every morning."
His jest drew faint chuckles, easing the tension.
"And that is all assuming we have them on the back foot," he added. "Yes, we defeated a significant number last night, but they were not a proper army. We found only a small number of knights and several groups of men-at-arms. I believe our opponent still has a reserve, possibly equaling our numbers."
A few reluctant nods followed, but silence lingered as the staff sensed Lansius had more to say.
"And those are still not the main issue." His words gathered his staff¡¯s attention once more. "The main issue is trust¡ªor the lack of it."
"Trust?" Sir Harold echoed, his brows furrowing. The rest of the staff mirrored his reaction.
"Indeed," Lansius replied, his expression calm yet grim. "If we take Lubina, then it¡¯s just us and Bengrieve left as competing powers."
The staff began to grasp what Lansius had in mind.
"Inside Midlandia, we¡¯ll have Bengrieve to worry about. Outside, we¡¯re surrounded by Gottfried in Arvena, the hostile Edessa, unknown Rhomelia, and two Eastern Kingdoms." Lansius chuckled dryly. "I don¡¯t want to act as a buffer while Bengrieve enjoys a far more comfortable position in Elandia."
The mood turned somber as realization dawned on his staff. Sir Omin quietly retrieved a larger map from a lacquered wooden box and unfurled it across the table. The others leaned in, poring over the map, quickly finding truth in Lansius¡¯ words.
Sir Michael, reflecting on Lansius'' reasoning, ventured, "So, in your strategy, leaving Lubina means leaving an enemy for Bengrieve to worry about."
"Quite so," Lansius agreed.
"The enemy that unites," Sir Omin muttered from the side.
"As long as Lubina remains standing, Bengrieve and us will remain on the same side. Certainly, this situation won¡¯t last long, but I¡¯m hoping it buys us enough time to consolidate our gains."
His words were met with nods and silent agreement. To that, Lansius declared, "Gentlemen, our goal was to rescue Cascasonne. Now that it is done, I intend to collect the prize."
Sir Harold crossed his arms, a thin smile on his lips. "So, we¡¯re not going to besiege the famous Eclipse Castle after all."
"It¡¯s a bad gamble," Lansius replied. "Right now, we¡¯re winning and controlling a large swath of Midlandia. By attacking Lubina, we would risk it all. Moreover, as you said earlier, logistically our supply lines stretch to Korimor and Ornietia through towns and cities of questionable loyalty. Yes, many opened their gates and are willing to trade with us, but that¡¯s because we arrived suddenly, before they had time to prepare. Now, we might outstay our welcome."
"Certainly, they¡¯re not that foolish," Sir Michael argued lightly, glancing at the other staff. "I believe our victory here should dissuade them from any seditious thoughts."
"Remember that we¡¯re dealing with more than just commoners," Sir Omin warned. "We¡¯re dealing with dangerous crowds. Despite My Lord¡¯s light show to the night sky, I don¡¯t believe it fooled everyone."
Sir Michael nodded in understanding, then turned to Lansius. "Speaking of them, My Lord, what should we do with the captured? Feeding them¡ª" He left the sentence unfinished, assuming it wasn¡¯t necessary to elaborate.
Lansius inhaled deeply. "What¡¯s the latest tally?"
The two knights turned to Sir Omin, who reported, "Slightly over two thousand last night. But we captured more this morning from the woods and stragglers from the camps. Now, we¡¯ve reached well over three thousand. At this rate, it¡¯s possible to have four thousand by sundown as our forward scouts and mounted patrols push further."
Lansius stroked his chin before replying, "Leave that matter to me. I¡¯ll speak with Belgutei first, then I¡¯ll come to a decision."
"Still," Sir Harold remarked, giving another look at the map and directing his question to the others, "Lubina lies at the heart of this province. Is it possible to maintain control without taking it?"
"It¡¯s going to be hard," Sir Michael said, while Sir Omin and Francisca withheld their comments.
"In the meantime, it will have to do," Lansius replied. "Until the situation changes, that is. At least by choosing not to besiege Lubina, we can conserve our strength, maintain our dominance, and begin governing this vast land."
His staff seemed satisfied, but Francisca let out a sigh. True to her blunt nature, she muttered, "I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re just going to let Reginald go free."
"Who said I¡¯m sparing Reginald?" Lansius retorted so unexpectedly that all eyes turned toward him.
Francisca was taken aback and exchanged a glance with Sir Harold, who ventured, "My Lord, didn¡¯t you just explain?"
Lansius let out a faint smile and leaned back in his seat, signaling that he wanted his staff to reason it out for themselves.
Ever-perceptive Sir Omin chuckled, breaking the silence. "The Lord has been consistently mentioning Lubina¡ªnot Reginald. The power lies in the alliance of Houses that control Midlandia. Reginald is merely a figurehead."
"Indeed," Lansius answered with a faint smile. "The power in Lubina can stay, but Reginald..." He paused, his emotions welling up. "Let¡¯s hope our forces heading there will show him mercy."
"But that doesn¡¯t make much sense," Sir Harold voiced his doubt. "If My Lord intends to punish or capture Reginald, then Lubina is as good as ours."
"I doubt it¡¯s that simple. Even our SAR is unable to capture the entire castle," Lansius explained. "And if we only capture him, likely a figurehead, it will not give us the upper hand over Lubina. In the bigger picture, we simply lack a strong casus belli."
Sir Harold frowned. "But Reginald has tried to assassinate you."
"Yes, we have that pretext, but it¡¯s only against Reginald. The Houses in power will simply deny their involvement and reject our claim. Even if we win the siege, they¡¯ll bide their time, waiting for us to grow careless, and then try to retake the province. Gentlemen, they have deep roots here and will gladly fight us for generations to come."
"A tough situation," Audrey remarked, stepping into the conversation.
Her entrance drew everyone¡¯s attention, and they greeted her in unison. "My Lady."
"Please continue; don¡¯t let me interrupt the meeting." She took a seat next to Lansius. Despite her words, she added with a faint smile, "From their frustrated faces, I can see you¡¯re giving them a hard time."
Lansius smiled back. "I need my staff to scrutinize my thoughts; otherwise, I might make a blunder."
"I heard about the SAR, the casus belli, and the last bit, so what do you propose?"
"Well," Lansius began. "Inward, we¡¯re going to consolidate our gains in all the cities we passed through, sending garrisons in strategic cities. As for our outward policy, rather than chasing them into a hole where we cannot find them, we''re going to let them remain in the open, where all eyes can see."Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
A murmur of doubt hung in the air as the staff hesitated.
"Think about it this way: which is easier¡ªfinding men hiding in the woods or watching them inside a village?" Lansius leaned forward slightly. "Gentlemen, I want to accelerate our pacification of Midlandia. We can''t afford to play a lengthy game of cat and mouse. So, rather than waiting for them to move in the dark, I¡¯m allowing them to consolidate in the open and oppose us."
"It¡¯s against common wisdom," Sir Omin commented, "yet I can see its benefit."
"But aren¡¯t you risking the chance to take Lubina while it¡¯s at its weakest?" Audrey asked.
"Somewhat," Lansius admitted. "But it¡¯s preferable to being blind. We need Lubina under their control so Bengrieve and us remain aligned. Also, by letting it serve as our enemies¡¯ rallying point, the castle will reveal who our true opponents are. I want to see, aside from Edessa, who will ride to their defense."
He rose to his feet and studied the map on the table, pointing at it. "Lubina lies at the heart of Midlandia, and Edessa is in the far southeast corner. We¡¯re going to let them hold a salient where their survival is at our mercy. We¡¯ll reinforce our defenses in Toruna to hold off large attacks from Edessa. Meanwhile," his hand hovered over the area between Cascasonne and Toruna, "let¡¯s find a good city around here to serve as our away capital."
***
Tanya
Awakened by the rising sun, Tanya almost jumped, afraid she was too late for her duties. She glanced at the ceiling of a spacious tent, and the memory of reuniting with her long-lost brother, now a lord, came rushing back. Not just any nobleman, but a knightly one, she thought with a grin, fawning over the idea.
"I''m not dreaming, am I?" she murmured to herself. Yet the clean, soft linen bed and the thin but warm blanket were all the proof she needed. Everything around her looked classy and well-made.
She rose and walked toward the corner where a bronze basin waited for her. Leaning over, she washed her face with the cool, clear water. The sensation was refreshing.
What a luxurious way to clean.
The basin alone could fetch enough to buy several sets of secondhand clothes. Afterward, she dressed, finding three tunics neatly hung on a wooden pole: a blue one with silver trim, a green one embroidered with colorful vine, and a red one adorned with floral patterns.
They''re beautiful. Are they really for me?
She chose the blue tunic because it looked the least expensive. She worried she might ruin it and wouldn¡¯t be able to afford a tailor to mend it. Moreover, she remembered Lansius wearing blue in Bellandia and thought it might be his favorite color. She also noticed that the banners flown in the camp seemed to feature blue.
"Blue and bronze," she muttered, recalling how people described her brother¡¯s heraldry.
She never expected to have a family coat of arms.
Is this really okay?
She wondered, remembering she was just a peasant. Her only skills were dyeing wool, mending clothes with simple knitting, and making sauerkraut. She bit her lip and brushed the thoughts aside.
Tanya noticed a fine comb neatly prepared for her, likely placed there by her mother, and felt a wave of relaxation as she gently ran it through her hair. But suddenly, a pang of anxiety struck her. Before, it hadn¡¯t been an issue. Now, it loomed large. She had never told Lansius that she was married, and the thought of revealing it terrified her. She feared he might demand the marriage be dissolved.
Her brother was now a powerful lord, leading armies, commanding knights, and even beastly creatures. She reminded herself not to test his patience, knowing he could cast her out to the streets if angered. The thought of what kind of man her brother had become and whether he carried the wrath of feuding nobles sent a shiver down her spine.
Tanya inhaled weakly and muttered, "What comes will come."
She resolved to tell him. For better or worse, she loved her husband, even if she rarely saw him, and he had yet to lay his hands on her.
"If only I were as pretty as the castle maids," she said wistfully, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. "I have Lady Hannei''s hair but not her looks. Maybe my husband married another woman like one of those maids. Oh, poor me, a widow at my age."
She sighed deeply before heading outside.
"Good morning, young lady. Breakfast is ready," a soft but distinct female voice greeted her.
Tanya turned to meet wolf-like eyes, sharp and glinting with intelligence. Silvery fur shimmered in the soft morning light as its tall form was clad in fine ringmail.
Instead of responding to the wolf person guarding her, Tanya stared in awe. "You''re so pretty in the morning light."
The wolf lady giggled. "Gratitude, young lady."
"Can I touch you a little?" Tanya asked hesitantly.
"Of course," the wolf lady said casually, extending her arm.
Tanya¡¯s face lit up as she gently caressed the wolf lady¡¯s silvery-gray fur. "Where do you hide the claws?"
"You saw them last night?" the wolf lady asked kindly.
Tanya nodded, smiling brightly. The wolf lady knelt and raised her right hand, showing it clearly. Slowly, she extended her claw, revealing its sharp, gleaming edge.
Tanya¡¯s eyes widened in amazement. "They¡¯re beautiful! Tell me, tell me¡ªdo you file them?"
"Yes, we use iron files to keep them sharp."
"Can I touch them?"
"Just not the pointy end¡ªit might prickle," the wolf lady replied patiently.
Tanya carefully traced the wolf lady¡¯s hand, fingers, and claws, her movements gentle and reverent. But she soon stepped back and bowed deeply. "Gratitude for showing me, and my apologies for being a bother."
The wolf lady giggled again. "Don¡¯t worry, the honor is mine. It¡¯s good to see the young lady is respectful toward the retinue. You will go far as the lord''s sister."
Tanya tilted her head slightly, not fully understanding but grateful for the kind words.
"Shall I take you to the table for breakfast?" the wolf lady asked.
Tanya hesitated, wanting to ask about her brother, but she knew he must be busy. "I need to help my mother first before eating. Do you know where she is?"
"Certainly. Let me take you to her. She¡¯s in the field kitchen, cooking delicious pies to celebrate the victory."
***
Lansius
After the meeting ended and everyone had received their orders, Lansius was perusing a stack of freshly delivered reports. Cascasonne was now secure, but to the east, another battle group led by Farkas was still waging a diversionary campaign around Toruna. On top of that, Lansius had begun reviewing reports on promising cities or towns for his new base camp.
As he studied the map, his gaze kept returning to Eclipse Castle in Lubina. The name tugged at his thoughts. "Eclipse..."
It struck him as odd¡ªone of many mysteries of this world he still couldn¡¯t unravel. Chief among them was the absence of a moon in the night sky. He wasn¡¯t particularly surprised, having read that moons were statistically rare for planets. Yet Aqua Terra, with no visible moon but a history of solar eclipses, left him baffled.
Lubina Castle earned its name after being famously completed in the year of a solar eclipse. Lansius shelved the thought; he¡¯d need a real astronomer with a working telescope to make sense of it.
Glancing aside, he noticed Audrey lounging on a reclined canvas chair, pillows propping her comfortably. She was engrossed in a leather-bound book, one of Farkas¡¯ recommendations about Umberland and the half-beast.
He was about to return to his work when she spoke without looking up. "Thirsty?"
Lansius leaned back in his chair. "Not really, but I could go for some spiced wine."
"You¡¯ll need to wait for Margo for that," Audrey replied. "We¡¯re having a private family lunch at noon. Just us, Tanya, and Mother."
"Well, I feel a bit under the weather right now. Surely someone keeps a stash I can trade for or borrow from," Lansius said.
"Nobody would dare," Audrey commented flatly.
Lansius frowned. "Dare? Why not?"
She turned her gaze from the book and looked directly at him. "Only Margo, your cupbearer, has access to wine or ale at this time. And he¡¯s accompanying Mother."
"Okay, but I don¡¯t see why others don¡¯t have some ale," he said, perplexed.
She stared at him questioningly. "You mean you didn¡¯t know? We have a tradition of not drinking after victory."
"Huh?" Lansius raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"
Audrey giggled. "Oh, Lans. After every victory, you banned celebrations and drinks. Instead, you ordered everyone to stay alert for a surprise attack. Now the staff and army treat it as tradition."
Lansius chuckled, amused at the unintended custom.
"Do you want to change it?" she asked with a grin.
"No, it¡¯s a good tradition. A clear mind after a battle is invaluable," he declared.
"So, how about night-cooled, pre-boiled water?" she asked, motioning to the silver jug on the table.
"As long as it¡¯s not from the castle." Lansius headed to the table and poured himself a goblet.
"It¡¯s not, but what¡¯s wrong with the castle¡¯s water?" Audrey asked, her gaze fixed on him.
He took a sip before explaining, "It¡¯s noticeably sweeter, which means it¡¯s contaminated with lead."
Audrey¡¯s expression grew worried. "Contaminated? Are you sure? Then some of the occupants¡¯ sickness and Bengrieve¡¯s health..."
"Could be," Lansius said with a shrug. "But I¡¯m no expert, and I¡¯d rather not be asked to explain it. Besides, it would take years for serious health issues to arise from lead poisoning."
"I see," Audrey murmured softly.
"A small amount is alright, so there¡¯s no need to cause panic. And we¡¯ll be moving out soon anyway," Lansius reassured her.
Audrey nodded and shifted the conversation. "Remember to pick maids for Arryn and Tanya. I can¡¯t let you go without a squire by your side. Besides, sweet as he is, Margo is still a young man."
"True..." Lansius said thoughtfully. "I wish I could task Ingrid. She could educate Tanya, but all the records would end up in tatters without her."
"You can¡¯t take her away; you¡¯d drown in paperwork," Audrey lamented with a sigh. "I wish Carla were here."
He stroked his chin. "Carla... Do you remember that farmer¡¯s daughter who was with Sigmund?"
"Agatha? She was in Korelia with Sigmund when we left. It¡¯s a shame we didn¡¯t think of this sooner¡ªshe¡¯s probably already heading back to South Hill by now."
"That¡¯s too bad," Lansius muttered. "If only someone like Tia were here..."
A moment passed, and then their gazes locked, both recognizing the obvious at once.
"Lans," Audrey said, the surprise clear in her voice.
"I know," he replied firmly. "Tia is with Hannei, and they¡¯re in Cascasonne. They should be here."
"Where are you going?" Audrey asked as Lansius took his sword.
"To the castle. I still need to see Hannei as well."
"No, it''s too dangerous. Send a knight," she suggested.
"I''ll bring plenty of guards with me."
"Not with the new weapons they have in the castle," Audrey reminded him, her words forcing Lansius to pause and reconsider.
"You¡¯ve ousted the enemy, and now Bengrieve might not need you anymore," she added.
"True..." Lansius muttered, acknowledging the truth in her words. He sighed. "You know, I want to take a few things. At least some of the gemstones for the light lanterns, maybe borrow a few books. I might even study the castle¡¯s architecture while I¡¯m at it."
Audrey¡¯s curiosity was piqued. "Do you think they have more of those useful dwarven artifacts?"
"Of course. The last time I visited, there were so many unexplained things. He must have had working water pumps, possibly magic-powered air coolants or heaters."
Probably even a precision lathe or boring machines. Who knows? Maybe even something like a dwarven Gatling gun or cannons.
"I wish I could visit the vault," he said wistfully.
Audrey shifted in her seat. "We can return at a better time. Besides, I doubt they¡¯d let you in without the Master of the Castle."
"Right. I¡¯ll revisit the castle once we settle some issues with its owner," Lansius said. Then, with a sly smile, he added, "But just in case, I¡¯ll be taking collateral."
"What do you have in mind?" she asked, her interest evident.
"That large gemstone. I¡¯ll tell the Steward we need it in case of future attacks. We¡¯ll return it once the Lubina conflict is over."
Audrey giggled. "That¡¯s clever."
"Of course, my wife wouldn¡¯t marry me unless I were that clever," he replied proudly, in jest.
They were chuckling when Francisca appeared at the entrance, her large forearm holding the canvas door aside. "My Lord, apologies for the interruption, but Sir Stan is outside, carrying a blonde woman. He seems to be in a rush."
Lansius and Audrey exchanged glances before he said, "Let them in."
"How bad is she?" Audrey asked Lansius as he helped her to her feet.
"I have no idea. I haven¡¯t received any words about her. We need to get Ingrid," he replied.
Sir Stan entered, cradling Hannei in both arms, her weight resting gently against his chest. His face glowed with relief as he announced, "She¡¯s awake!"
***
Chapter 204 : Pandoras Shard
Chapter 204
Pandora''s Shard
Lansius
Sir Stan¡¯s entrance into the command tent, carrying a blonde woman wrapped in a blanket in his arms, startled Lansius and Audrey. Behind him, Francisca and Sir Harold watched closely, likely sensing something urgent was happening.
"She¡¯s awake?" Lansius asked, his gaze fixed on Sir Stan, who wore a nervous grin while cradling a pale blonde woman in his arms as if she were a fragile treasure.
The woman mumbled faintly, covering her eyes with one hand. "Put me down¡ and it¡¯s Valerie."
"Valerie?" Lansius muttered, his mind racing with questions, but Sir Stan¡¯s commanding voice cut through the moment. "I can¡¯t let you down; you can barely open your eyes. We need a healer." He turned sharply to Lansius. "Where¡¯s last night¡¯s mage? Maybe she can do what Cascasonne¡¯s mages couldn¡¯t."
Lansius turned to Sir Harold, his voice urgent. "Fetch Ingrid and the camp physician for us."
"Right away," Sir Harold replied before hurrying off.
Audrey stepped in, her tone decisive. "Francisca, bring my daybed here." Then, glancing at a guard stationed outside, she added, "Get someone to bring boiling water from the kitchen¡ªquickly!"
The guard ran off, and Francisca rushed to the inner part of the tent. With ease, she carried the daybed back in as Lansius helped her place it in the center. The blonde woman stirred, seeming to protest, but Sir Stan dismissed her concern. "We¡¯re not losing you again. Stay awake¡ªthey¡¯ve all been waiting for you," he said gently, easing her onto the daybed.
"Who...?" she whispered, her voice faint and weak, her eyes barely open to slits.
"Hannei, it¡¯s me," Lansius said without hesitation, too worried to reach for her hand.
"That voice¡ª" Her eyes lingered unfocused for a moment before her expression grew dazed.
"Not good. She¡¯s disoriented," Lansius muttered, touching her forehead and finding it cool to the touch. "We need honey and salt."
"I¡¯ll get them. We have those," Audrey said, moving swiftly toward the inner part of the tent.
"Can I help with anything?" Sir Stan asked while Francisca stood by, ready to assist.
"I don¡¯t suppose the castle has a device to transfer blood from one person to another?" Lansius ventured as he retrieved a clean silver goblet and spoon from his traveling chest.
"Wow, is that some high-tier magic or something? I don¡¯t know anything about that," Sir Stan replied, regret thick in his voice as he glanced away.
"Lans, what is--" Hannei murmured, her unfocused eyes darting across his face as she struggled to form the words. "What are you trying...?"
"Ideally, an IV transfusion, but we don¡¯t have that, so you¡¯ll need to drink sugar and salt," Lansius explained, glancing around. Spotting Francisca, he said, "I need someone to tell the cook to prepare tasty porridge for three people."
"Three portions, right away," Francisca said and exited.
"Why three?" Sir Stan asked.
"I assume you haven¡¯t eaten," Lansius replied. "And the other is for Audrey."
As if on cue, Audrey returned with her personal bag of supplies. "Here¡¯s the honey and salt."
"Good," Lansius said, taking the items to the table. He scooped a generous amount of honey into the goblet, added a pinch of salt, poured in some water, and stirred it vigorously.
"Hot water," one of the squires announced, entering with an earthen jug. Sir Stan took it and set it on the table. Lansius poured a measure into the goblet and stirred again.
"Not going to add anything else?" Audrey asked.
"No, this is enough for now." Lansius tasted the mixture, ensuring it was warm but not scalding hot. The sweet and salty flavor was just right.
He brought the goblet to Hannei as Sir Stan propped her head to help her drink. She hesitated at first.
"It¡¯s just honey and salt," Lansius assured her.
Slowly, she took a sip, struggling to suppress a cough.
"Drink it all," Audrey encouraged, gently holding Hannei¡¯s hand.
Hannei complied, finishing the drink and breathing heavily afterward, as if she had just run a sprint. Moments later, beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
"That¡¯s a good sign," Lansius said, glancing around for something else he could do, only to come up empty.
Sir Harold returned, bringing Ingrid with him.
"My apologies, I was assisting the physician," Ingrid said as she entered.
"No need to explain. Please check on Lady Hannei," Audrey urged, motioning for her to come closer.
Ingrid stepped closer, her eyes widening as she assessed Hannei.
"Sir Stan," Lansius called. "Perhaps¡ª"
"Yes, I get it. Guild stuff. I¡¯ll wait at the field kitchen," Sir Stan said, patting Hannei¡¯s arm twice before excusing himself.
Once he was gone, Ingrid spoke grimly. "She¡¯s a mage, and she¡¯s bleeding magic¡ªbadly."
"We heard that two Cascasonne mages tried to heal her," Lansius informed her.
"The relationship between a mage and the source is like a one-way river," Ingrid explained, still in shock. "The source flows into the mage, enabling magic. But for her, it¡¯s as if the flow is reversed¡ªit¡¯s bleeding away, draining her magic." She hesitated, her brow furrowing deeply as she placed a hand over Hannei¡¯s abdomen. "I believe the two mages who tried to help only ended up exhausting themselves." Her voice dropped. "This is critical."
Audrey¡¯s expression turned bitter, but she admitted, "That explains what I see."
"Is this fatal?" Lansius asked, his voice measured but strained, every syllable betraying his deep concern.
Ingrid glanced at him, her hesitation clear, her tone apologetic. "I¡¯m not equipped to handle this."
"Tell me," Lansius whispered, the words heavy with suppressed emotion. "Does being drained of magical energy cause death?" He couldn¡¯t afford to lose her¡ªnot when she was the only one who shared his memories of Earth.
"It shouldn¡¯t, but in her case, it¡¯s sapping her strength¡ªeven her body heat."
At the mention of body heat, Audrey took another blanket she had worn earlier and gently draped it over Hannei, adding another layer of warmth. She caressed Hannei¡¯s hand, trying to build up warmth through touch. Hannei responded with a faint smile, her weak fingers gripping Audrey¡¯s tightly.
"There must be something," Lansius pressed.
"I¡¯ll try sending what magic I have to calm her source," Ingrid said, focusing intently as she began building her magic. Lansius could feel the subtle disturbance in the air, like a faint ripple.
"Ingrid, that could be dangerous," Audrey said, her concern evident.
Ingrid turned her gaze to Audrey, then to Hannei, whose eyes were closed, before returning to Audrey. "How important is she to you?" Her sharp gaze demanded to know if risking her life was truly necessary.
The question wasn¡¯t directed at Lansius, but it troubled him. Audrey, however, was able to articulate what he had been thinking. "She¡¯s important, but even she wouldn¡¯t want you to risk yourself for her."
Ingrid exhaled deeply but didn¡¯t share her decision. Instead, she took Hannei¡¯s hand and said, "We need a full body check."
"I¡¯ll be outside," Lansius said, taking the cue. His eyes locked with Audrey¡¯s. "Let me know if you find anything," he said. She promised without a word.
"Lans," Hannei pleaded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as if caught in a dream.
"Just for a moment," he assured her softly.
"The name... you asked... it¡¯s Valerie," she murmured, her words trailing off.
"No, no," Lansius replied with a faint chuckle. "That¡¯s a red flag, you know," he tried a joke that only they understood.
For the first time, Valerie managed a faint smile. Their bond, forged by circumstance, was truly unique. With a heavy heart, Lansius turned and walked away.
...
The field kitchen bustled with activity, the clatter of pots and murmurs of conversation filling the air with a sense of warmth so far from home. There, Lansius joined Sir Stan, more out of respect than hunger. Having already had breakfast, he opted for a small bowl of stew. He spotted Mother Arryn and Tanya nearby, busy with their tasks. He waved briefly, his heart aching with longing, but duty came first.
Seated at a separate table surrounded by guards, Lansius, despite his deep concern for Hannei, decided to broach the topic of their situation. "How are Cascasonne¡¯s defensive capabilities?"
"The castle itself is in good condition. We¡¯ll start excavating the ditch and make some small repairs," Sir Stan replied, eating a hearty porridge with chunks of meat. "The most pressing issue is manpower. Lord Bengrieve puts too much faith in his walls and alchemist."
"Well, in his defense, nobody thought half of Midlandia could raise a 9,000-strong army," Lansius commented.
"The Saint¡¯s fanatics," Sir Stan muttered grimly. "That¡¯s this House¡¯s biggest blunder." He then gazed at Lansius, his tone firm and emphatic. "And now, it¡¯s your problem."
"Mine?" Lansius furrowed his brow.
"The Saint¡¯s headquarters, the hill monastery, is located in the land you now occupy¡ªseveral days¡¯ travel south of Lubina."
Lansius sighed deeply and then lamented, "Victory is beginning to taste sour."
Sir Stan chuckled. "Come on, it¡¯s not that bad. You¡¯re now a lord of half of Midlandia."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"More like a third," Lansius corrected lightheartedly, not wanting to appear ungrateful.
Sir Stan snorted, the breeze stirring around them and fluttering the field tent¡¯s flaps overhead. Despite the heart-wrenching situation with Hannei, the day turned strangely pleasant. The encampment itself was largely insulated from the grim reality outside. Only the occasional gust carried the faint, lingering stench of death. Beyond the perimeter, captured men labored with grim efficiency¡ªdigging, stripping valuables, and hauling the dead to a mass burial pit at the edge of the forest.
The Midlandian native took another spoonful of porridge before leaning closer. "You know, Ornietia is as good as yours. Since you helped Toruna, I¡¯ll return the favor. I¡¯ll declare that Cascasonne urgently needs more men and order the Ornietia garrison here. Then, I¡¯ll transfer command of that barony to you instead of leaving it in a vacuum."
Lansius squinted, his gaze narrowing. "Are you sure? That¡¯s worth an entire barony."
"It¡¯s not free," Sir Stan said with a smirk. "Give me the land and towns around Toruna so the estate can expand."
"Ah, you¡¯re enlarging Toruna," Lansius remarked. "It¡¯ll be as large as barony."
"It¡¯s been on my mind for some time. Bengrieve knows and will agree. And if he asks for compensation for Ornietia, I¡¯ll pay out of my own pocket."
Lansius nodded, understanding the offer but hesitating to commit, as it was likely against the rules. A fief was usually granted along with peerage; it wasn¡¯t something expanded but bestowed by the monarch.
"What do you say?" Sir Stan asked.
"I¡¯ll think about it."
"No rush." Sir Stan munching the last bite of his crunchy bread, now half-soggy from porridge. He washed it down with water and shifted topics. "So, what¡¯s the war plan? Tell me, do you intend to go against Lubina?"
Lansius mulled it over before answering, "Frankly, I¡¯m against besieging Lubina."
"I sort of expected that," Sir Stan stated calmly. "You came here to help, and your part of the deal is done."
"I have bad blood with Reginald," Lansius reassured him. "However, my logistics won¡¯t sustain a prolonged siege. Lowlandia isn¡¯t exactly grain rich after all the wars. On top of that, we¡¯ve discovered that most of the neighboring Midlandian cities have empty granaries."
Sir Stan nodded thoughtfully, his expression shifting as though he had something to add but decided against it. "So, if you can¡¯t pursue Lubina, what¡¯s next?"
"I¡¯ll find a new stronghold to watch over Lubina and the Saint¡¯s fanatics. I doubt we can let them run amok. I¡¯ll also send another battle group to Toruna to help with its defense."
"Gratitude, but are you sure you can spare that many?" Sir Stan asked, concerned.
"I have to. Toruna is the only place I trust to hold against Edessa if they attack."
"Edessa..." Sir Stan muttered. "You¡¯re right to read that far. They¡¯re going to be a problem."
"Toruna is going to play an important role," Lansius added.
"A roundabout way of saying it¡¯ll become a battlefield," Sir Stan smirked. "All the more reason to enlarge it. My neighbor has a castle commanding the provincial road. That would be a great place to prepare defenses."
Lansius nodded. "I¡¯ll send someone I trust to check it out. But what do you think are the chances of open conflict with Edessa?"
Sir Stan stroked his chin, his sharp eyes fixed on the walls of Cascasonne. "They¡¯ve been fat for too long. I doubt they¡¯ll waste this opportunity," he remarked.
Lansius massaged his forehead. "So I¡¯m looking at a war with the remaining New Midlandian Houses, Saint fanatics, and Edessa¡ª"
"Now I see why Bengrieve offered you so much," Sir Stan said with a chuckle. His tone shifted, growing serious. "That¡¯s why you shouldn¡¯t feel bad about taking over Ornietia." He paused before adding, "And it¡¯s also why I decided to give you the new weapons."
Sir Stan motioned to his entourage, who approached carrying two wooden boxes. The sight immediately drew attention in the field kitchen area.
Lansius watched as Sir Harold promptly escorted the crates with his men, exercising an abundance of caution.
"My Lord," they greeted Lansius before proceeding to open the boxes.
Lansius inspected the muskets carefully, admiring their fine craftsmanship. He examined the trigger mechanisms, ensuring there were no signs of sabotage. The set also included powder horns and maintenance toolkits.
"Do you want to try them?" Sir Stan asked.
"I¡¯ll test them thoroughly later," Lansius replied, setting the last musket back into the box, where it lay snugly cushioned in dry hay.
"Noted," Sir Stan said, motioning for his men to leave the crates, which were now under the care of Sir Harold¡¯s men.
"It¡¯ll be hard to accomplish much with only twenty pieces," Lansius commented.
"That¡¯s as many as the Steward was willing to part with," Sir Stan replied.
Lansius nodded, glanced around to ensure they weren¡¯t within anyone¡¯s earshot and leaned closer. "I need you to send a letter to Lord Bengrieve and ask him, strongly, to keep this weapon a secret."
Sir Stan raised an eyebrow. "So now it¡¯s not just my cousin putting secrets on all this, but you too. What¡¯s your reason?"
Lansius inhaled deeply. "As I told you before, in my homeland, we¡¯ve known these weapons for a long time. I fear they might bring sudden changes that could destabilize everything, especially with the Imperium already at its nadir."
"Lots of fancy words," Sir Stan replied with a soft smirk. "I need something more concrete to base my judgment on."
Lansius smiled, finding the request reasonable. "Sir Stan, what we have in hand is a weapon that¡¯s easy to copy. One in every five blacksmiths could produce a cruder version, and it would still be effective. It¡¯s less complicated than a suit of armor. With minor changes, it can pierce the best Centurian breastplates with ease. And we can train peasants to use it in just three days."
Sir Stan¡¯s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening.
"A world where everyone knows about this weapon," Lansius continued, "is a world where anyone with enough wealth and influence can topple a kingdom. In a place called Japan, fifty years was all it took for these to be produced in the hundreds of thousands, killing chivalry in the process. Who would train for ten years from youth, only to be struck down by a peasant who mastered this weapon in three days?"
Sir Stan stared at the table, silent for a moment before speaking. "I planned to take some to Toruna, thinking we might need them..." He turned to Lansius. "Is it that easy to reproduce?"
"It might look sophisticated, but the mechanism is simple. I could make it without even studying these," Lansius said, gesturing to the boxes. "I already have some parts prepared in Korelia, though no one knows what I¡¯m making."
Sir Stan frowned. "If you¡¯re making them, then why do you want Bengrieve to hide them?"
"The reason is simple," Lansius said firmly. "Survival."
Sir Stan¡¯s gaze lingered as Lansius continued. "The risk of upheaval is too great, especially if Gottfried or the other two Eastern Kingdoms get wind of it. We must prevent that. However, I cannot rely on Bengrieve alone to act responsibly. That¡¯s why I¡¯m going to build a stockpile of my own. If Bengrieve ever resorts to using these, then the Shogunate will be prepared to confront the new reality."
Sir Stan drew a deep breath before nodding. "It seems you¡¯ve thought this through."
"Ever since I came to power, I¡¯ve been weighing this choice," Lansius explained. "I hope Bengrieve cooperates because the risk outweighs the benefit."
"I¡¯ll persuade Bengrieve and ask the Steward to seal these weapons again."
"Count for everything. Hide the powder. With your men as the garrison, Cascasonne shouldn¡¯t need them."
"Indeed," Sir Stan agreed. "With the city liberated, I can rally more men to keep the castle secure. Two hundred men should make it impregnable."
"Then we have an understanding." Lansius extended his hand.
Sir Stan took it, and they clasped hands firmly.
With this, Lansius mirrored the steps Tokugawa Ieyasu had taken in Japan after the Warring States period, which had seen a widespread proliferation of arquebuses and even cannons. Ieyasu implemented strict policies to regulate firearms. Production was limited to certain clans, and peasants were forbidden from using them. The goal was to prevent uprisings, as firearms were deemed too dangerous and could easily destabilize the government.
Lansius approached the issue as a preventive measure, hoping he wouldn¡¯t need to rely on it. But he knew it was foolish to expect others to act nobly. The genie was already out of the bottle, and he wouldn¡¯t be caught unprepared¡ªnot with Audrey, their child, and their allies at stake.
***
Nicopola
Late spring rains came with a vengeance, pouring down in torrential thunderstorms. The downpour turned roads into muddy quagmires, destroyed small bridges, and flooded riverbanks. The Dawn and Servius'' Skull Legion¡¯s cleanup around Kapua''s region ground to a halt as movement became impossible. Both forces returned to their new headquarters: the Dawn in Kapua and Servius in Skodra.
The situation persisted for nearly a month until drier summer winds arrived in Nicopola. Once the roads improved, Sir Servius fulfilled his promises and visited Lord Avery with a select group of troops.
The host was more than pleased to welcome him into the city of Kapua.
¡°Lord Avery,¡± greeted Servius, a man with a hook for a hand and a slight limp, as he arrived in the freshly renovated Great Hall.
¡°Sir Servius, please,¡± Avery motioned him to a seat across from him at a long table. ¡°How¡¯s the road leading here? Care for some refreshment?¡±
"Still muddy, but it won¡¯t stay that way for long," Servius replied as he scanned the table and spotted a bread pudding dusted with a sparkling white powder. ¡°Pardon me,¡± he said, using his left hand to pick up a knife and carve a portion.
¡°Oh, spare me the formalities. You could eat with your toes, and I wouldn¡¯t flinch,¡± Avery said, settling comfortably in his seat.
"Bless the Ancients that I still retain my hand," Servius quipped, amusing the host, while his squire finally arrived to assist.
The condottieri took a bite of the sugar-sprinkled pudding with visible pleasure, while Avery plucked a few raisins and had his squire pour him a pale ale. As they ate, the hall came alive with the clatter of utensils and the lively chatter of their retinues feasting merrily.
¡°This is extraordinary,¡± Servius commented. ¡°Buttery, rich, fragrant¡ªand this remarkable sweetness. Is this fine spice?¡±
Avery grinned. ¡°Indeed. I found crates of fine spice stored in the castle cellar.¡±
¡°These mercenaries were eating well,¡± Servius remarked.
¡°Only for themselves,¡± Avery replied, a hint of disdain in his voice. ¡°Meanwhile, the people in the city were left with scraps and leftover grains.¡±
Servius¡¯ eyes grew inquisitive. ¡°I assume we have enough confiscated supplies to ease the commoners¡¯ plight?¡±
"Certainly. I¡¯ve already distributed grains to the citizens. To conquer a city, you need to conquer people¡¯s hearts as well, and that usually comes from a full belly,¡± Avery remarked without a hint of sarcasm.
Satisfied, Servius replied, ¡°Forgive my curiosity, but what else did you find¡ªgold and silver?¡±
¡°You¡¯re welcome to visit for yourself after this. I haven¡¯t tidied up the vault. Mind you, I only took enough for Sir Morton, his men, and Lord Lansius.¡± Avery held his gaze on Servius, keen to see his reaction.
Servius found that funny and let out a smile. ¡°That is important. We can¡¯t afford to irritate that one."
Avery chuckled, pleased. The Lord of Korelia¡¯s daring air assault was legendary. No one could believe that eight men had managed to capture a walled city without a single casualty on their side. Naturally, rumors circulated that all eight were mages, fueling admiration and speculation.
¡°I heard you¡¯ve also been entertaining delegations from the south?¡± Servius asked, finishing his pudding.
¡°Yes, they rode here after their caravan arrived safely in Dawn,¡± Avery replied dismissively, deeming them irrelevant to their current issues.
Servius leaned back, his iron hook resting on the table. ¡°I heard rumors they were bringing you a crown.¡±
Avery snorted and laughed at the remark. "Words travel fast, indeed."
"Any truth to that?"
Old Avery put up a sly smirk as he leveled his gaze, reasoning, "If even the wise warlord of the desert, victor of many wars, doesn''t declare himself king, why would I?"
Servius was gladdened by the answer but couldn¡¯t help venturing boldly, ¡°Why not? With the fall of the Imperium, I think many would be open to such a suggestion.¡±
"I''m too old to be blinded by the shine of gold and emeralds. A crown doesn¡¯t interest me," the host explained. "All it would do is ruin my sweet position. Even with Kapua secure, I still have the Nicopola interior to worry about. Besides, I detest the risk of entering a three-front war."
Servius raised a brow, intrigued. "Care to elaborate?"
"Truthfully, the southern province is fraught with beastmen raids. Thus, they can¡¯t provide anyone with any help. If I were to accept, they¡¯d end up asking for my support instead. And that¡¯s not even the worst of it. To their west, sooner or later, we¡¯ll face nomadic incursions, which have grown deeper and bolder each season."
Servius nodded thoughtfully, stroking his whitened beard with his left hand.
"And lastly," the host continued, "I can¡¯t afford to manage the troubles that may be brewing in Elandia. Not to mention, my alliance with your Lord of the Steppes remains unproven until the caravan reaches Navalnia and returns safely."
"Mmm... Threats from the south, west, and north," Servius muttered, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Avery¡¯s decision seemed only natural, and Servius appreciated his candor about the situation. "No wonder you''re granting me control over a large swath of land, including Skodra."
"Yes," Avery replied softly. "I want you to manage the Elandia border since your Lord is still nominally in good standing with Lord Bengrieve. Mind you, I also have a piracy issue on my coast, which might or might not be tied to the Corinthia Barony. It¡¯s still under investigation." He fixed his gaze on the horizon for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Then, turning back to Servius, he asked with a deceptively casual tone, "Sir Servius, while you¡¯re here, do you know why he needs another airship for his campaign in Midlandia?"
Servius¡¯ eyes widened, his pulse quickening. "I beg your pardon? Who is campaigning in Midlandia?"
"You didn¡¯t know?" Avery leaned back, clearly relishing the moment. "There was an assassination attempt on Lord Lansius. It failed, but blood was spilled. His last letter mentioned that the campaign had begun. Naturally, I gave him my support, but the airship departed without flaming naphtha. That made me curious about what he intends to do with it. Unless..."
"Two ships, full of his special groups," Servius ventured, his voice low.
Avery grinned, clearly entertained that Servius had reached the same conclusion he had. "Precisely."
"I pity the one who challenges him," Servius muttered grimly, shaking his head as Avery laughed heartily.
"I can¡¯t even begin to wrap my head around this madness," Avery admitted. "First the Sages in the Capital, and now the Midlandians. They¡¯re charging headlong into the fire. Like the Capital, this too will end in ashes for Midlandia¡ªand from those ashes, a young Black Lord will claim a land worthy of his talent. Tell me, Servius, doesn¡¯t that excite you?"
Servius blinked, taken aback. "Excite me, My Lord?"
"Indeed," Avery said, his lips curling into a faint smile. "We stand at the fall of the Imperium¡ªsomething our great-grandfathers dreaded and feared but never believed would happen again. I strengthened my soul to accept that, for generations to come, my descendants would be consumed by endless war over the Imperium¡¯s decaying body. But now..." He paused as if savoring the thought. "We might even live to see the Fourth Imperium raise its banner to the winds."
Servius¡¯ eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from surprise to scrutiny. His voice grew cautious, almost disbelieving. "You can¡¯t be ... considering."
"I am," Avery replied, his voice steady and resolute. "I¡¯m old. My only wish is to see my granddaughter live in peace. And right now, the only path to that peace is the birth of another Imperium. I will see my House rise with it, standing as close to the sun as it burns."
***
Chapter 205 : Hallowed Fangs
Chapter 205
Hallowed Fangs
Lansius
Waiting inside his command tent, Lansius leaned forward over the table, his hands forming a triangle¡ªthumbs resting under his chin, fingers pressed lightly against his lips. The table, unusually bare, was cleared of the usual maps and scrolls. Only a honey jar, a silver jug of water, and a package of salt remained, untouched. His gaze shifted toward the daybed, now pushed slightly into the corner. There lay Valerie, his only friend from his world.
After the examination earlier that day, she had fallen asleep again, worrying many. Despite Ingrid and the physician''s best efforts, she remained in this state, sleeping like the dead. Her breathing was so soft and shallow that he could barely see her chest rise or fall. Often overcome by worry, Lansius would check her in person, placing his fingers near her nostrils just to feel the faint movement of air.
The sun had long waned, and the soft glow from a lantern illuminated the tent. The air had grown colder, and Lansius had draped his precious nomadic shawl over her as a makeshift blanket.
He felt troubled like never before. Unlike Audrey, who radiated confidence and strength¡ªstrong as steel and hard as a tempered anvil¡ªHannei, or Valerie, her real name, was delicate. They were friends by circumstance, though their situations were vastly different. Lansius had arrived in this world with nothing, while Valerie had everything. She retained her memories, likely had a mentor, understood the spoken language, and even possessed magic.
Lansius suspected that, unlike him, Valerie had been summoned or transported fully intact to this world. Yet, there was a glaring gap in their practical knowledge and abilities. Magic alone wasn¡¯t enough to survive or live quietly in this turbulent era, though he had to admit she was close to achieving it.
He sighed heavily, the sound catching the attention of Francisca, who stood watch near the entrance. The half-breed turned to him and said, ¡°My Lord, you should join your family to rest.¡±
"I will, but maybe later," Lansius lied. Now that Stan had entrusted her to him, he would do whatever he could to find a solution. For now, though, he could only stare.
"My Lord, I can smell fear and sadness in people," Francisca said softly, her tone respectful. "And I know you care deeply about this woman."
"I do," Lansius admitted, leaning back. "She¡¯s special; like the sister I never had."
His words seemed to satisfy Francisca¡¯s curiosity, and the tent fell quiet again, save for the occasional sound of patrols passing outside.
I should be happy...
He had been reunited with Tanya and Arryn, yet even their shared meals and light discussions felt shallow. Guilt weighed heavily on him, rooted in his deep concern for this woman.
"What if I have a treatment for her?" Francisca¡¯s voice suddenly shattered the silence.
Lansius turned to her, his face startled. "Tell me," he instructed.
Francisca rummaged through a leather bag at her waist, its size looking small against her tall frame. She nimbly picked out a leather pouch using her claws like chopsticks and held it out to him.
Lansius stood and carefully took the pouch from her hands. Opening it, he found a woolen wrapping used to protect delicate items. Inside was a deep green vine-like object with sharp, milky-white ends. "Venomous snake fangs?"
"Indeed," Francisca confirmed. "Their fangs are hollow. Using them, I can transfer my blood to her through the bloodvine. It¡¯s a method known among the half-breed. Old Kaen spoke of it in his scriptures, and he claimed it would work even with humans because you have the blood of the Ancients."
Lansius¡¯ eyes widened as he gazed at her, excitement breaking through his usual composure. "I know this. I¡¯ve been searching for this!"
Francisca blinked, momentarily dumbfounded, but she sensed no lie. "My Lord knows about this method?"
"I know a similar method, but I¡¯m still worried about mismatched blood," he said, carefully placing the bloodvine on the table. "Do we need to boil the tip first? What does the scripture say?"
She let out a sigh of relief, having held it back out of fear of offending him. "It¡¯s already cleaned. But as for mismatched blood in humans, I¡¯m not sure," she admitted. "It¡¯s been years since I read it, but we can ask the Lady."
"The Lady?" Lansius squinted in confusion.
"Yes, the Lady. She¡¯s been reading the scripture."
Lansius frowned, suddenly recalling Audrey reading a book about Umberland and the half-breeds. "Then should I fetch the book for you?"
"That¡¯s not what I meant," Francisca replied sheepishly. "The scripture is messy, often jumping from one topic to another because it¡¯s mostly the ramblings of an old man. It¡¯s better to ask someone who¡¯s read it recently and still freshly remembers it."
"Then wait here. I¡¯ll bring the Lady," Lansius said, moving to leave.
"No need. She¡¯s¡ª"
Rustling from inside the tent cut her off. Lansius turned and froze as Audrey emerged from the inner part of their tent, wearing a gambeson like jacket over her plain white linen robe. In her hands, she held a book.
"You asked for me?" she said, her tone formal.
"But you said you¡¯re sleeping with Tanya and Arryn."
"I have the right to be with my husband," Audrey replied, slightly annoyed at having to explain herself. "No need to worry about the two; they¡¯re used to sleeping on time, unlike us. So, I went back to get some light to read."
Lansius raised an eyebrow. "But I didn¡¯t see you enter."
Her lips tightened. "Of course, you didn¡¯t. How could you? You were too busy staring..."
Lansius, felt a smile curve his lips, his earlier gloom lifting. "Is that jealousy I hear, dear love?"
Audrey frowned, shaking her head firmly. "That''s inappropriate. She¡¯s ill, and Valerie is a good friend. I could never... In fact, when she gets better, you could marry her, and I¡¯d support you."
It was a bold claim, but Francisca stifled a laugh, her shoulders trembling with raw amusement.
"You know she can detect lies, right?" Lansius said without any teasing.
Still, Audrey¡¯s face turned crimson as she shot a sharp glance at Francisca before turning back to Lansius. "She must¡¯ve misread something."
Lansius chuckled and took her hand, his voice softening. "Nine kids."
"What nine kids?" Audrey repeated, her gaze questioning.
"Before I ever marry again, I¡¯ll give you nine kids," Lansius promised.
Audrey¡¯s mouth dropped open. She whispered in disbelief, "You¡¯re crazy. I¡¯m not getting pregnant nine times in a row."
"I am, crazy, " Lansius said, smiling shamelessly. "Crazy for you."
Audrey blinked, momentarily losing her composure as a small giggle escaped. Nearby, Francisca muffled her own laughter. Though this was a private moment, they didn¡¯t mind her presence. To them, she was a protective shadow, reliable and reassuring.
"Enough," Audrey said, her tone dismissive as she regained her composure. "I¡¯m not here to be the blunt end of a joke."
"Right," Lansius said, turning serious as he picked up the bloodvine and the snake fangs attached to it. He held it up for Audrey to see. "This might save Valerie. Does the book say anything about this?"
"We¡¯re in luck. I¡¯ve read about it," Audrey said as she opened the book to a page with an illustration of the bloodvine. The drawing showed it being connected from one person to another at the wrists.
Lansius gently took the book from her and began reading. Meanwhile, Audrey turned to Francisca. "We¡¯ll probably need the physician again."
...
Audrey
Francisca returned to Audrey after arranging for a guard to summon the physician. "My Lady," she whispered, "the physician isn¡¯t asleep, but he¡¯s in the middle of a delicate operation."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
"That¡¯s fine. We can wait," Audrey replied, imagining it was likely an amputation from a decaying limb. Her eyes flicked to Lansius, who remained engrossed in the book, furiously flipping pages and scribbling notes.
"Also, there¡¯s a little girl outside waiting to meet you," Francisca added, her voice quieter now.
"A little girl?" Audrey furrowed her brow, meeting Francisca¡¯s gaze.
"Yes," Francisca replied. "The guard mentioned that one of Sir Stan¡¯s men brought her here. She¡¯s asleep now. They say she¡¯s Lady Hannei¡¯s maid."
"A maid?"
Francisca nodded. Curious, Audrey adjusted her gambeson and stepped outside, leaving Lansius undisturbed at the table.
"My Lady," the guardsmen greeted her.
"Where¡¯s the little girl?" Audrey asked.
The stout-looking guardsman near the campfire smiled and gestured toward a figure bundled in a thick blanket, sound asleep atop a flat wooden box.
One of the nearest guards reported, "The men from the castle brought her, but it was late. We figured she could wait until morning."
The guard moved as if to wake her, but Audrey motioned for him to stop. Instead, she approached and leaned forward, her expression softening as she recognized the girl¡¯s face. "Francisca," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "bring her in. I¡¯ll vouch for her."
Francisca stepped forward and carefully picked up the girl, who stirred at the sudden movement. Her small body tensed, her blurred eyes blinking awake as she let out a suppressed yawn. "What¡¯s happening?" she murmured groggily. When her gaze fell on Francisca¡¯s wolf-like features looming above her, her eyes widened in alarm.
"Hey," Audrey called softly, catching the girl¡¯s attention. The familiar voice made the girl gasp. "Lady Audrey!"
"Everything is alright," Audrey reassured her. "Don¡¯t be afraid. We¡¯re taking you inside, but you¡¯ll need to stay quiet, okay? No commotion."
The girl nodded, wiping away her tears as she clung to Francisca¡¯s arm. The three of them entered the tent, leaving the guards outside, visibly relieved. They seemed fond of the girl¡ªlikely because she was polite, helpful, and didn''t cause trouble.
Lansius turned toward them as they entered. "What¡¯s going on outside?"
"Lans, do you remember this girl?" Audrey asked, nodding toward the girl in Francisca¡¯s arms.
"Tia!" Lansius exclaimed, rising from his chair, his eyes lighting up. The Korelian girl squirmed free, ran to him, and stopped a short distance away to curtsy. "My Lord," she said, her gaze darting briefly toward the bed.
"Go on," Audrey said from behind. "You can stay by your master¡¯s bedside."
Tia bowed again to both Lansius and Audrey before hurrying to Valerie¡¯s side. She sat quietly by the bed, her eyes fixed on her unconscious mistress.
"Sir Stan sent one of his men to deliver Tia to us," Audrey explained. "They said she¡¯s Hannei¡¯s maid."
"What a coincidence," Lansius remarked.
"Yes, and we were just talking about her yesterday," Audrey added.
Lansius nodded but turned serious. "And the physician?"
"We¡¯ll have to wait," Audrey replied. "It¡¯s the second night, and as expected, there are many issues to handle."
Lansius exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. The number of injuries on their side was minimal, so they had allowed the physician to assist the captured men, provided they cooperated. They even allocated some medical supplies, though sparingly, as Lansius needed to reserve them for future conflicts. For many of the injured, they knew it would only delay the inevitable.
Audrey stepped closer and took his hands, massaging them gently. "We¡¯ll get it done. Valerie will come back to us, just as Tia has."
Lansius nodded, then turned to Francisca. "I¡¯m going to take a short nap. Wake me when the physician arrives."
"Yes, My Lord," Francisca said with a slight bow.
Audrey followed him inside, saying, "You also need to meet Belgutei tomorrow morning."
"Yes. Once he¡¯s back from hunting, I need to solve the issue of captured people."
"To think you¡¯d allow them to hunt in Bengrieve¡¯s private forest," Audrey muttered as they entered their bedchamber.
Lansius flashed a grin. "We can¡¯t turn down their request to find fresh supplies, and we can always blame the fanatics. Besides, I suspect the forest is already depleted, given how desperate the besiegers were."
"That¡¯s why the nomads are moving deeper northwest," Audrey remarked. "Anyway, what are you going to do with the captured men? We have nearly four thousand."
"I¡¯m planning to send a third of them¡ªthe most docile¡ªto work near our away capital. It¡¯s early summer, so they should be able to grow vegetables or help with the roads, housing, and fortifications. As for the rest... that¡¯s what I need to discuss with Belgutei."
Audrey nodded. "Well, let¡¯s get some rest first. Francisca and Tia can watch over Valerie for a few hours. Now that we have a treatment available, you should be able to sleep more easily."
Lansius smiled faintly but said, "There¡¯s still an issue to solve. I don¡¯t think Valerie¡¯s blood type matches with any of us. I need to devise a way to test if the treatment will help her¡ªor harm her."
***
Sir Harold
The acting Marshal had just finished reconnoitering the camp area. There was reason to fear threats from both outside and within, from the captured men or their questionable allies. He had tasked additional men to patrol, who, fortunately, complied without complaint. Active patrols were essential to deter anyone from doing something foolish.
Previously, camping so close to the castle had seemed natural; they had shared a common enemy. But now, he feared it might tempt their allies to do the unthinkable. Fortunately, by tomorrow, they would likely begin moving. Marching through hostile territory with a horde of captured men was risky, but it was better than sitting idle and waiting for trouble.
Having completed his rounds, Harold confirmed that his men were rested and that the injured were ready to move. Tomorrow morning, he would ask the Lord to commit to the plan: sending a mobile group to occupy the neighboring manors and castles, securing them as they advanced. Another advance group would be tasked with locking down the city the Lord had chosen as their away capital.
Returning to his tent, Harold found no less than a lance group¡ªfour men¡ªguarding a woman with her hands tied.
"Let me guess, you¡¯re causing trouble again?" Sir Harold said, half-groaning as he addressed the woman.
"Sister Clementine refused to eat or drink until she met you," one of the guards reported.
The sister rose weakly but demanded loudly, "Release me and my sisters. We are servants of¡ª"
"I am a servant of House Lansius," Harold interrupted sharply, "and unless you stop demanding things, I¡¯ll bring you to him right now."
That silenced her. Even she knew the Black Lord wasn¡¯t one to be trifled with, especially at such a late hour. The squire, guards, and four jailers watched with barely concealed glee; the sister had caused them no end of trouble.
Sir Harold rubbed his forehead, then glanced at her. "I¡¯ll bring your request to tomorrow¡¯s meeting. In the meantime, you need to eat and behave. I don¡¯t want you fainting if the council or the Lord summons for you."
"Just untie me. I swear I won¡¯t do anything. I¡¯m not a rogue mage," she tried to reassure him.
Sir Harold studied her face for a moment before turning to the guards. "Untie her and get something from the kitchen. If we¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll have some gruel or cold bread."
"Yes, Sir." The guards complied, untying her.
Clementine rubbed her bruised wrists and noticed Harold¡¯s gaze. "They tied it too tight," she muttered.
"Of course, I told them to," Harold said matter-of-factly. "Your magic might be minuscule, but it can still harm people."
"I don¡¯t tend towards violence," she retorted.
Harold gave her a skeptical look. Clementine glanced away. "My older sister commanded it. What could I do but obey?"
"And now she¡¯s in Cascasonne¡¯s dungeon for cursing all day and trying to incite rebellion."
"I don¡¯t share her enthusiasm," she revealed without hesitation. "I think Healing Guild members shouldn¡¯t take sides in wars."
Sir Harold raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and remarked loudly, "So you can think independently and not just parrot your elders. Color me impressed!"
His squire and the nearby guards chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. Clementine pouted, her lips tightening, and spat to the side in defiance. The squire moved to intervene, but Harold waved him off.
Instead, Harold stepped forward, his tone cold and taunting. "Go on, try me."
Clementine was taller than average, but Harold easily towered over her. Up close, she had to look up to meet his gaze. Her right fist clenched and relaxed twice, but she held back.
"Bold, independent thinking, and not reacting on impulse," Harold remarked unexpectedly.
"I didn¡¯t expect praise," she replied, stepping back.
"No, that¡¯s an assessment," Harold clarified. "If you want to free one of your sisters, you¡¯ll need to pay the price."
Clementine frowned, her expression questioning.
"You¡¯ll likely need to plead your case and bargain with the shrewdest lord in existence. The Black Lord has charmed, tricked, duped, and outwitted nearly every cunning noble, deceitful lord, swindling guildsman, and cutthroat mercenary he¡¯s ever met. He¡¯s even impressed half-beasts to join him. Some say he could extort goblins or even fell beasts, and I¡¯m inclined to believe those rumors."
The men laughed at the remarks, clearly familiar with such tales.
Clementine blinked, her confidence wavering.
One of the guards returned with a bowl of gruel and half a loaf of bread inside.
"Eat," Harold commanded as the guard offered her the bowl. "Any minute now, your stomach will growl."
"I''m not embarrassed by trivial things," she retorted, though she took the bowl and bowed politely to the guard.
"A growling belly means your head has less fire to burn. And you¡¯ll need plenty of it tomorrow," Harold said casually before stepping into his tent with his squire, leaving Clementine to eat by the fire under the watchful eyes of the four guards.
***
Sterling
High in the sky, Sterling observed their surroundings. Even with normal eyesight, he could see the shimmering lights of a large city looming ahead. Claire, his wife, sat next to him, both of them wrapped in fur-lined clothes over woolen garments to shield against the fierce and cold night wind. The rest of the crew huddled in their blankets, a necessity for enduring the chill of airship travel.
Yet Midlandia''s summer winds were mild compared to those of Nicopola or Lowlandia. The province was also easier to navigate from the air, with plenty of landmarks and roads clearly visible from above.
After their last proper rest in Korimor, the airship had embarked on a long flight through Midlandia, stopping only in unpopulated areas to maintain secrecy. Guided by the mages'' sharp eyesight and the best maps they could obtain, the crew managed to follow the provincial roads toward their destination.
Two days ago, they had traced a river until they came upon an array of stone obelisks atop a hill¡ªa striking landmark impossible to miss. There, they sent a small party to a nearby town, where as planned they located an agent of the Orange Skalds. The agent provided them with the latest intelligence and confirmed that Lord Lansius'' plan for them remained unchanged.
Additionally, they learned of several intriguing developments in Lubina. With only a brief pause to resupply and rest, they pressed onward toward the capital city.
A magnificent walled city now stretched out beneath them. A mighty river divided the large settlement in two, connected by a grand stone bridge. On either side of the waters, a castle stood guard, one smaller than the other.
"It¡¯s Lubina," Claire muttered to Sterling, having counted the number of towers and other distinctive features visible from above.
Sterling nodded, trusting her judgment. "Then let¡¯s prepare."
Claire turned and called for their captain. "Sir, I can confirm it¡¯s Lubina City and Eclipse Castle."
¡°Lubina City,¡± Sir Morton repeated calmly, his predatory gaze shifting to the crew. Many began to stir, warming up and flexing stiff muscles after the long journey. He smiled faintly. ¡°Then we¡¯re just in time for the finale of the feast.¡±
His men grinned, shedding their blankets to reveal outfits that looked fit for a gala, paired with improved X-Bow and swords.
Darkness veiled the two airships as they glided silently toward the famous Eclipse Castle, its countless windows glowing with warm, flickering light. From above, the castle¡¯s walls offered no protection from sight. The castle grounds and buildings appeared alive, their lanterns and torches illuminating the grand stone bridge that spanned the mighty river. Nobles in carriages and on horseback made their way toward the castle¡¯s welcoming embrace.
Even the city seemed to pulse with life, its market a colorful sea of lanterns. But all were oblivious to the chaos that would soon descend upon them.
***
Chapter 206 : Twin Shadows Over Eclipse
Chapter 206
Twin Shadows Over Eclipse
Eclipse Castle, Lubina City
A young squire walked briskly inside the lavish corridors lit by gemstones emitting a soft white glow, his bright doublet tailored for tonight''s gala fluttering with each step. The air carried the faint aroma of spiced wine and sweet ale, remnants of the ongoing festivities. Echoes of lively conversation, laughter, and the distant strains of stringed instruments drifted from the hall, blending into a warm cheerful melody.
Finely plastered walls flanked the corridor and intricately carved pillars adorned with gilded frames that reflected the shimmering light from above. Guards stationed at regular intervals recognized the squire as he passed, offering no resistance. The muffled hum of the gala lingered behind him as he ventured deeper into the quieter part of the palace, finally arriving at the resting chamber.
The chamber was designed solely for the Lord¡¯s convenience, offering a private space to rest between events in the adjacent Great Hall. It allowed him to change clothes, relieve himself, or refine his appearance. Previous lords of the castle had sometimes used it for less noble pursuits, indulging in sensual pleasures with guests, fueling whispers of debauchery and infidelity among the local elites.
However, only a handful of men occupied the space today, flanking a visibly worried Lord Reginald, who sat stiffly in front of a large mirror.
The squire entered quietly, the door opened for him by a guard on duty.
"Is he ready?" the squire whispered anxiously to the servant near the door.
"Not yet," the servant replied in hushed tones.
"But the guests have already¡ª"
"He¡¯s the Lord of this castle. They can wait," a senior guardsman interjected firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
The exchange near the door drew the attention of three nobles inside. One of the Lord¡¯s advisors, a large man with an imposing frame dressed in a purple doublet, finally urged, "It¡¯s time."
Another, wearing a white wig, quickly added enthusiastically, "Are you ready, My Lord?"
"Yes, I¡¯m ready," Lord Reginald replied, rising from his chair in a less-than-elegant manner.
"You understand why this is necessary?" the large man in purple demanded.
"I¡¯m aware," Reginald snapped, irritation flashing as he straightened his party clothes.
From the side, the white wig reminded gently, "We must reassure our allies of our strength and commitment."
"Yes, yes," Reginald said, waving a hand dismissively. "I¡¯ll keep them in line. This southern barbarians¡¯ attack is nothing but a diversion. The real issue remains Bengrieve, but soon, we should have good news from Cascasonne." His tone shifted as he recited what would become his talking points for the evening.
"Excellent. That¡¯s exactly what they need to hear," the advisor in purple exclaimed, his tone finally brimming with assured confidence. "Now go and charm them with your wits."
Reginald exhaled deeply. With a flick of his wrist, his expression shifted into one of regal composure. His men opened the door, allowing the Lord of the castle to step outside. His entourage flanked him immediately, escorting him toward the castle¡¯s Great Hall through the Lord''s private entrance.
The hall was more like a palace than a fortress. It soared high and airy, its walls adorned with busts of previous lords, sculpted from marble and bronze. Beneath their steps, the lustrous black marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of gemstone chandeliers. It was a magnificent space, crafted to awe and impress.
The throng of nobles gathered there was certainly impressed, bowing their heads low in deference to the Lord. Despite his status as a new ruler and largely a puppet of his allies, Lord Reginald moved gracefully among them, exchanging pleasantries. He smiled warmly at the crowd, offering calculated, reassuring words to those who needed them. His movements were deliberate, his intellectual charm wielded with precision as he made his way toward the high table.
Finally seated, flanked by his guards and entourage, Lord Reginald raised his goblet high and declared, "Let the feast begin!"
The guests, seated at several long tables divided along the left and right sides of the hall, erupted into merriment as they began their meal. Platters of pickled meats, roasted forest duck, and spiced venison adorned the tables, accompanied by an endless variety of bread, honey, jams, and an abundance of dried fruits.
The hall¡¯s expansive floor stretched between the high table and the rows of guests, providing ample space for entertainment. Lively music, played by a small troupe of musicians stationed in the corner, set a joyful rhythm. A dozen dancers twirled and leaped with infectious energy, their laughter and cheers blending seamlessly with the melodies and capturing the guests¡¯ attention as they feasted lavishly.
In contrast, the host barely touched his meal, sipping only from his goblet of spiced wine. Lord Reginald''s irritation was evident. Several of his strongest allies had abandoned him, chastising his decision to send assassins to Lowlandia. Unlike him, they failed to grasp the nuanced art of realpolitik. He sought to treat threats before they could fester like wounds, starting with Bengrieve and trickling down to the minor upstart, Lansius.
He viewed his allies as short-sighted, concerned only with fleeting security and immediate gains. He, however, was a visionary, imagining Midlandia as a dominant power, with its neighbors bowing in submission. Even the barbaric lords to the south would yield.
Unfortunately, the path forward was fraught with peril. His opponent, the so-called Black Lord, had rallied his barbarians in a counterattack, forcing Reginald to squander precious time just to regain his people''s confidence. He sighed heavily, whispering to himself, "The fools should just follow," before taking another deliberate sip of his wine.
...
The feast carried on until everyone was sated. Then, fulfilling his promise, Lord Reginald mingled with the crowd, forming an impromptu court.
A group of landlords and merchants wasted no time. "My Lord," one began, "we yearn to hear about the fighting. Rumors have been circulating¡ª"
"Unsubstantiated nonsense," Lord Reginald interrupted with a dismissive smile. "Have you seen their so-called army? A rabble of brainless barbarians," he sneered, pausing as soft chuckles rippled through the group.
He quickly added, "Reports of their advance are exaggerated, spread by spineless cowards placed in command by the last seneschal. Either they were disloyal or simply incompetent. We ought not to lend our ears to such drivel."
A merchant, emboldened by the atmosphere, ventured, "Then, My Lord, we should expect this trouble to fade soon?"
"Indeed," the Lord replied smoothly. "No amount of gold stored in Cascasonne could turn a band of goat herders into an army capable of standing against Midlandia¡¯s finest. Their primitive raids cannot challenge the mettle of our knights."
His words placated many, but a cluster of knight and esquire families remained unconvinced. Sensing this, the Lord turned to them. "This Lansius is nothing more than a name whispered to frighten peasants. A black-haired nobody who outwitted a band of dimwits made up of uneducated goat herders. He may be cunning in the wilderness, but he will crumble on the more complex battlefields of Midlandia."
The knights exchanged glances before nodding, their confidence seemingly bolstered.
Turning back to the crowd, Lord Reginald asked, "Have you heard? This so-called Black Lord even married his own squire."
His words drew soft chuckles and scattered giggles from the gathered nobles.
"He¡¯s nothing but an inelegant brute, hardly worthy of our fears," the Lord exclaimed, clearly pleased by their reaction.
When the mood strongly shifted in his favor, Lord Reginald straightened and declared boldly, "Let him come." The crowd stilled, their eyes fixed on him with growing intensity. "The southern roads are treacherous, the forests unforgiving, and our walled cities stand unassailable. By the time they reach us, they¡¯ll be battered and broken."
A merchant with a reddened face raised his goblet in mock celebration. "To their long and miserable march!"
Laughter erupted throughout the hall, filling the grand space. But as the merriment reached its peak, a commotion broke out near the entrance. Shouts rang out, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel. The crowd¡¯s mirth dissolved into murmurs of alarm as heads snapped toward the noise.
Several guards struggled against shadowy figures who quickly overpowered them. Gasps and whispers rippled through the hall, anxiety spreading like wildfire. Guests instinctively backed away from the entrance, forming a widening circle of empty space. The once-lively music stopped abruptly, leaving a heavy silence that only deepened the tension.
Lord Reginald¡¯s guards inside sprang into action, rushing across the now-cleared center of the hall toward the disturbance. From outside, however, emerged a group of noble-looking gentlemen in finely tailored attire, their calm demeanor strikingly at odds with the chaos outside, where the sounds of clashing steel and shouts still echoed. Moments later, the gate was sealed shut behind them.
The four intruders, with their polished appearance and composed movements, brought a sense of relief to the onlookers, who began to hope the disruption was merely a misunderstanding or perhaps a surprise for tonight¡¯s feast.
"Please remain calm," the youngest of them said smoothly, stepping forward on behalf of the others. His voice was charming yet authoritative. "We only ask for an audience."
The six guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances before turning to their lord for guidance. This reaction did not escape the intruders'' notice, who, never having seen Reginald before, now had their target.
Sensing potential trouble, Lord Reginald and his advisors quickly signaled for reinforcements. More guards poured into the hall from the lord¡¯s private entrance, weapons at the ready, while curious servants peeked out from the kitchen doors, drawn by the commotion.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Building on the young man¡¯s introduction, a tall, well-built figure in black brigandine stepped forward. "I am Knight-Captain Morton of the Three Hill''s Black Knights," he declared coldly.
His identity shocked everyone. Lord Reginald shook his head in disbelief, while his advisors in white wig and purple doublets scrambled to issue commands to the guards and squires.
Unperturbed by their reaction, Sir Morton turned to the gathered nobles, his tone noticeably softened as he spoke. "On behalf of the Lord Shogun of Korelia and the five Lords of Lowlandia, please accept our heartfelt greetings, esteemed nobles of Midlandia."
The six determined guards ignored him and charged. Their actions prompted the young man and two other well-dressed gentlemen to pull slim but boxy crossbows from beneath their cloaks. With practiced ease, they unleashed a hail of bolts, surprising everyone.
The hall plunged into chaos. Three guards crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies pierced by bolts that penetrated their ringmail. Wounded, they desperately tried to crawl away, their torsos and limbs riddled with feathered shafts. The remaining three guards retreated, diving behind upturned tables hastily set by their allies.
"We''re not bandits. No one needs to get hurt," Sir Morton said calmly almost devoid of emotion, his hands still empty of a weapon. Behind him, his men casually reloaded their crossbows, sliding bolts into the box-like mechanisms atop their weapons.
A large group of guards arrived, led by the tallest among them, clad in golden-hued ringmail. He stood like a champion, wielding a rarely seen trident.
Sir Morton, unbothered, continued, "The Lord Shogun and the army of Lowlandia are currently in Cascasonne and will soon pacify the region. We hope for future cooperation. House Bengrieve has promised the Lord Shogun all of southern Midlandia, including every land allied with Sir Reginald in this conflict."
"You speak madness!" bellowed the large advisor in purple, seizing command from the dispirited Lord Reginald. "Guards, kill them all!"
The champion wasted no time. With a quick glance at the wounded guards, he grabbed a large silver serving plate, wielding it as an improvised shield. Letting out a loud rallying cry, he led a dozen guards in a ferocious charge.
The three intruders fired their bolts with deadly accuracy, but the guards pressed on, using chairs and platters as makeshift shields. Meanwhile, the champion charged directly at Sir Morton. The man in black brigandine stood motionless, his sword still undrawn.
The champion closed the distance in a few powerful strides and thrust his trident with blinding speed, aiming straight for his opponent''s chest. Yet, with unnerving ease, Sir Morton sidestepped, his footwork precise. The trident¡¯s razor-sharp tips missed by a hair. Undeterred, the champion followed up with another thrust, but the knight in black dodged again. There was no fear in his eyes¡ªonly an unsettling excitement.
The champion feinted, drawing his weapon back for a wide swing, but Sir Morton stepped inside his reach and delivered a single, devastating punch to the champion''s stomach. The golden ringmail shuddered under the force of the blow. There was no thunderous sound, but the impact was evident as the large man gasped, spittle flying, and stood momentarily frozen, paralyzed by the pain pulsating from his abdomen.
Without hesitation, Sir Morton grabbed both the champion''s shoulders and threw him to the ground in a fluid motion, his wrestling technique brutal but efficient. Gasps filled the hall as every eye turned to the fallen champion.
The rest of the guards scattered and disorganized, faltering under the unyielding accuracy of the crossbowmen. A few had cornered the younger man into melee, but even there, the intruder held the upper hand.
"As I said, no one needs to get hurt. This isn''t a robbery," Sir Morton reiterated, disdain coloring his voice. But his warning fell on deaf ears.
"Keep fighting!" the advisor in purple commanded, addressing the freshly arrived guards. They hesitated, still struggling to comprehend how so many of their comrades, including their champion, had been defeated by just four men.
"The castle garrison will soon come!" added his fellow in the white wig, though his voice trembled with desperation.
A sudden crash of breaking glass shattered the tension. Vibrant shards of stained glass rained down from above, scattering across the floor like jagged, multicolored jewels. People below screamed in surprise, diving out of the way to avoid the falling debris. Panic spread, but one man froze, his gaze locked on the shattered window. His mouth fell open as he raised a trembling finger, pointing toward the empty stone frame.
Others followed his gaze, their expressions shifting into silent horror. Three large silhouettes loomed in the opening. Their presence was unmistakable as, one by one, the creatures leaped inside. Their clawed hands flexed as they landed with uncanny grace, their swiveling ears attuned to the panicked cries around them.
Under the bright glow of the Great Hall¡¯s chandeliers, the people''s suspicions were confirmed¡ªthey were seeing Beastmen.
All three bore the unmistakable features of wolves: piercing eyes, snarling muzzles, and sharp fangs glinting in the light. Their silvery fur, draped in shimmering ringmail, shifted fluidly with their movements as they strode upright on two powerful legs.
Amid the gasps and shrieks of the ladies fleeing the chamber in terror, leaving only the bravest nobles rooted in place, the largest beastly creature pulled a torn banner from his shoulder and threw it to the floor. The coat of arms revealed it to be the banner of the castle garrison.
In an act of blatant mockery, the creature urinated on the banner, drawing howls of laughter from his kin and the intruders, who now made it abundantly clear that they were in alliance.
"What took you so long?" Sir Morton asked as he approached, magically blowing the putrid stench toward Reginald''s direction. The remaining guards and squires scrambled to form a hasty barricade in front of Lord Reginald, whose complexion had turned deathly pale.
"We got a little bloodlust; and a little lost," the largest Beastman admitted.
The creature''s words only deepened the confusion among the onlookers. Meanwhile, Sir Morton turned his predatory gaze toward the nobles. "No help is coming. Now, it¡¯s time to listen." He paused, letting the tension settle. "In light of Lord Reginald''s attempt on Lord Shogun''s life¡ªsending three assassins¡ªand with evidence and sealed statements from the captured assailants, we hereby declare a right of reprisal. Hand over Lord Reginald, and we will leave in peace."
Lord Reginald¡¯s lips trembled, his knees shaking.
"They''re lying! Stay steadfast! Even if the castle garrison is struck, we still have the city garrison¡ª" The man in purple''s desperate shout was abruptly cut short as his mouth fell open as his body lurching backward. The largest Beastman leaped high and crashed down on him with a thunderous stomp, leaving the advisor bloodied on the floor. But it didn¡¯t end there. As the guards resisted, the Beastman went berserk. With devastating force, it swatted them aside, hurling bodies into the walls. The sickening crack of bones and cries of pain echoed through the hall.
"We only intend to capture Sir Reginald alive," Sir Morton''s voice boomed unnaturally loud, carrying a distinct current of wind; a sign of magic. "Do not force us to change our plans."
Yet the remaining guards, numbering more than ten, stood resolute. "They won''t get away! Nobody escapes alive!" the guard captain rallied his men. With determined cries, they charged at the lone Beastman, their weapons thrusting forward. But the other two Beastmen joined the fray, wielding large, knife-like swords, turning the fight into a bloody melee.
The rest of the nobles gulped, swallowing their pride as they fled to the far side of the hall, desperate to distance themselves from the carnage. The advisor in the white wig had vanished entirely, leaving only a handful of loyal men urging Lord Reginald to retreat. Worse, Sir Morton and his men were closing in.
With trembling hands, Reginald opened his mouth and stammered, "Protect me!"
His knees threatened to buckle as he watched his entourage scatter, leaving only three behind. The guardsmen in the hall were being defeated one by one, proving themselves useless against the Beastmen.
As Sir Morton drew closer, the lone guard and two squires exchanged nervous glances before duty forced them to act. With a burst of resolve, they launched themselves at him. At that moment, Lord Reginald caught a fleeting smile on Morton¡¯s face. And in that instant, he knew he was doomed.
A heavy thud echoed behind him, and a massive shadow loomed over Reginald. He turned to see a towering figure streaked with darkened blood, his face marred by the jagged scar of a deep arrow wound.
"You¡¯re not getting away!" the Beastman roared. "Your capture shall cleanse my shame."
"My Lord!" Another noble, likely a knight, charged in from the side, wielding a spear he had grabbed from nearby. He thrust at the beastman, attempting to bait him away from Reginald.
Meanwhile, Sir Morton caught one squire by the arm and hurled him into his companion, sending both skidding across the marble floor. The lone guard, now kneeling, choked and gasped for air, his hands clawing at his own throat as the mage-knight ruthlessly used his magic to pull the breath from his lungs.
Witnessing the chaos, Reginald bolted, pumping his legs toward the servant''s kitchen entrance. Escape was all that mattered now. The door and corridor were narrow¡ªtoo tight for the beastmen to follow. If he could reach it, the danger would surely pass. But suddenly, a powerful hand gripped his silken cape, yanking him backward and sending him sprawling onto his back.
He gasped, the cape tightening around his neck, cutting off his breath.
"Puny human, my gratitude for attempting to run. It allows me to have some fun," the Beastman ominously chuckled before suddenly lifting Reginald to his chest and squeezing the man in a crushing hug that threatened to break his bones.
Reginald could only scream in pain. At this point, the fighting ceased entirely. Even the brave knight wielding the spear raised his hands, signaling surrender.
"We''re only here for Sir Reginald. The Lord Shogun wishes no harm upon the other nobles," Sir Morton reassured the crowd as he approached the beastman, who still held the current Lord of Midlandia tightly against its ringmail-covered chest.
"What do you intend to do now?" the knight asked, his tone weary. "Using him as a hostage to force Lubina to surrender won¡¯t work."
"I know," Sir Morton replied calmly. "I know you¡¯re mostly knights, esquires, or landlords without real influence or manpower. This man''s puppet master is somewhere else¡ªsafe and hidden."
"If you know, then why bother? The city garrison, numbering several thousand men, is under their control. The city won¡¯t surrender," the knight argued.
"That decision is not mine to make," Sir Morton replied, motioning for the Beastman to release Reginald.
The Beastman promptly lowered the trembling, shriveled man onto the floor.
Without a shred of pity, Sir Morton grabbed Reginald by the belt and hoisted him face down like a sack of luggage, holding him effortlessly in one hand.
"Help me! Midlandians, think about your future!" Reginald cried out, desperation thick in his voice as the grim reality dawned on him.
No one moved. The knight with the spear and the rest of the nobles averted their gazes in shame as the intruders opened the entrance doors, revealing another group of armed men in black waiting outside.
The chill night wind blew upon Reginald, making him even more frantic. "Don¡¯t just stand there! Rally your spirit and¡ª" His plea was abruptly silenced as a young man stepped forward with an unsettling smile and gagged him with a piece of cloth.
"Nicely done, Sterling," Sir Morton said with approval.
"Can¡¯t have him squealing all the way back," Sterling replied, his thin smile lingering as they retreated into the grand courtyard.
...
Outside, the aftermath of a fierce battle lay scattered before them. Dozens of guards were sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath their bodies and staining the stone.
"Crossbowmen, beware!" the SAR team behind cover shouted in warning.
Sir Morton recited his verses, and an ethereal shield of violent wind swirled to life around them. The timing couldn¡¯t have been better¡ªa volley of bolts rained down from one of the towers, whistling sharply through the air. Several bolts veered off course as they hit the barrier, their trajectories shifting before landing on the castle grounds.
The SAR lieutenant ran beside him. "It¡¯s getting livelier. More are gathering."
"Do we have wounded?" Sir Morton asked.
"Three men¡ªlacerations," the lieutenant reported.
"Pull back," Sir Morton ordered, his sharp gaze locking on Big Ben, the male half-breed, and his kin to ensure they heard him. "The mission is complete."
The three half-beasts nodded and sprinted into the darkness, their keen eyes matching Morton''s in the dim light. They took different routes, knowing the gatehouse interior was too cramped for them.
Beside Morton, the SAR lieutenant nodded, visibly relieved, and began signaling his men to fall back. They had chosen this daring plan over a late-night attack because it was the only reliable way to identify Reginald. Moreover, the feast had distracted the guards with the constant comings and goings of guests. However, it had also cost them the element of stealth.
But the gamble had paid off. They ran through the near darkness toward the gatehouse, their every step haunted by the fear of crossbow fire from the towers. The faint glow of lanterns, placed by their allies, served as their only guide. Above the gatehouse, the airships hovered unseen, waiting.
"Sir Captain!" shouted one of the Black Knights holding the gatehouse, hurrying to join them.
"Yes?" Sir Morton responded calmly, even as bolts hissed past.
"The city garrison is mobilizing, columns of men are marching toward the gate."
"We''ll make it," the captain replied, his tone dismissive, unshaken by the news.
The knight, accustomed to his captain¡¯s calm demeanor, added, "When we secured the gatehouse complex, we found two chests of gold and silver."
"Gold?" the SAR lieutenant asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
"Indeed, likely war chests or something similar. We didn¡¯t have the chance to ask, but they certainly defended it with their lives."
"When fortune smiles, don¡¯t ignore it. Bring them with us," Sir Morton instructed, still carrying Reginald, who had grown quiet from the strain of being hoisted so unceremoniously.
"It¡¯s going to be heavy," Sterling remarked, his gaze flicking to the additional burden as they ran.
"With two ships, we¡¯ll make it," Sir Morton replied, unflinching as two more bolts zipped past, one narrowly missing a SAR team member. "We¡¯ll crash-land in Cascasonne if we have to," he added, a brief, predatory smile tugging at his lips.
Overhead, the night wind picked up speed, while the city of Lubina erupted into chaos, its distant roar carrying on the cold air.
***
Chapter 207 : Saint & Mage
Chapter 207
Saint & Mage
Clementine
The fire crackled softly, its warmth battling the chill of the night wind that whipped through the camp. Canvas tents flapped noisily in the breeze. Clementine, wrapped in her wool cloak, sat huddled near the flames. She had finished her bread and gruel and lingered by the fire. For some reason, while the guards had tied her hands again, they hadn¡¯t escorted her back to the holding place. She couldn¡¯t care less; this was far more comfortable, even out in the open.
The holding place lay between the palisade wall and the ditch, fortified with barricades and cruel-looking barbed wire. The prisoners had come to respect and fear the seemingly harmless coils of thin metal. There, they were given canvas, looted from their own camp, and blankets to sleep on. Patrols roamed the area, guards watched from the palisade, and nomads lingered nearby, making any escape attempt suicidal.
The place still reeked of death, even after major efforts to clean it. The smell lingered, heavy and grim in the air. Yet, as captives, they had no choice but to endure. A bigger concern loomed: the kind of fate they would meet. Many could only hope it wouldn¡¯t end with a journey to the east, to Navalnia, a kingdom from which nobody ever returned, and where merchants¡¯ tales were too horrific to believe.
As a Saint Candidate, Clementine was kept separately, in a makeshift cell beneath a wooden tower, where the guards on the palisade could observe her at all times. Sir Harold and his men took no chances, likely fearing she might rally the fanatics or incite rebellion. But they were wrong; she was just a simple girl with no grand ambitions, only a desire to live her life to her heart''s content.
Her only issue was her gift of magic, which had defined her from an early age. Born to a poor esquire family who couldn''t afford even a single laborer, young Clementine helped in the family fields. From a young age, her gift of magic was powerful enough to manifest in her daily work. Even without understanding the art, her source naturally seeped into her body, enhancing her physical abilities to a noticeable degree. Despite her small frame as a child, she could easily outwork or outrun anyone, even adults, in speed, strength, and stamina.
Later, when she was found and adopted into the monastery, she learned night vision and strengthening magic. In terms of raw talent, few in her age group could match her. When she eventually passed her test and was ordained as a young Saint Candidate, even fewer seniors had abilities comparable to hers.
Yet, many dismissed this, claiming such skills were useless for Saint Candidates, whose role was to heal. They argued that strengthening magic was only valuable for battle-oriented guilds, such as mages. However, she knew the Healer Guild''s perception was flawed.
Unlike the Mage Guild, the Healer Guild taught its members not to tap directly into the source. They shunned this method, deeming it volatile, risky, and unreliable. Instead, they relied on the magic that naturally seeped into the body, which they called the soul.
While this greatly limited their abilities, it was not without reason. Drawing from the soul was more reliable and far better suited for healing, which required delicate and precise control of magic. Meanwhile, the power from the source was like a waterfall¡ªhard to control, strong, and often unpredictable.
By honing their soul, they gradually lost their innate ability to connect with the source and became distinct from mages. They lacked access to a stream of magical power but trained their bodies to become suitable vessels, capable of storing magic and expending it with precise accuracy.
However, not all Saint Candidates followed this path. Some rogues secretly continued training to tap into their source, believing they could fulfill both roles, albeit risking their proficiency. Clementine was one of them. Strangely, despite the guild''s disapproval, her abilities stood out so much that she was often assigned tasks beyond the monastery as an extension of the guild''s influence. Yet, nothing could have prepared her for the role she had just faced or the outcome of the battle yesterday.
"Sister, wake up," a guard''s whisper startled her.
Clementine had been on the verge of falling asleep. She gazed at the guard lazily, assuming it was time to return to her holding cell. But to her surprise, the guard pointed toward Sir Harold''s tent, whispering, "The squire just left."
She squinted. "What do you mean?"
"It''s your chance," they said cryptically, their mischievous grin unmistakable.
"You''re not afraid I¡¯ll stab him in his sleep?" she asked, voicing the first thought that came to her mind.
"Lesser men, perhaps. But him?" They exchanged grins. "Besides, we¡¯re sure you don¡¯t have a knife on you, and we¡¯re definitely not removing that wrist tie."
She hesitated, but another guard added, "Go on, have a little chat."
"A chat?" she asked, suspicion filled her tone. "Why are you risking your necks for me?"
"It¡¯s not like we hate you, good woman," one replied. "You¡¯ve healed several of our friends since this morning without caring that we¡¯re your enemies, and for that, we¡¯re grateful."
She inhaled deeply, pondering her options, and nodded. "Then I shall have a chat."
One of the guards helped her to her feet.
"But what about those two?" she asked, glancing at the guards posted near Sir Harold''s tent.
"Try kind words," one suggested with a faint smirk, stepping aside to let her pass. She made her way to the tent, where the two guards immediately stopped her.
"I just need a few words," she explained. "You can search me. I¡¯m tied anyway."
"He¡¯s resting, woman," the first guard said firmly.
"Earlier, he mentioned he wanted my company," Clementine replied, her voice softening. She hesitated, then removed her headscarf, allowing her long brown hair to fall freely. Her cheeks reddened while cool night air brushed against her exposed neck.
The guards exchanged glances. For a woman to undo her headscarf in front of unrelated men was a bold and humiliating gesture. It meant she was utterly serious.
"She looked after my brother''s wound this morning," the second guard whispered, glancing at his comrade.
"If you or anyone else has an ailment, come visit me tomorrow," Clementine quickly added. "I¡¯ll heal you."
The first guard frowned, thinking for a moment before grumbling, "Fine, I¡¯ll ask him¡ª"
"And embarrass me further?" she interrupted, her face reddening as she turned her gaze sideways, avoiding their stares.
The guard stared at her, then glanced toward the others by the campfire, who were watching the exchange with amused interest. With a sigh, he relented. "Alright, if this goes bad, plenty will be sharing the blame anyway," he said, his smirk indicating accepting a dangerous prank.
...
Sir Harold
The day had been exhausting, as was expected in the aftermath of a battle. As the acting Marshal, Harold had to ensure the army, the captured men, and the camp were in order. He and his staff were also responsible for a myriad of other tasks: organizing loot collection, scouting, determining how many supplies could be used for a small feast, and ensuring their defenses against possible night attacks.
Tomorrow would demand just as much of his attention, with the army slated to move toward their new base camp. Harold snuffed out the lantern and headed to his canvas bed. His armor hung nearby, freshly cleaned by his squire.
He wore his tunic loosely, using his gambeson as a makeshift blanket¡ªa habit from his years as a traveling knight. Thinking back, he had never dreamed of holding a role like this or managing a large army. Last year had been incredible, filled with experiences that opened his eyes to a new way of life.
To face mage-knights in combat, encounter half-beasts, witness flying ships, see the unification of Lowlandia, and endure the dreaded fall of the Imperium; it all felt like a whirlwind, both a dream and a nightmare. Yet none of it deterred him. A knight¡¯s ideals remained steadfast, even if the world seemed to be ending before him. Many said chivalry was just an idea written on paper, but he believed it was a cause worth striving for.
If not for fairness, truth, and justice, then for what other cause should a man fight?
With his resolve hardened once more, Harold let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. The flickering shadows of the campfire outside and the natural sounds of whispers and men on patrol became his lullaby. Muffled conversations reached his ears, but such things were to be expected. Reports often came at odd hours, but one of the guards would be diligent enough to keep a record. Only the highest priority matters would require his immediate attention.
He exhaled, shifting slightly in his bed, ready to continue his rest. Before long, a rustling sound, absent the chill of the wind, caught his attention. Despite the guards outside, Harold quietly extended his hand toward the hilt of his battle axe. It was brand new, replacing the one he had lost in battle the previous year. He had purchased it while marching through southern Midlandia.
Alert but motionless, his eyes opened to slits in the darkness, watching as a lithe silhouette slipped into the tent. Confident in his reaction time, Harold decided to wait and observe the intruder¡¯s intent. If they tried anything insidious, his axe could cleave faster than anyone could shout.
To his surprise, the figure began a strange, almost clumsy dance-like routine. Their movements seemed awkward, struggling, but in the faint light that filtered through the canvas tent, it was hard to discern what was happening.
A soft grunt broke the silence, and Harold immediately recognized the intruder. Rising from his bed like a prowling cat, he approached stealthily, axe in hand.
"Wait, wait!" came a startled voice. "Sir Harold, I can see you! Please drop the axe."
"Yeah, it''s you, alright," Harold sighed, recognizing Clementine¡¯s ability to see in the dark like mages. "What are you¡ª"Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
A flicker of fire caught his attention as the lantern suddenly flared to life, bathing them in soft amber light.
"How did you do that?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he glanced at the lantern. "I don¡¯t think any mages can do that."
"They lack the fine control over magic," Clementine explained. "All it takes is a gentle wind to the wick. If it¡¯s still hot enough, it can ignite again easily."
"Interesting," Harold mumbled, then turned toward her. He saw her in an awkward position, struggling with her tied hands to undo her cloak and robes. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face was clearly embarrassed as she whispered, "I didn¡¯t think this through, did I?"
"Indeed," he said, turning to the side to avoid taking advantage of her. "Look, I¡¯m flattered, but I¡¯m not looking for a night company."
"B-but you said I need to pay the price if I want to free even one of my sisters?"
Harold sighed heavily, lowered his axe, and rubbed his face with his free hand. "You misunderstand. What I meant was to petition Lord Lansius to take you as our healer for several years."
The answer surprised her, and the moment turned awkward. "Is that so...?" she mumbled.
"Yes. We don¡¯t have a healer, and you¡¯re the most talented one I¡¯ve encountered. I¡¯m thinking of employing you and your sister for several years. In time, you¡¯ll learn that we¡¯re not the barbarians your eldest sister makes us out to be. Our cause here is justified."
"I know," she replied unexpectedly, making Harold frown in disbelief.
She continued, "Even in the monastery, there are many who¡¯ve grown uncomfortable with the direction the guild is heading. The worship has been getting out of hand, and the veneration feels misplaced. By naming herself the Living Saint, does Saint Nay proclaim herself as equal to the ageless? Even among us, there are fears. However, she has her fanatics and influential supporters in high places."
Harold nodded but gave no quick response, allowing Clementine to add, "You need to help me. My hands are tied."
The tall knight shook his head but looked toward her, his eyes lowered to the ground. "Give me your hands," he said, extending his palm. Clementine obeyed, and he undid her ropes.
Several soft rustles of cloth followed before she spoke nervously. "I¡¯m done."
Harold looked at her and froze. She was standing naked, her arms and hands covering her modesty. Her face turned sideways, refusing to meet his gaze. He didn''t expect to fall into this predicament. For a man to see a woman''s body could spark scandal; a glimpse of a thigh might force a nobleman into marriage. What he saw now left no room for escape¡ªeverything.
"Clementine, I expect you to fix your clothes," he said, his eyes briefly catching the irresistible pale skin before he forced them away.
She hesitated, shivering from both the chill and the nervousness. She glanced at Harold, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she whispered, "If you¡¯re going to take me out of the monastery, then..."
"It doesn¡¯t have to be this way," he said, his tone heavy with regret.
"I¡¯ve seen enough and learned enough," she replied.
"Seen and learned what?"
"Of you," she clarified with a sudden hint of wit. "You¡¯re not the only one capable of judging others. I see a man who is powerful yet refuses to use that power for selfish gain. You have good morals, which makes you trustworthy, even while holding a high rank. Any woman would find you a desirable partner."
Harold let out a thin smile. It was rare for a woman to say something like that to his face. "You could say the same to many other knights."
"Others are unlikely to handle me, or my mace," she said, her tone softened. Then, in a more serious voice, she added, "My apologies for this underhanded approach, but you said it yourself¡ªI¡¯m up against the notorious Black Lord. A captured Saint Candidate against such a ruthless nobleman¡ I don¡¯t know what he¡¯ll do to me or my sister. I prefer a guarantee: yours."
"Misunderstanding upon misunderstanding," Harold lamented, referring to Lord Lansius¡¯ reputation.
Clementine''s tone was hesitant as she said, "Earlier, you spoke of an ideal knight. Now that you¡¯ve seen me¡ª"
"You don¡¯t have the standing to force me into marriage," he reminded her.
"I know. But your ideal as a perfect knight wouldn¡¯t allow you to turn your back on me."
"How devious of you," he remarked sharply, masking his respect for her resolve. "When did you plan all this? Has this ever worked in your favor?"
"I didn¡¯t," she replied, shivering from both the chill and his accusation. "No man has ever laid eyes on my body. I¡¯m trusting my future to you."
Harold exhaled and took pity on her. He retrieved his gambeson from his bed and draped it over her shoulders.
Taking it as a rejection, tears streamed down Clementine¡¯s cheeks. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Nobody shall hear of this from me. I¡¯ll accept your decision with grace. I won¡¯t force you."
Moved by her sincerity, Harold stepped closer, scooping her into his arms. "I¡¯m not rejecting you," he said softly.
"Huh?" Clementine¡¯s bravado vanished as she clutched the gambeson tightly, holding it close to cover her chest.
"You¡¯re a real Saint Candidate. You think independently, you take chances, and now you¡¯re on my side." Harold lowered her gently onto the bed. "I¡¯ll ask for your hand in front of the Lord tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"
She nodded and closed her eyes, her heart racing. But Harold simply draped her robes over her, pulled a traveling cloak to the ground, and lay down to rest there.
Clementine was surprised and let out a soft giggle.
"What¡¯s funny?" he asked.
"I thought... well...," she tried to explain, the relief evident in her voice.
"We''re surrounded by only canvas walls. The guards will hear you moaning," Harold replied bluntly.
Her cheeks flushed as the realization hit her. "I¡¯d better put my clothes back on, then."
"Yes, there¡¯s no need to rush," Harold said casually. "Sharing this space tonight is enough to seal the arrangement." Then, as sleep began to claim him, he reflected that answering Lord Bengrieve¡¯s call to head south with his battle brothers in support of a minor lord in Korelia had turned out to be the greatest choice he had ever made. It had even brought him face-to-face with a Saint Candidate who, for better or worse, would become his future wife.
He knew a certain half-breed would laugh at this and question his resolve, but in truth, he simply couldn¡¯t be bothered with the idea of having a family. Francisca had respected that. Despite her initial jests, the half-breed had become a battle brother, not a lover.
Meanwhile, from the canvas bed, oblivious to his thoughts, Clementine gazed at him with profound respect. Finding herself safe at last, the mental stress that had weighed her down vanished, replaced by butterflies in her stomach at the thought of being married tomorrow. Still, fatigue overtook her, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep, as serene as a child.
***
Lansius
It was the dead of night when Lansius woke, his eyes red with fatigue. He yawned, almost regretting his decision to ask to be woken up. Though it felt like he''d only closed his eyes moments ago, he knew at least an hour must have passed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head felt light, yet his shoulder was heavy.
"So your love for Valerie is this shallow, huh?" Audrey''s voice cut through the gloom. She stood by the bed, her sharp, amused eyes glinting in the dim light, as alert as a half-breed.
"Yes, so you don¡¯t have to worry," Lansius replied in jest, though his eyes burned with prickling pain.
Audrey leaned in closer, her smirk playful. "I wonder if you¡¯d be like this if it were me who¡¯s sick?"
Her face was dangerously near, her lustrous lips teasingly close. Acting on impulse, Lansius grabbed her head with both hands and stole a kiss. Audrey, though briefly startled, didn¡¯t resist and decided to enjoy the fleeting moment.
A few minutes later, Lansius was ready. A sip of spiced wine, secured from Margo, had brought much-needed warmth and color to his face.
"My Lord," greeted the physician, Margo, Tia, and Francisca as the Lord and Lady arrived at the meeting area beneath the command tent.
"Are you well-rested?" Lansius asked the physician, who had accompanied him since his visit to Three Hills.
"Not as much as I¡¯d like," the physician admitted with a faint smile, "but I trust you won¡¯t demand too much of me."
"I assure you, I¡¯m reasonable. I only need your expertise about blood," Lansius said. He began explaining his concerns, detailing what he knew about blood types and asking whether the physician had ever heard of, or seen, instances of blood clumping.
With humans in this world being different¡ªspecial, and not following the evolutionary path of his own world¡ªLansius couldn¡¯t afford carelessness. Valerie¡¯s life depended on him.
As Lansius spoke, Audrey led Tia and Margo back to Valerie¡¯s side. The woman remained unchanged, still deep in sleep.
The physician listened carefully and explained, "I¡¯ve never seen blood clumping like you describe." But when Lansius revealed the idea of using the bloodvine for transfusion, the physician¡¯s doubt was easy to see. "One person¡¯s blood to another? I¡¯ve never heard of this. I wouldn¡¯t recommend it, but if it¡¯s critical¡"
Lansius nodded, considering. Audrey returned to his side as he motioned for everyone to speak in hushed tones. "Francisca," he whispered, "can you sense if Valerie¡¯s scent is... different from others?"
Francisca stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Indeed. She has a distinct scent."
"Is it because she¡¯s a mage?" Audrey asked, her curiosity evident.
"That¡¯s part of it," Francisca replied. "But she also has a unique scent unlike any other."
Lansius hesitated, his nerves showing. "Does she have a scent like mine?"
Audrey¡¯s sharp gaze darted to him, but Francisca answered calmly, "You¡¯re both unique, but different."
"No similarities?" Lansius'' eyes met Francisca''s. She shook her head slightly. "Too distinct. I¡¯m certain you¡¯re not related by tribe."
Lansius nodded, his gaze shifting to the physician who had treated him several times. "I need to tell you a secret." He paused, glancing at the other two. "Valerie isn¡¯t from this continent."
The others exchanged surprised glances.
Lansius explained, "She comes from a place where people aren¡¯t descendants of the Ancients¡ªor at least, that¡¯s what she believes."
Audrey frowned, whispering, "I didn¡¯t know that."
"I¡¯m telling you this because it''ll affect the bloodvine transfusion. She doesn¡¯t have Ancient¡¯s blood," Lansius said.
The physician nodded readily as understanding dawned on him. "So her blood is different from ours."
Francisca massaged her forehead, her expression troubled. "Then what can we do?"
"It means she can¡¯t take your blood or any other half-breed¡¯s," Lansius clarified. "But I think she can take blood from anyone else¡ªexcept me."
"Why not?" Audrey asked, her concern deepening.
Lansius looked uneasy. "I don¡¯t remember much about my homeland, but I likely come from a place like hers. My blood type might be different."
Francisca¡¯s brows furrowed in surprise as she mumbled, "So that''s why you asked about the similarities in your scent..."
Meanwhile, Audrey merely nodded, unfazed. To her, it changed nothing.
"Now, we need to find a candidate," Lansius continued. "The scripture didn¡¯t specify human donor, but it said the donor should be healthy in body and soul¡ªnot pregnant, bodily active, and without yellowing in the eyes or any other disorders."
"Those are sound points," the physician agreed.
"I think Margo fits the bill," Audrey said, turning toward the two youngsters sitting beside Valerie.
"Or my lord''s sister," Francisca remarked casually, surprising the others.
"Why is Tanya suitable? Is her scent similar to Valerie¡¯s?" Lansius asked.
Francisca frowned. "No, not the scent¡ªit''s the hair color. I thought hair color indicated similarities to a tribe. Is that not so among humans?"
The physician and Audrey exchanged amused glances, and Lansius let out a smile. "There''s some truth to that, but blond in humans is usually just a coincidence."
The half-breed nodded, pleased with the opportunity to learn. Most of their understanding of the world came from books, so naturally, there were some gaps in their experience.
Lansius turned to the physician and said, "Before we do anything else to Valerie, we need to test her blood, and that¡¯s where you come in."
Under Lansius'' watchful eyes, the physician sterilized a set of knives by boiling them. After ensuring they were clean, he carefully avoided touching the blades and pricked Valerie¡¯s finger, placing four drops of her blood onto separate silver and gold plates, which had also been boiled beforehand.
The physician then added a drop of his own blood to one plate, while Margo and Francisca tested the others with theirs. Lansius took the final plate, curious to see if his blood would react with Valerie¡¯s. Everyone watched intently as the samples were gently tilted and swirled, careful not to disturb them too much. Any signs of clumping could indicate incompatibility.
The problem, however, was their limited understanding of blood coagulation. After some time, all they observed was the natural drying of blood due to air exposure. None of the samples showed any significant reaction.
Am I missing something...?
Lansius wondered in frustration, then realized he had likely overlooked the role of blood plasma and antibodies.
So just mixing different blood won¡¯t give any result I need...
He vaguely remembered a simple blood type card he had once seen that had small circles to place blood drops and a chart to match the results.
Breaking the silence, the physician finally said apologetically, "My Lord, I see no differences at all."
"We¡¯re likely missing something to trigger the reaction," Lansius exhaled sharply.
The physician and the others waited in silence as Lansius deliberated. Based on the scripture he had just read, the safest course seemed to be giving Valerie a blood transfusion from a human native to this world. Margo was a likely candidate¡ªhe was healthy and met the criteria. Yet Lansius couldn¡¯t take the risk. Their understanding relied entirely on lore claiming that the Ancients'' blood was compatible with other races, a trait supposedly inherited by humans.
While Lansius acknowledged the existence of half-breeds as evidence of such compatibility, he wasn¡¯t willing to gamble with Valerie¡¯s life. Lacking definitive test results, he wouldn¡¯t dare attempt it unless her condition deteriorated further¡ªand he feared that might happen soon. With only two cups of honeyed water and a few spoonfuls of porridge, before she fainted, Valerie wouldn¡¯t last much longer.
"After the morning meeting, call for Ingrid and Sir Stan," Lansius decided. "If there¡¯s no breakthrough, we¡¯ll proceed with the bloodvine."
***
Chapter 209 : Bloodvine
Chapter 209
Bloodvine
Lansius
The meeting with Belgutei concluded after Lansius entrusted him with a sealed wooden box and a letter to be delivered to Calub in Korelia. The delivery was of such high priority that Belgutei assigned no fewer than two hundred riders to guard it, and they rode out immediately without delay.
Inside the box were three muskets, meant to be disassembled and studied. A separate rider carried a gunpowder horn for safety, and another had the maintenance kit. Even if the items fell into enemy hands, they would be of little use without instructions, and the gunpowder might be mistaken for worthless black sand.
His instruction to Calub was to study the items and prepare for initial production. Now that firearms had entered the fray, he couldn¡¯t afford to stay idle and had to join the race. Lansius hoped he would never need to use such weapons and would be content to let them gather dust in a sealed vault.
Additionally, Lansius had instructed Belgutei to take his entire army home. He didn¡¯t want the Midlandian population to grow resentful toward the nomads. An army of one thousand horsemen, each bringing four or five horses, required constant grazing and hunting, which could strain the region¡¯s resources.
The last thing Lansius wanted was to stoke further antipathy during his nascent rule over Midlandia. Thus, he declared the campaign a success and ordered the nomads to return home triumphant. Upon Uncle Belgu¡¯s suggestion, Lansius chose to retain a hundred horse archers as his honor guard.
The only remaining task for Belgutei and his nomadic brethren was to lend their support as a portion of Lansius¡¯ main army began the slow process of moving the captured people south while ensuring the loyalty of towns and cities along the way.
As a preventive measure, Lansius directed that only agreeable captives could make the march south. They were to be provided with provisions, spare footwear gathered from the dead, and support throughout the journey.
Two thousand in total would march south, moving from town to town before resting in Ornietia. From there, they would continue to Korelia under escort. Lansius held no illusions¡ªtens or even hundreds might die during the march. But he reminded himself that these were fanatics who had abandoned their homes and livelihoods to answer the Living Saint¡¯s call.
As much as Lansius wanted to let them remain in Midlandia, the risk was too great. He lacked the resources to keep them from escaping, and if released, he might one day face them again on the battlefield. Their vulnerability to manipulation made them dangerous.
Meanwhile, Lansius and his main army would retain the other two thousand captives¡ªthe disagreeable ones who might cause trouble if forced to march south. These captives would be tasked with digging ditches and building fortifications under the watchful eyes of his troops. If any of them later proved cooperative, he planned to send them to Ornietia by fall to start new lives there, as Sir Stan was preparing to transfer the barony to the Shogunate.
Although they were essentially a captured army, Lansius was determined not to impose undue hardship on them. As much as possible, he wanted this ordeal to be carried out humanely without compromising military objectives or security.
With those arrangements complete, preparations for breaking camp were finished. Lansius planned to meet with Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Sir Omin, and also Dietrich to discuss their next movement and destination. However, he first needed to address Valerie¡¯s condition.
...
How long does a blood transfusion take?
Lansius pondered the question, unsure. He had to rely on scripture and Francisca¡¯s practical knowledge to guide him.
He and Audrey sat observing as Francisca removed the bloodvine from its warm water soak, making it flexible. After drying it, she carefully coated it with honey, likely to prevent air leakage.
Margo, the young and gorgeous-looking squire, lay on a canvas bed next to Valerie. His upper body was propped up so the blood could flow more easily, as Francisca had explained. Despite the unfamiliar procedure involving his blood, there was no fear in his expression.
"The snake fangs have been cleaned thoroughly and boiled. There¡¯s no residue of toxin, so you shouldn¡¯t worry," Francisca assured him.
Margo nodded calmly as the physician, wearing clean linen gloves and with a steady hand, took the hollowed fang and carefully attached it to the bloodvine. He then cleaned the squire¡¯s inner wrist and, following Francisca¡¯s instructions, located the blood vessel.
"You know, it¡¯d be much easier if I could just use my claw," Francisca quipped.
"Can¡¯t do that¡ªunless we boil the tip of your claw first," the physician replied with a half-jest.
The half-breed giggled softly before turning her attention back to the patient. "Foreigners... so fragile, like a garden flower," she said, almost mesmerized.
"Margo, flex your hand and ball it into a fist several times," Lansius instructed. Margo obeyed without hesitation.
The physician pinpointed the vein. He then turned to Lansius, silently seeking permission.
"Proceed," Lansius said. Sir Stan had visited briefly to check on Valerie and grant his approval, but he couldn¡¯t stay long. Trouble had been brewing north of Cascasonne, and he was needed to lead a cavalry detachment in case it was a large remnant force or unknown reinforcements.
With permission granted, the physician glanced around the room, confirming readiness. One by one, the others nodded, their faces tense.
Finally, meeting Margo¡¯s eyes, the physician asked, "Are you ready?"
"Ready," the squire replied confidently.
The physician offered a brief smile before focusing intently on the task. Margo blinked and winced as the physician, following Francisca¡¯s guidance, inserted the fang with a slow, steady motion into the vein.
"Excellent, blood is flowing," Francisca observed calmly.
They allowed Margo¡¯s blood to flow, pushing out any air from the bloodvine. Blood dripped steadily from the other fang before they gently clamped the bloodvine. Next, they repeated the process on Valerie¡¯s wrist.
While they worked, Ingrid tied a cloth around Margo¡¯s wrist to secure the fang and bloodvine.
Lansius watched from behind his desk, his concern evident, racking his brain for any clue about what might happen if the blood types were mismatched.
Audrey seemed to sense his worry and gently caressed his hand. "She¡¯s strong. She¡¯ll recover."
Lansius nodded, though his thoughts remained troubled. Moments passed, and nothing seemed to go wrong.
Francisca kept a close watch on Margo, looking for signs of exhaustion or strain. He appeared a little pale but otherwise fine.
"It seems to be working," the physician commented, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.
Valerie¡¯s complexion seemed healthier, a faint redness returning to her cheeks.
"Margo, you¡¯ll need to eat plenty after this," Audrey said as she and Lansius approached him.
The squire nodded happily.
Lansius observed there was no yellowing of the skin around Valerie¡¯s wrist, a sign that no severe reaction had occurred. "I think this much is enough," he said to Francisca, who nodded in agreement.
"Yes, when it comes to humans, especially foreigners, it is prudent to exercise caution," Francisca said.
The physician nodded and carefully withdrew the fang from both Margo and Valerie, while Ingrid dabbed a small amount of honey on the puncture wounds and applied a bandage to stop the bleeding. "Are you okay?" Ingrid asked Margo.
"I¡¯m fine. I could do more," Margo replied confidently.
"We know, but now it¡¯s up to Valerie¡¯s reaction," Lansius reassured him.
"Ingrid," Audrey called, her voice suddenly urgent. Lansius turned to her, alarmed.
Ingrid, already sweating, nodded toward Audrey. "Something is wrong," she announced.
The physician scrambled to check Valerie¡¯s vitals.
"What is it? I don¡¯t see anything wrong," Lansius asked, his eyes scanning Valerie¡¯s wrist and the surrounding area the physician had yet to bandage.
"Her breathing is faster," the physician noted, preparing a damp cloth to place on her forehead.
"It¡¯s not a physical issue¡ªit¡¯s her magic," Ingrid explained, shock evident on her face.
Valerie¡¯s chest heaved as she convulsed suddenly, her face flushed and beads of sweat forming on her brow. Lansius rushed to hold her steady. "Prop her head with more pillows," he instructed, his mind racing, unsure why the blood transfusion was causing this.
Could it be the Ancient''s mutated blood causing this?
Margo quickly grabbed his pillow and propped it behind Valerie¡¯s head. The physician pressed the cloth against her mouth to prevent her from biting her tongue. Meanwhile, Lansius glanced at Ingrid, who ironically turned to Audrey for guidance. Ingrid lacked the clarity to see magic and could only sense its presence, which offered little help in this situation.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
"Audrey!" Lansius called, still holding Valerie steady against the bed.
"That¡¯s it, I¡¯m going in," she said, striding toward Valerie. Audrey tore open Valerie¡¯s tunic near the collar and pressed her hand firmly against her upper chest.
"My Lady, what are you doing?" Ingrid asked, then blurted out, "That¡¯s dangerous!"
"Francisca, hold her away," Audrey commanded.
The half breed grabbed Ingrid, holding her back, and whispered reassuringly, "Give the Lady a chance."
Lansius tapped his wife¡¯s wrist. "What are you trying to do?"
"Saving our friend," Audrey replied, her voice resolute as she tapped into her source. A sudden shift filled the air, a force so tangible that even Lansius, a non-mage, could feel it.
"Stop it! A mage¡¯s source isn¡¯t a physical vessel. Linking them risks merging the two into one!" Ingrid exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear.
Lansius instinctively grasped what Audrey was attempting. She was trying to use her source to fuel Valerie¡¯s body. But if his understanding was correct, it was a volatile process, one that could trigger a dangerous reaction. While mages used this method to awaken a student¡¯s source, they did it slowly and in small, controlled amounts. What Ingrid had done yesterday was essentially that. But what Audrey attempted now seemed far greater.
"Your sources will collide! One of you will die!" Ingrid shouted, her alarm spreading to Francisca, Margo, and Lansius.
"Audrey!" Lansius demanded.
"I know that. I have a different idea."
Fixing his gaze on her, he pressed further, "Explain."
"I¡¯m trying to focus here. Give me a moment," she snapped, her eyes glowing a bright, golden hue.
Then disaster struck. Ingrid let out a sharp gasp, her mouth falling open in shock.
"Ingrid? Ingrid!" Francisca called, raising her voice in alarm.
What¡¯s happening¡?
Lansius couldn¡¯t see anything unusual, but the entire space felt different¡ªlighter, somehow. It wasn¡¯t warm or cold, but felt like a fine drizzle, one that the skin of his body and limbs rejected. It was the complete opposite of the gemstone of strength, which flowed with warm energy through his body.
"Audrey," he called slowly, his tone cautious.
"It¡¯s working. I¡¯ll be¡ª"
"My Lord, what is happening?" Sir Harold asked as he arrived, but his attention quickly shifted to the woman beside him. She fell to her knees, staring in awe toward Audrey''s direction.
A monastic robe?
Lansius instinctively glanced at Ingrid, her mouth agape. He compared her expression to the woman on the floor and saw the same unsettling reaction. "Harold, Francisca, get them out! They have magic¡ªthey¡¯re seeing things!"
Without hesitation, the two obeyed, rushing the woman and Ingrid outside, leaving Lansius, Margo, and the physician exchanging tense glances.
"Talk to us," Lansius said to Audrey desperately. "And remember, you¡¯re pregnant."
"I''m fine. Just a little more," she replied, her voice strained. "I¡¯m drawing her source out. The flow is now stable. She should be all right," she said, sweat dripping from her forehead.
"You¡¯re taxing yourself, My Lady," the physician warned, while Margo continued watching Valerie for any signs of change. Then, the youth''s eyes widened in shock.
"She¡¯s awake!" Margo exclaimed, nearly shouting.
All eyes turned to Valerie as Audrey finally released her hand, gasping for breath as she collapsed into Lansius¡¯ arms. He held her close, guiding her a few steps away. "Don¡¯t do that again," he said, his anger barely concealed.
The physician quickly draped a blanket over Valerie''s chest, gently removed the cloth from her mouth, and asked, "How are you feeling? Any headache? Any pain?"
Valerie looked troubled but managed to reply in a weak voice, "W-water."
***
Sir Morton
The sky churned with heavy, ominous clouds as two airships sailed through the turbulent expanse, their strong yet delicate frames groaning faintly against the relentless gusts of wind. By now, the sun had risen higher, its pale light streaking through breaks in the clouds, casting sharp contrasts of brightness and shadow across the ships. The wind blew cold across the decks, carrying with it the faint tang of burned, volatile oil.
Sir Morton sat at the bow of the leading airship, his hands steady on the controls and his gaze fixed on the endless horizon. Behind him, the crew¡ªthree SAR, two Black Knights, and squires Sterling and Claire¡ªkept a vigilant watch, scanning the vessel for any signs of trouble.
With plenty of time onboard during each journey, Sterling had learned the intricacies of the airship burner. With so few crew members and the long travel ahead, everyone felt the need to learn a thing or two about maintaining the vessel.
"Sir," Sterling called over the whipping wind, "we¡¯re close to using the reserve tank."
"It doesn¡¯t matter," Morton said, recalling how the ship would dangerously lose speed and buoyancy whenever he eased off the fuel throttle, having lost the favorable tailwind after sunrise. "Give her everything," he instructed, his tone as cold and steady as ever.
"My apologies, Sir," Claire said, leaning in closer, her tone hesitant. "But if we use the reserve, we won¡¯t have enough to return. The ships will be stranded in Midlandia."
Sterling, meanwhile, moved toward the burner fuel switch, gripping the metal lever freshly installed during their last stop at Dawn Barony.
"It¡¯s of no issue," Morton explained. "Our Orange Skald contact reported on the situation in Cascasonne. I believe Lord Lansius has won the battle by now."
"Really?" Claire replied, surprised, exchanging a quick glance with Sterling.
"Have faith in Lord Lansius," Morton said flatly without any emotion, his eyes still fixed ahead, but a thin grin tugging at his lips.
"The main army has supplies of volatile oil. Win or lose, as long as we rendezvous with them, we¡¯ll be fine," Sterling reassured her. Claire gave a slow nod, accepting the logic, and quietly returned to her seat as the faint roar of the burner deepened, flaring briefly as fresh fuel was fed into its hungry flames.
To their left, the second airship, borrowed from Lord Avery, flew alongside. Having caught up, it now sailed side by side. At the railing, the male half-breed, Big Ben, stood tall, one hand gripping it firmly as he leaned out over the edge. He shouted across the wind, "Oi, we¡¯re low on that burning oil! Since we¡¯re near Casca city, we thought we might drop our ringmail and weapons to lighten the load."
"Better not, yours are costly," Sir Morton shouted back from his ship.
"But not as costly as gold," Big Ben retorted, nodding toward the captured chests. Without waiting for a reply, he added with a big jolly grin, "Why don¡¯t we drop this man instead? We think he¡¯ll fly!" He held Reginald by the foot and hoisted him high, the poor man¡¯s doublet torn to shreds¡ªlikely the work of his captors'' boredom. Now both the garment and its wearer resembled a plucked duck ready for roasting.
Big Ben¡¯s antics and Reginald¡¯s panicked wailing sent waves of laughter through the crews of both airships. It was clearly a well-timed, carefully planned jest.
"He understands jest better than I do," Morton commented with a rare grin.
"Can we take his leg or an arm? I need a snack, and it¡¯ll also lighten our ship," Big Ben teased, clearly in an uncommonly good mood.
"Removing a leg only to stuff it into your stomach doesn¡¯t lighten anything," Claire quipped in response.
"But sweetie, even beastmen don¡¯t swallow the bones," Big Ben shot back, his voice ringing with joy.
A gust of wind swept across the deck, flapping cloaks and rattling the rigging. Morton squinted into the distance finding something at the end of road the they used to navigate.
"Strap yourselves in. Cascasonne is ahead," Morton suddenly announced. At his words, everyone turned their eyes westward, where a castle loomed in the distance, its towering spires and battlements rivaling those of Lubina¡¯s Eclipse Castle.
"I see it, I see it," Big Ben called out dramatically, though Morton knew the half-breed was just jesting. The creature had no far-sight like a mage.
"Tell me, what did you see?" Morton challenged.
"A humongous cauldron for our duck!" Big Ben bellowed, raising Reginald high by his feet once again. By now, the poor old man appeared to have fainted from sheer embarrassment, drawing another roar of laughter from both crews. Even the Dawn¡¯s crew were delighted, watching as the three half-breeds and three SAR members laughed and danced across the deck. Only the trainee mage pilot looked pale, and Morton couldn¡¯t help but pity him.
"Who would''ve thought that the most frightening looking half breed is a jester at heart," the SAR lieutenant muttered in jest behind Sterling, shaking his head with amusement. Sterling and Claire joined the laughter. Even the Black Knights chuckled at the antics.
However, the abundance of joy was understandable. From the start, their plan to capture Reginald had been overly bold, if not an outright gamble. There were too many unpredictable variables; news of Lord Lansius¡¯ movements or his arrival at Cascasonne, for example, could have forced Reginald to relocate to a more secure place, jeopardizing their only chance. Even the mighty airships had limited range without adequate logistical support.
Thus, Lord Lansius had only expected them to sow chaos in Lubina and then rendezvous in Cascasonne, deeming the plan to capture Reginald too speculative. Yet here they were, with Reginald safely in their hands.
The lighthearted mood broke when Claire suddenly stood, her face puzzled. "Captain," she called sharply. "I see it¡ªblue and bronze banners on the castle tower!"
The crew turned to their captain expectantly, waiting for confirmation.
"Yes, I¡¯ve seen it too," Morton confirmed, his gaze lingering on the castle spires before turning his head toward the crew. "It looks like the Shogunate has won."
His voice was almost flat, but the crew from both ships erupted into cheers. Men pounded their fists on the railings, shouted to one another, and clasped their hands in triumph.
"Cascasonne and Lubina in one night!" an SAR called out, his voice carrying over the wind and lifting their spirits even further.
From the other ship, the Dawn mage trainee called out, "Sir Morton, permission to land first?"
"Granted. Good luck!" Morton replied as the two majestic airships began to prepare for their long descent.
***
Lansius
The inside of the tent was still in chaos, but Valerie waking up felt nothing short of a miracle. At the physician''s nod, Margo carefully brought a small cup of water to her lips, letting her take a sip.
Lansius and Audrey stood close by, their eyes fixed on Valerie, who lay weak but alert. Her eyes were now sharp and focused, no longer hazy, though sweat glistened on her pale skin.
"We need Tia," Audrey said, turning as if to leave, but Lansius caught her arm and held her still.
"No. You''re not going anywhere after that," he said. Instead, Lansius turned to Margo. "Can I trouble you?"
"On it, My Lord," Margo replied, his tone sharp despite having just donated blood to Valerie.
"Don¡¯t forget to get something to drink or eat. That¡¯s an order," Lansius added. "Also, check on Ingrid and whoever Harold brought to us. We might have another medical emergency after this."
"If anyone¡¯s in danger, bring them to the infirmary," the physician interjected, still checking Valerie¡¯s pulse. "My assistant can handle them. I¡¯ll head there as soon as I¡¯m done here."
"It should be just a shock," Audrey said, a little nervous, as Margo left the tent. "And how is she now?" she asked about Valerie, still concerned.
"Her pulse is stronger than before. No yellowing around the wound. And her eyes¡ªno sign of discoloration." Relief washed over him as he exchanged a glance with Lansius and Audrey, offering a measured but satisfied smile.
Despite still being worried about what Audrey had done and why Ingrid and the other woman were behaving that way, Lansius nodded in quiet relief as Audrey stepped closer to Valerie, who looked up at her with a faint smile.
"It''s you, isn''t it?" the patient said, her voice faint but certain.
"You feel it?"
"I felt like being pulled by a thousand horses, dragging me out of darkness and into a world of light." Valerie found her voice, though it trembled slightly. "But... how? You''re not a mage."
Audrey wiped her tears, her expression softening. "It''s a long story. For now, welcome back, Hannei... or Valerie, if that''s truly your name."
Valerie smiled faintly, her eyes moist. "You can call me anything."
The two shared an emotional glance, their connection stronger than before. Meanwhile, Lansius tapped the physician¡¯s shoulder. "Good work. You can expect a bonus."
"Gratitude, My Lord," the physician replied, wiping the bloodvine and fangs clean. "Then, I¡¯ll be¡ª"
Suddenly, a guard entered the tent, his voice urgent. "My apologies, but we spotted two airships approaching from the east. Fast!"
"Fast?" Audrey repeated, puzzled.
"They might be out of fuel or losing buoyancy," Lansius remarked, rising to his feet. "Audrey, stay here. Margo and Tia should arrive soon. I¡¯ll head out to check."
"Be careful," Audrey said softly. Valerie looked on, seemingly at peace.
"Don¡¯t sleep yet. Try to eat something," Lansius told Valerie softly. She smiled faintly and blinked her acknowledgment.
As he stepped outside, his guards readily formed an escort. The camp buzzed with frantic energy, his men pointed and shouted, their voices tinged with both excitement and hope. Lansius followed their gestures to the eastern sky, where two black airships loomed large, their massive forms descending steadily like dark omens on the horizon.
Whatever news they carried, one thing was certain: they had completed another stage of his plan, and now a new phase of Midlandia¡¯s conquest or integration was about to begin. Lansius inhaled deeply, the weight of realization settling over him. He might have just added ten million souls to the Shogunate¡¯s fold, a scale that utterly dwarfed the entire population of Lowlandia.
If Lowlandia, politically, felt like the Aegean city-states separated by steppes instead of sea, Midlandia to him was nothing less than a dormant Holy Roman Empire.
***
Chapter 210 : The Dark Horse
Chapter 210
The Dark Horse
Lansius
A rising commotion spread through the camp as the two airships drew closer. The captured people, inside and out on the field, erupted into panicked murmurs and frantic whispers, their voices trembling with disbelief. Wide-eyed gazes locked onto the sky, where two black, gargantuan shapes seemed to materialize from nowhere, emerging ominously through the clouds. Their immense forms plowed steadily forward, descending with an imposing grace. One was already dropping lower, looming directly overhead.
"Find an empty spot to our rear and wave my banner!" Lansius instructed his guards. One of them readily complied, signaling the bannerman to follow him. More joined as they moved, each of his personal guards no less than a ranking officer, capable of issuing commands.
With that settled, Lansius turned his attention to the airships as they descended. For the first time in a long while, he felt vulnerable.
What if they aren¡¯t on our side?
He knew how powerful airships could be, especially with their crude but effective naphtha bombs. Like any weapon, what he could wield against others could just as easily be turned on him.
The need for anti-air defenses was becoming undeniable.
"Mm, maybe something like a Korean hwacha?" he mused, recalling the ancient multi-launch devices.
However, he realized it had a different purpose and lacked the necessary range, especially in vertical distance. Besides, he wasn¡¯t ready to involve gunpowder at this stage. Otherwise, a bronze culverin would have been a better choice: lightweight, easy to produce, and capable of delivering small yet powerful projectiles with good precision.
Still, he suspected that mage knights could likely hurl large spears like harpoons, much like fishermen hunting whales. A few well-placed holes in an airship¡¯s balloon would be enough to unnerve the crew. The challenge lay in reaching that vertical distance. His thoughts drifted to field crossbows, particularly the kind he had once envisioned for Korelia''s defense but dismissed due to its complexity and cost: a cart-mounted ballista.
"My Lord," a soft female voice called, making Lansius turn.
"Tanya," he acknowledged eagerly as the guards made way for her approach. Her voice was enough to stir his mood.
She ran toward him, looking almost angelic in her blue tunic, though her expression was urgent as she pointed to the sky. "There are two fat, dark dragons in the sky!"
"Fat dragons?" Lansius chuckled and patted her shoulder, trying to ease her tension. "Don''t worry. Those are airships, not dragons."
"Airships?" Tanya blinked, doing a double take, mesmerized. She turned back to him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Don¡¯t tell me they¡¯re yours?"
"Technically, just one," Lansius said with a chuckle, amused by her reaction. "If you¡¯re brave enough, I¡¯ll take you on a ride later."
Tanya nodded, excitement flickering in her eyes. Yet, an equal measure of fear made her hesitate, her doubt plain to see. Still, she looked immensely proud of him¡ªa look that warmed Lansius more than he cared to admit.
"My Lady," the guards greeted, prompting Lansius and Tanya to turn toward approaching Audrey.
Tanya readily curtsied, and Audrey nodded in acknowledgment before turning to Lansius and reporting, "Margo, Tia, and Francisca have accompanied Valerie."
"I see," Lansius muttered, then gestured toward the two airships in the sky.
"Ah," Audrey murmured. "Victory is indeed at hand."
"Huh?" Lansius turned to her and met her gaze. He could see her happiness radiating as she explained, "I see a captured man aboard being manhandled by a very happy-looking Big Ben."
Lansius exhaled slowly, a weight lifting from his shoulders. The campaign and hostility against Midlandia had now reached a turning point. With Reginald captured, they could begin negotiating a truce¡ªand hopefully maintain it long enough.
Audrey turned to Tanya, who looked curious, and said, "Soon, every noble will send their son to win your hand."
Tanya blinked, her expression rigid. Beside her, Lansius chuckled. "She¡¯ll have full control over her life. Anyone who says otherwise can meet my axe."
"And my sword," Audrey added warmly. They both turned to Tanya, who sheepishly said, "My Lord, My Lady, I have to tell you¡ªI¡¯m married."
Lansius froze for a brief moment, taking in the weight of Tanya¡¯s words. His brows furrowed slightly, not in anger but in surprise, as if processing whether he had heard her correctly. "Married?" he asked, his voice calm but tinged with disbelief.
Tanya seemed to brace herself, and Audrey took pity on her. "Married?" the Lady echoed, her tone filled with teasing curiosity.
"And when exactly were you planning to share this little detail?" Audrey added with a playful tone, giving Lansius time to gather his thoughts and emotions. They both suspected it was likely one of Bengrieve''s agents.
Tanya¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile, but her eyes stayed sharp, watching for any signs of anger.
Lansius finally exhaled and patted her shoulder. "Well, you''ve grown," he said. "To live in Bellandia during times of war must have been difficult. If you¡¯ve found happiness, then I have no reason but to wish you more of it."
Tanya¡¯s face brightened, her eyes misting. After years of longing, she surged forward and hugged Lansius tightly, burying her face against his chest. As Tanya clung to him, Lansius and Audrey exchanged a knowing glance. They both knew they would need to look into this, or it could turn into a big issue.
...
The airships landed one by one at the rear of Lansius'' camp. Men swiftly formed a defensive perimeter as the main army''s maintenance crew, including Hans, scrambled to make repairs and refuel. Lansius wanted the airships airborne again as quickly as possible¡ªhe couldn''t afford for Bengrieve''s agents to learn too much about them.
Fortunately, thanks to their recent overhauls in Dawn and Korelia, both airships were still in good condition. Only a few riggings had come loose, and the burners needed cleaning. The ships would be ready to depart as soon as the crew had their liberty.
Dawn''s airship would be loaded with a share of the loot and return home via Korimor and Three Hills. Meanwhile, The Pride of Korimor would remain with Lansius and the main army.
After confirming that Valerie''s condition had stabilized, she was moved to the inner tent with Tia overseeing her care. Wasting no time, as he needed to prepare for breaking camp and marching, Lansius summoned his council. Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Sir Omin, and Captain Dietrich readily gathered.
Once assured that Ingrid and the Saint Candidate were recovering well, the scouts had moved ahead, and the order to break camp had been carried out, Lansius called for Reginald to be brought in.
Sir Morton, leading four SAR team members, entered. Two of them hauled a plump, weakened man by his arms. The man''s face was pale and drenched in sweat, his clothing tattered in many places, giving him the appearance of a plucked chicken. His knees buckled as they dropped him unceremoniously onto the carpeted ground. He hit the carpet with a muted grunt, collapsing into a kneeling position, his head lolling slightly as he struggled to catch his breath.
Sir Morton nodded to the SAR lieutenant, who promptly reported with pride, "My Lord, I present to you Reginald, the captured Lord of Midlandia."
Cold stares greeted Reginald. No one spoke for a moment until Lansius asked from his chair, "Have we confirmed his identity?"
"Yes, My Lord. We questioned two prominent Cascasonne staff, and they were confident of his identity."
Lansius nodded. "Excellent work. You may rest; we''ll take it from here."
The SAR team bowed their heads and withdrew. Sir Morton stayed while Sir Harold moved to stand beside Reginald, causing the older man to shudder in fear. Whether out of shame or terror, he still refused to meet Lansius'' gaze.
Lansius turned to Audrey, seated beside him. Her expression was a mix of disinterest and disgust. Turning back to the captured man, he asked, making no effort to hide his disdain, "So, you are Sir Reginald?"
"I am... My Lord, my apologies for our past hostilities. It was a grave error on my part," Reginald pleaded, his voice heavy with regret.
"An error?" Audrey retorted, her voice as cold as a blade forged from winter''s chill. "Three assassins¡ªone a fell-beast hunter and another a rogue mage¡ªan error?"
Reginald shriveled, his body hunching even lower. Behind him, Sir Morton looked surprised, his gaze shifting from Reginald to Audrey.
Of course, he''s the one who realized Audrey has the gift of magic¡ªsomething neither Valerie nor Ingrid could detect.
Lansius made a mental note to question him later and to check on Audrey, as she had just done something he didn¡¯t understand but suspected was both risky and unthinkable. Furthermore, once the mage knight was well-rested, Lansius planned to have him check on Valerie, Ingrid, and the Saint Candidate Harold had brought.
"My Lady," Reginald replied, his voice quivering with dread. "I only made plans based on circumstances known to me. I wasn¡¯t the one who sent assassins after you."
"You mean, technically, you¡¯re not the one who ordered the operations," Lansius interjected sharply.
Reginald nodded quickly. "Indeed, My Lord."
"What kind of leader are you, Reginald?" Lansius¡¯ evaluation of him sank even lower. "In war or peace, the planner ultimately shoulders the responsibility. A leader can¡¯t shift blame simply because he¡¯s not the one wielding the bloody sword."
"Y-yes, you are correct, My Lord," Reginald stammered, making no attempt to argue.
Lansius sighed loudly, leaning to the left into Audrey. His elbow rested on the cushioned armrest, his chin propped up by his hand. "What should I do with you, Sir Reginald? You¡¯re worthless to us dead, but you¡¯re equally worthless to us alive. And I have a promise to uphold to the sky: you¡¯ll be a human torch and duck feed¡ªalive."
There was no lie in those words, and Reginald knew it. He raised his voice, "Please, there might be something. I have influence."
"No," Lansius replied, his tone as casual as if he were declining an offer of a drink. "I¡¯d rather have you as a human torch. Just slather you with cheap tallow, burn your leg upside down, and toss the rest to the ducks. They won¡¯t mind, even if you already look like a plucked duck."
Outside the tent, three half-breeds guffawed loudly, clearly eavesdropping. Lansius had half-expected it and wasn¡¯t bothered. Without needing instruction, Sir Morton stepped outside and shoved the group farther from the camp.
"Get those jesters farther away. Bribe them with ale if you have to," the mage knight instructed the nearby guards.
"Ale!" Big Ben shouted triumphantly.
Inside, Reginald tried persuasion again. "My Lord, if you kill me, your reputation will sour among the intellectuals of Midlandia. This will not¡ª"
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"Please spare us your jest," Lansius interjected. "I''m just a barbarian brute. Intellectuals mean nothing to me. Only gold and silver matter, and as it happens, I just uncovered a large cache from your castle. A pleasant surprise," he added, his voice laden with mockery.
"Please, My Lord, I didn¡¯t know you back then."
"And you still don¡¯t know me now," Lansius snapped.
"That is all wrong," Reginald admitted, finding his courage. "T-the airships, the alliance with talking beastmen, the rapid-shooting crossbows, and your victory against all odds against the fanatic army¡ªyou¡¯re clearly a visionary. The kind of person we¡¯ve always sought for our ranks."
"If only you had looked for me diplomatically instead of through hidden blades," Lansius replied slowly, without raising his voice.
"The greatest mistake of my life," the fallen lord admitted again, his shoulders slouching deeply.
Audrey drew a long breath, and all eyes turned to her. "Reginald, look at me."
Reginald obeyed, his gaze locking onto the most mesmerizing set of eyes he had ever seen.
"Convince me. Why should I keep you alive despite your crimes?"
"I¡¯m just a puppet. I can be your witness against the nobles of Midlandia. You and I are both victims in their fight against House Bengrieve."
To Lansius¡¯ surprise, Audrey maintained her composure. "Elaborate," she ordered, her voice steady, without letting her eyes turn golden.
"There are over sixty powerful Houses in Midlandia who want a larger share of power. They want Midlandia independent of House Bengrieve¡¯s control."
"And what about Edessa?" she asked.
"Edessa is the same. Many of these Houses are married into or have relations with Edessa nobility. You could see them as Midlandia¡¯s family branches."
Her eyes grew cold and speculative. "Can we implicate them in this assassination?"
"Certainly. As long as My Lady and My Lady don¡¯t torture me and let my family ransom me, I¡¯ll stand as a free witness. The intellectuals will believe me."
Audrey waved him off. "Don¡¯t get too excited," she advised before turning to Lansius.
"Reginald," Lansius called, "the rights of reprisal allow me to take what is yours and extend to others who had their hands in this. The assassins survived, so I have no issue implicating Edessa. Your offer means little."
The fallen lord had no words to argue. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple as he slumped, his expression that of a man resigned to his fate.
"Still, it¡¯s interesting that you weren¡¯t the one who sent the assassins. Tell me¡ªwas it Edessa?"
After battling for his life and finding no way to escape, calmness prevailed. "I¡¯m not sure, My Lord. While they were eager and stood to benefit the most from your demise, just like me, they don¡¯t have the contacts. It must be another noble."
"Sixty Houses, you said?"
"Sixty, but if you¡¯ve reached here and also Toruna, it means thirty have already lost their land. You can dismiss them."
"So, another thirty Houses and Edessa..." Lansius muttered. "What do you think about my chances? Are they strong?"
"I know so little about your army¡¯s composition. And I think it¡¯s clear now that I know so little about warfare."
"Can¡¯t you at least give me their numbers or strengths?" Lansius inquired.
Reginald shook his head. "It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t know. I could make a guess, but I¡¯m not one to betray my allies."
"Bold words," Lansius remarked with a faint smile. "Then, tell me; how about Bengrieve?"
For the first time, Reginald looked up and met Lansius¡¯ gaze. His eyes darted, not with fear, but deep in thought. "What do you want to know?" he finally asked, sounding more like an advisor than a condemned.
"Tell me why you went against him. Isn¡¯t he an able administrator?" Lansius ventured.
"It¡¯s embarrassing to admit, but it¡¯s mostly a game of power," Reginald said. "House Bengrieve is too rich and powerful, yet he still acts like a seneschal. That makes people uncomfortable."
Lansius frowned. "Why would that bother them?"
"My Lord, if the second and first most powerful positions are held by the same man, wouldn¡¯t that make others wary?"
Lansius rubbed his chin thoughtfully, finding himself beginning to enjoy the conversation. Reginald was a dead man living on borrowed time, but if he proved useful, Lansius could find ways to make the most of him. After all, a dead man offered nothing but limbs for display on pikes.
"It also created opportunities for his enemies to dispose of him since he refused to take the seat of power outright," Reginald continued.
"All these power games while people suffer," Lansius lamented. "Can¡¯t they see reason? Especially now, with even the Imperium falling."
"To them, it¡¯s a sign," Reginald exhaled sharply. "They scouted me and heralded me, knowing the Imperium was collapsing."
Lansius exhaled deeply. "What do you think if I crush these thirty families?"
"It¡¯s within your rights," Reginald said, his tone heavy. "However, I dare say now that perhaps you¡¯ll be a better lord than me, them, or even Bengrieve."
"Flattery," Lansius dismissed.
"My Lord, the issue in Midlandia is fragmentation of power. Nobody truly holds authority, and nothing gets done because the nobles bicker endlessly. Even before I became a lord, I knew that after we deposed Bengrieve, the sixty lords would split into factions and start undermining each other."
"Then why did you consent to power? Was the wealth and prestige too tempting to resist?" Lansius asked.
"I merely wanted my group of intellectuals to gain influence," Reginald admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "Even with limited time, we believed we could use our office to bring change: sanction more schools, produce more copies of educational books, hold open seminars, foster political discussions, implement land registration, and simplify local taxes. Changes that would truly benefit the people." He sighed deeply. "Alas, the reign ended too soon. We... we shouldn''t have fought you."
Lansius glanced at his staff. Sir Morton and Sir Harold appeared poised, their expressions betraying no emotion. Similarly, Sir Omin and Sir Michael remained calm throughout the ordeal, suggesting that Lansius¡¯ handling of the matter was satisfactory. Only Dietrich seemed to show a hint of disagreement, likely harboring questions he¡¯d either pursue later in private or let go entirely, as was his nature¡ªhe disliked overthinking.
Feeling he had reached the core of the issue, Lansius turned to Francisca, who waited quietly behind Audrey. "Call the scribe."
Moments later, two scribes entered, bowing. "My Lord, My Lady."
"I have decided on this man¡¯s punishment," Lansius declared as the scribes took their seats and prepared their tools. Once they were ready, he continued, "By the power vested in me as the Lord Shogun, I decree that Reginald¡¯s death by execution is commuted to servitude under my House."
All eyes turned to Lansius at the pronouncement. Maintaining his calm demeanor, he added, "If he fails in his duties to my satisfaction or sides against my House, he is to be executed."
Hearing the decree, Reginald exhaled shakily, his body trembling as tension released. He collapsed onto the carpet, sitting awkwardly.
"Secondly," Lansius continued, "by the rights of reprisal, I hereby lay claim to Reginald¡¯s office, the Earldom of Midlandia, including the lands and castles of his supporters until they seek a truce, pledge support for the Shogunate, and pay indemnity. Thirdly, regarding Reginald¡¯s family: they are to be captured and sent to Korelia to live as commoners. Other issues will be settled as needed. This decision remains subject to changes as deemed necessary by other members of the Shogunate at a later time."
"Gratitude, My Lord," Reginald said faintly, fully aware that for such a crime, his family would likely be killed in secret as retribution.
"Don¡¯t get too hopeful," Lansius said coldly. "You¡¯ll stay with the half-breeds; after all, they¡¯re the ones who captured you."
"Y-yes," Reginald stammered, forcing himself into a bow.
Lansius added coldly, "Reginald, I only need your knowledge on occasion. I don¡¯t promise that you¡¯ll retain all your limbs intact."
Reginald¡¯s eyes widened in terror, but he dared not utter a complaint.
Lansius turned to Francisca. "If you please, get someone to call Big Ben. His hostage awaits."
...
After Big Ben and his kin arrived, reeking of ale but alert, Lansius entrusted the pale-looking Reginald to them. The half-breed was delighted by the surprise, acting as though they were being handed back their favorite toy. They had nicknamed him "Plucked Duck," and one even mumbled about fattening him up before cooking.
Lansius cared little. The man deserved more than just fear and discomfort. Moreover, he had already asked Francisca whether Big Ben could be trusted. She assured him that, beneath his jester-like demeanor, Big Ben was reliable and unlikely to kill a hostage out of rage or by accident.
Seeing Reginald¡¯s troubled expression seemed to ease Lansius¡¯ staff, many of whom likely wanted the man dead or subjected to harsher corporal punishment.
Once Big Ben and his kin escorted Reginald out, Lansius openly remarked to his staff, "This would¡¯ve been easier if he were a haughty brute full of himself."
"Do you feel pity for him, My Lord?" asked Sir Michael, the one-eyed knight.
Lansius decided to address the question. "I do. Tell me, was this the wrong move? Will the other Lords or the Lowlandians see this decision as weakness?"
Sir Michael turned to Sir Omin, who shook his head. "People will have questions, but it¡¯s easy to explain. Keeping him alive makes sense¡ªhe¡¯s still useful. That much anyone can understand."
"Except the grieving families," Dietrich interjected. The others nodded in acknowledgment.
When Dietrich didn¡¯t add anything further, Lansius turned to Audrey, signaling her to speak. She simply shrugged and said, "You always have plans within plans. I¡¯m too fatigued to think, so I¡¯ll choose to trust you. Besides, if Reginald shows any contempt, I can always use him for moving target practice."
Everyone chuckled at her response.
"What a resourceful answer," Lansius said playfully. Audrey nodded with a smug smile, accepting the praise.
The lighter moment was interrupted by movement at the tent entrance. Sir Harold appeared, escorting a woman in monastic robes who clung weakly to his arm for support. Despite her frailty, she forced herself to maintain a dignified posture as she walked beside him. "My Lord, forgive this unsightliness," Harold said.
"Please, don¡¯t trouble yourself," Audrey replied as she rose from her seat and approached them. Dietrich, Francisca, and the knights followed closely, ready to assist.
Sir Harold leaned down to whisper something to the woman before she knelt with difficulty and greeted, "My Lady, please accept¡ª"
Audrey moved swiftly, catching her before her knees touched the ground. "There¡¯s no need to be so formal," she said warmly.
"My Lady..." The woman looked up at Audrey sheepishly, her expression filled with reverence.
From his seat, Lansius observed the interaction with curiosity. Their sudden familiarity was weird, and he suspected it was due to magic, something beyond his senses, so he chose to remain silent and rely on Audrey.
"My Lord, My Lady, fellow Sirs, and Captain," Sir Harold began, addressing the room. "My apology for the sudden announcement, but I have decided to marry Saint Candidate Clementine. We humbly seek for your blessing."
The declaration was met with pleasant surprise, and everyone in the tent broke into grins or smiles. Sir Morton stepped forward and gave Harold two firm taps on the shoulder, his thin smile conveying approval. Francisca giggled uncontrollably, clutching her stomach as tears streamed down her face. Despite her earlier claim that she wanted him, half-breeds didn¡¯t share the same views on marriage as traditional humans.
Sir Michael and Dietrich moved as if to offer their congratulations, but Sir Omin caught their gaze and subtly gestured toward Lansius.
Lansius scratched his head thoughtfully before asking, "Sir Harold, any specific reason?"
Meanwhile, Audrey gently guided Clementine to the corner, engaging her in a quiet discussion.
"She¡¯s a capable Saint Candidate and skilled in healing," Harold began. "I thought she could be a great asset to our forces¡ªor even serve as your healer. She made the first move, and I consented."
The knights exchanged knowing grins, clearly on the verge of teasing, but Harold¡¯s calm demeanor and faint smile dared them to try.
"As far as I know, you¡¯re the one who captured her," Lansius said. "By old tradition, that would make her yours. But even with the Imperium¡¯s collapse, I doubt we¡¯re reverting to such outdated customs."
"I claim no such right," Harold clarified. "I wish to marry her as a freeborn."
Lansius studied his champion. "That means I¡¯ll need to question her. Is that alright?"
"Certainly," Sir Harold replied with confidence.
Lansius relaxed, pleased to see no signs of coercion. "Dietrich, could I trouble you to fetch the scribes again? We need to officiate this."
"Right away," Dietrich replied, leaving quickly and personally returning with the scribes.
Before proceeding, Lansius exchanged a few words with Sir Morton, who needed to rest, and Dietrich, who was tasked with commanding the advance party. Afterward, Sir Michael accompanied Sir Harold outside for a talk, leaving Sir Omin, Francisca, and the scribes inside.
Audrey returned to her seat beside Lansius as the scribes prepared fresh parchment for the proceedings.
"Clementine, was it? I have to ask¡ªare you being forced into this? Speak plainly," Lansius instructed.
***
Summer 4426, Midlandia
After spending two days in Cascasonne, Lord Lansius mobilized his army into three separate columns. The vanguard, composed of two mobile brigades and cavalry led by Dietrich and Sir Omin, advanced eastward toward the city of Ploiesta, accompanied by two thousand captured men. They secured the city with a garrison before Dietrich pushed further east toward Lubina. His objective was not to besiege Lubina but to establish a perimeter of towns and cities to blockade the forces stationed there.
In this newly contested area, Sir Omin began fortifying key positions to establish a defensible border. The moats and walls were repaired, and the farms were restored to ensure the captured men could grow sustenance for themselves.
A smaller detachment of horsemen, led by Sir Stan, pushed further east toward Toruna, liberating cities along the way. Their mission was to join Farkas'' dragoons and the Black Bandits.
Meanwhile, the main army, accompanied by two thousand captured people, advanced from town to town, pacifying settlements and cities as if on a grand tour. Following Sir Michael''s suggestions, they paraded Reginald in Beastman custody as part of a carefully crafted message.
This show of force was designed to awe the commoners while instilling fear in the recently conquered lower nobility who might still harbor thoughts of prolonging the civil war. Lord Lansius understood that his enemies were not just the thirty Houses still unconquered north of the river but also the thirty Houses that had already lost their domains. Their roots ran deep in the region, making their influence difficult to uproot.
After fourteen days of marching and liberating towns and cities along the way, Lord Lansius stood at the gates of Ornietia. The city would serve as the staging ground for his dominion. Soon, brave men collected their rewards and were honored. Feasts and week-long celebrations followed to commemorate a grand victory many dared not even imagine. Reclaiming half of Midlandia felt like a triumph plucked from legends, and so the joy was unrestrained. Songs, laughter, and the echoes of triumph filled the streets long into the night.
Ironically, the victor of the Midlandia civil war was a dark horse, emerging from obscurity to reclaim half the province. Undoubtedly, lingering fears, suspicions, and doubts remained about his rule. For a province that had held firm for centuries to be invaded and conquered by a power from Lowlandia was nothing less than shocking.
Moreover, beyond Midlandia, storm clouds gathered as threats escalated. The fall of the Capital City had caused a deep ripple effect that nobody yet understood. Locally, to the east, there was Edessa''s threat that could easily spiral into open battle.
To the north, conflict in Arvena between Lord Arte and Lord Gottfried had reached a new stage.
To the west, Lord Avery and Sir Servius'' rule over the Nicopola region remained fragile.
Worse, to the south, Corinthia was showing signs of direct involvement in piracy, threatening the southern caravan trade.
The shogunate stood besieged at its borders, yet the Lord¡¯s retinue and people stood firm. The unification of Lowlandia and Midlandia under a single banner was nothing short of a miracle. A feat unmatched in living memory, achieved in record time and by one so young.
They didn¡¯t believe in a Living Saint. They believed in the primacy of their ever-victorious Warlord.
And so, many whispered that the age of House Lansius had begun.
***
Chapter 211 : Canardia
Chapter 211
Canardia
Midlandia
The week-long festivities continued in full swing. The daring SAR and half-breed attack that captured Reginald had captivated everyone¡¯s imagination, becoming the centerpiece of celebration and storytelling.
Behind closed doors, Lord Lansius, as agreed, took control of Ornietia¡¯s administration after Sir Stan''s confidant delivered a letter ordering the steward and garrison to relinquish the castle and domain. With the garrison¡¯s acceptance, House Bengrieve¡¯s rule over Ornietia came to an end in the summer of 4426.
The garrison subsequently marched home toward Cascasonne, while banners of blue and bronze were hoisted high over Ornietia, marking its formal induction into the Shogunate¡¯s fold. It became Lord Lansius¡¯s third personal barony, after Korelia and South Hill, or fourth, if Korimor, where he served as protector, was included.
Ornietia''s people were more relieved than concerned by this shift in allegiance, as they were Lowlandians and not Midlandians. For decades, they had been close allies of Lord Robert, and many local knights and esquires fondly remembered Sir Michael. Thus, the local commoners and nobles, having heard of Lord Lansius'' exploits, gladly lent their full support to the Shogunate''s cause.
What the Lord gained was an intact barony with Lord Bengrieve''s reforms still in place¡ªmany of which, surprisingly, aligned with Lord Lansius''s vision. He instructed the castle staff to maintain the reforms, prioritizing accurate bookkeeping, especially for expenses, policies to fortify food production, and reduced taxes for five years.
It was a straightforward policy with no embellishments, designed to let the city grow and stabilize. The Lord''s first order was to incentivize cart manufacturing and repair businesses to establish themselves in the barony. He would need them to support a more robust trade route to his domain in Korelia.
Ornietia would soon become the springboard for two thousand captured people beginning their long journey south. While many wished to remain as peasants in Ornietia, the Lord and his court refused, wary of their gullible nature and lingering devotion to the teachings of the Living Saint, which had yet to be resolved.
Beyond food supplies, there were pressing concerns over footwear, water, medical assistance, and horse carts for women and camp followers who were too young or frail to endure the grueling marches across the harsh great plains.
Without delay, once preparations were complete, the first and second groups of captives, totaling no less than six hundred, set out across the great plains to Korelia. The Lord was pleased with reports of their journey and progress. Thus, seven days after his arrival in Ornietia, he departed for Midlandia to establish a government.
He left Sir Michael as the steward of Ornietia and moved his troops closer to the Living Saint''s Monastery, located in a hilly region roughly between Lubina and Ornietia. The site was immediately blockaded, cutting off the flow of people and goods to the monastery.
Sir Omin was tasked with maintaining the blockade and conducting limited negotiations. Since Saint Candidates possessed magical abilities, Lansius assigned no less than Sir Morton and his Black Knights to prevent trouble.
On the advice of his scouts and staff, several of whom were Midlandian natives, Lord Lansius toured multiple locations before selecting Canardia as his temporary home base or secondary capital. The city was named after a mythical giant waterfowl once revered by the early humans of the region.
From Canardia, he could oversee his expanding domain. It was seven days by comfort march to Lubina or four on a rapid march. Toruna lay twelve days away by comfort march, as did Ploiesta, the city held by his vanguard.
Ploiesta served as their only reliable gateway to northern Midlandia, thanks to its boats and river crossings. Moreover, its proximity and strategic position between Lubina and Cascasonne made it vulnerable yet vital. Thus, the reason why the Lord had ordered two thousand captured people to revitalize the city''s aging defenses and fortify its perimeter.
In Canardia Castle, the Lord convened his first court in Midlandia. Word spread quickly, and delegates from across the region gathered daily, formally pledging their loyalty. The city would stand as witness to the dawn of Lord Lansius'' rule in the region. Knights, esquires, landlords, influential merchants, and prominent guilds flocked to meet their new master.
There was tension in the air, as nobody had expected someone from Lowlandia to occupy South Midlandia. Furthermore, the educated elite seemed poised to protest and quietly refused to attend. However, for most, the fact that Lord Lansius was the previous Seneschal''s man made him a candidate worth supporting.
Many looked to him to restore order and peace to Midlandia, and the Lord, aware of the threats at the borders, did so by ensuring his military was ready.
His strategy to reinforce Toruna was underway, and by defending Canardia, he was positioning his opponents to either vacate Lubina or be forced to supply it at a heavy cost. Knowing Edessa to be the only involved party with a still intact military, the Lord presented them with a dilemma:
To supply and reinforce Lubina, they could either besiege Toruna, move inland, and create a long salient toward Lubina. This was the fastest route but also the riskiest¡ªalthough it might yield lands and castles.
Alternatively, they could take a safer but longer route by turning through Lake Toruna, then heading toward Feodosia and following the northern path. It was the same route Lord Lansius had traveled years ago during his journey to Feodosia. After twenty days or so, the path would lead them across the bridge over the mighty river into Lubina.
The first option would create a long, exposed salient, one that Lord Lansius could exploit.
The second option would be so costly that it was unlikely to be sustainable for more than a few years. It also exposed the northern region to economic attacks and seeds of rebellion.
Whatever their response, Lord Lansius decided that patience would serve him best in this situation. He was in no hurry to wage another war and was more than content to focus on solidifying his rule.
***
Lansius
After the events in Cascasonne, Sir Harold and Clementine received Lansius and Audrey''s blessing and were officially declared husband and wife. Following their union, Lansius temporarily relieved Sir Harold from frontline duties.
As for Ingrid, with Sir Morton''s help and plenty of rest in Ornietia, she recovered enough to resume her duties. They finally discussed Audrey¡¯s magic, which had bewildered them with its unusual nature.
As for Valerie, despite showing promise, she remained weak and in need of more rest. Lansius suspected that the donated blood might have triggered mutations inside her body, causing lingering aftereffects or possibly even permanent changes. However, with no method to test or confirm, all they could do was wait and hope for her recovery.
Instead of living in the castle, Lansius opted for a mansion just outside Canardia. He wanted to ease the transition for his family, who weren¡¯t used to living in such a formal environment. Even in Cascasonne, they hadn¡¯t been part of the ruling elite. To live in the castle meant adhering to a rigid set of rules, from eating and clothing to daily routines that dictated their lives.
He feared that Tanya and Arryn would find the expectations of such a life daunting. Thus, he chose a more private abode. The mansion allowed Arryn and Tanya to live as they pleased, far from prying eyes. They even joined the cooking staff freely to help prepare meals. With a vegetable garden and several helpers assisting them, the setting felt welcoming rather than imposing.
Ingrid and Tia were assigned to them, with Ingrid serving as Tanya¡¯s educator and Tia as the family maid.
Outside, the sun was rising, and Lansius had a light breakfast in the hall next to his chamber. He had wanted to join Arryn and Tanya for breakfast in their quarters, but he had overslept. Instead, only Audrey had joined them.
"I hope they don¡¯t feel bad about this," Lansius muttered as he munched on bread and cheese.
Audrey sat across from him at the table and shot him a questioning glance while sipping boiled milk sweetened with honey and spiced with herbs.
He continued, "It¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t want to join them or anything. I just feel too tired lately."
Audrey giggled. "Lans, you missed a breakfast, not a wedding or something."
"Right, well¡ I just want them to be happy. I mean, I made them travel everywhere, and now we¡¯re in another place again."
"You don¡¯t need to worry about your family. They¡¯re strong and understand your responsibilities," she reassured him.
Lansius nodded and took another bite of bread. It was lovely. Midlandians baked better bread than Lowlandians.
It must be the flour, the butter, or maybe the abundance of good wood.
"Also, just this morning, I received reports from our Orange Skalds about Tanya''s husband."
Lansius paused mid-bite, his brows knitting. "A rich merchant who travels frequently, with great physique and charm, who just happens to bribe a peasant girl and her mother out of Arvena into Midlandia and ends up in Cascasonne... It''s Bengrieve''s agents, isn''t it?"
"Somewhat, he''s a member of the hunter guild. The other hunter guild," she clarified.
"Assassin," Lansius muttered, half-expecting it. "So how did our agents learn of this?"
"Well, you rule half of Midlandia, and Sir Stan has his contacts. I imagine many are eager to make amends."
Lansius sighed deeply and drank a third of his herbal concoction that felt like tea. "How should I break the news to Tia? To think that her wedding was a lie."
"You don''t have to."
Lansius looked at Audrey. "You mean you''ll do it for me?"
"Yes and no," she said, drawing his attention. "I believe we could invite the person and ask him directly. I suggest this because Tanya appears to be quite in love with him."
"Like you with me?" Lansius quipped.
"Not that much," she replied without hesitation, a smug smile decorating her lips.
Lansius chuckled, then rubbed his forehead. "As much as I can, I don¡¯t want to ask a man to play a fake husband to my sister. However, if the relationship can be made clear, having a Hunter in the family isn¡¯t all bad."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"Two," she corrected him. "Basically, I''m a Hunter as well."
Lansius nodded, recalling Sir Morton and Ingrid''s words about Audrey''s abilities. Her knight master, Isolte, had likely trained her as a fell-beast hunter. That much was certain.
"Anyway, I just remembered your statement when we discussed Lubina in Cascasonne," her words snapped him out of his thoughts. "As long as Lubina remains standing, Bengrieve and us will remain on the same side."
"What about it?" Lansius asked.
"Well, it still rings in my head. It feels like there¡¯s something deeper going on with your plan."
Lansius paused. "I¡¯m not following."
"I mean the withdrawal order and the decision not to besiege Lubina," she clarified.
"Well, I¡¯ve explained our situation¡ªpolitically, militarily, and logistically."
"Yes, I remember," Audrey said, tilting her head slightly, "but it feels like there¡¯s another layer I can¡¯t quite grasp."
Lansius considered her words before admitting, "Perhaps you¡¯re right. There¡¯s another layer. I just don¡¯t like being predictable."
"Oh, I see what you mean," she replied hastily.
"If our opponent thinks I¡¯m heading one way, then I take another route. In warfare, it¡¯s good to create chaos upon your enemy."
Audrey nodded, committing it to memory, and muttered, "So you refuse to be predictable."
"That¡¯s a poignant way to put it," Lansius said with a note of approval.
"Ah, a compliment. So, what does this academy student get?" she teased.
Lansius chuckled. Ever since he told her about the war academy during their long travels, Audrey had been mesmerized by the idea. They¡¯d even sourced a tabletop game from a local guildsman, which Lansius had modified with basic rules.
The game required cloth, stones, or other trinkets scattered as terrain, measuring sticks for unit movement with longer ones for cavalry and shorter ones for infantry or archers, and dice to determine outcomes. It was essentially a simplified version of the Prussian Kriegsspiel, the game that turned Prussia¡¯s military officers into a powerhouse.
If Lansius could get his hands on accurate topographical maps, he could use the game with real military personnel in the field to measure officers'' effectiveness in battle. But that was a dream for the future. For now, his first student was grinning eagerly.
Lansius fished something out of his inner pocket. It had only recently been returned to him. He found it and was about to hand it over when she commented, "Oh, that¡¯s the one from your fight with the intruder."
"You can sense it?" he asked, surprised. "Ingrid has just managed to restore its potency."
"Faintly. You had yours, so it was sort of mixed," she explained.
"I see. Well, it¡¯s good to know you can even see gemstone-of-strength wielders."
"I could tell when it was being used in that fight," she said, taking the gem-encrusted silver medallion from him. "Unlike yours, this one glowed brightly."
No wonder Ingrid could sense it from afar.
"Does that mean it¡¯s a better gemstone?" he asked.
"I think the opposite," Audrey replied. "I met Sir Stan face-to-face often, but I couldn¡¯t pinpoint what he was using. I knew it was there, but it felt shrouded."
Lansius nodded. Probably good shielding, like electromagnetic.
"Well, at any rate, you should keep it," she said, placing the medallion back in his palm. "It was taken from a dead man, and I¡¯m with child."
"Right," Lansius said, recalling the superstition that bloodied items might bring bad luck. "Well, at any rate, Ingrid has maintained it, and I don''t know what to do with this."
"That''s not even a question," Audrey said. "While your guards and Francisca are always ready, there''s always the risk of encountering another assassin. Two gemstones of strength are better than one."
"Why do I feel like activating two of them together sounds dangerous?"
"You''re unlikely able to, but I''m not entirely sure either. You should consult Ingrid or Sir Morton about this," she advised.
Lansius nodded. "I will." Then, rising from his seat, he said, "I''ll be leaving for the castle."
"See you around supper," Audrey said. "Don''t work too hard. Remember, you''re not responsible for the fate of the world."
Her words made Lansius chuckle.
***
Sigmund
The skald governor of South Hill had completed his journey on horseback from Korelia to Three Hills, bringing no fewer than one hundred riders as the upcoming caravan¡¯s security. They were mostly young, as their fathers and uncles were campaigning with Lord Lansius in Midlandia. However, their inexperience was balanced by their eagerness.
For seasoned guidance, Batu¡¯s nomads offered plenty of older, wiser warriors whom Sigmund could rely on should things turn dicey. Yet, in the Great Plains, there was little cause for fear, as the land firmly belonged to the Shogunate.
In Three Hills City, Sigmund rested his riders for a week. He met with Dame Daniella to discuss the Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank. Fascinated by the concept, he opened two accounts, one for himself and another for Agatha, who had accompanied him on his journey.
He decided it was wise to have savings rather than letting his spoils go to waste. After exploring the city for inspiration and trade goods, Sigmund resumed his travels. His party now numbered a hundred and twenty riders, as the city steward had provided additional men.
Under fair weather, they rode toward a small fishing village south of Three Hills, where Lord Jorge¡¯s men were rebuilding piers, expanding storage rooms, and constructing a new inn. The Shogunate was heavily investing in the Southern Trade to secure economic stability. With the Imperium gone, money needed to flow from somewhere. Otherwise, Lowlandia would remain a backwater indefinitely.
As they approached the coast, the scenery shifted dramatically. The open plains gave way to windswept dunes, rocky shores, and endless stretches of sand. Overhead, gray clouds rolled in, casting shadows over the restless sea.
As Sigmund led his riders, carriages, and carts into the village, he raised his hand, signaling his men to stop. The steady rhythm of hooves striking dirt faded, giving way to the distant cries of seagulls and the gentle rush of waves.
A crowd of villagers had already gathered in the village, their murmurs filling the air. Among them were officials from Three Hills, stationed there.
"Welcome to Thalassia," one of the elders greeted them.
Sigmund bowed his head in respect, then turned to his men. "Gentlemen, we have arrived. Dismount," he instructed. "See to the horses and check your gear. Make sure everyone has lodgings and food for the night. Report to me tomorrow morning."
His orders were met with salutes and murmurs of acknowledgment. The riders quickly dismounted and began their tasks¡ªfinding stables, unloading trade goods, and securing lodgings. Lord Lansius often entrusted them to conduct trades whenever their carts were empty to earn extra coins along the way.
As the village elders and officials approached with welcoming smiles and offers of food and shelter, Sigmund greeted them briefly before slipping away from the crowd. Turning to Agatha, who stood nearby with her travel cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders, he nodded toward the beach.
"Come, girl," he said, his tone playful. "The beach awaits."
Agatha¡¯s eyes lit up, and she quickly fell into step beside him. Her presence here was a mistake. At first, Sigmund had thought the Lady or the Lord would take her as an attendant, which was why he brought her to Korelia. But then the war came, and they decided the timing wasn¡¯t right to bring it up. So here she was, hopping along with Sigmund on a long journey through the Great Plains and into Thalassia village.
The two followed a winding dirt path that led to the shore, the scent of salt and seaweed growing stronger as the path opened to sandy dunes and rocky outcrops. Near the newly constructed pier, tools, and building materials lay scattered beside temporary huts built for the workers. Farther down, dozens of fishing boats rested on the sand, some still smelling of the morning¡¯s catch.
As they approached, the ocean stretched endlessly before them, its surface rippling under the golden light.
Agatha paused as her feet touched the sand. She giggled softly at the strange sensation.
"You might want to take off your shoes," Sigmund suggested with a grin. "The sand gets everywhere."
The girl nodded quickly and slipped off her shoes. She walked barefoot along the shore, stopping just before the waves.
Sigmund lingered behind, taking in the view before finding a shaded spot beneath a coconut tree. He lowered himself onto the sand, unslung his gittern, and began to pluck a melody that praised the sea.
Meanwhile, Agatha dared herself to wade closer. The cold waves kissed her ankles, and she laughed quietly as the water retreated and returned.
A few older nomads had joined them on the beach, settling into the sand and laughing at the sight of a place they had heard about but never experienced before.
Agatha returned to Sigmund¡¯s side and sat down beside him. They had grown closer since their first meeting in the fall of last year. How could they not? Despite being young, she had served as Lady Audrey''s attendant for a time and was one of the few Sigmund could trust to help manage South Hill without hidden agendas or outside influence.
They had endured much, as the defeated nobles were constantly plotting schemes to regain their footing. Knowing that the Black Lord had offered generous bounties to capture knights, esquires, and men-at-arms in case of rebellion, the nobles began to undermine his support clandestinely. They bribed influential figures in South Hill and used thugs to intimidate the population, hoping to turn the city into a lawless place.
However, the commoners stood firm, choosing to trust Lord Lansius and his men.
Conflict was only averted because the Black Lord had left behind a significant garrison. Sigmund¡¯s three hundred men were nearly matched in strength by the defeated nobles, who had gathered roughly one hundred armed fighters and another two hundred hired thugs.
Even so, Sigmund had used his Orange Skalds to spy on the conspirators and sow distrust among them. His greatest victory came when the leading conspirator¡¯s own family poisoned him, unwilling to follow him into rebellion and ruin. Even in Lowlandia, women loved their children more than their husbands. The brute, the heavy-handed, and the giver of no love would find little compassion.
The situation further stabilized when loyal knights returned home victorious from their Umberland campaign. They brought stories of new allies in the half-beasts and of Lord Avery, who had brought them airships.
This wave of triumph sparked a surge of popularity among the people, once again reaffirming their trust in the Black Lord. With the top conspirator dead and the loyal knights reinforcing Sigmund¡¯s defenses, South Hill weathered the winter and spring in relative peace.
And the final blow came with the arrival of two black airships at South Hill, bringing Sir Morton and the Black Knights. The local knights feared them, and seeing Sir Morton riding through the countryside at his leisure was an effective show of force. It made clear that the Black Lord was watching.
As the salty wind picked up speed, Sigmund noticed how much Agatha had grown. The scrawny child from last year had blossomed in just three seasons. Apparently, she had been starving and malnourished, but regular nutritious meals had quickly turned things around. Still, he paused his gittern and asked, "Agatha, how old are you again?"
"Why, I''m thirteen."
Sigmund couldn''t help but measure her with his eyes again and concluded she was nearly an adult.
"Is something wrong?" Agatha asked.
Sigmund stroked his chin and quietly decided to hire a good educator for her. The previous one in South Hill had only taught her to read. He wanted her properly educated, not just literate, so she could find a good husband. "Agatha," he began like an older brother, "I doubt you''re only thirteen years old."
Agatha pouted. "I''m shy, but not stupid."
"Are your father and mother good with numbers?"
"Of course," she said confidently.
"And they taught you?"
"Yes, I''m the smartest one," she said proudly.
"Then tell me, what''s the number before seven?"
Agatha paused, her face showing intense thought, then blurted, "Eight!"
Sigmund¡¯s lips curled into a teasing smile. "And now, what''s after ten?"
She paused again, knitting her brow, before venturing, "Twelve?"
Sigmund chuckled. "I need to find another educator for you. You''ll need to master numbers and calculation."
"Is it really necessary?" she asked sheepishly, disliking the idea.
"Lord Lansius is very good at calculation, you know?"
She squinted and said cautiously, "So?"
"When you meet him again, he''ll ask you plenty of calculations. If you fail..."
Agatha swallowed hard. "Understood. I''ll study hard after we get back home."
"No, we don''t need to wait. Even in a fishing village like this, there should be someone who can teach you calculation."
"Why don''t you teach me?" she suggested.
"Because skalds and minstrels should live free," he said with a grin. "Also, you need to get better at cooking. More than brown grains and blood sausages. You''ll be of marriageable age soon."
Agatha was surprised. "But I''m only fifteen," she protested.
"You just said thirteen earlier."
"Yes, I''m thirteen now, but this winter I should be fifteen," she said uncertainly, a frown painting her brows.
Sigmund chuckled and sang in a clear voice, "Agatha, wise beyond your years, but counting seems to bring you tears."
"No," she protested, her cheeks turning red.
"Agatha, clever as a fox in spring, yet numbers aren¡¯t your strongest thing."
"Captain," she pleaded, embarrassed, as even the nomads began to laugh.
"Agatha, bright as morning¡¯s light, yet numbers tangle in your sight."
"Alright, alright, I''ll study!" she muttered, turning her face toward a coconut tree to hide her embarrassment.
Sigmund softened, setting aside his teasing. "Oh girl, it''s more likely you''re sixteen going on seventeen."
He had noticed the young riders watching her with interest. It wouldn¡¯t be a problem if they were firstborn sons who might inherit land, but most were second or third sons with little to their name. Sigmund didn¡¯t wish for Agatha to live a life of hardship.
She turned back to him and sighed, "But large numbers are hard."
Sigmund laughed. "You¡¯d better learn fast, or people who pay you might trick you."
"But you¡¯re the one who pays me..."
"And do you think I¡¯m trustworthy?" Sigmund asked threateningly, his fingers poised on the gittern.
Cornered and frightened of being paid less, or embarrassed by another ballad mocking her incompetence, Agatha resolved to learn. The group settled into village life, pitching in with chores, learning to fish, and, in Agatha¡¯s case, studying alongside a few young riders.
For days, life drifted by in an easy rhythm, broken only by the murmur of waves and the chatter of villagers. It was a peaceful routine, and for a time, Sigmund allowed himself to believe they could simply wait until the caravan arrived.
That illusion shattered on a bright, cloudless day. Six fishermen returned in a frenzy, swearing they saw a fleet of ships crossing the gulf. Behind them followed dozens more, their decks bristling with armed men. The fishermen had glimpsed the battle, and not a single vessel escaped capture.
The village erupted in worry and fear. A handful of brave men readied their boats to investigate, but Sigmund knew this was far beyond what their small force could face. It most likely involved the barony to the south, Corinthia.
***
Chapter 212 : Ex Ruinis Imperii
Chapter 212
Ex Ruinis Imperii
Nicopola
An airship commandeered by Angelo had brought Ella to visit Kapua. Avery had told her it was still dangerous, but the red-haired girl had learned how to convince her old grandfather through sweet letters. He was busy yet equally yearning for her company and thus consented.
Old Avery had worked tirelessly to restore his new Nicopola domain to working order. There were farms, irrigation, workshops, granaries to repair, defensive walls, ditches, and even mines. He had planned to take time off this week, but his hopes for a quiet and relaxed break were shattered. It always seemed to happen to him, and he felt it was probably cursed to even hope for one.
With a sigh, Avery sank deeper into his chair in the vast Great Hall and motioned for his messenger to continue.
"The caravan is currently stranded in Dawn. After the first group was caught by pirates while crossing the gulf, no others dared to follow. The steward awaits your instructions, My Lord."
Avery groaned, his thoughts circling the loss. Such a failure would tarnish his reputation before the other lords.
"Is Corinthia responsible?" one of his knights asked.
"Our forces there are still trying to find out," the messenger replied.
"What about reports from the pier near Three Hills?" another pressed.
"Yes, they¡¯re the ones who confirmed a large fleet was capturing our boats," the messenger said, his tone apologetic.
The reports weighed on the room, and dozens of staff members stood in uneasy silence.
Breaking the tension, one stepped forward. "My Lord, if I may?"
"Go on," Avery instructed.
"Whether House Corinthia is directly involved or not, ultimately it¡¯s within their responsibility," the staff hinted.
Avery frowned. "I know that, but I refuse to wage war against innocents¡ªnot if I can help it."
"My Lord, the Corinthians, despite mostly being fishermen, are still Lowlandians by nature," the staff added. "Raiding is their way of life."
Avery brooded. He knew Lansius was away, campaigning in Midlandia, and the Shogunate was bracing for Edessa¡¯s assault. Despite their assurances that the caravan would be safely guarded in Lowlandia, they had few resources to deal with a threat the size of a barony like Corinthia.
It frustrated him that the two of them were tied up elsewhere, leaving them largely powerless to confront the growing threat in the south targeting their caravan, the golden goose meant to enrich their domains.
He let out a sharp breath, burying his irritation. His pragmatism led him to think that since he couldn¡¯t aid the Shogunate in the Midlandia campaign aside from lending his unarmed airship, Avery decided to do his ally a favor and handle the Corinthia matter himself.
He gazed toward his court, who were ready to listen. "Hear my command," Avery''s tone was firm.
"My Lord." Twenty of his knights and a dozen staff stood straight, their faces filled with determination.
"Send an envoy. Go to Corinthia and confirm the situation."
The staff exchanged glances. "A confirmation, My Lord?"
"Indeed. You need to," Avery said, rising to his feet. "Because what I¡¯m about to do will be nothing less than historical."
"Yes, My Lord." His knights grinned, their excitement barely contained.
"Messenger," Avery called.
"My Lord." The messenger stepped forward, ready.
"Return to Dawn and calm the merchants. Tell them our commitment remains strong. I''ll take care of Corinthia. I¡¯ll show that nobody messes with Dawn, especially not someone within my airship¡¯s range."
"My Lord, you¡¯re not thinking of burning down the city?" an older staff member asked, worried.
"Let¡¯s hope they return the hostages alive, their wares intact, and my boats unbroken," Avery said, walking toward his knights. "I plan to copy what Lord Lansius¡¯ forces did in Kapua. What do you think? An amphibious attack supported by an assault team from the sky?"
His knights pounded their fists against their chests and grinned. "We are prepared and willing."
"If they can do it, so can we. We won¡¯t let you down," another said, his voice brimming with confidence.
With that decision, Dawn indefinitely delayed its plans to unite Nicopola and instead prepared for an attack to the south. The assault would likely be amphibious, supported by airships. Even for Dawn, it would be a grand feat. Yet not grandeur but desperation drove them to save the trade route they had invested in so heavily.
In reality, they were pressed for time and short on supplies. Avery couldn¡¯t afford a prolonged war. If his enemies in Nicopola caught wind of his plans, they could quickly raise another mercenary army to attack Kapua, threatening to destabilize the entire region for years to come.
The real challenge, however, was that even if Avery won Corinthia, he would need to maintain a strong presence in the area and launch operations to root out the pirates still operating there. This would require a tremendous amount of manpower, effort, and resources, things no one had in abundance amid the falling Imperium.
***
Alba Castle, Arvena
In the corridor next to the dining hall of the expansive Alba Castle, Sir Boreas, the governor of Arvena, strode beside his king. The knight-governor was tall and broad-shouldered, his powerful frame commanding the space and making the king seem small by comparison. Yet his round face, gentle and harmless, softened the impact of his imposing figure. Despite his bulk, he carried himself with surprising agility and ease.
The King, who had been staying at Alba since last winter, walked with a measured pace. They passed through the open archway and stepped outside into the sunlit garden lined with hedges and blooming flowers. The scent of roses lingered as they passed.
Suddenly, the King asked, "Boreas, do you know why I always ask you to accompany me on this walk?"
"Your Majesty, it¡¯s an honor, and I have put no thought to ask the reason," he replied in a thick northern accent.
A grin spread across the king¡¯s lips. "Precisely," he said. "You never question, suggest, or ask anything of me. Walking with you gives me peace. Of all my people, you are the only one before whom I need no facade."
The knight-governor merely bowed his head slightly, honored.
They continued walking with the entourage consisting of squires, pages, and guards following further behind. It was no longer midday, and the summer sun had already begun its steady descent westward, but the heat still lingered. Sunlight glinted off the king¡¯s toupee, leaving the skin beneath it damp with sweat.
Despite the cool breeze, the King removed his jewel-encrusted golden crown from atop his toupee and tossed it to his squire some distance away. "Catch!"
The squire and the entire entourage panicked, eyes wide. The squires and pages in front jumped and crashed together on the freshly cut grass. One of them caught the crown at the last moment, much to the rest of the entourage¡¯s relief.
Watching them, the king merely smirked while Sir Boreas chuckled. Such antics were considered normal in King Gottfried''s house. He was not one to put much importance on traditions or taboos.
They walked toward the edge of the garden overlooking a towering cliff, a defining feature of Alba Castle.
"Is it true that the castle got its name because boatmen on the river see the white cliff and the castle perched above it?"
"I¡¯ve heard the stories and didn¡¯t find a reason not to believe them."
The King nodded, resting his hands on the weathered wooden railing and letting the Grand River¡¯s breeze cool his face. "Too bad the cliff limits the city to only a small port."
"Indeed. Quite unfortunate."
The King always enjoyed this spot. Every time he visited the castle, he made time to stop there, even when there was snow or drizzle. He seemed fascinated by watching the Grand River beneath the cliff or gazing toward the faraway lands of Inglesia and Brigandia.
After some time in reflection, the King turned to his champion. "What do you think about the plan ahead? Should I cross the river and head home, or conquer the ruined Capital and proclaim myself the next Emperor?"
Sir Boreas pondered, taking his time, but in the end, shook his head. "Hard to see which one is the right answer."
"Indeed," the King muttered, knowing his champion didn¡¯t lie. "I¡¯m wasting my time in Arvena because I cannot feel the will of the people. After the Capital was burned down, there¡¯s no unified voice."
The knight-champion stood quietly, listening, giving the King his attention and all the time in the world.
"Half are just glad the Imperium is no more. The Northerners feel the blood spilled for the Imperium¡¯s conquest of the north has been answered in kind. Meanwhile, another half will not be satisfied unless I become the Fourth Emperor."
"Whatever your decision, my wife and I shall continue to support you."
The King let out a smile as the wind brushed against his face, stirring the leaves and branches of the garden trees, and carrying the scent of the Grand River. He glanced at Sir Boreas before asking, "Even if I order you to kill one of my sons?"
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"Name him," Sir Boreas replied, standing imposingly tall.
The King chuckled, pleased by the reaction. Even after being appointed as Crown Prince, it was no secret that his first and second sons were waging a war of influence in his nascent court, both gathering loyal followers and constantly at each other''s throats, all while King Gottfried was still in his prime.
"I do not doubt your loyalty, but your wife¡¯s sister is the Second Prince¡¯s wife. That makes you his uncle."
"I¡¯ll beg for his life and his family, but that¡¯s after I capture him for you¡ªhopefully alive," the knight champion replied firmly.
The King chuckled again, appreciating his honesty and support, but waved the matter off. He cast his gaze down below, where boats dotted the Grand River, merchants and travelers hurrying home before sundown. After securing Arvena, trade flourished between the north and the central region. "I take pleasure in watching them reap the fruits of their hard labor."
"But they¡¯re merchants."
"Indeed. They labor as well. To dislike them would make me a hypocrite. After all, like them, I don¡¯t grow crops. They make profits from trade, and I take my share through taxes."
Sir Boreas nodded, amused by the frank comparison.
The King then shifted topics. "You know, the mages have been suspiciously busy. They¡¯ve been working a lot in the southern forest. I¡¯m beginning to wonder if that was their goal all along."
"Should I conduct an investigation?" Sir Boreas offered.
"Unnecessary. Let them do as they please. Maybe they¡¯ll find something worthwhile. Since I¡¯m paying them, it would be a waste if they did nothing."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
"As long as they don¡¯t try to sway the prince to their cause, they can do as they wish while idle," the King added, then turned toward the garden, watching his entourage straighten up after enjoying a brief chat among themselves. Their awkward reaction amused him, reminding him of his own time as an attendant many decades ago.
He glanced at Sir Boreas, saying, "I must admit, I haven¡¯t paid attention to the reports. Anything important happening in this province?"
"Just some action in the east," Sir Boreas replied.
"East? Riverstead?" the King asked, more curious than concerned. The city was now a barony, given to his eldest son, the Crown Prince.
"I don¡¯t mean to trouble you, Your Majesty, but I heard reports and decided to send men last winter to investigate."
"And what did you find?"
"Some ragtag Arvenians trying to undermine the local garrison, but we have them cornered and driven toward Riverstead for annihilation."
The King pondered and mumbled, "It¡¯ll be good training for the Crown Prince."
"I think nobody will question the Crown Prince¡¯s battle acumen. He fought well in the Northern campaigns."
"Oh, his battle acumen isn¡¯t lacking, but his leadership requires some polish," the King said. "He¡¯s also too stingy and rigid with his men."
Sir Boreas smiled but dared not laugh.
"A leader needs to be magnanimous toward his vassals and allies. Otherwise, there¡¯s no incentive to be on our side."
"Wise words, Your Majesty."
"What do these troublemakers look like? Local rebels?" Before Sir Boreas could respond, the King continued, "I don¡¯t recall hearing about this from our agents. Did you know the second prince pulled strings as far as Edessa?"
Sir Boreas shook his head. "I have not."
"He has dealings even beyond the province. He even boasted that his agents played a role in Midlandia¡¯s civil war," the King chuckled, sharing proudly and trusting his champion to keep it secret.
Sir Boreas nodded, amused by this promising development.
However, the King¡¯s joy was soon overshadowed by a pained expression. "If only the two worked together, they would be unstoppable."
The knight champion found himself unable to comment. He understood deeply that the two princes were capable. So capable that both wielded almost equal political power and commanded large factions of supporters. If this rivalry continued, the King might be forced to cull the second prince¡¯s supporters to secure the Crown Prince¡¯s position.
And yet, despite having fewer resources compared to the Crown Prince¡¯s office, the Second Prince¡¯s camp continued to prove its worth. They had even managed to undermine the infamous Bengrieve, the Seneschal of Midlandia and the King¡¯s greatest threat, who was now stranded in Elandia and reduced to a minor power.
The King inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the Grand River before turning and walking toward the castle. Sir Boreas dutifully followed.
Once they passed the entourage and regained privacy, the King said, "The Second Prince is buying the support of Rhomelia¡¯s nobles, and I consented. We have grains to spare anyway. Can you believe it? The Rhomelians need grain more than gold."
"Will we launch a coup in Rhomelia?"
"One way or another, we''ll soon have a pretext to land our troops on their shores. Mind you, the Second Prince believes it¡¯s better to secure Rhomelia before the Mercantile Kingdom makes its move."
Sir Boreas nodded, finding no flaws in the approach.
"Reinforcements are ready in Brigandia. That will bring our numbers to over sixty thousand. I could spare ten or twenty thousand to land in Rhomelia and quickly retake the province. There, we¡¯ll build a great bulwark against the Eastern Kingdom."
"But the region isn¡¯t well governed. I¡¯ve heard famine plagues them almost every year."
"I don¡¯t mind," the King said without hesitation. "If the nobles are to blame, we¡¯ll cull them all."
"And if it¡¯s the people?"
"What difference would that make?" The King chuckled. "For your knowledge, just like the Arvenians, I¡¯ve yet to decide if they¡¯re worthy to be called our people. But to answer your question, if the issue is too many idle mouths to feed, then we¡¯ll make an army out of them, give them bare minimum supplies, and march them east."
"You¡¯ll invade the Eastern Kingdom?" Sir Boreas asked without flinching.
"No. I¡¯ll simply show them the power of my reign. After all, politics understands power and violence better than any language. And nothing demonstrates that more than sending hundreds of thousands of armed, hungry peasants raiding their lands."
Sir Boreas allowed himself a grin, amused. He knew they would eventually cut off supplies and leave them trapped in hostile territory, but he felt no guilt. To Northerners like him, it was simply a matter of survival. His only comment was, "If this succeeds, the Second Prince will be highly lauded. Wouldn¡¯t that cause a problem?"
"It will, but the Crown Prince can outshine him by conquering weakened Midlandia. If he fails, I will have to reconsider his nomination as Crown Prince," the King said firmly.
"And how about the threat from Elandia?" Sir Boreas asked.
"Who? That Bengrieve guy?" The King laughed. "We have eyes in there. They say Bengrieve is trying to unify the nobles against us, preventing me from reaching the Capital. I say let him think he¡¯s winning, that way it makes him easy to read."
Sir Boreas found the information enlightening. He hadn¡¯t been privy to this piece of information before.
"If he believes his move is blocking us from the Capital, he likely won¡¯t suspect we¡¯ll make a completely different move. Let him enjoy his small victory," the King concluded.
***
Arvena
Lord Arte had his troops stay in villages around Riverstead, where he enjoyed growing support from the people. Armed with patience, he observed their tepid reception from last winter gradually warm as he proved himself both charming and capable. By wintering with the people and relying on his own supplies, as Sir Justin had taught him, borrowing from what Lansius was doing in Lowlandia, he was winning the people''s hearts.
Rather than forcing men into his army, he asked for volunteers, providing them with equipment and using the training itself as a showpiece to capture the people''s attention. That raised morale and instilled confidence in his reputation as a sensible leader. He also refrained from demanding food, relying instead on purchasing supplies at fair prices.
Slowly, Lord Arte earned the people''s trust. All these changes were brought by Sir Justin, whose arrival last winter had been a blessing.
Yet Sir Justin also carried grave tidings from Midlandia. The province had fallen into civil war, and the Healer Guild also known as the Saint Candidate Order, was involved in the coup.
That news, along with Lady Felis¡¯ failure to return home, troubled Lord Arte deeply. The Midlandian woman had become the light of his life, and her absence left him both heartbroken and restless. She had journeyed to Midlandia to seek the Saint Candidate Order¡¯s support, hoping to secure their informal army of zealous, armed mobs.
"Instead of reinforcements, I¡¯ve lost my wife," Lord Arte lamented to Sir Justin and Thomas in the large, empty house they used as wintering quarters.
"Sometimes fate has a cruel hand," Sir Justin said without pretense.
"We¡¯re still not certain if the Saint Candidate captured her," Thomas added. "She and her escorts might be avoiding the fighting."
Sir Justin turned to Thomas. "Indeed. If they captured her, they would have sent a messenger here or at least to Brunna."
Lord Arte drew a heavy breath. The fact that their men searching for her had found nothing worried everyone, but at the same time, it also brought relief. In war, being captured was often better than going missing. "Call off the search party."
The two staff stiffened. "I think that''s a mistake. There¡¯s reason to believe she might have been captured by another faction," Thomas protested.
"Unlikely, given the escort I assigned her," Lord Arte said, shaking his head. "What we can do now is prepare a ransom. Sending more men on errands to look for her when we need everyone ready for battle is poor judgment."
"I doubt it¡¯s just about money. Through Lady Felis, they could manipulate you. Only the Ancients know whether her captors have ties to Gottfried," Thomas pressed.
Lord Arte remained unfazed. From the side, Sir Justin listened in silence, pondering their options.
Thomas seized the pause. "My Lord, you rejected this before, but I still believe we should send a rescue team straight to the Monastery," he suggested boldly. "Let me lead them. I swear I can save her, just as I saved you in Sabina Rustica."
"No, it¡¯s too dangerous," Lord Arte said firmly.
"Then at least send me with a few men. I can stay low and gather news without being seen."
"I need every able man," Lord Arte declared. "I fear Riverstead will push deeper soon. We''ve seen them probing the forests. For now, the Lady can handle herself. If it¡¯s a hostage situation, she still holds value to her captor. Let¡¯s assume she¡¯s having a vacation¡ªbetter there than here, in a war-torn region."
"A fair point, My Lord," Sir Justin said, trying to cool the discussion.
Lord Arte turned to Sir Justin. "I only hope she can be persuasive. Whoever takes power in Midlandia might still be swayed to continue supporting our cause."
Thomas sighed and relented, finding no fault in the Lord¡¯s reasoning.
The strategy they employed was the same one that had brought down Lord Arte¡¯s father. Now, they were turning it against the Crown Prince guarding Riverstead. Since last fall, the prince had remained cautious, sending only patrols to deter guerrilla attacks. But recently, he had grown bolder, dispatching a column to hunt down the perpetrators. Soon, his forces would close in on the forest hideout where Lord Arte had been waiting since last winter.
It was not a moment too soon. Sir Peter and Sir Anci had been fighting tooth and nail to hold the bridge near Ceresia, blocking reinforcements from Alba Castle from reaching Riverstead. Sir Peter¡¯s ability to persuade the local knights to rejoin Lord Arte had proven decisive. Yet, their two hundred fighters had steadily dwindled, with their only saving grace being Sir Justin¡¯s arrival. He brought two dozen crossbowmen and managed to smuggle in carts of fresh bolts through Midlandia.
This strategy to capture the Crown Prince was born out of desperation. Despite their successes in raiding Northern strongholds, they had failed to rally the Arvenian commoners to take up arms. Without their support, Lord Arte was unable to siege Riverstead directly. Thus, baiting and trapping the Crown Prince became their only hope of securing victory.
Yet, there were risks. Reinforcements from the port north of Riverstead could jeopardize everything. If that happened, they would be forced to retreat.
However, they had learned that the Crown Prince was unlikely to call for reinforcements. His rivalry with the Second Prince and his reputation as the selected heir made him unwilling to request help against a smaller force. This vital detail had come from captured Northerners during recent raids.
With no objections from his staff, Lord Arte added with finality, "Send a messenger to Sir Peter and Sir Anci. Inform them that asking for reinforcements from the Saint Candidate is no longer an option and that Lady Felis is presumed captured. Tell them we will do our part and commit everything to capturing the Crown Prince."
The two nodded as Lord Arte signaled the end of the meeting by rising from his seat. Sir Justin busied himself with writing the letters to be sent by messenger, while Thomas wandered to the window, a habit he had kept since his younger years.
Their hideout was a large, empty house that Lord Arte had repurposed as his office. It was an old extension of an ancient fort, reused over time as a noble¡¯s residence and later as a workshop until its significance faded when trade shifted east to Riverstead.
Thomas¡¯s voice broke the silence. "Are we expecting anyone today?"
The question drew both men¡¯s attention.
"No," Lord Arte replied as he approached the window. "What do you see?"
"Our guards are escorting three men riding a mule cart."
Lord Arte frowned. "Mule carts?" Doubt flickered across his face. "I doubt even the greediest peddlers would wander this deep toward our hideout."
"Indeed," Sir Justin said from behind, stealing a glance through another window. "My Lord, please remain here with Thomas. Let me handle this."
Before Lord Arte could decide, a squire arrived with a breathless guard. "My Lord," they greeted.
"Who are they?" Sir Justin asked.
"The three caused a stir after arriving by boat at the northern port. Travelers and peddlers claim they demanded to meet the rebels, saying they carry a letter from the Eastern Kingdom."
"The Eastern Kingdom? That¡¯s a bold claim. No wonder our spies took notice," Thomas remarked.
"Indeed," the guard confirmed. "Our agent informed the patrol, and they brought them here."
Sir Justin stroked his thinly bearded chin. "They must be carrying something important for the patrol to actually bring them all this way."
"So, what did they tell our men after being captured?" Lord Arte asked.
"They said they brought weapons fit for a king."
Lord Arte and his staff exchanged uneasy glances. A weapon fit for a king could mean two things: either to be wielded by one or used to kill one. Help had come unexpectedly from the east, but they understood that someone was trying to use them. However, knowing this changed nothing. Without reinforcement, they needed all the help they could get against the Crown Prince.
***
Chapter 213 : Eyes on Arvena
Chapter 213
Eyes on Arvena
Arvena
Sir Justin, the knight, mercenary, horse dealer, and occasional smuggler approached the mule cart with a guardsman at his side. He walked with a relaxed gait and a carefree, wandering tune on his lips, unfazed by the commotion. The troops straightened as he arrived.
He eyed the Eastern Kingdom trio before turning to the guardsman. "Assemble a counter party of thirty men, and make sure they keep an eye on the path leading here."
"Yes, Sir." The guardsman strode off purposefully to gather the ambush team.
Sir Justin alone approached the three men, who had dismounted and now were surrounded by a dozen guards. The soldiers kept their weapons ready, the tension thick in the air.
"Welcome to our humble village. May I ask to whom I owe this visit?" Sir Justin as the host greeted with forced enthusiasm.
"We¡¯re from the Eastern Kingdom and we¡¯re here to help," an older man of the three replied. His accent was undoubtedly foreign.
"There must be some misunderstanding," Sir Justin said, prying. "Helping whom, and in what matter?"
Two of the three exchanged glances before the younger man stepped forward. "Helping the son of Lord Maurice of Arvena kill King Gottfried¡¯s firstborn."
Sir Justin blinked at the blunt answer, half amused by its crudeness. There was no more pretense. "And why would you risk treason and spark a war between kingdoms?"
"Our employer believes a powerful King Gottfried would not be in their best interest."
"And who is your employer?" the knight asked not expecting an answer.
"The person asked not to be named for obvious reasons."
"Yet you merrily stated along the way that you''re from the Eastern Kingdom. Is there any truth to that?" he asked, his amusement masking suspicion.
The two men smirked. Meanwhile, the third man, judging by his muted reaction, was likely deaf or at least impaired.
Sir Justin nodded, understanding it was likely a ruse to blame the Eastern Kingdom. "Funny that you got the accent right."
"We are from the Eastern Kingdom. That much isn¡¯t a lie," the older man said calmly.
"Still," Sir Justin shrugged. "You¡¯re asking me to trust strangers who arrive in the middle of a war, bringing nothing but bold words and vague promises. Even with fancy weapons, three men hardly tip the scales in a fight. I¡¯d rather kill you now than risk exposing my secrets."
The youngest raised his hands in calm defiance. "Sir, we expected doubt," he said, his voice steady. "We carry state-of-the-art weapons from the Eastern Kingdom."
Sir Justin wasn''t impressed, forcing the young man to gesture to the bundled items on the mule cart. "A weapon fit for a king. Let us prove their worth," he declared.
With a mocking grin, Sir Justin cast a glance at his men, doubt etched on their faces. Then, he turned back to the strangers, noting their raw confidence. "Gentlemen, isn¡¯t your confidence a bit misplaced? If it¡¯s just weapons, we can kill you and use them ourselves."
"It took years to master, and I believe you¡¯ll find our accuracy invaluable," the older man replied.
Their composure unsettled Sir Justin again. They reminded him of the Black Lord, whose calm demeanor often preceded unthinkable plans or inventions. Since refusing would be foolish, he gave a curt nod. "Fine. But we¡¯re not doing this here."
"Get them to a clearing behind us," Sir Justin added to his men.
"A moment," the older man said. "The weapon is powerful enough to kill horses. If you happen to have any ailing or wounded ones..." He left the rest unsaid.
"Yes, I happen to have one." Sir Justin instructed his men to bring forward the dying horse. They returned with a gaunt, wheezing beast, its ribs jutting through its coat. Injured in the last raid, it staggered, refusing to be guided.
The troops wasted no time escorting the three strangers from the hideout to a clearing. Swords unsheathed and spears leveled, they watched closely as the men unloaded their wares for the demonstration.
Sir Justin¡¯s eyes swept the area before tying the horse to a tree. Its rider gently patted the animal, whispering farewells. The beast struggled to sit, its labored breaths signaling the end was near.
"If you can¡¯t do this quickly and cleanly, let me know now. We¡¯re not gentle with men who make animals suffer," Sir Justin warned.
"Rest assured, Sir, we¡¯ll show you exactly what this weapon can do," the older man answered.
The trio moved swiftly. One unwrapped a long-barreled object, its engravings gleaming like bronze in the fading light. It looked alien compared to the swords and spears the guards carried.
"Was expecting a magic sword or a Dwarven weapon," Sir Justin commented.
"You¡¯ll find this no less fascinating, Sir," the old man replied as his younger companion began loading it. "They call it a bronze snake, or colubr¨©nus."
The deaf man, the strongest of the three, held the heavy bronze cylinder at an angle while the younger poured coarse gray powder into the barrel. A paper wad followed, tamped down with a ramrod, then a single smooth metal ball, carefully pushed in with what seemed to be a circular motion before adding another wad to compact the charge.
"Is it always this slow to prepare?" Sir Justin asked.
"Only this one, for accuracy. We have faster ones," the older man replied.
Sir Justin nodded patiently.
"Ah, they¡¯re ready," the old man reported merrily. "Can we move further back to demonstrate our accuracy?"
Sir Justin noticed his crossbowmen and riders frowning. One raised his voice, "This is a good forty steps away. You¡¯ll have a hard time hitting the poor creature¡¯s head."
Another of his men added, "Do not play with us."
"Gentlemen," the old man replied calmly, "we mean no disrespect. But we need proper range for demonstration."
The knight studied the trio carefully but found no sign of deception or unease. "Fine. Take your distance." Then, to his men, he said, "At least the beast won¡¯t see it coming."
They walked more than twice the previous distance before the young man set up a sturdy wooden pole with an iron fork at the top. The deft man, muscles straining under the weight, single-handedly carried the heavy bronze cylinder. With effort, he maneuvered it into place, resting it securely on the fork. A simple latch mechanism secured it, allowing the stake to support the full weight and enabling it to swivel.
Once it was in place, the younger man adjusted his aim with ease. Meanwhile, the deft man struck flints to light a smoldering cord.
"In an ambush, you count the paces from place to place. It is necessary for accuracy," the old man remarked to Sir Justin, speaking like a merchant peddling his wares.
The knight noticed the young man peering through finely crafted sights, not unlike those Lord Lansius had on his crossbow, now standard among the SAR team.
"This weapon is based on the ocean vessel''s fire weapons. We have known larger versions for centuries, but they were difficult, unreliable, and fell out of favor until we improved their reliability. This is the portable version."
Sir Justin stroked his chin. Despite being called portable, it looked as heavy as a barrel of ale and longer than a spear.
"We¡¯re ready," the young man said calmly, his eyes fixed on the sight.
"Sir, warn your men. It will be loud."
"You heard him," Sir Justin said. Yet his men only closed their ears after seeing the old man cover his and the deaf man shield the young man¡¯s.
So that''s his function. Sir Justin thought as he observed the deaf man.
Without waiting for further permission, the young man touched the burning cord to the priming hole. At first, nothing happened. Then, the blast erupted.
The guards flinched, some stepping back as the ear-shattering roar filled the clearing. Smoke churned from the barrel like the breath of a mythical beast, so thick they had trouble seeing through it.
"Stay calm!" Justin barked, his voice cutting through the haze.
The old man gestured toward the horse. "Shall we?"
Justin motioned them forward. They walked in tense silence. The horse lay still, as if asleep, except for the bloody hole in the side of its head and the pool of blood beneath it.
"No quicker death than that," the younger man said proudly, and no one argued.
Sir Justin stood in silence, his eyes lingering on the carcass before shifting to the older man. "What did you say its name was?"
"Colubr¨©nus or coulevrine, but I simply call it culverin," the man replied with a big smile.
Sir Justin wrapped his arm around the man¡¯s shoulder and led him away, further from the crowd. "Say, regardless of Lord Arte¡¯s acceptance or rejection of your service, may I interest you in another profitable endeavor?"
"You have my ears, Sir," the man said, though his nod came slower this time. His fingers brushed over his coat, as if considering his options.
"I know a lord, a powerful one, who might be interested in this kind of advanced fire weapon. I could introduce you to him, for a share of your profit."
The merchant shifted his weight. "That is... a generous offer," he replied quickly, masking his reluctance, knowing that his services were beyond the means of mere barons and viscounts. "It¡¯s only good business."
The two chuckled, though one with more certainty than the other. The man from the East Kingdom aimed to please and not to offend so he could fulfill his mission. Meanwhile, Justin was already considering whether it was wise or even possible to bring the trio all the way to Korelia, so far to the south.
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***
Canardia
Lansius, Audrey, and Valerie entered the spacious private hall on the second floor of Canardia Castle. Margo, Tia, and Francisca had a separate common room, leaving the three to enjoy a moment of respite.
"All that traveling makes my buttocks feel so tender," Valerie said as she sank onto the couch. Then, realizing it might sound ungrateful, she quickly added, "No offense, My Lady. The cart is mighty comfortable. It¡¯s just that my constitution is always on the weak side after traveling."
"No worries, Val," Audrey said, signaling it was fine to be informal.
Outside, the crimson-gold light of the setting sun spilled through the windows. The two ladies had just strolled through the gardens for fresh air. Valerie had managed to walk a little, but her sweat-soaked brow and labored breaths showed her physique was still recovering.
Meanwhile, Lansius had just finished his daily tasks, weary from drafting policies and settling disputes. The civil war had lasted less than a year, yet the damage was severe. Interestingly, some of the reforms introduced by Reginald proved surprisingly effective and might have succeeded given more time. As a result, Lansius instructed his scribes to compile a list of these reforms and postpone any immediate changes.
He wished to form a band of intellectuals to evaluate the policies and determine whether they should continue or revert to the old rules. Unfortunately, the educated elite were still angry with him and declined to meet. Lansius decided to give them time to come to their senses. He knew better than to force their compliance, though he couldn¡¯t help but imagine that a visit from Big Ben or one of his knights would make for a spectacular scene.
"How''s the court?" Audrey asked as she sat next to him, facing Valerie.
"Endless," Lansius said with a sigh, settling into the newly cleaned, padded wooden chair. "There''s some concern about our neighbor in Arvena. But fortunately, news travels slowly. We''re hostile with Northern Midlandia, and they too aren''t exactly ally to Gottfried. No trade routes, no merchants, and few travelers..."
He added, "Not to mention, I doubt the North Midlandian nobles wish to admit they''re losing their grip. That would be akin to sending an invitation for Gottfried to come." Then, with a softer tone, he continued, "Aside from that big worry, the usual stuff: troops need billets, new recruits for the garrisons, and training, which Sir Harold can handle. And then there''s discussions about opening workshops in Canardia and Korelia."
Audrey smiled and began to look at him longingly.
Noticing them, Valerie said, "Maybe it''s best if I excuse myself."
"No, no, stay," Audrey said. "It''s just a stare." She giggled.
Lansius stifled a chuckle and gazed at Valerie. "How''s recovery? Do you feel anything bad?"
"No, just still weak. No other symptoms to worry about."
The door opened to a slit, and Margo¡¯s voice called softly, "My Lord, My Lady, the maids are bringing duck egg broth for Lady Valerie."
"Please, come in," Audrey said, motioning for the squire to enter. The maids followed with trays of duck egg broth, setting them down before quickly leaving and closing the door behind them.
"You like them?" Lansius asked guardedly.
"She¡¯s been eating duck egg broth diligently, you know," Audrey teased.
Lansius shook his head in disbelief, surprised. "Do you even like the taste?"
"Well, as a medicine, it¡¯s better than I expected. Just needs more salt," Valerie said, pouring a spoonful into her bowl. Her expression tightened, poorly concealing her disgust.
"That¡¯s way too much," Lansius said softly, his tone tinged with sympathy.
"This much salt is normal for me," Valerie explained. "I''ve had worse when I worked as an explorer."
"So your solution to bad food is always more salt?" Lansius asked.
"Qu''est-ce que tu veux? Je suis Parisienne. J¡¯ai l¡¯habitude d¡¯¨ºtre choy¨¦e par de bons repas," she muttered casually, mentioning that she was Parisian and used to being pampered with good food.
Lansius didn¡¯t understand the advanced French but figured her salt intake explained the short temper. Meanwhile, Audrey furrowed her brows and stared at her from the side.
Valerie felt it and, realizing her mistake, blurted out, "My Lady, Audrey, that''s not a spell."
"I know. I can see if magic takes form," Audrey replied.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Valerie added, "Must be great to see magic. All I can do is sense it. That¡¯s a great gift. Honestly, your eyes are so beautiful when they turn golden. I almost want to lick them."
"Odd compliment, but I¡¯ll take it." Audrey turned smug, clearly amused by the remark.
"It¡¯s dangerous though," Lansius remarked, his tone serious.
"Yes, Sir Morton has warned us," Audrey said with a nod.
The mage knight had told them that Isolte likely trained Audrey as a fell beast hunter. Her stare was a form of magic that could activate energy within the target''s body, causing it to lash out uncontrollably and create a burning sensation. It was effective at depriving fell beasts of their magic and harming them from within. The conditioning also made her an effective mage killer. There were still plenty of unanswered questions, but at least that much was certain.
"Lans, my apology for past accidents," Audrey suddenly added.
Lansius raised his brow. "What accidents?"
"I mean, I stared at you often..."
"Oh, that," he recalled the jolt that felt like burning his eyes and rattling his brain. "It''s been so long I forgot."
"No, it¡¯s my fault. Even now, you have so little magic inside you. It¡¯s probably because I stared at you too much. I¡¯m really concerned."
"Is it really that bad?" Lansius grinned awkwardly.
Valerie giggled from the couch, savoring both the banter and the warm duck egg broth.
"I did it so many times since Bellandia." Audrey sighed regretfully, and then her tone shifted. "How about I try to pull your source, like I did with Valerie?"
"No, that sounds dangerous," Lansius refused firmly.
"And it¡¯s not like he has a source to begin with," Valerie added.
"To be born without one," Lansius lamented in jest. Then he gazed at Valerie. "Now that I think of it, how did you get your source?"
"Well..." Valerie hesitated, staring downward.
"You weren¡¯t born with it?" Audrey asked.
"Not quite." Valerie¡¯s eyes flickered toward them. "I had a mentor who was able to give it to me."
"Give?" Lansius was stunned.
Valerie nodded once. "That much I can reveal."
Audrey¡¯s eyes wandered as she recalled, "I remember Ingrid said it¡¯s possible, but the art has been lost. Your mentor must have been a great mage."
"You can say that. But he lives far away and in secret. We won¡¯t find him in Midlandia."
"I see," Lansius said lightly without regret.
"Well, it¡¯s not like you need one," Valerie said. "You¡¯ve grown powerful and can recruit mages." Then turning to Audrey, "And this beautiful brunette is one of the most potent mages I¡¯ve encountered."
Audrey turned smug once again. For some reason, she enjoyed praise, especially if it came from Valerie, which made Lansius wonder if she had other motives at play.
"Also, magic is magic," Valerie continued, gazing at Lansius. "It¡¯s inherently not meant for humans, like a poison. Even healing magic might cause cancerous mutations."
Lansius acknowledged with a nod while Audrey asked, "But the Saint Candidates do healing without any bad effects. I¡¯ve seen two now, and they have plenty of magic inside them, not just at the source."
"Fortunately, we have a Saint Candidate joining us," Valerie explained. "Clementine''s knowledge has been a great help, enlightening me on various subjects."
Lansius nodded and poured water from a silver pitcher into three goblets.
Valerie continued, "Their methods and training make their bodies suitable for holding magic." She turned to Audrey. "All their training focuses on forming a vessel inside their bodies. It acts like a container, so the magic doesn¡¯t harm them."
"I see," Audrey murmured.
"Meanwhile, yours is quite different," Valerie said, pausing thoughtfully as she gave Audrey a brief look.
"How so?" Lansius asked, concerned.
"If Saint Candidates have a vessel inside their bodies, and mages like me have a source that can open or close like a window for fresh air, My Lady¡¯s is akin to a deep well."
"A well?" Lansius asked, finding the comparison odd. He glanced at Audrey, who seemed lost in thought.
Valerie continued, her eyes reflecting gratitude toward Audrey. "I know because when we¡¯re connected, I can feel a bottomless pit. It¡¯s impossible to sense a source or magic. It¡¯s all hidden too deeply."
Like a battery? Lansius pondered.
Meanwhile, Audrey found it amusing. "Ingrid and Sir Morton actually said that¡¯s what makes me dangerous since mages would have a hard time detecting that I''m a mage."
"It¡¯s a great talent," Valerie said. "No wonder even I couldn¡¯t sense it the first time we met in Toruna."
Audrey exchanged glances with Lansius, who gave a subtle nod. Deep down, they felt grateful for this revelation. It reassured them that Valerie wasn¡¯t hiding anything. From the looks of it, she had no deep ties to Bengrieve, and they could secure her away from him.
***
Lord Arte
It was nighttime after a long day of discussion and debate about how to utilize the three Eastern Kingdoms¡¯ men and their wonder weapons. After further demonstrations, there was no longer any notion of rejecting their help. They needed the weapon, as it was as accurate as it was powerful. Its precision and lethality surpassed even the windlass or heavy arbalest.
While cumbersome and slow, it would be perfect for an ambush. Ideally, it needed to be set somewhere high, offering a good vantage point while remaining concealed. They had no such positions but would make do with the forest terrain. Their advantage was that the Crown Prince had yet to know about the weapon.
Though they had agreed to accept the help, lingering questions remained. Who had actually sent them? There were several candidates. The Mercantile Kingdom¡¯s nobles were a possibility, King Gottfried¡¯s rivals within his court, or perhaps even the Second Prince, who had quarreled with the Crown Prince. Whoever it was, Arte would take the chance.
After locking the door and window of his chamber, with his squire and guard waiting outside, Arte slipped into bed. He took an earring from his inner breast pocket and wore it.
He heard nothing, and that was to be expected. He waited patiently, and just before sleep overtook him, he felt someone appear on the other end, and their souls collided.
"Love, is that you?" a familiar female voice echoed like a dream.
Who else? Arte asked tenderly.
"I missed you so." Felis¡¯ feelings could be felt through the dwarven relic.
How are you in there?
"I¡¯m fine, but how¡¯s your end? Does Thomas still want to send a rescue team?"
No, just today I convinced him not to.
"Did he believe you?" Her concern flashed toward him.
Arte smirked. I¡¯m always good at lying.
"Oh, you." Felis giggled, her warmth reaching him directly.
Have you eaten? How¡¯s the food over there? He changed the topic.
"Bland but nutritious. At least the baby inside me is well-fed."
I¡¯m glad to hear it. Do they treat you harshly?
"No. I¡¯m only the wife of a minor lord, so they leave me alone, mostly."
Minor Lord, huh? Arte thought amused.
Felis chuckled. "The only hard thing is using the earrings without them knowing. But I found a way. When they¡¯re chanting, their magic disturbs their own senses."
Sounds risky...
"Not really. These Sisters and Saint Candidates chant a lot," she reassured him, then added, "Say, did you know that Midlandia¡¯s civil war is over?"
Huh? So quickly? That¡¯s good, then. Who¡¯s the victor? Can we get support? Arte¡¯s excitement rose at the good news.
"Slowly, dear. But you¡¯re going to love this."
Arte squinted. How come?
"The winner of the civil war is..." Felis paused, teasing.
Don¡¯t tease me. I¡¯m already longing for your thighs and breasts.
Felis¡¯ playful thought came through the earring. "You should pick a concubine¡ªor maybe a handsome pageboy."
No. Nobody understands my needs better than you.
"Oh, you." Her warmth was unmistakable.
So who¡¯s the victor?
"The victor is someone we know."
Someone we know? He echoed, thinking hard.
"His name is Lord Lansius of Korelia." Her tone carried a hint of infectious merriment.
There was a gasp, followed by a long silence. Arte couldn¡¯t believe the news. I don¡¯t believe you¡¯re jesting. But... how?
"It¡¯s a long story, love. I only heard parts of it from maids and servants, but you should know we have a strong ally on our side now."
Indeed. Are you able to send a message out?
"Soon. I should be able to convince someone to do it for me," Felis said confidently. "With him in power, I won¡¯t need to hide in this monastery anymore, begging for reinforcements."
Yes. If it¡¯s him, I wouldn¡¯t fear the entire might of Gottfried¡¯s northern men. Arte felt courageous all of a sudden.
Felis giggled on the other end. "It¡¯s so good to hear your excitement after so long. Then you should wait for my word."
But love, we can''t just ask. I know Lansius is a tender man, but we still need to bring the greatest gift to honor his victory. And I''m afraid I have none to spare. If only I could return home to Alba Castle.
"No worries, love. I¡¯m a resourceful wife," Felis praised herself. "And I have tactically acquired some gifts while I¡¯m here."
Tactically acquired? Arte chuckled. Where did you learn such words?
She smiled. "Better than stealing. I don¡¯t want our baby to hear badly about me."
Borrowed is a better word, love.
"Indeed. I¡¯ve borrowed several items that I¡¯m sure Lansius will appreciate. Oh, let me show you one. I¡¯ve been dying to try this one."
What is it? Arte asked, but suddenly the connection was lost.
Felis...?
There was no answer at first, only a strange sensation, like plunging into water. A subtle shift in fidelity followed.
"Can you hear me?" Felis asked from the other end.
I can, but what did you do? Arte¡¯s curiosity mixed with concern.
"So, I found another earring. A different one. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s newer or older, but I think this will make a suitable gift."
Another dwarven earring...? What a remarkable find. Love, you really are fortunate.
Felis smirked on the other end. "The owner, a Sister, received it from a patron. She recognized it was magical and managed to maintain it, but didn¡¯t know its purpose. She didn¡¯t have the other pair, so I traded it for several pieces of gold."
That¡¯s still a good trade for such a valuable relic. I¡¯m glad I gave you gold for bribes. But then, if you give it to Lansius, who will he talk to?
"Are you jealous that Lansius might end up talking to me?" Felis teased.
Arte hesitated, his feelings slipping through the earring.
Felis giggled and added, "Jealous, are you?"
It¡¯s a reasonable fear. He admitted boldly, without hesitation or pretense. By acquiring even part of Midlandia, Lansius is currently the most powerful lord and the wealthiest in this part of the Imperium. He¡¯ll only become more popular.
Felis giggled. "You shouldn¡¯t worry. I wouldn¡¯t dare to cross Audrey. She can be scary, and I doubt I¡¯ll ever find someone who completes me like you."
Arte felt her warmth and was reassured. Somehow, Felicity¡¯s fortune had blessed her with the discovery of another powerful relic. Only time would tell if Lord Lansius would see it as a priceless tool, worth many times its weight in gold, or merely a treasure to be collected. Yet Arte couldn¡¯t shake the fear that, in Lansius¡¯ hands, this ancient relic might soon find its place on the battlefield.
***
Chapter 214 : Glass and Smoke
Chapter 214
Glass and Smoke
Arvena
Sir Justin received reports from his men. The situation had developed rapidly. The Crown Prince had made his move, and more mounted scouts had been spotted on the outskirts of the forest. The enemy had likely discovered Lord Arte''s hideout in a village beyond the forest and was planning where to make their assault.
But so had their own scouts, who had gathered intelligence about the Crown Prince''s strength. His column consisted of around four hundred fighting men and three hundred horsemen. This composition of men and horses was not typical for the Imperium but common among Northerners. Fortunately, it was also familiar to Sir Justin, who had seen similar tactics during his campaigns in the steppes of Lowlandia.
"Four hundred men, huh?" he muttered to himself.
"Indeed, Sir," one of the two scouts replied, looking at him with reverence. To them, Sir Justin was a figure of hope, the hero who had won the famed battle of Korelia."Good work. Report this to Captain Thomas as well," he instructed. The two scouts saluted and hurried off as ordered.
"Four hundred..." Sir Justin repeated, thinking aloud. Such a number meant the Crown Prince feared rebellion in Riverstead. "So, he¡¯s worried about an uprising in the city."
This suggested Lord Arte had vast supporters inside the city, or that the Crown Prince was highly unpopular. If true, it was a crucial piece of information they could potentially exploit.
"Sir Justin, a moment," someone called from the crowd, hurrying over with two guards trailing behind.
"Meister," Sir Justin acknowledged the older man of the trio who operated the culverin. He motioned his hand to calm both the guards and his own squire.
The senior maester, as he preferred to be called, spoke hastily, his panic showing. "I¡¯ve heard you plan to arrange an escort for me?"
"Indeed. You''re going to Brunna. Midlandia is in turmoil, so you¡¯ll wait there until I can guarantee safe passage to Korelia as per our earlier agreement."
"But Sir, why? I thought we agreed I¡¯d help you bring down the target here."
Sir Justin met his gaze with understanding. "Walk with me." He gestured toward the woods where the demonstration had taken place two days ago.
They headed toward the woods, the two guards and Sir Justin¡¯s squire trailing at a distance to give them privacy.
As they walked, Sir Justin began to whistle a light, carefree tune, perfect for a leisurely stroll. The senior maester seemed to enjoy it, his shoulders relaxing as the melody briefly lifted the tension lingering from their earlier conversation.
What he didn¡¯t know was that it was all choreographed. Sir Justin had been waiting for this moment. The plan to send the trio to Brunna was true, but it was also a setup.
As the tune ended, the knight revealed to the old maester, "Despite the demonstration, Lord Arte still has his doubts."
"So the Lord is still uncertain?" The old maester ventured, his tone measured but betraying a hint of disappointment. "Even after witnessing its power and accuracy..."
"I think the issue isn¡¯t the weapon," Sir Justin explained.
The senior maester halted. Sir Justin stopped as well, their eyes meeting. "If it¡¯s not the weapon, then what?"
"I suspect it¡¯s a difference in objectives," Sir Justin explained. "We want to capture the Crown Prince alive."
The old maester furrowed his brow but replied without pause, "We¡¯ll bring down the horse, clearing the way for you to seize him."
"Many believe you¡¯ll ¡®accidentally¡¯ kill the Crown Prince."
The old man hesitated before answering, "Accidents can happen in the chaos of battle."
"We¡¯re afraid your employer ultimately wants the Crown Prince dead."
"That¡¯s a baseless accusation," the maester snapped, his anger breaking through. "We¡¯re here to help, not cause trouble."
"It stems from your own words." Sir Justin raised an eyebrow. "You did say it was a weapon fit for a king."
"That was only to draw your notice," he explained, sounding drained. "To be frank, we were scared out of our wits. The men who seized us could¡¯ve passed for brigands."
Sir Justin chuckled softly, his amusement evident. "I sympathize with your situation. Still, your daring to approach us and your motives raise questions." He continued, "Whoever employed you must be powerful. That makes us cautious."
The old maester looked disheartened, his confidence waning.
Sir Justin studied him, pleased, and decided to plant his poison. "But to tell you the truth: personally, I¡¯m fine with it."
The old man¡¯s eyes widened.
He continued, "If killing the Crown Prince baits the King, then I don¡¯t see a problem."
The old maester gave a small smile but remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.
Sir Justin saw through the man¡¯s lie. He didn¡¯t need quick confirmation and intentionally shifted the subject. "Are culverins widely used in the Eastern Kingdom?"
"I can¡¯t speak for Navalnia, but in the past, Mercantile Kingdom kings did use them on their ships. However, they were lesser versions with questionable range and power. That¡¯s why they stopped using them; too costly and complicated for too little practical use."
"So, they¡¯re still fairly uncommon even in the Royal Army?"
"For portable ones like this, yes," the old maester added. "Common soldiery requires no such powerful weapons."
"So, it¡¯s only useful for assassination," Sir Justin probed.
"We¡¯re not assassins," the man replied, "but it can be used for that."
Piqued, Sir Justin asked, "If not for that, then what exactly is its purpose?"
"It¡¯s definitely useful in naval battles. But right now, the destructive power is too small to make it worthwhile. However, in sieges, we can help silence parts of fortifications from below. The culverin can¡¯t knock down walls or gates, but we can render a defensive tower or gatehouse useless, enabling men to scale ladders in better conditions."
"But the weapon is slow to fire," Sir Justin pointed out.
"If it¡¯s for sieges, then we¡¯ll employ plenty."
"Do you have that many? That sounds expensive."
"We can produce them in a few months, and I¡¯m certain a city is worth many times our services," the senior maester replied confidently. He didn¡¯t mention the 350 gold coins already paid for this mission, nor the additional 300 promised upon completion, most of it a risk premium for targeting such a high-profile individual. With that payment, he could finally fund his own workshop and begin production.
Sir Justin chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Maester, I¡¯m ready to act on your behalf. But you need to confirm your actual orders. With that, I can bring your case before the council."
The senior maester hesitated, his expression unreadable. Sir Justin waited, about to continue walking, when the man spoke. "Wait."
Sir Justin stopped and turned to him.
"I¡¯ll reveal my employer¡¯s wishes." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "The Crown Prince must die. As for the King..." He shook his head.
"So you plan to leave after the mission is done?" Sir Justin asked, his mind already working to narrow down the actor behind the trio.
"I¡¯m always open to another opportunity," the maester replied firmly without revealing his price. "But it has to be reasonable and not suicidal."
***
Lansius
The emerging Lord of Midlandia worked tirelessly in his spacious study chamber. Compared to Korelia, Canardia Castle was far more impressive. Yet, by regional standards, it was still modest compared to the largest and most opulent castles. Inside, tall shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls and ledgers, while polished oak desks bore quills, wax seals, and ink pots. There was even a square table with chairs for meetings and discussions, making the room more practical and functional.
One of Lansius'' additions was several maps mounted in wooden frames and protected by clear glass, allowing them to be displayed on the walls like paintings or tapestries. The custom glass alone made them a marvel, but for him, it was strictly functional. It allowed him to visualize strategies more effectively than spreading maps flat on a table. Perhaps it even stirred faint memories of the large screens he might have once used.
He often sat close to them, studying local maps while keeping the larger Imperium map within sight. This gave him a broader perspective he had previously lacked. Now, he was familiarizing himself with Lowlandia and its neighboring regions. The next step involved sending men to assess the accuracy of the maps and improve them where needed. For the most vital areas, his airship would carry a bird¡¯s-eye map maker to chart new details.
The castle¡¯s previous owner had been a high-ranking noble captured at the Battle of Cascasonne. However, this castle had never been his primary residence, as his House maintained larger estates elsewhere. Despite winning a decisive victory, Lansius had shown leniency, freeing the noble and eleven of his relatives and confidants in exchange for Canardia and the rights to retain the remainder of their estate. They now served him as part of the Blue Midlandia Army.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The name "Blue" Midlandia set them apart from Reginald¡¯s "New Midlandia Army."
Canardia City, now the center of his rule, bustled with activity. Messengers arrived daily, carrying leather pouches and sealed scrolls under heavy escort. Most delivered routine updates on governance, so numerous that Lansius relied on his army of scribes to sort them. It was demanding work, but Lansius had been successful in recruiting more scribes and clerks, bringing their numbers close to a hundred.
Much of the information dealt with routine affairs, but a few letters arrived from distant regions, mostly containing minor updates from Korelia, Korimor, and Nicopola, as well as news regarding the upcoming caravan trade. What caught Lansius¡¯ attention, however, were letters from Lord Robert and the Lord of Galdia. They reported no movements or provocations from Edessa.
In response, Lansius instructed them to relax their troops, fearing that prolonged readiness for an attack that never came would hurt morale. He believed the risk of an assault on White Lake had greatly diminished, given the shifting situation in Midlandia.
Another letter that he read came from Sir Michael, who was stationed in Ornietia. Lansius had entrusted him with establishing a workshop fit for musket production. While Calub had been tasked with the same in Korelia, Lansius knew he couldn¡¯t afford to rely on a single production site. Delays and low output were risks he refused to take.
His plan was to produce several batches, stockpile them, and then shut down the production line to repurpose it for something less sensitive. This approach would reduce the chances of anyone uncovering his secret.
Still, the issue of black powder remained. Anyone with the knowledge to produce it would undoubtedly be clever enough to recognize its destructive potential. Such a person could replicate it and sell the formula to others.
The only solution Lansius could think of was to keep the knowledge tightly controlled. He would buy the loyalty of an alchemist and their entire family, binding them in a multi-generational contract that secured their futures in exchange for secrecy. This way, his secret would become theirs, and both parties would have a vested interest in safeguarding it.
He had already sent an additional letter to Calub, asking for recommendations for an alchemist family that fit the criteria.
Aside from new weapons, Lansius also needed to address his supply of bolts. They were costly, and with more cities to defend, the demand had grown significantly. Managing this served as a constant reminder that war was a bottomless drain on resources, even for the victor.
A slight misstep in money management could leave him poor and unable to feed his army, inviting disaster upon his House. Thus, Lansius carried out his due diligence.
Next on his list were alchemist fire bottles and burning sands. These were rare commodities in Lowlandia but more readily available in Midlandia. Large orders had already been placed, which would please the alchemist guild and further align them with his cause.
The feeling would likely be mutual, as Lansius knew firsthand how devastating these tools could be when used in the right situations.
Another vital issue to tackle was food production. Fortunately, the land was fertile and productive, and much of the population consisted of farmers, whether indentured or freemen. With the civil war concluded and peace maintained, Lansius expected a good harvest to refill the region''s dwindling grain supplies.
His men had already been sent to assess the situation, and their reports confirmed that most crops planted last spring were growing optimally despite the civil war. His swift campaign through Midlandia had caused little damage. The only affected area was around Cascasonne, but Lansius was not responsible for that.
"I wonder what Bengrieve is thinking," he muttered, looking out the window, though he was not certain if it even faced Cascasonne or Elandia.
Truthfully, he was not looking forward to meeting Bengrieve.
While such a meeting could settle many issues, Lansius also feared it might cast a wild dice.
Although he did not consider himself ambitious, Lansius was not about to give up on Midlandia. He believed he had the means to transform this troubled land into something significantly better.
Next on his list was winter-proofing billets for his troops and garrisons, along with setting up an optical telegraph system between vital towns. However, this plan depended on a shipment of binoculars from Ekionia. The southern trade routes were expected to deliver them to Korelia by mid-summer, and Lansius could expect their arrival in Canardia around late summer.
The binoculars, similar to those installed on airships, would enable the optical telegraph system to use colored flags for transmitting messages across distances. With trained crews, it could potentially relay information between towns and cities within minutes, drastically improving communication and coordination.
For now, though, Lansius remained content relying on the Hunter Guild¡¯s hawk mail.
He had finally formalized cooperation with the Hunter Guild. Through them, he aimed to mediate relations with the Assassins, who remained cautious yet showed signs to discuss further.
As the Hunter Guild''s official patron, Lansius was granted rights to station Hunter Guild members in strategic locations throughout Midlandia and Lowlandia. Soon, he would be able to rely on hawks to communicate swiftly with Sigmund in South Hill and other remote areas that were normally difficult to reach due to distance.
Another priority was the Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank. Lansius had asked Dame Danielle and her staff to travel to Canardia, knowing it could provide a great source of funds for rebuilding efforts and future projects.
Everything on his list seemed promising, but the last one troubled him. The issue was talent and the accompanying risk of corruption.
With limited skilled personnel, Lansius was forced to rely on local administrators to handle governance. Though they held no real power, since his garrisons were loyal to his banner, they were still responsible for executing orders and managing resources.
Lansius had no way to ensure their loyalty. Meanwhile, it was far too easy for them to accept bribes, falsify records, embezzle funds, or fall into corrupt practices. If left unchecked, corruption could lead to utter ruin, with stolen funds even used to raise an army against him.
He exhaled softly, weighing his options. He couldn¡¯t rely on the military to force compliance forever, as that would open a different set of issues. However, if used strategically, it might serve as effective shock therapy.
The issue was, he needed to go big to make it effective.
"To stun them so thoroughly that people would be wary, at least for the rest of the year," he muttered to himself, his decision taking shape.
***
Central Midlandia
Inside the Grand Chamber of Krakusa, one of the oldest cities in Midlandia, nearly two dozen of the region¡¯s most influential figures assembled. Hailing from towns and cities across the region, they met behind closed doors to gossip about their new ruler.
The atmosphere was merry, showing no hint of urgency or panic. Long-serving attendants moved gracefully, refilling goblets with wine and setting down trays of delicacies such as smoked duck liver, horse tongue pies, and honeyed fruits. Despite empty granaries plaguing the countryside, famine had not touched them. Their vast holdings boasted private stores, ensuring their tables remained plentiful.
Another guest arrived late. "My apologies," he announced as he entered, brushing dust from his sleeves. "I just returned from Canardia, where I had to bend my sorry knee."
The room stirred with soft chuckles and amused murmurs. As if on cue, the servants withdrew and closed the door behind them.
The host, a large, chubby man in his fifties, leaned forward with a grin. "So, how¡¯s the new master?"
"Agreeable," the guest replied, pausing to sip from a goblet resting on the table before him. "Firm, fierce, and hard to read, but rough around the edges. He doesn¡¯t seem as sophisticated or capable as the stories made him out to be. Honestly, I fear the Lady more than him."
Laughter rippled through the hall, with many taking the boast at face value.
"So much for the mighty tales of the Black Lord," the host commented in jest.
"My son saw him the other day," a lady said. "He described the Lord as commanding but lacking refinement. He commands frightening knights and soldiers, yet compared to Lord Bengrieve, he lacks elegance."
"So the tales of him being nothing more than a country bumpkin are true, then?" another remarked.
Dry, dismissive laughter followed. Yet, a more cautious and sensible noble spoke up. "But the new master is well-liked by the common folk."
"How quaint," someone sneered. "The poor, uneducated, and unwashed adore a ruler as common as themselves."
Mocking laughter rippled through the hall, with some nobles clutching their goblets as if toasting the insult.
"The freeborn love him because he lets them dream of power," quipped the head of a rising House. "Yet all they¡¯ll feel is the grip of our firm hands."
There were nods of agreement as goblets clinked.
"Then there¡¯s nothing to worry about," the host declared. "If he¡¯s as unimpressive as we¡¯ve heard, we can resume our businesses as usual."
"That goes without question," declared the senior-most noble, a landlord with vast properties, farms, bakeries, and workshops. "Our Houses have endured for centuries. No petty usurper can change that."
The host nodded in agreement. "As Reginald proved, whoever holds the title of Lord makes little difference. We¡¯ll comply with his demands, as long as they¡¯re not too costly. From what I hear, he only asks for crossbows and bolts."
"How warlike of him," someone mocked, prompting a ripple of laughter.
The host leaned back, his voice carrying weight. "Even if the tales about his victories are true, this isn¡¯t Lowlandia. We have hundreds of towns and cities. He lacks talented men to enforce his will on all of us."
"And if he tries, we can bribe his people, or introduce them to an accident," another added.
Smirks spread, and the men exchanged knowing nods.
"Besides," one said, "there¡¯s no talent in Lowlandia. I¡¯ve even heard their knights can barely read."
Laughter erupted, filling the chamber. Goblets were refilled, and the mood lightened as they indulged in their supposed superiority.
Then came a soft knock against the door, yet it startled them. A few shuddered, their sudden stillness betraying unease.
The host rose, excused himself, and opened the door to a slit. A guard captain stood there, looking uneasy.
"What is it?"
"A group of armed horsemen, my Lord. They bear the banner of the new Lord."
The news startled everyone. They rose abruptly, sobering themselves. Despite all their mockery and boastful words, they were deeply afraid of the Lord Shogun. Only a fool would belittle someone who had won war after war with such ferocity that even their former Lord, Reginald, couldn¡¯t hold a candle to him, despite commanding a much larger forces.
Whispers of spies rippled through the hall. Had someone betrayed them?
"What should we do?" one asked, already sweating.
"Does he have spies in the city?" another ventured nervously.
The host raised his hand, his voice sharp. "Relax. I¡¯ll handle this. At most, it¡¯s the new governor or supervisor. This will be simple, at worst, an inconvenience. Let¡¯s see just how capable our new Lowlandian supervisor really is."
...
The host and several prominent nobles formed a welcoming committee, their robes immaculate and their expressions carefully practiced. They had watched the approaching riders from the walls and, judging by their numbers, found little reason for concern. Confidence swelled among them as they prepared to greet their new governor or supervisor.
"Such a young one," one noble murmured, eyeing the lead horseman as the riders dismounted. "He¡¯ll be easy to manipulate."
The remark earned a few soft chuckles and nods of agreement. Their confidence swelling as they sized up the newcomers. Others smirked outright, already imagining how easily they might steer the young officer to suit their interests.
"Hail," the young officer called out, his voice clear but lacking the weight of authority.
"Greetings!" the host replied, stepping forward with a polite bow. "Are you, perhaps, the newly appointed administrator of Krakusa?"
The young officer flushed, momentarily caught off guard. He glanced at his fellow horsemen, but they offered no explanation but smirks and quiet chuckles.
The host and his companions exchanged amused smiles. They hadn¡¯t expected Lowlandians to appear so clumsy and ill-prepared.
Finally, the young officer cleared his throat. "Good nobles, there must be some mistake. I¡¯m not escorting an administrator, and I¡¯m certainly not one."
"I see," the host replied, keeping his tone polite. "Then what brings you to Krakusa?"
"You may ask my master. He¡¯s the one leading this inspection."
The nobles turned toward the horsemen, expecting someone to step forward, but no one moved. Their confusion grew as murmurs spread among them. "Forgive our curiosity, but where is he?" the host pressed.
"My master should already be at the castle," the young officer replied.
"H-huh?" the older noble stammered, his earlier smugness fading.
"My master," the officer replied casually, "is riding an airship."
"A-airship?" The host echoed, his voice faltering. Whispers rippled through the nobles as panic flickered in their eyes. They quickly turned instinctively toward the castle. Only then did they notice its gargantuan presence looming above the battlements. Sleek and ominously black, its hull gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting the last rays of the waning sun.
The sight of the leviathan stole the breath from many. They had heard tales of airships but had never expected to see one descend upon their city. Worse, it implied that whoever had been sent ranked unmistakably high in the hierarchy.
"Why didn¡¯t we see it?" one of the nobles hissed, his nervousness poorly hidden.
The young officer allowed himself a smile. "My master prefers it that way; climbing high as he nears the target, then diving down at the last moment."
"W-who is your master?" the host asked, struggling to maintain composure.
Straightening his posture, the young officer¡¯s eyes gleamed with pride. "His name is Sir Morton of Three Hills, Captain of the famed Black Knights, Lord Shogun¡¯s most trusted Mage Knight, and more recently the Butcher of Kapua and the bane of Lubina."
***
Chapter 215 : Special Three Thousand
Chapter 215
Special Three Thousand
Sir Morton
Krakusa was one of the large cities that had fallen into the Lord Shogun''s hands. It lacked strategic importance and, as such, didn¡¯t warrant its own garrison. Still, it was one of the oldest cities in Central Midlandia and retained significant economic importance. However, its records and tax revenues resembled a moderately sized city.
This discrepancy baffled the Lord''s army of scribes and clerks, prompting Sir Morton to investigate.
As the castle owner had allied himself with the losing Reginald and with his current status unknown, likely having fled to North Midlandia, by the right of reprisal, the castle and city now belonged to the Lord Shogun. Thus, Sir Morton and his men could act as they wanted. They were the extension of the rightful owner of this castle and city.
Without fear, the scribes and clerks attached to them began questioning the castle staff and collecting scrolls and documents. Meanwhile, the Black Knights and a small detachment of SAR formally took command from the guard captains.
Half an hour into their work, the heads of influential houses began assembling in the castle¡¯s great hall, seeking an audience. Sir Morton declined, stating they were occupied, but agreed to admit one person for discussion.
In this situation, a chubby man of about fifty, dressed in a dashing robe, was escorted into Sir Morton¡¯s presence.
"Your city has the most troubling records," Sir Morton began, not giving the man a chance to greet him or take a seat.
"Y-yes?" The old noble muttered.
"That''s why the Lord Shogun sent me here. We''re taking the bookkeeper and the documents. That¡¯s all. I doubt you have any objections?"
"N-no, Sir," he agreed weakly.
Around them, the scribes had been collecting books, escorted by men in black brigandine armed with intricate-looking crossbows. These men radiated such authority that even the castle guards dared not interfere.
Sir Morton added, "Since I granted you an audience, sending you off with so few words would look bad. So, stay here. Who knows? There might be escalations."
"Escalations, Sir?" His eyes widened.
"Yes. If we uncover anything suspicious, we may need to act further¡ªwhat the Lord Shogun calls an audit."
The old noble cleared his throat. The term wasn¡¯t used often, but he understood its implications. "And if it comes to an audit?"
"We''ll send the troops in and investigate the larders, storage, and vaults to see whether they match the quantities in the records. We''ll also check the suppliers and demand that they lend their records for investigation." The Mage Knight glanced sharply. "Do you happen to be one of the suppliers?"
"I am," the man admitted, though his voice lacked conviction. "But those kinds of records¡ªmany don¡¯t keep them, and even if they do, most are trade secrets."
"Oh, I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll hand them over peacefully, or..." Sir Morton let the thought hang unfinished.
The old noble sank into his seat, pale and shaken, but Sir Morton offered no sympathy.
He had seen men like this before, corrupt and opportunistic, turning dangerous if given the chance. Just last year in Three Hills, men like him had plotted a bloody coup. He still remembered the face of the dying young guardsman, along with others who were caught in the chaos. Since then, he had ordered his men to visit the guardsman¡¯s mother regularly, delivering some money from Sir Morton''s own purse.
The scribes and clerks, trained by the Lord Shogun himself, worked quickly. They already seemed to know what to look for and had begun compiling their assessments.
"Sir Morton," the old noble called.
Sir Morton turned. "Yes?"
The old noble seemed to have regained some of his composure, asking smoothly, "Are you, by chance, the one who¡¯ll become Krakusa¡¯s administrator? If so, we should prepare a feast and celebration¡ª"
Sir Morton laughed. "No one is foolish enough to play those games," he muttered before declaring in a more formal tone, "The Lord Shogun is benevolent. He has decreed that the towns and cities will select their own leaders."
The declaration stunned the old noble. "Surely there¡¯s a mistake. That would let powerful families dominate the city. Wouldn¡¯t it lead to corruption?"
"Corruption?" Sir Morton eyed the chubby man with rare sympathy. "Do you know what kind of punishment the Lord Shogun gives to corrupt officials?"
"I haven¡¯t learned about it," the old noble admitted, bracing himself for grim revelation.
"So did I," Sir Morton quipped unexpectedly, though his tone quickly turned grim. "We simply haven¡¯t encountered one. But I know of a punishment for a lesser crime. It¡¯s called the human torch."
The nobleman shifted uneasily, his chubby face darkening with discomfort.
"The method," Sir Morton continued, "is to tie the condemned upside down to a pole, dressed in thin coarse linen. Their lower body is slathered with cheap tallow because it burns the slowest. Meanwhile, their chest and belly are covered with honey and milk."
The noble¡¯s face twitched, and murmurs rippled through the castle staff who overheard the words.
Noticing them, Sir Morton motioned for the servants and maids to gather closer, offering them a brief respite from their work.
"At night, the fire is lit at the feet, causing unbearable agony. It burns brightly through the night while the condemned, still alive, is swarmed by large insects drawn to the flames and the honey dripping from their body. The insects gnawing at their skin keep the condemned from fainting."
The servants exchanged horrified glances, some covering their mouths, while others shifted nervously.
"The first night usually ends with just the feet or calves burned. The fire is doused by morning, and the nomads feed the condemned milk and water to keep them alive. They even slather honey on the burnt parts to prevent infection. Sometimes, they untie the condemned and lay the person down in a tent to let them rest, only to bind them again when night falls. They''ll smear tallow once more and light the fire anew."
Gasps escaped as a few younger servants recoiled, clutching their skirts and crowding together. A manservant wiped his brow, visibly pale, while another shifted uneasily, trying to mask his discomfort.
"Some are said to survive three, even five days, before succumbing as their bowels are completely burned out," Sir Morton concluded. He was pleased to see pale faces riddled with anxiety and dread.
The truth was, he had made it all up. He even added the honey, thinking it made the story more grotesque. Lord Lansius had once confided that the more horrific the punishment, the more likely nobles would believe it. Even if they dismissed it as a lie, it would linger in their minds.
The rumor was all the more effective because it played into the nomads¡¯ fearsome reputation. Only those privy to the elders knew it was a tradition and favorite pastime among steppe warriors to invent the most horrifying tales imaginable¡ªeither to unnerve their enemies or simply to get a good laugh.
Ask a nomad about it, and he would boast of a version he or a friend had recently concocted. In truth, it was nothing more than wild imagination. However, for the nobles, these tales served as a grim warning. Thus, like a mason driving a wedge into the cracks of a stone slab, Lord Lansius, through Sir Morton, was striking at the very cohesion of the local noble factions.
By barging into their meeting, the Lord Shogun had sown fear, forcing the nobles to question their peers, aides, and closest servants. The risk of betrayal and the looming threat of punishment would, for a time, grant Lord Lansius the opportunity to stabilize his realm and create openings to recruit spies among their ranks. Even now, the Orange Skalds were identifying suitable individuals to serve as informants in exchange for immunity.
***
Sir Harold
After his sudden and unplanned marriage to Clementine, the acting Marshal and Champion temporarily took on a non-combatant role, which suited him perfectly. The timing was ideal, as the Lord required a large number of recruits to be trained. With ongoing conflict against Northern Midlandia, Edessa, and possibly Elandia, they would need more men to fight the wars ahead.
Furthermore, no one was under any illusions about their newly conquered region. Southern Midlandia was still far from stable. The lower nobles and populace had been pacified, but their loyalty would remain questionable for years to come. Meanwhile, the troops brought from Lowlandia were too few to guard the vastness of these territories.
With a population of ten million, they needed a large number of troops to fill garrisons and serve as reserves. The troops they had from Lowlandia were already assigned to protect key locations¡ªPloiesta against Lubina, Canardia against the Healing Guild¡¯s Monastery, Ornietia Barony as the critical gateway to Lowlandia, and to support their allies in Toruna against Edessa.
Thus, their forces were stretched thin, leaving the Lord with only his vanguard, knights, and dragoon cavalry as reaction forces. He deemed this insufficient, making large-scale recruitment in Midlandia an absolute necessity.
Fortunately, they had the advantage of a good reputation. Many Midlandians already served as veterans in the Lord''s army, including Sir Harold and his fellow knights.
The Lord tasked Sir Harold with recruiting from several areas he personally knew had large populations suited for soldiering. Accompanied by his staff and local ranking officers, Sir Harold visited towns, cities, and villages in the area. House Lansius'' reputation for fair pay, generous policies for the wounded or crippled, and year-round salaries with decent winter quarters attracted large numbers of recruits.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
For many, the job was as good as permanent employment. Previously, such positions were reserved for guardsmen of the Lord¡¯s House, often passed from father to son or nephew, or secured through hefty bribes. Knowing how rare these opportunities were, a large number of highly skilled men-at-arms enlisted.
Even veterans were eager to join during such uncertain times.
Due to the overwhelming number of applicants, even after imposing stricter requirements such as fitness, proficiency with armor and weapons, and crossbow handling, Sir Harold decided to conduct a live selection.
From six thousand men, he planned to accept three thousand. As a consolation, those who failed would still have their participation counted as summer military training, exempting them from being called as levies for at least several years. They could still take part in future campaigns and earn paid contract status.
Even with only three thousand additions, in a wartime situation, the Lord Shogun could likely call up another three thousand levies, if not more, for a forty-day campaign. He could also count on at least another thousand men-at-arms, militia, and volunteer soldiers if resources allowed.
As the recruitment phase concluded, Sir Harold, with the Lord''s permission, gathered the recruits in a camp outside Canardia. They remained there for three days, organizing units, conducting basic training, and awaiting supplies.
It was a clear morning on the fourth day when Sir Harold assembled the training crew near the outskirts of Canardia. Today, he was accompanied by the recently returned Farkas, along with his skirmishers and dragoons serving as escorts.
"The canvas bags for the march have arrived and been distributed," Farkas reported, referring to the marching rucksacks.
"I''m surprised you managed to find so many so quickly," Sir Harold commented as they climbed the wooden staircase together.
"The Orange Skalds¡¯ network improves by the day. They know exactly who to ask and where to look," Farkas replied rather proudly. "The bag''s design is simpler than the custom-tailored ones we had in Three Hills, but they should suffice."
"As long as the Lord approves, I have no complaints," Sir Harold said. "And what about the Lord''s special tools?"
"They¡¯re ready as well. Three thousand of them, easily sourced from several cities and towns." Farkas paused before adding, "I must say I¡¯m very impressed and surprised by this. Midlandia is truly a different league compared to Lowlandia."
Sir Harold nodded, amused by the Korelian¡¯s admiration for his birth province.
Farkas continued, "Another thing, unlike in Korelia, where everything is farther apart, here I can cross several villages and towns in just half a day¡¯s riding. It¡¯s densely populated, with plenty of goods in the markets. Farms, workshops, and orchards are everywhere."
"Someday, I¡¯ll take you to the northern regions. It¡¯s even livelier there," Sir Harold remarked with a faint smile.
"My gratitude, Sir," Farkas replied, clearly pleased with the offer.
The cool morning wind swept past them as they arrived at the third story of the large wooden tower. They hadn¡¯t climbed to the top, as that would be too high to address the troops standing in formation below.
The tower they were in was larger and taller than typical watchtowers, as the camp was intended to be permanent. Situated to overlook vital roads leading to Canardia, it would serve as a critical bulwark against any attackers threatening the city.
On the viewing platform, designed for inspections and parades, a lieutenant on duty stepped forward and announced Sir Harold¡¯s presence to thousands of men assembled below. As the order to stand at attention was given, Sir Harold observed clumsiness, sluggish movements, and general awkwardness, as expected from an untrained mob.
He surveyed the columns stretching in neat rows, rippling like waves of steel and cloth. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the glint of helmets and weapons caught the rising sun.
His orders to them were brief and clear. "Today, you shall wear the assigned bags behind your backs, load them with goods, and follow the army column on a march to Ploiesta."
As expected, murmurs spread through the ranks. Most appeared eager and animated, cracking jokes and grinning, treating the dreaded selection lightly, bordering on overconfidence.
But Sir Harold had more to say. "I expect you to arrive in Ploiesta in two days."
"Two days?!" The words rippled through the ranks, followed by a growing buzz of disbelief.
His captains and lieutenants quickly stepped in, barking orders to silence the crowd¡¯s reaction.
When the noise finally died down, Sir Harold cast a taunting smile over them and concluded, "This should be a good test of your character. Or if you think it¡¯s too hard, you can return home now."
The troops in formation stirred, but not one stepped forward to leave. To become a career soldier was a dream many had held for years, especially as part of a military as illustrious as House Lansius.
Finally, the order to march out was given, with House Lansius¡¯ veterans, one hundred men-at-arms, marching at the head to set an example.
One by one, the columns followed as the day slowly grew hot. For the first hour or two, there were no alarming signs. Their burdens were heavy, with rucksacks laden with supplies, and they bore armor, spears, shields, and helmets; yet it still felt manageable.
After passing several villages and towns, the men began to struggle. While at first, they muttered jests about being pack mules, their words soon turned into grumbled curses. Many complained they were trained fighters, not pack animals.
Fortunately, midday had come. With relief written on their faces, the columns collapsed along the roadside as the order to rest was given, settling beneath any tree they could find. Once they had eaten their packed lunches, taken water breaks, and rested their legs, the columns set off again.
But this time, their spirits weren¡¯t as bright. They had already marched for more than four hours, and even with two hours of rest, their sore muscles and growing discomfort began to weigh on them. The columns lagged, and that was when they noticed the front veteran column pulling farther and farther ahead.
"What kind of men are they?" many whispered as they trudged along.
"Don¡¯t they carry the same weight as us?" another asked, his face slick with sweat.
"They carry more," one replied. "I saw them wearing ringmail over their gambesons."
"By the Ageless," someone muttered, not caring that the Ageless had likely died.
Spurred by the veterans and the fear of the cavalry behind who would judge their passing or failing, the men raised their spirits and tried their best to keep pace. Yet the veterans had other plans. Without any apparent reason, the front column began singing cheerful notes, like a ballad.
The columns behind were perplexed. Their confusion grew further when the veterans began to march faster.
Amid the confusion, their wounded pride drove them to commit. One by one, they shouted encouragement to their brothers-in-arms. Their acting group leaders joined, followed by their acting lieutenants, who raised the tempo.
When one column quickened its pace, another followed. This prompted a general chase. However, the veterans in front left them behind in a mind-boggling display of stamina and experience.
At the rear, the knights, mounted on their horses, watched the scene with glee, knowing that the veterans of the Lowlandian campaigns had crossed the Great Plains countless times the previous year. The recruits simply lacked the muscle and endurance honed by months of extended marching. Combined, the veterans had likely marched for well over seventy days in the past year alone.
Captain Farkas and his dragoons rode next to the weary columns, who were now sweaty and haggard. "Men, where¡¯s all your boasting gone?" he taunted.
His men pelted them with jeers. "You think you¡¯re good soldiers? You can¡¯t even walk right."
"You lads are soft. Are you sure you''re fit to carry the bronze and banner?"
"It¡¯s not even hot," another called out. "This weather is nice, with plenty of shade, unlike in Lowlandia."
Their taunts sparked a barrage of retorts.
"Must be nice talking from the saddle while your horses do the walking."
"Come walk!" another snapped. "Don¡¯t just spout off from atop a saddle."
"I hear nothing but horseshit."
Laughter and mockery echoed until one of the senior dragoon lieutenants spoke. His tone was sharp and commanding. "We¡¯re dragoons, you morons! We marched like everyone else before we graduated. Think about what great deed we accomplished to earn these horses from the Lord."
That silenced the columns, who raggedly marched into their sixth and seventh hours. Their fatigue was clear, with limping steps, slouched shoulders, and strained breathing, yet they pressed on.
After toiling in the waning sun, they finally arrived at a half-erected camp, which gladdened many. But it didn¡¯t take long for them to realize that it was the veterans who had built it. They had likely not rested after their march, instead going straight to cutting trees, building fences, pitching tents, and setting up a field kitchen.
Their forerunners¡¯ strength, stamina, and discipline humbled the other columns, who by then were exhausted beyond belief, barely able to stand, let alone work.
Behind them, Sir Harold, Farkas, and the cavalry rode slowly, gathering stragglers who had faltered during the march. The carts trailing behind filled with exhausted men. Hundreds were carted away to nearby villages for recovery. It went without saying that they were disqualified.
When they arrived at the camp, their attached staff began evaluating the resting trainees. Many could not proceed due to injuries or weakness and were disqualified. Many more would follow, as tomorrow they would march with bruised feet, sore muscles, or other ailments, such as having unfit bodies from being drunkards or from other addictions.
This high-tempo forced march could be seen as unfair to recruits, but the officers held firm that anyone who neglected their footwear was unused to long-distance marches, or had injuries, deformities, or walking difficulties did not belong in the army. The challenges set upon this army were heavy. They would wage war against greater foes and would always find themselves outnumbered.
Despite being led by one of the sharpest minds of their age, they had to be ready to endure hardship, bleed, and rise again. Survival alone was not enough. They had to triumph against impossible odds.
As he stood overlooking the entire camp, Sir Harold vowed in solemn resolve to forge them into an army his Lord could wield without hesitation. There was no greater honor than to stand as the pillar upon which his Lord¡¯s ambitions would rise and bring Midlandia to greater glory.
***
Mid Summer, Midlandia
Lansius swiftly turned his attention to fortifying and garrisoning a series of castles he deemed vital for securing his hold on Southern Midlandia. These defenses were designed to repel threats both from within and without. In the east, Sir Stan¡¯s Toruna would serve as the main stronghold, supported by a network of castles and walled cities that would act as a bulwark against invasions and raids from Edessa.
He had sent an envoy through the guilds as an intermediary, demanding an explanation for Edessa¡¯s involvement in the assassination plot. He also communicated the Shogunate¡¯s willingness to maintain peace, provided the head of House Edessa admitted guilt, apologized, and paid severe indemnities for the attempted assassination. Otherwise, Lansius warned, he would declare the right of reprisal against Edessa.
Sooner or later, he would have to reckon with Edessa, as it blocked his Southern Trade route to Navalnia. If they remained hostile, then war was inevitable. Still, everyone knew Edessa was unlikely to comply, but the negotiations would buy time to prepare his next move.
With roughly 30 new estates to his name, including manors, castle towns, and cities, governing Midlandia effectively was a monumental task. Moreover, he also had another 90 vassals with their fiefs, ranging from small cities and towns to clusters of villages. While they were mostly self-governing, he still held the authority to shape policies, enforce rules, and resolve disputes among them.
Lansius set the quill pen in its stand and leaned back. "Are we finished?" he asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Yes, My Lord. Everything is in order," the old scribe replied, bowing slightly.
Lansius inhaled deeply and, with a slow push of his leg, turned his chair toward the glass-encased map. He studied it in silence, unsure whether to analyze it further or simply unwind. "Any word about Sir Harold?"
"He should be midway to Ploiesta by now."
"Six thousand, was it?" Lansius asked again.
"Indeed, My Lord."
"Imagine, recruiting that many in a single year. What a populous region, so different from Lowlandia. But it also comes with countless governance challenges."
"Indeed, My Lord. It is only to be expected," the scribe remarked, his tone lightly amused.
Lansius exhaled slowly and let his eyes drift closed, savoring the comfort of the padded leather chair.
The scribe hesitated before speaking again. "There is one more matter, My Lord."
Lansius cracked one eye open. "What is it?"
"We need to plan for a celebration."
"A celebration?" Lansius opened both eyes and frowned. "For what?"
"Yes, My Lord, the staff has agreed that a parade or tournament to commemorate your ascension would be prudent. It will provide both nobles and commoners with a memorable milestone to mark the occasion."
Too tired to argue, Lansius replied dryly, "Try duck chariot racing or something." He leaned back and shut his eyes again, amused, unaware the scribe had begun scribbling his words into the petition.
Weighed down by growing drowsiness, Lansius shifted in his seat, searching for a more comfortable angle. Before he realized it, sleep had claimed him.
Beyond his knowing, outside, two messenger hawks circled high in the sky, their flight a silent omen. One carried news from the far south, about a new threat to his precious Southern Trade. The other bore a warning from the Orange Skalds about fanatics entrenched deep within the region.
The monastery¡¯s silence offered no comfort, only a sign that something sinister was brewing. Lansius'' fragile rule in Midlandia faced threats from within and without. His enemies might push him further and make the grave mistake of thinking they knew the Black Lord. For all his gentleness, Lansius was more than capable of making the region weep tears of blood.
***
Chapter 216 : Closer Than Blood
Chapter 216
Closer Than Blood
Lansius
The stiffness in his neck and the clammy dampness beneath his doublet dragged Lansius awake. He shifted, his back aching from the padded chair where he¡¯d slept. The study wasn¡¯t particularly hot, but how he slept was likely the cause of his sweatiness. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he noticed a blonde girl in a blue dress sitting in his study. "Tanya?"
She turned from her book and smiled. "You¡¯re awake, My Lord."
"Don¡¯t call me that," he said, his voice still groggy. "We¡¯re alone. Brother is more fitting."
Tanya¡¯s lips brightened into a radiant smile. "I¡¯m here to offer my gratitude for the gifts you bestowed upon me."
Lansius groaned dramatically like a child refusing chores. "Tanya," he called, half-pleading, "don¡¯t be so formal with me. No one¡¯s here."
Hearing that, she let out a soft chuckle. "Alright, then, brother. Gratitude for the gifts; they¡¯re so nice and pretty."
"Now that¡¯s better," Lansius declared as he stood and stretched to ease his stiff muscles.
Her smile lingered for a moment but soon faltered. Her eyes lowered, and a shadow of sadness clouded her face.
Noticing the shift, Lansius stepped closer, his brow furrowed with concern. "What¡¯s the matter?"
"I... I¡¯m thinking about Marc," she admitted, her voice wavered. Her gaze dropped further, betraying her worry.
Lansius moved to the table and poured two cups of water. "I¡¯ve arranged for contacts in Arvena to search for Marc," he said gently. "I hope they can find him."
Tanya nodded eagerly, her face brightening. She took the goblet and sipped. Lansius did the same to quench his thirst.
"I worry about Marc too," he admitted as he sat beside her. "I wonder where he is right now."
"I heard the battle last year was won by the new King. That should mean Marc¡¯s on the winning side... right?" Tanya asked, hesitating slightly.
Lansius nodded reassuringly. "Yes, that¡¯s right. He¡¯s on the winning side and should return to us safely."
"I¡¯ll never give up hope on him," Tanya said but then hesitated. "Last year, I had given up on you. I feel truly blessed that you returned to us."
Lansius grinned, seizing the moment to lighten the mood. "Yes, I came to you at the head of a great army, leading knights and thousands of men. Don¡¯t forget that important detail. And I rode a horse and married a pretty lady too."
Tanya laughed, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, brother, you make me so proud."
Her praise warmed Lansius. She meant so much to him that seeing her smile stirred something deep within him. Nothing felt more rewarding than repaying those who cared for you when you were just a sickly nobody. That was why he always looked for chances to pamper her, though never to spoil her.
Noticing the leather-bound book in her hand, he asked, "Anyway, how¡¯s your study with Ingrid?"
"She¡¯s kind to me, but I feel bad... I¡¯m so slow at everything."
Lansius glanced at the book of fables and noticed an illustration of a knight battling a magical bear. "If you keep at it the way you worked at the wool shop, you¡¯ll master it soon."
Her expression turned solemn. "It¡¯s funny. A few years ago, we had to plant turnips, cabbages, and beans to survive. Now, I can study all day without worrying about food."
Lansius leaned closer. "Hold on to that feeling. That¡¯s what makes you special. In time, you¡¯ll serve many roles, and I hope you can become one of my confidants or even an advisor."
"Me? Your advisor?" Tanya¡¯s eyes widened as she protested weakly. "That¡¯s impossible. I¡¯m barely educated and only know how to cook."
Lansius chuckled softly. "Aside from Audrey and Arryn, you¡¯re the closest family I have. And more than ever, I¡¯ll need my family to give me counsel from time to time."
Tanya¡¯s eyes darted uncertainly, and her shoulders sagged beneath the unexpected weight of the words. "I don¡¯t know what kind of counsel you need, but if I¡¯m able to, I¡¯ll give it my all."
Her determination touched Lansius. He owed much to Tanya. Without her, he might have done the unthinkable. They had been apart for three years, and though their bond was beginning to mend, a gap remained, stretched further by Lansius'' newfound status.
Lansius knew that closing it would take effort from both of them. While he could shelter her and grant her freedom, he realized it would ultimately be irresponsible to keep her cloistered. For all his victories in war, the future held no guarantees. Thus, he felt it was better for her to choose her path, to climb the social ladder if she wished.
His role was to open doors for her, to give her the chances she needed. And perhaps one day, she could stand beside him as family and as an equal, not by obligation but by choice.
Lansius rose and gazed at her. "Come. The weather is nice, and the sun isn¡¯t as harsh anymore. Let¡¯s take a ride before supper."
"Ride to where?" Tanya asked as she stood to follow.
Lansius couldn¡¯t help but find her reaction amusing. "You¡¯ll share a horse with me. I believe I¡¯ve already given you riding attire."
"Riding attire...?" Tanya repeated nervously, recalling one of the outfits that had recently appeared in her wardrobe.
...
After some assistance from the maids, Tanya was ready in her riding gear. Margo escorted her to the courtyard, where Lansius was waiting. The fine riding attire of Midlandia suited her well, and her golden hair made her look every bit a noblewoman.
Lansius extended his hand, which Tanya accepted, though she frowned slightly at the sight of the white horse.
"This one is the tamest we have," Lansius reassured her before mounting the saddle with practiced ease.
Two maids helped Tanya settle in the saddle in front of Lansius. She looked awkward and nervous, glancing back at him. "Is this alright?"
"Yes, that¡¯s right. Hold onto the saddle pommel if you need to," Lansius said warmly, gently urging the horse forward.
"Oh, it¡¯s moving," Tanya exclaimed, adjusting to the horse¡¯s gentle rocking motion.
"Don¡¯t fight it. Just follow the rhythm, or you¡¯ll wear yourself out," he advised, then suddenly chuckled.
Tanya glanced back at him, curious. "Why are you laughing?"
"I just remembered the last time a blonde woman rode with me. You wouldn¡¯t believe it, but she fell out from a tree."
She stared wide-eyed. "Really?"
"Yes. Her name is Felis. But let¡¯s save that story for another time," Lansius said with a smirk. He lightly nudged the horse with his heels, and it trotted toward the open gatehouse. The guards there cheered for their Lord and the young lady riding with him.
As expected, ten SAR riders joined them as an escort, led by Sterling and another lieutenant.
At first, Tanya was tense, gripping the saddle tightly, but she soon relaxed and began to enjoy the ride. The western horizon stretched endlessly before them, and the white palfrey moved gracefully across the solid road. The sun hung low in the west, and the cool breeze was soothing against their faces.
The scene was serene, with the castle and city standing prominently behind them, gradually becoming smaller as they rode further.
As they slowed near a gentle hill, Tanya gazed around, her eyes scanning the landscape before she suddenly asked, "Is this all your land now, brother?"
Lansius hadn¡¯t been expecting the question and let out a short laugh. "That makes me sound so rich. But yes, that¡¯s true." He turned his gaze to the expanse, which stretched for miles to the north, west, and south.
"For one man to possess so much land..." Tanya¡¯s voice faltered, and she shuddered lightly.
"Are you alright?" Lansius asked, his concern evident.
"It¡¯s just... it¡¯s breathtaking, to think you own all of this: lands, cities, and even castles," she said, her voice a mix of awe and fear.
Lansius appreciated her reflective nature. "Remember that feeling," he said, drawing her attention. "It¡¯s a burden called responsibility; a noblesse oblige."
"A burden?" she echoed.
"Yes. Other nobles might see this and think it¡¯s all for them to take. But a good man sees it as a duty. All this land isn¡¯t for our House to profit from but a responsibility to make it better for everyone," Lansius explained, sharing his approach with her.
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Tanya nodded thoughtfully, her expression serious as she absorbed his words.
"I¡¯ll use the money from these lands to build bridges and roads, improve water reservoirs, fix granaries, establish fire watch patrols, and fortify our defenses to ensure the region''s safety."
Tanya took in everything he had said with quiet focus.
Lansius was pleased with her attention. "Let¡¯s ride further before the sun sets. I need to get you used to horses."
"Get used to horses? Do you want me to learn to ride?" she asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise.
Lansius smiled. "I¡¯m not forcing you, but if you can, it¡¯ll be useful. Besides, it¡¯s like a tradition. Most of the women in our House know how to ride."
"Like Lady Audrey," she said softly, her voice filled with reverence.
With their escorts riding ahead and behind, the two made their way toward a patchwork of square-shaped farms. The fields stretched across the land, vibrant with shades of green and yellow, promising a good harvest.
They passed a village and two small hamlets, where farmers returning from the fields paused to stare. Many were surprised to see the Lord and his sister riding together. Their striking black and golden hair drew attention, but it was their friendly greetings and casual words that left an impression. The farmers couldn¡¯t believe how openly they spoke, as if they were equals.
Lansius found a quiet spot overlooking the land and decided to stop. He helped his sister dismount and let Sterling lead the horses to rest nearby.
"Come here and sit," he said, motioning to a patch of grass.
"It feels like we¡¯re in Bellandia again," Tanya said energetically, settling next to him.
Lansius found her words poignant, stirring memories of her coming to fetch him from the vegetable farm. "You always came for me around this time."
"Indeed," she replied, her smile warm and genuine.
"So, tell me, how¡¯s life now? Is it too demanding...?" he asked, thinking the peaceful setting might encourage her to open up.
"I¡¯m learning a lot of new things," she began. "I try my best, but I think they expect too much of me. I¡¯ve been practicing understanding difficult words, writing long sentences, and reciting poetry; even learning how to eat and dress properly. It¡¯s overwhelming," she admitted softly, finally letting her feelings show.
Lansius chuckled softly. "Don¡¯t get disheartened. You know, I still do most of those things poorly."
"Really?" Her spirit lifted as she looked at him with wide eyes.
"Yes. You should see my handwriting; it¡¯s still terrible. Luckily, I have scribes to help me. Otherwise, only Audrey could read it since she was my tutor."
Tanya giggled, visibly relieved.
Lansius continued, "Audrey also helps me get dressed, or she instructs Margo to assist. Honestly, I¡¯m still bad at many things. I don¡¯t do poetry either, so don¡¯t let it dishearten you. The key is to find something you¡¯re good at so you can have a role to play. Everything else will come with time."
"I see," she mumbled. "Then, brother, what are you good at?"
"Mm," Lansius pondered for a moment. "I guess I¡¯m good at leading men and making plans."
Tanya nodded thoughtfully.
Above them, the wind rustled through the lustrous branches, making the leaves sway gently.
"Brother," she called nervously. "I just realized that everything you¡¯ve given me seems to have a purpose. Does this mean I have to learn how to use the crossbow?"
Now that she said it that way, Lansius felt a pang of guilt. "You can just ignore it for now. I thought it might be something we could practice together someday. It¡¯s not as hard as it looks, but for now, it can stay as a wall decoration."
"It is indeed lovely," she agreed.
He gazed at her, admiring how she had grown into a fine young lady while still retaining her youthful innocence. "Tanya, if it ever feels too hard, just tell me, and we¡¯ll find a solution," he reassured her.
Tanya nodded, relief was evident on her face.
"You don¡¯t have to worry about my expectations. Just be yourself. I¡¯m merely fulfilling my role as an older brother." Then, in a lighter tone, he added, "Can¡¯t have myself looking boorish in front of others, you know."
It was a tactless jest, but Tanya giggled softly.
"If you don¡¯t like all this, I can spirit you away somewhere safe where you can¡ª"
"No," she interrupted. "Let me stay close to you. I¡¯m not losing you a second time." There was strength in her voice.
Smiling, Lansius gave her a firm nod before teasing, "Not even when your husband asks you to?"
Tanya suddenly blushed and turned away. "Well..."
Her reaction made Lansius laugh. "My dear sister has caught a serious case of love bug."
"Brother," she protested, pouting. Then, shyly, she asked, "Have you heard anything about him?"
Lansius heaved a sigh and gently set his eyes on her. "I want to be frank, but you¡¯ll need to prepare yourself for this."
She spent a few moments steeling herself and then said, "I¡¯m ready."
"Your husband is more important than you realize. Being a merchant is just one of his many secret identities."
Her brow furrowed deeply. "Secret identities?"
Lansius nodded, his expression serious. "He¡¯s one of Hunter Guild''s agents. Two years ago, Lord Bengrieve sent him to retrieve Mother, you, and Marc from Bellandia. It was part of a deal we made. I did a job for him, and in return, he promised to extract my family, fearing Arvena might be consumed by another war."
Tanya¡¯s eyes widened, and her breath caught as the revelation sank in. "Then, did he marry me just because of that?"
Lansius offered a reassuring pat on her head. "His actions might have started with a different motive, but legally your marriage is real. And I don¡¯t intend to have it annulled unless you want it."
She looked at him tenderly, surprised by his words.
"I think it¡¯s better for you to stay married. That way, I won¡¯t have to deal with an army of suitors asking for my sister¡¯s lovely, lovely hand," he quipped.
They chuckled together at his jest. Lansius then added, "I¡¯m looking forward to meeting him and seeing where his loyalty truly lies."
For a while, they sat quietly, watching the waning sun as the late afternoon breeze played through the trees. Afterward, the two and their escort began the ride back to the castle.
As they rode, Lansius said to Tanya, "You know, there¡¯s something new on the menu today."
"Really? What is it?" Tanya asked.
"Something lovely that I call spaghetti."
"Spagti?" Tanya repeated, stumbling over the word.
"Close enough," Lansius muttered with a grin. The white palfrey trotted gracefully toward the castle, its hooves soft against the ground, while the late afternoon breeze brushed gently against them, soothing and cool.
***
Riverstead
As dawn broke over the barony, the rhythmic thrum of hoofbeats filled the air, heralding a regal procession. Column by column, four hundred infantry, and three hundred horsemen sallied forth from Riverstead in disciplined order.
At the forefront rode the Crown Prince, exuding the confidence of a natural-born leader. His commanding presence reverberated through the army, inspiring his men and bolstering their morale. His reputation remained unshaken despite the incursion that had confined him to the city since last winter.
As the columns assumed their formations, the Crown Prince led the army with flair befitting his station. Riding at the vanguard with his knights, their lively banter exuded an air of triumph. Laughter echoed through the ranks, deep and resonant, invigorating the army for the battle ahead.
To the onlookers, it seemed as though this was nothing more than a sporting excursion.
The moment they reached the open plains, the knights and northern mounted warriors on sturdy warhorses fanned out in a display of martial splendor. Some were tall and lean, their chiseled features and polished armor gleaming under the morning sun. Others were broad and brutish, their heavy forms exuding raw power.
Their confidence stemmed from months of superior discipline and patience. This meticulous approach had allowed them to plant spies and recruit traitors within the enemy¡¯s ranks. Armed with this intelligence, they pieced together the enemy¡¯s true strength: a meager force of no more than three hundred men.
This knowledge, combined with painstaking scouting and probing attacks, had finally revealed the location of the enemy¡¯s possible hideout and blocked their escape routes. With everything in place, the Crown Prince and his Riverstead garrison were now poised to strike back.
After capturing the man claiming to be Arte, the son of the previous Earl, they would deal with the splinter group occupying the bridge to Ceresia, which was blocking the open route to Alba Castle, where the King resided. Achieving this would not only restore the Crown Prince¡¯s reputation but also secure Riverstead for years to come.
All this was achieved due to the Crown Prince¡¯s careful approach, which bordered on timidity. His ability to calmly assess risks and make calculated moves had earned him a stellar reputation for success, both in court and on the battlefield.
After a three-hour march northwest, accounting for the pace of their footmen, the army reached the edge of the woodland. Agents and scouts were already waiting to deliver their latest reports.
With his staff confirming that everything was in order, the Crown Prince gave the command to march into the forest, their destination a secluded village hidden deep within the woods where the rebels under Arte were believed to be hiding.
Elements of the vanguard advanced swiftly in multiple directions, working in tandem with scouts to secure the column from potential ambushes.
"I expected the roads to be muddy, but they¡¯re surprisingly solid," one knight remarked as they entered the forest.
"According to the records, this used to be a road leading to an important castle town. Yet its importance waned several centuries ago," the Crown Prince said, recalling information he had studied in the castle''s archives.
"Just like the Imperium, its importance has waned," another knight quipped, drawing quiet laughter from the group.
The Crown Prince merely offered a faint smile. In truth, he preferred to preserve the Imperium and had advised his father to maintain the appearance of vassalage to avoid fracturing the realm. Yet, his father, as always, chose to follow the will of the people, or rather, the army under his command and proclaimed himself King of Brigantes.
It was sheer luck that his father had been away on a campaign when he was named Crown Prince. He knew his mother, now the Queen, despised him, and if she had been at Alba Castle, she would have fought the decision fiercely.
It was no secret that the Queen favored his younger brother. To her, his brother was more courageous, quick-witted, and charming. Since childhood, her preference had been painfully obvious. His tutors were inferior to his brother¡¯s, his allowance smaller, and while he was sent away to study, his brother led a carefree youth that eventually grew into a life of drinking, horse racing, gambling, and building opulent mansions for his concubines.
And all of it, he thought bitterly, was just because his younger brother had lighter brown hair and was more handsome than him.
As they took their roles in his father¡¯s court, it became clear that his brother had used his charm and knowledge of women''s hearts to win their mother¡¯s favor. While he labored to establish order in their father¡¯s expanding provinces, his brother spent his time searching for the finest gifts, including jewelry, anti-aging potions, and youth elixirs, for their mother.
His method had undeniably worked. Even now, with the matter of his ascension to Crown Prince settled, letters from the palace in Brigandia continued to demand his resignation. But he was neither foolish nor naive. His frequent conflicts with his mother had ironically prepared him to go against his own family.
Her tears and schemes no longer moved him.
The Ancients had blessed him with a fate to rule after his father, not to rot in a house prison like a deposed prince.
If she died a painful death, he would not care. The way she treated him like an unwanted son had left wounds too deep to heal.
Perhaps the rumors that I was a bastard are true...
The thought lingered as the column rode deeper into the forest.
The rhythmic clop of approaching hooves broke through his pondering.
¡°Halt,¡± came the command as two knights and a Northern warrior intercepted the men.
¡°My Prince, we have discovered the village and a ruined mansion,¡± the incoming scout reported.
"Excellent," the knight remarked, clearly pleased.
"Not so fast," the Crown Prince said as he rode closer. "What¡¯s the situation?" he asked the scout directly.
"It¡¯s¡ empty. We¡¯ve seen no one but dared not move closer," the scout explained.
"They must have heard us approaching and fled," a Northern warrior commented flatly.
One knight quickly stepped forward. "My Prince, grant me fifty riders, and I¡¯ll pursue them as they relocate."
"I can do it with twenty riders," another offered.
"I can go alone!" someone jested, prompting laughter from the group.
The Crown Prince allowed himself a faint smile. "Fan out. We¡¯ll move together. There¡¯s plenty of time for the chase."
The column marched forward, reports from scouts trickling in sporadically. Most returned with the same findings: little to nothing. The rebels seemed to have vanished in a hurry, leaving an uneasy quiet in their wake.
Unspoken yet palpable, fear of betrayal lingered in the air. After all, the spies and traitors they had recruited were Arvenians; no Northerner could pass as one. Their loyalty was now questionable, a gnawing doubt that weighed on every step.
Despite their bravado, their confidence eroded as the forest deepened, its shadows thickening and stretching ominously.
***
Chapter 217 : Thunder Without Rain
Chapter 217
Thunder Without Rain
Canardia
After a leisurely ride, Lansius and Tanya returned to the castle just as the setting sun bathed its walls in a warm amber glow. They took time to clean up before supper. Lansius chose the quiet seclusion of the Grand Chamber on the upper floor, where the family could dine in privacy. Meanwhile, Sir Omin presided over the lively supper for the staff and retinue in the spacious Great Hall.
The day before, Lansius had instructed the cook to prepare a dish using the dry pasta he had brought from Korelia. When he visited the kitchen after his morning court session, they delivered exactly what he had envisioned: a carbonara made with hard, salty sheep¡¯s cheese, finely grated to blend smoothly with the pasta. It was mixed with fried salted meat and a pinch of pepper for flavor, then served with freshly baked white bread.
It was a simple recipe, and Lansius wasn¡¯t sure his family would enjoy it. However, the chef assured him that, despite its plain appearance, the taste was worth serving at tonight¡¯s supper.
Now at supper, when the spaghetti alla carbonara arrived, Audrey leaned closer, her eyes alight with curiosity, and asked, "Is that what you¡¯ve been working on in the kitchen?"
"You¡¯ve heard of that?" Lansius was surprised but realized that she was the de facto head of security, her old role as his squire had never really ceased.
Audrey gave an amused smirk, prompting Lansius to chuckle softly. He then turned his attention to Arryn and Tanya, who sat with them at the table. "Shall we try it? It¡¯s a recipe from my hometown, but I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯ll like it."
"I¡¯m sure it¡¯s lovely. It looks like so much work was put into this," Arryn replied respectfully, admiring the thin strands served on lavishly decorated ceramic plates.
Meanwhile, Tanya, still dressed in her riding attire, twirled her fork and brought a swirl of pasta to her mouth. She paused after the first bite, her eyes widening slightly, then quickly took another.
"Do you like it?" Lansius asked. "Is it too salty?"
"Not at all!" Tanya beamed. "It looks so strange with these long, thin strands, but it tastes really good." She turned eagerly to her mother. "Try it, Mom. You¡¯ll love it!"
Arryn didn¡¯t hesitate any longer and dug in. She genuinely seemed to enjoy the dish, which brought Lansius a wave of relief. Glancing to his side, he noticed Audrey experimenting by stuffing the spaghetti into the bread.
Whoa, a Japanese spaghetti bread? That¡¯s way too advanced.
Audrey took a bold bite, her expression shifting as she seemed to weigh her opinion on the impromptu creation.
Lansius couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at her culinary adventure. Finally, Audrey gave a decisive nod of approval.
"This is good. Quick to eat. Perfect for combat rations," she remarked.
"Ah," Lansius exclaimed, suddenly realizing what she was trying to do. "But you¡¯re not supposed to eat it that way."
"This one bite is just an experiment," she reassured him.
"Good choice of words," Lansius said, tucking his fork into the spaghetti and taking a bite.
Mm... this is seriously good.
He paused to savor the dish. It wasn¡¯t creamy but had a bold, savory flavor, with the extraordinary goat cheese and fried salted meat giving it a satisfying lift. It struck him that this might be the best version he had ever tasted. Although his memories of the past were unclear, he instinctively felt that he hadn¡¯t lived a life with a personal chef or dined in fancy restaurants.
The castle kitchen staff had clearly gone all out to impress him and his family. The old chef¡¯s skill and experience were evident in every bite. Even with an unfamiliar dish, the chef had managed to prepare it flawlessly after only a few attempts. Perhaps, to someone of the chef¡¯s caliber, cooking spaghetti¡ªwhile new and uncommon¡ªwas hardly a challenge.
"I feel like this needs an egg yolk," Audrey suddenly remarked.
Lansius raised an eyebrow, amused. "How can you tell? It does, but not from a duck. It needs one from a much smaller bird."
"Ah, I see." Audrey nodded thoughtfully.
From the corridor, Margo appeared, escorting Valerie, who wore a simple gown of soft, broken white linen. The fabric flowed gracefully, its modest cut accented by a braided sash at her waist.
Lansius, remaining seated to avoid making everyone stand, simply waved Valerie over.
"My apologies for interrupting," Valerie said politely.
"Not at all. Please," Lansius said, and Audrey gestured for her to take the seat across from her, next to Tanya.
"Mother, Tanya, this is Valerie, a friend."
"We¡¯ve met," Tanya replied excitedly.
Mother Arryn added, "We¡¯ve met several times here. Lady Audrey introduced us. And now that I think about it, even in Cascasonne, Lady Valerie helped us a lot. She made sure we never lacked anything."
"Ah," Lansius muttered, turning to Valerie with grateful eyes.
"Hold up." Valerie raised a hand. "No need for grateful words. You treated me well in Korelia, and now you¡¯ve saved me too. So it¡¯s only natural that I looked after your family."
"We¡¯re so close, we even shared a bed in Korelia," Audrey quipped, tossing out a provoking line. Tanya and Arryn exchanged amused glances, while Valerie blinked and gave an awkward stare.
"Still, let¡¯s have a toast," Lansius dodged the issue with a slight smirk as the servant stepped forward to pour mead for everyone.
Lansius glanced at Audrey, and she gave an approving nod before raising her goblet. "To my dearest friend. May you be blessed with health, wealth, and romance."
Amused smiles spread across the table as they raised their goblets high. "Cheers."
Valerie flushed slightly but took a sip gratefully.
Audrey, mindful of her pregnancy, only took a light sip before handing her goblet to Lansius, who finished it off since the drink wasn¡¯t particularly strong.
The room settled back into the meal. Mother Arryn, clearly pleased with the dish, continued to eat heartily, savoring each bite.
"My Lord, I¡¯m only here because this dish is truly delicious," Valerie said lightheartedly, careful not to disturb the others as they ate. She had already enjoyed her serving earlier in her room, preferring to take her supper alone.
"Indeed, right? What¡¯s the name in your mother¡¯s tongue?" Lansius asked, pleased that she recognized and enjoyed the dish.
"This is carbonara, right? Then it''s the same."
"Yes, it¡¯s the only dish I could think of without the big red cherry."
"Tomate?" Valerie guessed.
"Oh! I didn¡¯t realize it sounded the same," Lansius replied, cheerfully. His eyes drifted to the table, noticing that most plates were empty. It seemed the pasta had been well received. But one plate remained half-finished.
"Tanya, is it too spicy for you?" Lansius asked.
"No. I like it a lot."
Lansius frowned slightly. "Then why have you only eaten half?"
"Umm... I¡¯m going to split this with Tia. She¡¯s a friend, and I think she¡¯ll like this."
Lansius was taken aback and felt a swell of warmth at her thoughtfulness. He turned to the maid in waiting and said, "I think we¡¯ll have another serving of this dish. Three plates?" He glanced at Audrey, who nodded in approval.
"Me too," Valerie said without hesitation, glancing at Tanya approvingly. Tia had been like an adopted daughter to her.
"Four then." Lansius turned to Arryn. "Mother, how about another?"
"I¡¯ll pass. You youngsters need to eat more. This much is enough for me."
"Mother..." Lansius said with mild disapproval. "You¡¯ve been working hard. I heard you were even out this morning milking goats and cows."
"That¡¯s why I¡¯m getting fatter. They keep giving me bread and butter every morning," Arryn replied, her voice warm and motherly.
The room filled with soft laughter as the conversation lightened. Lansius turned to Tanya and reassured her. "Since everyone loves this, we¡¯ll likely cook a similar dish for everyone tomorrow."
"Supper at the Great Hall tomorrow, then?" Audrey asked.
"Yes. We can¡¯t keep bothering Sir Omin to host every day. I bet he¡¯s busy."
"He seems to enjoy it. It helps him build a reputation and lets people approach him for all kinds of dealings. Isn¡¯t that the plan?"
"Sort of," Lansius admitted. "The morning courts are way too formal and they''re too scared to offend me. So Sir Omin at supper is better for informal dealings."
Margo approached the table, stepping into his role as Lansius¡¯ squire. He spoke lightly, his words carrying a coded undertone. "My Lord, two letters have arrived."
"Gratitude, Margo. I¡¯ll see to them later." Lansius offered an acknowledging nod.
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Audrey¡¯s expression tightened. She knew it wasn¡¯t just letters, but something far more pressing.
...
After supper and some lighthearted moments with his family and close friends, Lansius resumed his work, heading to a different chamber for a private meeting. Audrey accompanied him, eager to learn more about the situation ahead. Walking hand in hand, with Francisca as their escort, they arrived to find the Hunter Guildsman and Sterling waiting.
The athletic-looking man always appeared calm and in control. He was the same agent introduced by Lord Avery and had been attached to Lansius since the events in the Umberland mountains. To everyone but the Lord and Lady, there was an air of mystery about him, stemming from the secrecy of his work and his handling of the latest information carried by majestic hawks.
Meanwhile, Sterling had grown since his days as a young squire. He was taller, tanned, and had proven his mettle in two daring raids alongside Sir Morton and the SAR. Calm, capable, and wiser than his years, he now played a dual role as both squire and intelligence officer, assisting Farkas, who couldn¡¯t manage all the dealings with the Orange Skalds alone. As a result, Sterling continued to shadow Lansius, just as he had accompanied him on the ride earlier.
"My Lord, My Lady," the Hunter Guildsman and Sterling greeted them.
Lansius and Audrey took their seats as the Hunter began his report. He spoke of a crisis in the far south: pirates, likely supported by Corinthia, had ambushed the first caravan group participating in the Southern Trade.
Audrey glanced at Lansius, who showed no immediate reaction, listening intently instead of expressing surprise.
Next, Sterling presented a report from the Orange Skalds operating in Midlandia. He detailed how fanatic supporters continued to spread Saint Nay¡¯s teachings and recruit members in many towns and cities as if nothing had changed.
After hearing their reports, Lansius sat in silence, deep in thought. In his hands, he held thin, delicate letters, unfolded as references. This pirate had dealt him a devastating personal blow. His precious Ekionia binoculars and the telescope for his optical telegraph were now gone.
They''re going to pay for this...
Sigmund, who had written the first message, had likely ridden all the way to Three Hills to send a hawk message relayed through Korelia. The original plan had been for Sigmund to receive the caravan and serve as its rear guard, while the more charismatic Lord Jorge escorted it with his cavalry to Korelia and beyond.
But now, everything had unraveled.
"Haven¡¯t we heard about pirate activity in that area before?" Audrey asked the guildsman.
"Indeed, My Lady, but most believed it to be a minor threat," the guildsman replied. "There were only reports of a few boats seasonally raiding coastal villages. Nothing suggested they were capable of attacks like this."
"The caravan came with a large number of boats," Lansius said. "They likely had ships assigned for protection. The fact that they were all captured means we are dealing with a fleet large enough to overwhelm whatever escort the Dawn had."
Audrey looked annoyed at this unforeseen trouble. "Threats from so far south. I never expected this," she muttered.
"Obstacles," Lansius offered his opinion.
Audrey nodded in agreement, knowing that it posed no direct threat to their Lowlandian domains but would certainly impede their growth. Turning to Sterling, she asked, "What about Saint Nay? How does she keep gaining support when we¡¯ve blockaded the entire hill leading to the Monastery?"
Sterling reported, "Our agents say the Healers Guild is thriving off the sick and desperate. Those with incurable diseases, little hope of recovery, or no means to afford expensive medicines or treatments are flocking to the fanatics."
"Do they have Saint Candidates acting as their leaders? Can we capture them?" Audrey inquired.
"If there are any, our agents will learn of them. But so far, there are no reports of such appearances. Likely, they are only gathering people locally by selling the promise to meet the Living Saint in the near future."
Lansius glanced at Sterling and said thoughtfully, his tone laden with reflection, "The promise of healing is a powerful lure for recruitment."
Audrey¡¯s expression darkened. "If this keeps up, these people could be rallied to take up arms against us."
"Yes. Saint Nay is likely trying to gain leverage before our eventual talks," Lansius remarked, recognizing the sly cunning of his opponent.
"She makes me sick," Audrey blurted out. "Her teachings promise healing for the living and salvation for the dead, but in reality, she¡¯s sending people to die in her wars."
Lansius met her gaze warmly. "I know," he said, reassuring her. "Clementine has warned me about Saint Nay."
Sensing a lull, Sterling spoke, "What we know about her is sparse. Saint Nay supposedly has lived for a remarkably long time. Records indicate she befriended Lord Bengrieve''s grandfather and was one of the earliest Saint Candidates."
Lansius raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So, you¡¯re saying she¡¯s been around since the beginning?"
"It¡¯s hard to believe, but that¡¯s what our findings suggest," Sterling confirmed. "She¡¯s considered one of the Healer Guild''s founders, even one of the very first Healers. It¡¯s said that she¡¯s blessed by the Ancients, which has allowed her to maintain a youthful appearance."
"Then she must be over... 130 or even 150 years old?" Lansius mused, stroking his chin.
"First non-mage healer, huh?" Audrey muttered. "Her magic must be highly unnatural to live that long. But why didn¡¯t we know about her sooner? Someone like her should be famous."
The Hunter cleared his throat softly, and Lansius motioned for him to speak. "Among the Hunters Guild, it¡¯s no secret that Lord Bengrieve confined Nay to the monastery for the last decade, keeping her from gaining influence. Nay was even bypassed several times by younger figures for the role of Head of Monastery."
"So, only now has she taken power?" Lansius ventured.
The Hunter exchanged glances with Sterling, who answered, "Yes. We heard that she launched an internal coup. We don¡¯t know the details, and even other Saint Candidates, like Clementine and her sisters, remain in the dark. But one day, Nay simply declared herself a Saint, took control of the Guild and Order, and no one was able to stop her."
Lansius nodded slowly, deep in thought. "For a founder and the first Healer in the human realm to be confined like that... What kind of chaos, if not madness, could she have caused?"
Audrey, ever pragmatic, steered the conversation back to the pressing matter. "With Nay now confined to the monastery, shouldn¡¯t we focus on her fanatics in public? Shouldn''t we capture them to stop the spread?"
Lansius hesitated before finally shaking his head. His knowledge of fanaticism, occultism, and radical movements made him cautious. "Suppressing them will backfire, earning them more sympathy and drawing even more followers. At the end of the day, they¡¯re just people desperate for medical assistance. We need to fight them in the minds, not physically."
However, he knew it was easier said than done. For now, he had no concrete plan aside from organizing a weekly medical field camp for the poor. He could send his medical staff in training along with the physician on duty to gain experience. It wouldn¡¯t be cheap, but if it helped win hearts and minds while countering the cult¡¯s influence, it would be well worth the cost.
He paused, knitting his brows, and muttered, "Something doesn¡¯t feel right."
The three listened closely, and Audrey asked, "What doesn¡¯t feel right?"
"The issue in the South," Lansius explained, his frown deepening. "Last year, I received a report about Corinthia. Our agent described it as little more than a glorified fishing village. For a barony like that to pull off an ambush of such scale... Why does it feel so unlikely?"
Audrey tilted her head, puzzled.
Lansius watched her closely and explained, "This kind of well-timed, well-prepared ambush requires extensive intelligence gathering and preparation. Even if they knew about the crossing in advance, one cannot build boats overnight or convince so many people to act on short notice."
Audrey and the other two nodded, their expressions intent as they began to follow his reasoning.
With no objections raised, Lansius continued, "It feels like someone knew beforehand and prepared accordingly." He stopped abruptly, his gaze sharpening. He turned toward Sterling. "Where¡¯s Dame Daniella? We need to summon her immediately."
"Right away." Sterling set off without delay to carry out the order.
The Hunter bowed his head and left as well. He had given his report, and the Lord and Lady didn¡¯t ask him to stay.
With just the two of them remaining, Audrey asked, "Lans, what''s the issue?"
"It''s probably nothing," Lansius answered. "But if Daniella is in the area, I¡¯d better ask her directly."
It was fortunate that he had summoned her to open a bank branch in Canardia. Her insight might shed more light on the possible crisis in the gulf between Dawn, Three Hills, and Corinthia.
***
Arvena, Riverstead
The Crown Prince and his four hundred men and three hundred riders continued their march deeper into the forest. Though wary of betrayal, as their scouts had found nothing but abandoned places, the monotony of the march gradually lulled him into his thoughts.
The scent of pine mingled with the earthy aroma of dried leaves, filling his nostrils and drawing his thoughts back to Riverstead. Since being granted the barony, he had done much for the city, revitalizing it as a center of manufacturing and trade.
While the scars of past wars and sieges still lingered, most of Riverstead¡¯s economic functions had returned. His dealings with the guilds had brought the mines and workshops back to life, allowing the market to flourish once more. To support the recovery, food arrived in abundance from the northern provinces, and he intentionally kept prices low to attract more settlers to the city.
Under his leadership, Riverstead had endured two winters with relative ease. Even the poorest communities had enough firewood and woolen blankets to endure the cold.
The only major issue was the slave market and practices among the Northern people, something he felt powerless to change as his father allowed it based on tradition. Still, he was confident the city would grow into an even more important outpost. He envisioned constructing better outer curtain walls and better defenses, fortifications capable of withstanding the latest siege techniques.
For such plans to succeed, he needed to assess the city¡¯s income and supplies carefully. As a man trained in administration, that meant poring over records. His mentors had instilled in him the importance of seeking truth not from officials¡¯ words but from the numbers in their accounts.
In his work, time and again, he was fascinated by the records made by a lowly clerk in the municipal office. The calculations themselves were ordinary, but the methods the clerk used, sometimes bypassing conventional approaches, were intriguing. Upon checking his employment record, the Crown Prince discovered that the man had worked there for less than half a year but had completed an extraordinary volume of calculations, proving his innate talent.
The Crown Prince saw a kinship in this clerk, a camaraderie of intellect over brawn. Unfortunately, the man had fled the city during his father¡¯s siege years ago.
Finding him had become one of the Crown Prince¡¯s quiet ambitions. He imagined studying the clerk¡¯s methods and perhaps convincing him to help him revolutionize record-keeping, building a stronger and cleaner administration, just as his mentor had envisioned.
What was his name again..?
He wondered as his troops bypassed a hilly stretch of the forest. A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled it. "Lansius," he murmured to himself.
The forest erupted with movement as troops gathered, their voices ringing through the trees with urgency. Scouts rushed to the front, their animated gestures pointing toward the towering pines. Around them, horses stamped impatiently, their riders exchanging hurried questions and terse replies.
Drawn by the commotion, the Crown Prince asked the nearest knight, "What¡¯s going on?"
"My Prince, someone found a purple cloth hung on a tall pine tree," the knight reported.
"A purple cloth?" He frowned, puzzled by what felt like a riddle.
"Your Royal Highness, our agent reported that it wasn¡¯t there yesterday," said the officer in charge of scouting.
Intrigued, they rode closer as their troops fanned out to form a wall of men, spears poised, swords drawn, and crossbows aimed at every suspicious corner.
As they neared the towering pine tree with the cloth hanging high above, one of the knights remarked, "A royal purple?"
Another ventured, "Purple cloth of that shade is expensive. What do you think it represents?"
"An offer of submission?" a Northern warrior suggested.
However, the Crown Prince saw it differently. Fortune had played a role, as a gentle breeze stirred the cloth to wave like a flag, showcasing its rich, deep purple hue and silvery embroidery. The finely woven hem, elaborately decorated, evoked bittersweet nostalgia. It reminded him of a cherished gift from his father, which his mother had later taken and unjustly given to his brother.
He remained motionless in his saddle when suddenly, a bright flash erupted from the hillside.
Thunder without rain?
He turned instinctively toward the sound. The Crown Prince never heard the booming roar of the bronze culverin as it fired, shattering the stillness. The shot, a lead ball the size of a baby¡¯s fist, hurtled through the air at a speed far surpassing that of any crossbow.
In a heartbeat, the smooth, round ball traveled hundreds of paces and smashed into the Crown Prince''s right gauntlet with devastating force before slamming into his breastplate. It struck harder than any arbalest or windlass bolt, carrying a force greater than a lance from a galloping warhorse. Yet the Centurian steel armor, commissioned by his father, absorbed the impact. Its fluting and hardened steel held firm, preventing penetration despite the overwhelming power of the solid lead ball.
The lead projectile deformed on impact, its force spreading across the surface of the steel plate. The breastplate held, but the sheer force struck him like a hammer. He tumbled from the saddle, falling sideways as his warhorse reared in panic.
Shocked, the nearest knights, squires, and guards failed to react in time as the Crown Prince crashed to the ground at a terrible angle. His body and limbs, still sluggish and unresponsive from the impact, had no chance to brace. Weighed down by armor, his head snapped forward at a brutal angle, his neck giving under the force.
When the echoing roar faded, the promising first Crown Prince of the Brigantes Kingdom was dead, his lifeless body sprawled across the forest floor while his stunned men rushed to him.
And so, the second war for Arvena began.
***
Chapter 218 : The Weight of the Vow
Chapter 218
The Weight of the Vow
Riverstead Forest
The thunderous roar of the culverin shattered the forest''s tranquility, its devastating single shot marking the start of the ambush. Thick smoke still billowed from the weapon as the three culverin meisters and a group of men under Sir Justin began their frantic retreat from the hill. Meanwhile, from the far side of the forest, Lord Arte and Thomas advanced with their troops, ready to exploit the chaos caused by the Crown Prince¡¯s incapacitation or death.
Days earlier, the plan to capture the Prince alive had been abandoned. Even the usually cool-headed Thomas had given in to the burning desire for vengeance. Lord Maurice¡¯s death demanded retribution. The blood feud ran deep in Arvena.
Having witnessed the accuracy of the culverin, the Arvenians were confident in its power. Moreover, the meisters had come prepared with a trick: an elegant purple cloth hung to bait the target. They believed it would entice the Crown Prince into the most effective area, where the culverin¡¯s trajectory had been meticulously measured and tested.
Lord Arte and Sir Justin suspected that the purple cloth held special significance for the Crown Prince. However, the three meisters assured them it was merely a ploy to lure the target to a predetermined spot.
Whatever it was, now the attack commenced.
Two hundred Lord Arte''s men descended from the less-scouted northern part of the forest, surging toward the enemy. Many of the troops, locals familiar with the terrain, had spent months foraging for berries and hunting small game, surviving off the land.
In contrast, despite their reliable intelligence, the Crown Prince¡¯s men, accustomed to open-field combat, struggled with the unfamiliar dense Arvenians forest environment.
Two hundred Arvenians clashed with seven hundred Northern warriors and riders, still reeling from their leader¡¯s death by an unknown cause. The Northern knights and warriors refused to back down despite the ambush and rallied fiercely. The death of their Crown Prince did not demoralize them; instead, it fueled their anger. Driven by loyalty, many went on a rampage against the Arvenians.
Fighting erupted along the lines chaotically. Worse, alchemist fire bottles were exchanged from both sides, leading to horrendous outcomes. Yet, as the initial surprise waned, the Northern forces stabilized their lines. Against the odds, they began to push back. Momentum quickly shifted as the numerous dismounted knights and riders launched a ferocious counteroffensive.
Within minutes, the effectiveness of the Arvenian ambush waned, and their line began to falter under the relentless Northern assault. It became clear that the ambush had backfired for the Arvenians as their forces were increasingly overwhelmed. After fierce fighting, in which Lord Arte personally took part, he finally ordered his men to retreat north, with the Northern troops in hot pursuit.
They came to a clearing, the Northerners suspecting nothing. Suddenly, without any warning, bolts rained down upon them with bloody consequences. Nearly one hundred Arvenian crossbowmen, lying in waiting, unleashed their fury. With no trees for cover and their shields forgotten in the chase, the Northerners suffered greatly.
Only then did it become clear that it had been a feigned retreat. Yet, the Northern warriors, stubborn as ever and led by dismounted knights clad in plate armor, charged courageously toward the crossbowmen. Their armor deflected most ranged attacks, and they were determined to break through, rallying the rest of their troops to follow.
Then, another deafening roar shattered the air. Another thunder without rain.
The culverin projectile struck one tall knight amid his column, but the lead ball glanced off his shoulder, striking his pauldron at such an angle that it took the blow without deforming. The sheer force of the impact, however, sent him sprawling to the ground. Dazed and badly bruised but otherwise unharmed. It was the second time they had heard the thunderous roar and witnessed the mysterious weapon''s raw power. Yet, at the sight of the knight standing again, they all roared in defiance.
"Must be a mage''s trick," one shouted as another cried, "It''s just a fucking mage!"
"Find them and kill them!" they bellowed, fighting like men possessed. Despite the punishing volleys from the crossbowmen, they pressed forward, closing the gap. Confronted by the charge of a hundred-twenty, the Arvenian crossbowmen broke ranks and fled toward the woods.
Forty Northerners, clad in lighter armor, gave chase, determined to hunt down the supposed mage. Meanwhile, the knights¡¯ column reformed, catching their breath before advancing to join their allies in an encroaching push toward the main Arvenian men-at-arms position.
Flanked and with their crossbowmen scattered, Lord Arte could only brace for the impending attack. The two lines clashed violently, with roughly 200 of Arvenian¡¯s best fighting against more than 300 Northerners. The battle was savage and brutal.
The green foliage turned red as the bitter fighting raged on. Lines crumbled, and the battle splintered into sporadic skirmishes, yet neither side fled. Hatred ran too deep, and both armies were intent on exacting a blood price. Honor and vendetta guided their sword hands as they thrust fiercely at their opponents, with no intent to take hostages.
For many, the fight was no longer about their leaders¡¯ ambitions, it was personal.
Twice Lord Arte was struck down after his personal guards were bested, but he recovered and forced his way back into the fray. Thomas, commanding the left flank, narrowly escaped death when two knights charged him. His axe was broken, lost as it embedded itself in someone''s shield, while his own shield splintered. Two of his men lay dead, only for the knights to take a few steps back, replaced by a new pair of knights.
Only through sheer tenacity did the Arvenians keep fighting. But a new hope sparked.
Behind their line, Sir Justin had returned and rallied his crossbowmen. They had fled during the knights¡¯ initial charge, but with him at the lead, they confidently returned to the fight. Trained to operate as independent small groups and armed with experience from the Lowlandian campaign, the crossbowmen ran straight from the woods and swerved toward the opponent''s rear, even without the protection of supporting columns. Their daring advance caught the Northerners by surprise. Their first punishing salvo sent chaos through the ranks and forced the Northerners to reconsider.
Many of the Northerners levied footmen had fled or been lost in the initial attack, and even their hardened northern warriors were shaken by the repeated ambushes and the sheer stubbornness of their opponents. Bloodied and battered, their commanders engaged in tense discussion before sounding the retreat.
The bugle¡¯s call echoed across the battlefield, sharp and mournful, its retreat note rising and falling in a wavering cadence.
In a hurried escape, the remaining two hundred, many riddled with bolt wounds, regrouped with their rear guard of a hundred men and began their withdrawal. However, the Arvenians had anticipated this. Drawing on insights from Sir Justin and their study of Lord Lansius'' tactics, Thomas, despite his wounds, insisted on continuing his plan to harass the retreating Northerners.
With Lord Arte''s blessing, Thomas led a mixed group of daring fighters and crossbowmen to a predetermined vantage point with good visibility. From there, they unleashed a relentless volley upon the enemy''s retreating column.
The harassment proved effective, provoking the Northerners into action. Twice their rear guard launched counterattacks, but both were repelled with heavy losses.
As the rear guard faltered, disorganized, and bloodied, Thomas raised a looted axe high and led his men in a bold assault. He aimed to cut down as many as possible, knowing they would inevitably face off again at Riverstead.
Caught off guard by a sudden, ferocious attack and suspecting they had been outmaneuvered, the Northerners began to flee in earnest. Those who managed to retrieve their horses from their squires bolted in panic, while the men-at-arms, seeing no alternative, followed suit. What began as an orderly retreat quickly devolved into a chaotic, frantic flight.
At the forest exit, Lord Arte''s small group of horsemen had been hunting scouts and other elements. As the retreating Northerners approached, this small, daring cavalry sprang into action, launching a vengeful attack that initially brought several successes. However, they were soon driven back by the Northerners'' superior riders.
The Arvenian riders fought valiantly, engaging without taking hostages, yet they ultimately failed to secure a decisive success. Hundreds of Northerners retreated safely to Riverstead.
Still, it was a victory for the Arvenians, though at a heavy cost. Many were injured, including old Thomas, who had to be evacuated after a mace blow crushed his lower left arm and a dagger pierced through his armpit guard, leaving him with a severe bleeding wound.
Lord Arte oversaw his hard-fought victory with a solemn expression until his riders redeemed their earlier failures by bringing him the captured body of the Crown Prince. The body had been taken early in the battle when his guards, attempting to slip from the fight with a small, fast escort, were intercepted.
Having never seen the Crown Prince, Lord Arte, and Sir Justin, still in blood-stained armor, personally questioned captured officers, who confirmed his identity, pleading to return the body to Riverstead for a proper burial.
Despite vehement demands from his troops to decapitate the body, Lord Arte''s cool-headed decision prevailed. Following Sir Justin''s advice, he chose to embalm the body and send a letter to Alba Castle, feigning an unfortunate accidental death and demanding the king to return the province in exchange for the body and an offer to end the blood feud.
Before the answer came, Lord Arte planned to parade the body through towns and villages to rally the reluctant Arvenians to his side. With the captured baggage train providing a fresh source of money and supplies, and the body of the Crown Prince as proof of their military acumen, the populace would likely take up arms. He would need their support as he prepared to besiege Riverstead.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
After the battle concluded, and hostages were either kept or executed, Lord Arte looked at the sunny sky above the thick foliage of the forest and solemnly whispered his father and mother¡¯s names. The journey had been long, and the campaign had unfolded from one unexpected event to another, yet fortune favored the bold, and now half his blood vow had been repaid.
...
Sir Justin
It was a night of celebration for many, but Sir Justin was not joining the festivities. After several years as one of Lord Lansius'' men, he had witnessed firsthand what a good general does on the night of victory. Instead of carelessly indulging in a victory feast, he focused on ensuring his men and defenses were in order.
During his discreet inspection, accompanied by only a small escort, he came across three meisters packing their wares near their tent and cart. The bronze culverin that had taken the Crown Prince''s life was tightly secured with ropes on the cart.
"Where are you planning to go?" Sir Justin asked, startling them.
"Sir... We''re just inspecting them," the eldest meister replied, motioning for a private word.
Noticing the cue, Sir Justin signaled his men to stay with the other two meisters while he stepped aside with the older man, carrying a lantern.
"Well?" the knight asked as he stopped by a low-hanging branch and hung the lantern on it.
The older gentleman turned to face him but seemed hesitant.
"We have a deal, remember? I promised to introduce you to a powerful lord in the south. Also, judging by today''s hard-fought battle, we might need your expertise at Riverstead," Sir Justin said without pressure.
"Gratitude for the offer. I''m always open to business," the older man reassured. "But in this instance, I need to return east to collect my payment and set up a workshop."
"I see. I imagine it''s quite a sum, considering it involves a royal''s life," Sir Justin replied, his tone almost teasing.
"Such is the case," the man confirmed eagerly.
Sir Justin nodded and stroked his chin. "Out of curiosity, how much is your service worth?"
The meister shifted to a businesslike tone. "That highly depends on the target, the risk, and the time required."
"Then, how much to kill a Crown Prince?" Sir Justin quipped.
The older gentleman chuckled. "Well... I''d rather not deal in speculation. Perhaps a person''s name or city would be a more appropriate question."
"How about Riverstead, then?" Sir Justin asked calmly.
"As I said before," he answered diplomatically, "given enough time, my culverin can render a crossbow window or defensive position useless, giving your men a better chance to scale the walls, breach the gates, or force a negotiation."
"And the price for such assistance?"
The meister let out a thoughtful smile. "How much is Riverstead worth to your lord?"
"It means everything to Lord Arte," Sir Justin replied, not suspecting anything.
The gentleman chuckled. "Allow me to jest: what is the value of everything? If I were to charge you, say, 1,000 gold for my service, would that still be a good trade for a city that is worth everything?"
Sir Justin snorted softly but acknowledged the meister''s point. "Judging by the number you gave, is that truly your fee?"
"For Riverstead... Say two culverins with three dozen shots each, I¡¯d ask about 800 gold. Transport, fees, and materials included."
Sir Justin whistled softly, impressed but wary. "That figure is far beyond my highest estimation."
"Indeed, they are pricey. I''ve had my share of being kicked out, laughed at, or worse, imprisoned for quoting such a price. But I believed they are worth every coin." Then, looking at Sir Justin, he asked nervously, "You wouldn''t do that to me, would you?"
Sir Justin let out an ominous smirk. "You know I might capture you and only release you after we take Riverstead."
The meister laughed nervously. "Oh, Sir, we only have a few shots left for the main culverin. Not nearly enough to do anything. Besides, lead rounds won¡¯t do much against fortified targets."
"I see, you¡¯re well-experienced in this kind of situation," Sir Justin remarked plainly. "I can understand the issue. But if it only needs materials, then I can take you hostage and wait for your men to return."
The gentleman let out a nervous laugh. "That won¡¯t work. No one else can authorize the funds or make the powder. Besides, with the risk of defects and imperfections, no bronze work in the East would trust anyone but me to cover their failures, fees, and raw materials."
Sir Justin laughed to ease the tension. "I¡¯m only joking. Forgive my crude humor."
"That''s alright, Sir. I appreciate your candor," the meister replied with a polite smile.
"Likewise," the knight replied lightly. "Say, is there any room to get a better price? Eight hundred is a massive sum. Probably four years'' worth of a whole barony''s income."
"Perhaps... As I said, it depends on the risk factor. I''ll quote you a price once I''ve set up my own workshop."
"When will you return to Arvena?"
"Our trip home, setting up the workshop... This is summer. With fall and winter ahead, I expect spring next year, once the Grand River calms down."
"That''s a whole year. Then you won¡¯t participate in the Riverstead siege," Sir Justin remarked, surprised.
"It''s unfortunate, but the process is lengthy and time-consuming due to the inherent danger. But I''ll let you know if I can refit and reuse the old culverin."
Sir Justin fixed his gaze on the older gentleman. "How much for the old culverin?"
The meister pondered before replying, "There are only a few lead shots left, but if you want to keep the culverin, I¡¯d sell it to you for ninety-five gold pieces."
"That¡¯s too much for a hollow bronze barrel," Sir Justin countered.
"No, no, the raw material purity and casting process alone to make it that good is expensive," the meister argued passionately.
The knight raised his voice. "But ninety-five gold coins¡ªthat¡¯s worth a lot of barrels of bronze!"
"Sir," the old man countered just as firmly, "each barrel takes multiple attempts, and every failure¡ªeven a hairline crack¡ªmeans starting over. That costs a fortune. Even when the result is good, I have to check thoroughly and put in plenty of work to ensure it¡¯s fit to size and smooth so it doesn¡¯t blow up in my face."
Both men laughed at the notion. In the end, Sir Justin draped an arm over the meister¡¯s shoulder like an old friend, retrieved his lantern, and walked with him back toward the tent. "I feel we need a drink or two."
"To negotiate the price?" the meister asked hopefully.
"No, it¡¯s too expensive. That could fund tens of riders or hundreds of men," he stated firmly.
"Then?" the old gentleman asked, puzzled.
"Friend, a drink is a drink. Let us celebrate today''s victory and friendship," Sir Justin said warmly. Defying his own code not to drink, he trusted his instincts that it would be unwise not to stay in this man''s good graces, or his secret employer''s.
***
Lansius
Another day had passed with him entertaining audiences in his court, attending council meetings with his staff, and holding further discussions with his scribes and clerks. He had plenty of invitations, which he politely declined, including feasts, marriage ceremonies, and even hunting parties. He delegated those to Sir Omin, who had risen to prominence as the Lady''s cousin.
Overwhelmed by so many issues all at once, Lansius couldn¡¯t wait for his Midlandia Office Works to begin operating and handle half the burden, as it had in Lowlandia. While he reviewed agreements, proposals, counter-proposals, and other dealings, Audrey managed the soft power.
She and Francisca selected recruits for the castle staff and guards, evaluated and promoted trusted and capable individuals to key positions, and built alliances with like-minded nobles. Unexpectedly, Francisca had become central to these efforts, often the star of attention.
To guests, she was a mythical creature from old legends. Rumors spread that she couldn¡¯t lie, which made her candid opinions even more convenient. Little did they know that Audrey relied on Francisca¡¯s keen instincts to distinguish the trustworthy from the deceitful.
After a brief midday break, during which Lansius joined his family for lunch, Sterling, once again at Lansius¡¯ side, reported that Sir Michael and Dame Daniella had arrived.
Lansius decided not to delay and headed to the council chamber to meet them. Before long, the charming one-eyed knight entered, followed by the beautiful yet stern Dame Daniella. They were still dressed in their traveling clothes, and beneath their cloaks, the faint gleam of brigandines hinted at their readiness.
"My Lord," they greeted in unison.
"My apologies for summoning you, Dame," Lansius said.
"It''s my duty, My Lord." Suspecting the Lord¡¯s curiosity, she added, "My group and I met Sir Michael at an inn and decided to travel with him, as I¡¯m unfamiliar with the road to Canardia."
"It¡¯s good you traveled together," Lansius agreed. "Our grasp on this province remains tenuous, and there¡¯s always a risk of fanatics attempting clandestine attacks on our people."
He then turned to Sir Michael. "How about you, Sir? Is everything well in Ornietia?"
"My Lord, Ornietia is thriving. I must say, that Lord Bengrieve¡¯s reforms have been effective. I only made several minor adjustments to align with our Shogunate¡¯s standards."
Lansius nodded with satisfaction. "That¡¯s good to hear."
"Additionally, I¡¯m here to deliver a progress report on the formation of the Midlandia Office Works. Since we¡¯ve already established connections with many prominent guildsmen in Korelia, the work is proceeding smoothly. All that remains is to select a building for the office, and the chosen officials from Korelia can begin their work. We believe the main guilds are already familiar with our methods and intentions, and the smaller guilds will follow."
"Excellent," Lansius muttered, pleased. The Midlandia Office Works (MOW) would be critical to his rule, as effectively governing the 30 private estates on his own was impossible, let alone the rest of Southern Midlandia, with its numerous towns and cities.
Despite being termed an Earldom, Midlandia¡¯s politics resembled the Holy Roman Empire, where territories operated with considerable independence. Instead of a strict feudal hierarchy, it functioned as a loose confederation, with lords bound by mutual interests and nominal allegiance to a central authority.
The way House Midlandia and House Bengrieve had structured the province was nothing short of genius. It encouraged growth by allowing independent decision-making at the city level, with the Lord serving only nominally as the leader. This reduced direct control but offered flexibility while keeping corruption risks manageable.
Sir Michael, who hadn¡¯t been the one summoned today, said, "That concludes my report. I shall take my leave."
"No, please stay," Lansius instructed. "I will greatly benefit from your expertise here."
Lansius motioned for Sterling to step forward and instructed, "Explain to them about the Southern Trade attack and Corinthia¡¯s involvement."
Hearing this, the two knights turned grim. They understood how vital the trade routes were, and the prospect of another threat so far south was deeply concerning.
Sterling relayed the report from Sigmund about the pirate attack.
"To think Corinthia is raiding the ships with the caravan inside," Dame Daniella muttered.
"I never expected them to risk war against the Shogunate," Michael added.
Lansius leaned back in his seat and asked, "It doesn¡¯t add up, does it?"
The two exchanged glances, while Sterling stepped back, assuming his role was to observe rather than actively participate in the discussion.
Sir Michael''s single eye narrowed. "My Lord, what do you suggest?"
"There were more than two dozen boats involved in this. And the fact that none of them escaped," Lansius replied, "tell me, how should I think about it?"
Dame Daniella answered, "That means the pirates had more numbers than the cargo fleet."
Lansius nodded. "Exactly. Moreover, even for riverboats, their size must have been large and tall enough to carry caravans with their horses. Far from the normal boats Corinthians use."
"Indeed," Dame Daniella agreed. "I have ventured to the coast and am familiar with merchant boats."
Lansius turned serious, asking, "Do you think larger fishing boats could attack those and climb aboard easily?"
"Maybe with ladders," Daniella replied, her tone thoughtful. "But it¡¯s difficult. There¡¯s quite a height difference between trade boats and fishing or crossing boats."
"Do you suggest the pirates are using special attack boats?" Sir Michael asked.
"That is one possibility. But I lean more toward the reasoning that they knew about the caravan and that a large number of cargo boats were coming. Their information was so precise that they were confident enough to invest in and plan an ambush with a large fleet. That is the only explanation I can think of for why not one of our ships escaped."
"Building special attack boats, having a spy network capable of penetrating Dawn Barony, and crewing such an attack fleet. When we look at it this way, this is far beyond Corinthia," Sir Michael concluded.
Lansius nodded and let that sink in.
"My Lord, do you think there¡¯s a new player?" Dame Daniella asked, concern evident on her face.
"New?" Lansius leaned forward and asked, "Are you certain our enemy is new?"
The two looked uncertain and did not answer. They were intellects who would rarely offer a response without solid reasoning.
"You of all people should realize," Lansius said gently.
As if struck by realization, Dame Daniella¡¯s eyes sparkled. "It couldn¡¯t be," she exclaimed, drawing the others'' attention. Sir Michael¡¯s expression shifted, as though he too had reached the same conclusion, while Sterling stood by, waiting with anticipation.
"Yes," Lansius muttered, his tone grim. "Our old enemy is back with a vengeance."
***
Chapter 219 : Lurking in Shadows
Chapter 219
Lurking in Shadows
Lansius
Inside the Council Chamber, the post-midday sunlight streamed through tall, narrow windows, casting warm golden hues over the polished wood of the council table where Lansius sat. Tension ran high as he had just confirmed that their old enemy had returned with a vengeance. Despite their precautions and a good network of spies, they had been blindsided by the pirate attack and had nearly failed to uncover the truth.
Sir Michael, glanced at Dame Daniella and asked, "Who? It can''t possibly be the beastmen," he quipped to ease the tension.
Lansius chuckled and motioned for Dame Daniella to respond.
She gazed at Sir Michael and said, "It''s our old enemy, the smugglers."
The knight''s one eye sharpened.
"Indeed," Lansius confirmed. "It''s the same ones who launched a coup in Three Hills and even attacked Korimor last year."
"I should have guessed." Sir Michael exhaled sharply. "I fought them in Korimor. They almost lit a quarter of the city on fire."
Lansius recalled reports of the knight¡¯s valiant efforts defending Korimor against the smugglers. Sir Michael had joined the fight and even helped extinguish the fires that ravaged several warehouses. "Smugglers... the name sounds insignificant. What they truly are is something far more insidious."
The two knights listened intently, hungry for an explanation.
"They operate under a guise, profiting from creating scarcity by burning warehouses and driving prices sky-high, reaping fat profits while the people starve. Only now am I starting to suspect they might have been the ones who whispered in Lord Jorge''s ear not to sell grains when I first took power in Korelia, forcing me to owe Bengrieve heavily for our salt payment scheme." Lansius chuckled softly, more to calm his rising anger than out of humor.
Everyone¡¯s expression darkened. Even Sterling, who only listened from further behind, looked incensed.
Lansius turned to Sir Michael. "It seems that despite the Black Knights¡¯ and Skirmishers¡¯ efforts in Three Hills, and your brave stand in Korimor, we only managed to capture their accomplices, not the main force. I believe they¡¯re still hiding safely in the mountains between Three Hills and Dawn, or perhaps somewhere in Nicopola. And now, this... Black Guild is rearing its ugly head again."
As the two remained silent, Lansius asked, "All these suspicions have been on my mind for several days, but I cannot be certain if they are just figments of my imagination or truly plausible. Now, tell me, does it make sense?"
"Absolutely, My Lord," Dame Daniella replied firmly. "The more I consider it, the more everything points to them."
Standing beside her, Sir Michael hesitated briefly before nodding in agreement.
Lansius shifted in his seat, his gaze thoughtful. "If I were this Black Guild, after losing Three Hills, my main partner the Money Lender Guild, and the barley-ale business in Korimor, I¡¯d find a way to recover. If I learned about the caravan and the South Trade, that would be like gold delivered straight to my doorstep."
The two staff members reluctantly acknowledged with a nod.
"Think about it," Lansius continued. "From what we¡¯ve gathered, Corinthia lacks the knowledge, wealth, and willpower to orchestrate all this. On the other hand, these smugglers have proven they possess those capabilities."
Sir Michael¡¯s brow furrowed as he considered the inconsistencies. "But what about Sigmund¡¯s report that the fishermen saw the captured ships moving south to Corinthia?"
"Oh, I don¡¯t doubt that Corinthia is involved," Lansius revealed, much to the two¡¯s astonishment. "The Black Guild likely passed this information to Corinthia, enticing them to become partners and, secretly, setting them up as the perfect scapegoat."
"It all fits," Dame Daniella muttered. "The Black Guild''s smugglers provided the information, boats, and weapons, while Corinthia supplied the manpower."
"And then they split the spoils," Lansius finished.
Glancing at the one-eyed, charming knight, Lansius asked, "We¡¯ve come this far. Does this all make sense to you, or could it really just be one big coincidence?"
Dame Daniella kept a curious eye on Sir Michael as he said, "It all makes sense, My Lord, but as you said, it could also just be a rare coincidence."
Curious, she asked, "What makes you think so?"
"While I¡¯ve never seen wooden boats up close," Sir Michael began, "I recall records that mentioned well-constructed wooden boats, large enough to fit tens of men, being more expensive than three dozen warhorses and the fodder to sustain them for a year. I doubt whatever this Black Guild seized from the caravan could pay for a fleet of them. Even as lucrative as the Southern Trade is, I doubt they¡¯re transporting gold or silver."
She found his explanation reasonable, but Lansius merely smirked.
Noticing this, Sir Michael asked, "My Lord, am I missing something?"
"I believe there¡¯s another factor you¡¯ve overlooked," Lansius replied. "Consider this: who stands to lose the most if the Southern Trade establishes a direct and reliable route that can transport goods cheaply between Nicopola and Lowlandia?"
The two were struck by the clarity of the answer.
"Indeed," Dame Daniella blurted out, filled with the realization of something she should have noticed before. "The smugglers. Their entire livelihood would collapse."
"I believe their main motivation for attacking the Southern Trade is because their lifeline is at stake," Lansius added calmly.
Sir Michael exhaled deeply, nodding as he processed the reasoning, finding no fault in it. Meeting Lansius'' gaze, he acknowledged, "Now that you¡¯ve explained it, My Lord, it¡¯s hard to argue. Everything falls into place too neatly for a mere coincidence."
Despite the two agreeing with him and validating his concern, there was no joy to be found. Lansius tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, his face thoughtful, before he suddenly said, "There¡¯s still another factor."
His words immediately captured his staff''s attention.
"This might be far-fetched," Lansius said, his voice cold and devoid of its usual warmth, "but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that the Black Guild''s goal isn¡¯t just the caravan or their livelihood."
The two exchanged a quick glance before turning their full attention back to Lansius.
Dame Daniella asked, "There exists another goal, My Lord?"
Lansius met her gaze and revealed, "Three Hills."
His words prompted disbelieving expressions from the two, but he continued, "With the bulk of the Shogunate army focused on Midlandia, the upcoming punitive action against Corinthia will surely draw significant numbers from Korelia and Three Hills¡¯ garrison. And when the city¡¯s garrison is nearly empty..."
Dame Daniella¡¯s shoulders trembled with restrained rage. "They¡¯ll strike Three Hills again, just like last year," she confirmed bitterly.
Exhaling sharply, Lansius paused the discussion and poured ice-cold water into three goblets. The ice had been brought from cleverly insulated underground ice houses that preserved winter ice year-round. The water was infused with citrus slices and a touch of honey, giving it a refreshing aroma. He offered the goblets to the two knights, who accepted them with silent appreciation. Lansius even gestured for Sterling to take one as well.
Lansius poured himself a goblet and took a slow sip, allowing his retinue to savor their cold drinks. Only after they had finished did Lansius speak, his voice eerily calm. "If our concerns prove true, we may face a coup in Three Hills and a punitive campaign against Corinthia at the same time."
His staff and squire looked grim, though the refreshing drink seemed to have reinvigorated their focus.
Lansius glanced toward the ceiling of the chamber as he continued, "I believe their biggest prize is likely the former Money Lender Guild, now the Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank." He sighed. "I¡¯ve been careless. With so much money concentrated in one place, I should have known it would attract bandits."
Sir Michael straightened his back and asked, "My Lord, you seem to have pondered this for a while. Is there any plan we can pursue?"
Lansius stroked his chin, muttering, "Ideally, I return to Korelia and covertly join Lord Jorge in Three Hills. Our SAR is occupied in Midlandia, but I could take enough men from Korelia. However, that would risk Midlandia."
"My Lord, please abandon that plan. Midlandia is tenuous. With the fanatics on the prowl and the nobility barely knowing or trusting us, it would spell disaster. If our enemies here start to move, we might lose our allies and everything we¡¯ve gained."
Dame Daniella gazed at Sir Michael and said, "But this is Three Hills we''re talking about, along with the Southern Trade, and the Shogunate Bank."
Sir Michael met her gaze. "It might sound odd coming from a Lowlandian, but I think, My Lord can afford to lose Three Hills and the Bank. Looking at the bigger picture, this House has just secured 30 estates, half of which are more populous than Three Hills. It''s inconceivable to risk 30 for one holding that''s not even his."
Lansius exhaled deeply. Last season, his problems had seemed so far away. Turning to Dame Daniella, he spoke. "What he says is true. However, I have given my word to protect any Shogunate members."
"My Lord, I''m not saying you shouldn''t offer help, but you, personally, must stay in Midlandia," Sir Michael clarified.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Lansius did not respond immediately but gazed at Dame Daniella, who said, "I agree with that assessment. I think it¡¯s too risky for Midlandia to lose your direct leadership this soon. After all," she smiled, "you alone are worth at least five thousand men."
"Five thousand?" Lansius repeated, amused by the sudden praise. "Where does this come from?"
The two knights exchanged glances, faint smiles on their lips. She replied, "I think everyone would agree your battle acumen speaks for itself. Without your leadership, we wouldn¡¯t have won Korimor, South Hill, the coup in Three Hills, and now half of Midlandia."
"Indeed, as she says," Sir Michael added. "Your presence alone is worth several thousand."
Lansius chuckled and lamented in jest, "Here we are, on the verge of crisis, and two of my brightest staff care only to flatter me with sweet honeyed words. My House is doomed."
They stifled their laughs, even Sterling joining in.
After glancing at the window, Lansius turned to them and revealed, "I have one or two alternate plans. I shall discuss them with you after I deliberate, as I am still without adequate information. Until Farkas returns, our troops movements are largely restricted."
***
Sir Harold
After reaching Ploiesta with the remaining four thousand recruits, Harold formally transferred command to Dietrich for field training with the vanguard stationed there. Ploiesta had become a hub of military activity, bustling with hundreds of Vanguard, four thousand recruits, and two thousand captured workers from the Cascasonne war.
This temporary buildup, featuring thousands of tents alongside the Midlandia River, was strategically placed to intimidate and distract the still-hostile Midlandia Lords across the river. Known for its boat crossing, Ploiesta began to refit older barges and construct new riverine boats under the Lord''s orders. This move was designed to make the lords think twice before causing trouble and, hopefully, more inclined to seek peace.
Besides the combined training, the special tools¡ªmetal-tipped shovels¡ªwould play a crucial role in determining which of the last three thousand recruits would remain. One thousand would not make the cut.
The training was scheduled to last seven days, but Harold had to race back to Canardia, leaving Sigmund and Farkas in charge. He was under orders from Lord Shogun to return home and take command of the reserve forces in case of an emergency.
Harold understood that the command was also a pretext for him to return to his newlywed wife. For a warlord, Lord Lansius displayed an unexpectedly soft and caring side toward his retinue, a trait that was warmly appreciated.
Arriving in Canardia around the first night watch, Harold and his riders were late for supper in the Great Hall. Opting instead for the night food stalls, he couldn''t help but feel that Korelia, despite being less populous, offered a better selection of delicacies than Canardia.
As a member of the high-ranking retinue, Harold had been granted a large estate by the Lord within a walled complex in Canardia. He came home that evening with questionable roasted meat on a soggy bun. Unexpectedly, Clementine was waiting for him with warm soup, crunchy bread, and a small selection of cheese laid out on the table.
"You''re waiting for me?" he asked.
"Lady Audrey sent her maid to inform me of your arrival. She mentioned you would be late," Clementine explained, her voice carrying some ethereal quality.
Harold nodded, feeling grateful. After cleaning himself up, they shared a dinner.
As they ate, they lightly touched on the fanatic activities, the full extent of which also surprised Clementine, a former member. "Maybe I should change my name to Clement or something," she mused.
Without hesitation, Harold advised, "If you intend to hide from your past associates, Clement won''t be enough. A more distinct name would serve you better."
She looked at Harold with a slight frown. "A woman''s name isn''t just a name."
He nodded in understanding while biting into his crunchy bread topped with goat cheese.
"Harold," she called, still unused to saying his name directly. "Won''t you suggest a name?"
"Mm, I don''t know your life story well enough to suggest a name," he replied, savoring the delicious soup filled with carrots and chunks of tender meat. It was so good that the soggy bread and questionable meat were left untouched.
Clementine smiled, amused. "You should ask about my story then."
"Aren''t you tired?" he asked, recalling that the Lord and Lady had summoned her earlier for questioning about what was now more fittingly referred to as Saint Nay''s Cult.
She seemed surprised. "How did you know?"
"I''m well-informed." His lips curved into a smirk. "So?"
"Well, they just asked questions, and since I have nothing to hide, it wasn''t tiring at all," she explained merrily.
Harold was pleased and relieved by her honesty, especially knowing Lord Lansius likely had Francisca to listen, who could sniff out lies.
Having finished her smaller serving, Clementine stole glances at Harold and silently poured more mead into his goblet.
Harold saw what she did and commented lightly, "Too much mead will make it hard for me to keep myself in check tonight."
Clementine blushed and drank the goblet herself, then remarked, "Please, keep yourself in check. The last time," she paused, her cheeks reddening further as she whispered, "I had difficulties... walking..."
Sir Harold raised a hand to his face, fingers brushing his lips to mask a guilty smirk. "My apologies, I haven¡¯t been with a woman in a long time."
She sipped some water, finding the mead too sweet. "I know I¡¯m yours, but please go gentle with me," she said meekly, making Harold¡¯s sturdy heart flutter even harder.
Intoxicated by affection, he reassured her, "I¡¯ll restrain myself better."
She looked at him wide-eyed and muttered shyly, "Does it really need to be that rough?"
"It¡¯s just that I can¡¯t help but recall your strength and vitality from our duel in Cascasonne."
Clementine giggled softly. "I''m not a fighter, but a healer."
Harold smiled warmly, a deep fondness in his eyes. He didn¡¯t know when it had happened, but he had begun to earnestly enjoy her company. At first, he had been motivated mostly by a sense of protectiveness, but now he found himself craving her words, her cheerful smile, and even her shy, awkward glances. He couldn''t help but reflect on the contrast to when they first met on that fateful night¡ªa duel where he had witnessed her fighting with all her fury.
He wondered if she wanted further training. With her growing strength, she could likely overpower most fighters and perhaps even hold her own against knights. Harold finished the last of the soup his wife had prepared, drank his water, rinsed his hands in a bowl scented with crushed herbs, and rose to approach her.
The long-haired brunette glanced away shyly, her fair features glowing with modesty. With extra gentleness, Harold lifted her into his arms, earning a sweet smile from her.
He was in an unusually good mood, especially as he noticed the new house was now spotless and well cared for. "You''ve done well cleaning this dusty place."
"I had my younger sister and the maids to help," she reminded him.
Harold set her down gently on the bed, the soft linen freshly laundered and pristine. She quickly sat on the bed, unfastening her outer garment.
"No prayer tonight, sister?" he asked as he locked the door.
"I follow a different Saint now," she jested. Her conversations with several personnel, especially Valerie, had strengthened her rebellious side. Watching Harold pass the oil lamp on the table, she hurriedly added, "Don''t forget to snuff the lamp."
Harold paused. "You know my answer to that. It¡¯s not fair if only you can see in the dark," he said with an impassive expression, hiding a faint smile.
Clementine flushed, her hands fidgeting in embarrassment. "It''s different, and it feels wrong," she argued.
He never tired of her flustered responses and walked toward her. "Show me some magic."
She gave an approving grin and, still seated on the bed, extinguished the oil lamp with a deft flick of her fingers.
In complete darkness, Harold broke into a grin as he joined her in bed. "Having a magical wife is so perfect."
Their marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, born mostly of questionable circumstances. Yet the two had been wise enough to make the best of it, discovering shared interests and growing mutual affection.
For Clementine, the fact that Harold had kept his promise to come home, despite the late hour, and avoided staying at an inn or brothel brought her great joy. She had questioned herself multiple times whether Harold truly liked her or was simply using her as a Healer, or worse, for some hidden agenda. But over time, both had naturally fallen in love, smitten by each other''s affection.
***
Brigandia
It was the middle of the night in an opulent mansion complex. Inside the vast main hall, the Second Prince awakened, finding himself sleeping on the wooden floor with nothing but a thick silken blanket for a bed. He groaned, weary after several nights of restless sleep.
His trained and sculpted body had softened from days spent drafting battle plans. But it was a necessary sacrifice. The King had given his blessing for the campaign, and he couldn¡¯t let this opportunity pass.
Cold and thirsty, he stood, shaking off his drowsiness. It had been a military meeting, so no servants or maids were permitted inside. Scanning the hall, he saw his staff and attendants sprawled across the wooden floor, sleeping here and there, their dedication and exhaustion mirroring his own. With no one awake to call upon, he began searching for a goblet of water.
He found one on the floor. He didn¡¯t care whose goblet it was and drank from it without a second thought. Realizing it was spiced wine, he gulped it down all the same and wiped his lips with the hem of his robe.
With his thirst quenched, his eyes fell on a toppled brazier-like iron bucket, its black ashes scattered across the wooden floor. It was the bucket they used to burn war simulation records to keep them from prying eyes. The scene was unremarkable, yet he found himself standing still, transfixed.
The sight stirred a memory of the ashes from books he had once burned.
"Oh," the Second Prince mumbled with distaste as the realization dawned on him.
He remembered a time when he had been a foolish boy, desperate to impress his smarter, older brother. Time and again, he had failed to win his brother¡¯s affection until, in desperation, he boasted that he didn¡¯t need to read a book twice because he had a flawless memory. His older brother, naturally skeptical, didn¡¯t believe him. Determined to prove himself, the young Prince burned a book and invited his brother to quiz him, answering every question flawlessly.
But it had all been a ruse; he had relied on a servant discreetly gesturing the answers from the sidelines. He repeated the trick several times, but it failed to earn his brother¡¯s affection. Instead, it only deepened the rift between them.
The memory drew a sigh from him. "Brother," he muttered softly into the vast cold hall.
As he grew older, he had come to understand that his older brother¡¯s bitterness and jealousy stemmed from issues with their mother. She had often reassured him, however, that it was due to their roles. As the elder, his brother bore greater burdens, which was why he had been sent away for his studies. Meanwhile, as the younger son, he was allowed to remain at home, enjoying a leisurely life.
Whenever he felt the situation was too unfair, their mother would remind him that his older brother would inherit most of the family¡¯s land and wealth. That reminder had always silenced him.
Rubbing his temples to stave off sleepiness and the lingering effects of alcohol, the Second Prince exhaled bitterly, forcing the thoughts from his mind.
His gaze drifted back to the quiet hall, drawn to the gargantuan map stretched across its center. He studied the placement of the pawns and the outcomes of the last battle simulation. The capitulation phase had been so tedious earlier that it had lulled him to sleep.
Initially, he felt a flicker of satisfaction, but as he knelt for a closer look, dissatisfaction began to creep in.
Finding the need to start a new one, he found an empty silver gruel bowl and kicked it hard. The bowl clattered and rolled across the wooden floor, the sharp noise jolting his men awake.
"Rise and shine," the Second Prince said in jest. "I need this plan ready today!"
"My Prince," the staff greeted him, scrambling to their feet as they straightened their clothes and headdresses.
"You¡¯ve had enough sleep. Now reset the board. We¡¯re starting over," the Prince ordered.
Without a word of protest, his men, several of them knights and officers, obeyed. Their reddened eyes betrayed exhaustion as they hurried to gather the pieces scattered across the grand map on the floor.
"Set our numbers to seven thousand," the Second Prince commanded.
The staff exchanged glances. One quickly asked, "But the King is prepared to send twenty thousand."
"Father is insane. Sending twenty thousand men into famine-infested lands? We¡¯d be dead within a month." The Second Prince scoffed. "Don¡¯t be like Father. Be like me," he added in jest, knowing his father wouldn¡¯t care for his sharp tongue.
"Yes, My Prince." The staff quickly adjusted the pieces to reflect seven thousand troops.
The Prince turned to a younger attendant. "Get outside and find us some drinks and something to fill our stomachs. Also, bring me updates about my brother in Riverstead."
"Yes, My Prince," the attendant replied and hurried off.
A senior staff member said to the attendant as he passed, "Check on Midlandia. There should be updates."
"Do that too. I hate being late to hear about things," the Prince said in agreement.
The rest of the staff finished resetting the board and preparing fresh parchment. A shared determination united them; they needed to prove to the King and the entire kingdom that the Second Prince was more than just a lazy, talentless second-born.
Amid the clatter of pieces and the murmur of voices, the war simulation for their invasion of Rhomelia began anew. Meanwhile, in Brigandia¡¯s harbors, wooden ferry ships of all sizes had gathered, their decks bustling with preparation. The King¡¯s permission had been granted, and the Imperial bannermen were rallying the eager Northern barons, many of whom had missed the opportunity to fight in last year¡¯s war.
Before the east could react to the fall of the Imperium, the north would make its first move.
***
Chapter 220 : Feminae Mundi
Chapter 220
Feminae Mundi
Brigandia
After two lengthy sessions of war simulations that finally met his satisfaction, the Second Prince retreated to his hideout. The morning air was cool and soothing as he rode in an inconspicuous carriage to an opulent estate not far from the market district. Behind its tall walls, Centurian-style gardens flourished, meticulously arranged with white sands, bonsai trees, and serene ponds, showcasing wealth and elegance.
As he passed through the gate, the bright morning sunlight reflected off the white sands and ponds, piercing his weary, reddened eyes. Hurriedly, he walked into the main building, startling a woman in flowing red silken robes.
Upon seeing him, she knelt on the wooden floor, bowing deeply. "My Prince."
"Don''t be like that. You''ll hurt your knees." He stopped in front of her and extended his hand.
She took his hand and rose, revealing a face of striking beauty framed by light-brown hair. Her clever, soft eyes and shapely lips exuded a graceful charm, both disarming and magnetic.
The Second Prince paused to take her in as she softly asked, "My Prince, why are you here so early in the morning? Shouldn¡¯t you be at home with Her Highness?"
He smiled. "I follow where my heart leads, and my belly."
She returned a radiant smile and said warmly, "Come inside. I''ll have the cook prepare something spicy for you."
"Do I look that bad?" he asked, rubbing his chin and feeling the unfamiliar roughness of the coarse facial hair that had grown in.
"More than usual, yes. People will worry about your health," she replied gently, her tone free of reproach.
He nodded readily and they walked toward the small but lavish waiting room, designed in the Centurian style. Even nobles would sit humbly on straw mats here. The Prince, weary from his duties, stretched his body, lay down on the mat, and settled his head on a pillow with relief. Soon he closed his eyes, exhaustion and hunger tugging at him. The battle simulations were relentless, but he wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. To him, oversimplifying war games was an invitation to defeat.
The woman returned after notifying the kitchen and, seeing him asleep, quietly let him rest. This had happened often, and she gladly embraced the role of his quiet guardian, ensuring he found moments of peace.
Their meeting just several seasons ago had been far from ordinary. After the Second Prince''s wife became pregnant and secured the line of succession, he jokingly declared to his followers that he would prove his moral superiority to offset his reputation as a fervent womanizer. He boasted that he could resist the temptation of the most beautiful woman in Brigandia if they could find her.
And they did. Eager to curry favor, the nobles paraded Brigandia¡¯s most stunning women before him until he saw the neighboring province''s most renowned courtesan. It was love at first sight, though he would never admit it.
He openly purchased her as a concubine, causing a lukewarm stir in the city, but it did no real harm to his already colorful reputation.
At first, she was nothing more to him than a distraction from work and a tool to train his self-discipline. He had vowed to control his desires, determined not to sink to the level of common men. But fate had other plans. The woman he chose, celebrated as the youngest and most beautiful courtesan in one of the four Northern provinces, also turned out to be the smartest.
That came as a surprise, especially when she willingly indulged his so-called moral experiment. She wasn¡¯t offended by their sexless marriage. Instead, she embraced a different role as his informal advisor, providing him with petitions and observations on the realm¡¯s affairs.
She once said, ¡°I grow useless doing nothing but serving as a symbol of My Prince''s moral superiority."
That very thought lingered in his mind as the Second Prince opened his eyes.
"Urgh," he groaned, rubbing his neck to ease the stiffness. As expected, days of sleep deprivation left him feeling only slightly refreshed.
He slowly looked around and noticed that, despite it likely being almost midday, the chamber was shrouded in comfortable darkness. As usual, his concubine had drawn the thick curtains to block out the sunlight. The cool air hinted at the work of the little mage he had gifted her as a helper.
Yawning, stretching, and sitting up, he was greeted by her familiar voice. "My Prince, you''re awake."
"How long have I slept?"
"Not too long. There''s still an hour before midday," she replied. Then, with a hint of apology, she added, "Your breakfast has gone cold, so I returned it. Would you like another breakfast meal or go straight to lunch?"
"Decide for me," he said tenderly, and she nodded before heading to the kitchen.
His eyes drifted to the table, where a clean set of ceramic cups, a small earthen jug of water, and a silver spoon for detecting poison sat neatly arranged. In other places, even in the castle, his cupbearer would taste-test everything. But here, being akin to a love nest, they dared not interfere. At most, they only gathered around in the kitchen. Thus, he truly felt free.
He poured himself a drink and, since it was only water, set the silver spoon aside. He rarely used it, as he always carried his own silver spoon in his pouch.
She returned with light snacks, eating a piece first to show it was safe. They ate together, their conversation naturally turned to recent news.
"I still haven¡¯t figured out what my brother is doing in Riverstead," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "Even if he faced the Arvenian rebellion last winter, he should have crushed it by spring or asked for reinforcements¡ªnot dragged it into summer. I know he¡¯s careful, but this is unlike him."
"The threat might be larger than it seems, so he must tread more cautiously," she suggested.
The Prince sighed deeply.
"You mustn''t underestimate the Arvenians. They''re hardy and resourceful."
"I''m not. Nobody is," he reassured her, though the depth of his tone was lost on her.
"Speaking of Arvena," she said, maintaining her soft, cheerful tone, "you should relieve the famine there. The situation could become dire and spark a greater rebellion. The whole province could¡ª"
"I agree," he interjected.
She blinked, clearly surprised, her lips parting as if to counter him, but she quickly composed herself. "Huh? I mean, of course." Her sudden, unrestrained smile lit up the chamber.
The Second Prince returned a faint smile, but his features remained firm. "I agree that alleviating hunger will make the people more content. Satisfied subjects don¡¯t rebel."
"I¡¯m glad we¡¯re on the same¡ª"
He raised a hand, cutting her off. "You misjudged my intent. While preventing rebellion is logical, it would be naive to think that¡¯s the only concern we¡¯ve considered."
Her smile faded. "What do you mean?"
"A well-fed society naturally produces more offspring. That would not be an issue if they were loyal. However, the loyalty of the Arvenians remains questionable. Until a more loyal generation is born, the kingdom will withhold its help."
Her voice dropped, almost pleading. "B-but they are Imperium people too."
He shook his head. "They are not the King¡¯s subjects. They¡¯re not even Northerners."
She slumped, clearly devastated. Well-educated and unlike others in her position, she genuinely cared about people and was vocal enough to defend their rights. Her willingness to risk her position for nothing more than a clear conscience made her truly unique in his eyes.
The Second Prince exhaled and explained calmly, as if discussing something mundane, "What¡¯s happening in Arvena is controlled starvation."
"Controlled starvation..." Her voice was weak, laced with bitter acceptance.
He held her gaze, his steady eyes affirming the truth of his words. "The situation remains precarious. We want the populace to only maintain their numbers, starving them of growth. Otherwise, they could become a threat to the kingdom."
"Isn''t that contradictory?" she argued. "If you let famine befall them, they¡¯ll rebel."
"The kingdom has accounted for that. That¡¯s why the Riverstead rebellion and the Crown Prince¡¯s response didn¡¯t trigger a panicked reaction," he explained dryly.
Only then did she realize and muttered in disbelief, "The kingdom already expected the Arvenians to rebel."
"To rebel, and to be crushed," he confirmed.
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The air grew heavy, so the Second Prince decided to ease the tension with a playful gesture. Shifting closer to her on the tatami, a mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.
"My Prince, what are you doing?" she asked nervously as he gently pinned her down on the soft straw mats.
"Frustration has taken me," he replied with mock seriousness.
Her face turned bright red. "Aren''t I your proof of moral superiority?"
"Is my reputation truly a beacon of morality?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.
She looked at him, her nervousness clear. "But you said I¡¯m rather plump and built like a duck."
He hid a grin and whispered grimly, "Who says I¡¯m afraid of putting myself in a duck? Perhaps you need a demonstration."
She shuddered. "B-but we¡¯re not even in the bedchamber."
The Prince finally laughed and released her, settling back beside her. "A courtesan who''s afraid of sex," he teased, shaking his head.
She pouted as she straightened herself. "I¡¯m not. It¡¯s just that I need time to prepare myself."
He chuckled, reflecting on the absurdities of life. His wife, who he had believed to be innocent and cloistered, had turned out to be the lustiest woman he¡¯d ever met, eager to bear him more children than a horse breeder; all to secure her clan¡¯s influence in the nascent kingdom. Meanwhile, this courtesan, whose profession was synonymous with using her body as currency, proved to be more innocent than most noblewomen.
The soft echo of sandals on the wooden floor interrupted his thoughts. Moments later, two maids and a squire appeared at the door, carrying their lunch. They quietly prepared the table and left, allowing the Prince and his concubine to eat in private.
This was not the dining area, but the Prince didn¡¯t care. To him, this small chamber was more comfortable, allowing him to relax and behave informally. Thick curtains dimmed the sunlight, and a mage in a distant room, connected by ventilation, kept the air cool and pleasant.
Though simple in ingredients, the meal was a feast for the eyes. It was made with health in mind. He wanted to look strong and fit, not fat like most noblemen.
As they neared the end of their meal, the Prince suddenly said, "Come with me."
His tone carried weight, and she heard it clearly. "To where?" she asked.
"To Rhomelia," he replied flatly.
The lady concubine gasped, immediately grasping his intent. She had kept herself informed through daily news from the harbor and market, often supplied by his informal network of workers, wives, and peddlers; people whose jobs granted them access to information hidden from public eyes.
"You must have noticed the growing armies, the stockpiling of supplies, and the ferry armada."
"So, it¡¯s not a reinforcement for the King to secure the Capital, but an invasion force," she ventured cautiously.
"The Capital?" he scoffed. "It holds no value unless Father decides to revive the Imperium. I¡¯ll support him if he does, but I doubt it¡¯s in his interest."
There was no immediate reaction from her, so he continued, "Riverstead belongs to my brother. Now, I shall take Rhomelia."
She struggled to understand. "But the people in Rhomelia are impoverished."
"Then I¡¯ll be their savior," the Prince answered firmly.
The claim did not convince her. Naturally, after everything he had told her about Arvena and the kingdom''s policy of controlled starvation, doubt lingered.
Noticing her hesitation, he said, "Even if I agree with you on the matter of Arvena, your idealism cannot be tested there. It is not mine to change, but Rhomelia will be different."
His words piqued her interest. Her eyes met his, those charming eyes that could disarm most men and make scholars blush. "B-but asking a concubine to follow you to war? People, and the army, will laugh at you."
He let out a faint smirk. "You said it yourself. You¡¯re built like a plump duck. As long as I keep you in cages without human clothes, nobody will suspect a thing."
Her horrified reaction to his jest only made him laugh hard at her expense. In truth, she was finely shaped, and she usually deflected such mockery with ease. But she was smitten with him, so even the slightest teasing from him made her react with a pout and reddened cheeks. "I never knew my own words could be turned against me so often," she lamented.
After his laughter subsided, he reassured her, "Your coming isn¡¯t an issue. It¡¯s easily rectified."
"How?" she asked, feigning irritation.
"I¡¯ll allow the others to do the same. I don¡¯t mind a few distractions. It might even encourage the lower officers to try harder for promotion."
Her expression was skeptical, her lips pressing into a thin line, but after a moment, she nodded reluctantly, her gaze dropping to avoid his eyes.
Seeing no further objections, he added, "I shall govern Rhomelia as the King has promised me. A province to call my own."
***
Valerie
Today, Lansius sent Sterling, his most trusted squire, to invite her to a private meeting in the castle''s garden. She couldn''t refuse as she used to. The dynamic between her and him had changed dramatically. Before, in Toruna, she had been his superior. Now, she was nothing but a damsel in distress that he had saved.
Moreover, he had somehow become the most powerful person in the region, a fact she still found hard to believe. That someone from such a poor background could achieve so much was beyond anyone''s understanding. Meanwhile, she, even with the gift of magic from her mentor, had accomplished little more than being a henchwoman, despite having been here for over ten years.
Valerie felt worthless in comparison. But then again, who wouldn¡¯t? It wasn¡¯t normal to know how to win wars. It was a skill few studied and even fewer could claim to have mastered.
This feeling of insignificance had weighed on her ever since she received the invitation that morning. To make matters worse, Audrey had teased her relentlessly, hinting that she was open to welcoming her into the family. And now, as noon approached, her heart was racing.
Valerie let out a long sigh, wondering how to reject him if he asked for her hand. Even as Margo escorted her to the garden and into the small stone gazebo, she was still trying to decide what to do. The main issue was simple: she didn¡¯t want to die.
Unlike the people of this world, who seemed to possess good vitality and remarkable endurance, hers was far weaker. She knew she would likely die in childbirth. She had seen it happen before in Progentia, and the memory had left a scar that would never fade.
A cool breeze stirred her back to reality. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her mind. Only then was she able to enjoy the scenery. The stone gazebo was clean, though several leaves were scattered across the gray stone floor, with thin moss growing in its recesses. The space felt cool, shaded by two tall trees that stood guard around it. She had seen this spot many times during her daily walks but had never visited it until now.
The sound of footsteps and the sight of figures approaching caught her attention, pulling her focus sharply toward the group.
Valerie saw the black-haired man approaching and stood, waiting for him. A strong breeze swept past her, sending her short platinum blond hair waving gently.
Lansius noticed her and motioned for his squire and entourage to wait farther away. They gladly took shelter under the shade of another tree, leaving the two of them alone.
Isn''t this like a scene from a romance movie?
Her heart fluttered shamefully against her will. She hated to admit it, but she had already taken the first blow. Only now did she realize that power truly had its charm.
"Ah, you''ve been waiting," Lansius said calmly. His gentle, straightforward tone of appreciation made her feel a little faint. Nobody else in this world treated her as an equal; it was something that could only come from modern education and years of schooling.
To counter her feelings, she quickly sharpened her tongue. "I''ve been waiting for you," Valerie replied, feigning irritation to mask her nervousness.
"You might want to sit down first," he said.
She obeyed, lowering herself onto the stone bench in the gazebo. He continued, standing in front of her, "Val, I''ve been meaning to ask this since I saw you again."
This is it. He''s going to confess, and I won''t be able to say no. Not after everything he''s done...
He went on, "What can you tell me about Bengrieve''s musket?"
She frowned, caught off guard. "Musket?"
"Erhm... fusil?" he tried, switching to the French term.
She raised her hand to stop him, needing a moment to steady her emotions. Half of her had laughed, scorned, and her own foolish thoughts.
He has Audrey. What am I even thinking?
"Should I come back another day?" Lansius offered, concerned.
Valerie inhaled sharply before saying weakly, "No, no. I''ll explain. What do you need to know?" She forced a smile despite her wounded pride, knowing the fault wasn¡¯t his but hers.
...
Lansius
Standing beneath the stone-domed gazebo, Lansius listened intently to what Valerie had just shared about muskets in Progentia. As it turned out, muskets had been known there for generations, although they never truly caught on.
"Interesting," Lansius remarked. "So they¡¯re not as powerful as you expected."
"Oui," Valerie confirmed. "During my years as an explorer, I met someone who used one in Progentia. I¡¯ve seen one in action. It wasn¡¯t all that useful, except in specific scenarios like an ambush. We¡¯re better off relying on Felis¡¯ crossbow cover than a musket."
The notion piqued Lansius¡¯ interest. "Is it really that underwhelming?"
"Don¡¯t get me wrong; it can kill a goblin. But, at least in the catacombs, you¡¯d be mistaken to rely on them," she warned.
Lansius chose not to argue. He understood that, to those unfamiliar with history, early muskets might seem unimpressive, especially compared to crossbows, which excelled even against armored opponents. It was only natural that few appreciated the technology.
"That person told me that, dozens of generations ago, muskets were more common. But over time, replacement parts and, especially, gunpowder became harder and harder to find," Valerie added.
"But Bengrieve was able to make gunpowder," he pointed out.
"Haven¡¯t you noticed?" Valerie asked. "The gunpowder Cascasonne uses is gray, not black."
"Now that you mention it, it didn¡¯t look black to me," Lansius recalled, thinking back to the demonstration he had witnessed.
"Meanwhile, what we had in Progentia was white."
"White gunpowder?" Lansius asked, his interest intensifying as he gazed at her.
She nodded. "From what I¡¯ve seen, the dwarves¡¯ powder creates almost no smoke and isn¡¯t as loud. It didn¡¯t have that thunderous cracking sound."
"That makes a lot of sense," Lansius said, his thoughts clearing as the pieces came together. "For the dwarves fighting underground, normal guns would shatter their eardrums. And with limited ceiling height and ventilation, the smoke would make it impossible to see anything afterward."
"Likely so," Valerie agreed. "Also, because it¡¯s so old, only things stored in rune-sealed containers can still be used. And even then, sometimes they¡¯ve aged so much that there¡¯s no guarantee they¡¯ll still be useful."
Lansius stood silently, his emotions mixed. On one hand, he was relieved that the impact of muskets had been minimal, largely due to the dwarves¡¯ limitations. On the other hand, he felt saddened that even this technology had been lost to time. "So the dwarven muskets and the white powder have largely gone extinct," he lamented.
"It seems so," she confirmed.
He exhaled deeply, his mind racing. "What do you think about Bengrieve¡¯s musket? I¡¯ve fired one, but not in the heat of battle."
"From what I can tell, theirs is cruder. Despite the loud noise, it struggles to penetrate newer ringmail," she said.
Lansius turned toward the garden and remarked, "It must be because he wants to keep it hidden that he can¡¯t openly conduct experiments or involve others in its development."
Valerie followed his gaze and noticed an adorable bumblebee perched atop a yellow flower.
"Still, I¡¯m curious. Why did he use it in the first place? It¡¯s as if he already knew the potential of muskets," he wondered aloud.
"Like you, I¡¯m also surprised that House Bengrieve was able to reproduce them, along with the gray powder," she said. A gentle breeze sent the bumblebee tumbling from the flower, but the resilient creature rolled and flew again. Charmed by its determination, she admitted, "Perhaps half of it is my fault."
"Your fault?" Lansius asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.
Valerie kept her gaze on the stone floor. "When I met Bengrieve several years ago, he became suspicious of me. To prove my loyalty, he told me to drink the nectar of truth. It¡¯s a drug. And because of it, I told him everything he wanted to know."
Lansius froze, his eyes widening before narrowing into a heated glare. His jaw tightened, and before he realized it, his right hand had already balled into a fist. "He did what to you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Valerie, now seemingly unburdened, revealed with a grateful gaze, "He knows everything, including our world¡¯s history. He¡¯s using that knowledge to shape the future. His future."
Lansius exhaled sharply and slammed his fist into the stone column, the dull thud reverberating through the gazebo. "Incomplete knowledge of history is fatal. I need to meet him before it¡¯s too late."
"But how will you react if it quickly turns into an arms conflict? Even if you¡¯re a good general, your men fight with swords. He has muskets."
"That¡¯s exactly what I said. Incomplete knowledge is fatal." Lansius scoffed, then met her gaze with iron determination. "A general who sees victory only through muskets is a simple one. I am not one of them."
***
Chapter 221 : In Pursuit of Steel
Chapter 221
In Pursuit of Steel
Canardia Castle
The sun was almost setting when Lansius, still brooding from his conversation with Valerie, entered the Great Hall. There, the mage parted, choosing to dine privately with Mother Arryn and Tanya. Inside the vast and ornate hall, Lansius saw Audrey waiting for him with a gentle, pleased smile, indicating that today''s food selection was entirely to her satisfaction. Together, they assumed their roles and hosted supper for their guests and retainers. It was a merry and delightful supper, but for Lansius it was merely a brief distraction.
Afterward, he parted with Audrey and went to his study chamber. He had to check his work now that he had learned more about muskets in this world. "To win battles without muskets," he muttered, sitting alone in his study.
It was a bold claim, but for Lansius, it wasn¡¯t difficult to imagine. Even after the introduction of muskets, it would take decades, if not centuries, before they reached their full potential. Early muskets lacked accuracy, had slow reload times, and struggled in poor weather. They weren¡¯t the battlefield dominators some believed them to be.
More than just weapons, they needed better doctrine, improved formations, and a fundamental shift in the nobility before a new age could begin. Fortunately, even when Bengrieve interrogated Valerie, she lacked military insight. Bengrieve might grasp how revolutionary muskets were, but he lacked the technical details to make it happen.
The devil is always in the details¡
Knights and heavy cavalry didn¡¯t just disappear because their armor couldn¡¯t withstand musket fire. The change didn¡¯t start in the chaos of the battlefield but in the merriment of the courts. The knights of that time had already evolved beyond their original role. They had become wealthy, educated, and sophisticated. The days of rough men whose only path to advancement lay in the lance, sword, ransom money, and tournaments were fading. They were now bureaucrats, diplomats, businessmen, patrons of the arts, and scholars.
Feudalism was waning. The social contract between kings and vassals was shifting. The new breed of nobles no longer felt the need to ride into battle in plate armor when they could raise armies instead. And kings, with their growing treasuries, preferred to pay professionals rather than rely on levies.
That was how warfare changed historically, at least in his world. It was largely because power had shifted, not because of muskets and gunpowder. This thinking was further proven during the Napoleonic Wars. It was the era of cannons and muskets, and knights in armor had long vanished. And yet, Napoleon brought back heavy cavalry.
Napoleon''s heavy cavalry, the famed cuirassiers, served effectively as shock troops. Their grand successes proved that on the right battlefield, against the right enemy, armor, sword, and speed could still turn the tide.
Heavy cavalry and dragoons persisted into the Crimean War and even saw limited use in World War I.
Lansius exhaled deeply and began to sort through the neatly stacked documents in his top drawer. When he couldn¡¯t find what he needed, he pulled open the second drawer and finally found it.
Audrey had contacted armor makers in southern Midlandia on his behalf and had arranged a friendly competition as an introduction to their rule. While the armorers'' guild was still in jeopardy because half their members were in the north, they were fully supportive of the competition. The challenge was to craft armor capable of withstanding a windlass crossbow firing heavier bolts while still retaining the same weight, flexibility, and mobility.
Lansius had long calculated that a windlass crossbow had better penetration than a musket, especially one powered by grey powder, which produced lower velocity. It served as a good alternative without introducing muskets and unnecessarily revealing the weapon. Despite the siege of Cascasonne, few truly understood what a musket was. Many, including its victims, believed they had been struck by a type of fire crossbow or an alchemist''s weapon.
Moreover, he had learned that steel-hardening techniques were known in Midlandia but were rarely used due to their cost and time-consuming process. Most armorers preferred to increase plate thickness rather than undergo tedious heat treatment. The mindset was simple: why waste effort when a slightly thicker plate provided the same protection? Furthermore, no noble would pay a significant amount just to save a small amount of weight. Many even added more weight with decorations.
However, this would not do against windlass crossbows and muskets. Lansius knew he would need to push the art of armor-making to a new level. While, he fully understood that armor alone wouldn''t make muskets obsolete, it would lessen their impact and buy more time for the greater society to adapt.
The competition, which would be held by the Midlandia Office of Work, would cover full armor sets, not just the breastplate. The winning design would need to balance plate, ringmail, and a padded jack. Lansius expected them to use better-quality plate, slightly thicker, but with an arming doublet instead of full ringmail as a practical compromise.
Armorers would compete in two categories.
The first was the knight model, representing the best the industry had to offer.
The second was the men-at-arms model, designed for heavy infantry with a balance of protection and cost.
Judging criteria included capability, weight, and price. The prize was a grand order of three hundred armor sets of varying models¡ªone hundred fifty for the winner, with the rest divided among second, third, and other participants. This large commission would push armor-making to the next level. Furthermore, sponsorship prizes were offered for the discovery of new methods. Lansius wanted the industry to advance before the dawn of a new era.
It would be a costly endeavor, but he would rather use the profits from war to fund his army than hoard luxury goods that would gather dust in the face of imminent risk.
With three hundred of these proofed armor sets, his knights and Vanguard would be well protected, and the impact of muskets would not be as devastating. Once this was realized, along with his other hidden innovations, Lansius would even feel confident facing the famed Oda Nobunaga and his matchlock troops, assured that he could not only hold his ground but counter him decisively.
***
Sir Omin
Alongside Sir Michael, carriages and carts from Korelia arrived, carrying goods, talents, and even family members. Among them was a striking older woman with a steely gaze, accompanied by her maid and a servant.
"Hilda," Sir Omin called as he approached with his squire. The crowd, recognizing him, gladly parted to give him space.
"Ominus!" she replied warmly, while her maid and servant carried her belongings.
The two approached each other closely, stopping just short of an embrace.
"How is our boy?" Omin asked, motioning for Hilda to follow him toward his carriage, parked nearby.
"He is healthy. I¡¯m grateful that Lord Lansius allows them to study before taking up the life of a squire. I think it¡¯s an excellent change."
"Indeed. They¡¯re often too young, and the change in their lives is far too abrupt," he reflected upon his own experience before shifting the subject. "Well, I promised I would show you Midlandia, and here we are."
"Your words rang true, that a man like Lord Lansius could never be contained forever in Lowlandia," she said as they reached his carriage.
Omin gave her a thin smile and helped her into the carriage. The squire and maid sat alongside the coachman, while the servant took a seat at the back with a guard.
Once they were inside, and the carriage began moving, Omin remarked, "A man like him is capable of hiding plenty of ambition. Although, I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s his or the lady¡¯s."
"They are one. I¡¯ve never seen a husband and wife as close as they are," Hilda commented.
Sitting beside her, Omin leaned closer and whispered, "Aren¡¯t we just as close?"
She gave him a shy, uncharacteristic smile and cleared her throat. "Why don¡¯t you show me around town."
"I¡¯ve already told the coach to do so, but don¡¯t expect to be amazed."
Her brow furrowed. "Why the warning?"
"Because," he said with an almost bored expression, "you wouldn¡¯t believe it, but compared to Korelia, Canardia has little to impress."
She was surprised. "That is unexpected," she said, glancing through the glass window at the fine-looking buildings outside.
"To be amazed by Midlandia, you¡¯d need to visit the bigger cities. But they¡¯re a few days¡¯ travel from here, and I¡¯d need to arrange an escort."
"That¡¯s fine. We¡¯ll save it for another time. I¡¯ll be living here anyway, so there will be plenty of opportunities."
"I hope so. With so much at stake, I hope this peace lasts for a long time," he replied, his voice carrying a rare sincerity.
She turned to him and smiled warmly. "You¡¯ve changed, dear Ominus."
"Have I?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, you¡¯re more optimistic now."
He let out a chortle. "I¡¯m still frustrated, but maybe now I¡¯m frustrated for good reason."
This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"What¡¯s on your mind right now?"
"Aside from making babies?"
She slapped his thigh, drawing a hearty chuckle from him.
Omin couldn¡¯t discuss the field ballista project or the armor competition handled by MOW, but he was free to share details about another. "Fire brigades," he revealed as the carriage rolled onto the bustling main road. "The Lord plans to establish a dedicated firefighting corps, similar to what we had in Korelia, but larger and better equipped."
"Isn¡¯t that a bit odd?" she commented as their horse-drawn carriage passed through the town¡¯s bustling shopping district. "The weather here is so much milder compared to Korimor or Korelia."
"Indeed. The sun is gentler, and the wind less harsh. But the buildings are mostly old, their wood and timbers dried out. Worse, they are tightly packed, and if a fire breaks out, it could spread quickly," he explained grimly.
"Then give it your best, dear. I¡¯m here, so I¡¯ll be supportive."
"I can¡¯t wait to taste your cooking. And your body," Omin softly whispered the last part.
Her cheeks reddened as she instinctively tried to slap his thigh again, but he caught her wrist. They both chuckled, like young lovebirds.
***
Sir Morton
The Black Knights received a manor on the outskirts of Canardia as their post. While the Blue Midlandian Army¡¯s new encampment and billets were located on the west side, the Black Knights¡¯ manor lay to the east. There, Sir Morton acted as steward of the land and its neighboring towns and villages, while his knights, squires, and a growing number of men-at-arms attached to them focused on training and rest.
It was a fair midday when Morton visited an inn for lunch, as he often did, to escape the demands of his duties and the rigors of military life. The inn was mostly quiet at this hour, with most guests arriving closer to sundown.
While he waited for his meal, an unexpected visitor approached.
"Sir Harold wishes to see you," his squire reported.
"Ah, the Lord Shogun''s champion, what a pleasure to have you grace my eyes. To what do I owe this honor¡ªa report on Krakusa or perhaps a mock duel?" Morton greeted with a friendly jest.
Both knights grinned, but for a fleeting moment, their gazes sharpened as if radiating killing intent, measuring and gauging each other¡¯s prowess. Then, both chuckled.
Morton gestured for Harold to take a seat, and the taller knight obliged.
"Pale ale?" the mage knight offered, motioning for the innkeeper¡¯s son to approach.
"Don¡¯t mind if I do," Harold replied.
Hearing this, the innkeeper¡¯s son brought another silver goblet and poured the newly arrived knight a pale ale. The two sipped in unison.
"So, I see married life hasn¡¯t dulled you one bit," Morton said with a sly smile. The quiet of the near-empty inn gave them the privacy to speak freely.
Harold responded with a warm glance. "I must thank you for the golden goblet. It¡¯s a remarkable gift."
"Ah, don¡¯t mention it," Morton said with a dismissive wave. "They¡¯re trophies from Kapua and Lubina, but I thought they¡¯d make a fitting wedding gift. It¡¯s also a small gesture of gratitude for convincing my Lord to trust me with the airship."
The innkeeper''s son returned to refill their goblets.
"I¡¯m still surprised Lord Jorge allowed you to assume such a role," Harold said as their goblets were filled.
Morton smirked. "Despite the rumors, Lord Jorge is wiser than most give him credit for. He wants me and the Black Knights to play a bigger role in the Shogunate. That way, House Jorge stays relevant."
Harold nodded, satisfied with the frank answer.
"So, how¡¯s married life? Does it suit the stern, chivalrous swordsman who strives for perfection?"
The guest let out a faint smile and replied, "Marriage hasn¡¯t changed my approach. If anything, it enhanced it."
"Let me guess: a sword without a sheath?"
Harold chuckled briefly before explaining, "Having someone you trust to manage your estate allows you to focus entirely on your duties."
Behind his critical demeanor, Morton was genuinely pleased by the response. He had secretly harbored a wish to marry a certain seamstress in Three Hills. Watching young Sterling, and now Harold, maintain their sharpness and resolve while married stirred a deep yearning within him, a longing to return to Three Hills and ask for her hand.
The rich flavor of the pale ale lingered on his palate as Harold set down his goblet and shifted the topic. "I¡¯m here today on an errand. What¡¯s your opinion on the Hunter Guild?"
"I presume you mean the one with daggers, not the hawks?"
"You presume correctly."
"Hunters..." Morton savored the word. "They¡¯re dangerous, but they¡¯re not man-killers like mages. And since you can handle even me, I doubt they pose much of a threat to you or the Lord Shogun, provided proper guards are in place."
Harold merely listened, allowing Morton to continue. "Their skill set is mostly geared toward battling monstrous fell beasts or large animals, not cunning humans."
"Bears?" the Midlandian knight ventured.
"Bears," the mage knight confirmed.
Harold nodded in acknowledgment before slowly revealing his task. "Lord Lansius asked if you¡¯d be willing to represent him in dealing with the Hunter Guild."
Morton¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile as he glanced toward the inn¡¯s glass window, amusement flickering in his expression. ¡°The Lord Shogun has placed great trust in me, granting me both honor and wealth. Naturally, I¡¯ll answer the call. But I¡¯ve never been much of a speaker, so this errand has me a bit puzzled. Besides, I¡¯ve heard about the smuggler problem in the south and I expect to be mobilized soon to return to Lord Jorge¡¯s side.¡±
Harold cut in smoothly. ¡°I¡¯ve been briefed on those roaches. Preparations are already underway. But there¡¯s still time to handle this errand with the Hunter¡¯s Guild before you depart. As for the meeting, others will do the talking. You and I are just there to give our allies¡¯ words more weight.¡±
"Ah," Morton exclaimed, satisfied. "Then, just let me know when and where. Though I must admit, I can¡¯t imagine why the Lady couldn¡¯t handle this herself."
Both knights exchanged grins at the notion but refused to elaborate further. It would be dishonorable to speak ill of their master.
"Then it¡¯s best to bring the captured assassin mage as a witness," Morton reminded.
"Certainly. The SAR has him in custody," Harold reassured him.
"Too bad we can¡¯t do the same with the Hunter..."
"It¡¯s unfortunate. Arranging to move him was complicated. Moreover, as I understand it, the Lord wishes to keep him as a hostage."
"Hostage, huh? Perhaps we can learn a great deal from him if he talks. The Hunter Guild is far older and has far more secrets than the mages."
"Indeed. We also suspect he¡¯s more than just a mere agent."
The Black Knight Captain¡¯s interest was piqued. "While I¡¯m firmly in the camp of putting the man¡¯s head on a pike, if satisfying our master¡¯s curiosity keeps him alive, I can understand."
Harold gazed at the mage knight and asked, "You seem more accommodating with the illegal mage. Is it because of camaraderie?"
Morton chuckled, finding the question worth answering. "The mage is broken. He has seen and felt something so frightening it changed his ways. I have stared into his eyes, and all he gave me was a warm, resigned look."
Harold nodded but stopped pursuing the topic. Delving further would mean touching on the Lady¡¯s abilities, the House¡¯s most closely guarded secret.
***
Elandia
The new Lord of South Elandia, Bengrieve, was busy consolidating his realm and uniting the Elandian lords under a common cause. While progress had been slow at first, news of his victory in Cascasonne, along with the unexpected capture of Reginald, propelled his plans forward. With his stellar reputation restored and riding high on the winds of victory, the nobles had no choice but to acknowledge his brilliance.
Among the nobles, the consensus was that Bengrieve had emerged as the winner of the Midlandia Civil War. While some dissenting voices argued that he was, in reality, losing influence and control, their objections were drowned out by the majority. It was hard to convince them otherwise¡ªafter all, the Lord of Cascasonne had not lost his birthright land, and his army in Elandia remained loyal and intact. Furthermore, he had risen from a mere Seneschal to a full lord in his own right.
Many also remembered his role in last year¡¯s battle against the Nicopolan mercenary incursion, which had saved the rest of Elandia from famine. While the original South Elandian lords who had lost their land to Bengrieve remained bitter, without land or power, they had become political pariahs.
With the Imperium gone and no central authority to uphold the law, their voices were carried away by the winds of change.
The rest of the Elandian nobles had moved on to other news that caught their attention. They began to learn of and respect Bengrieve''s powerful ally, Lansius. The foreigner had triumphed time and again, building an almost legendary reputation. With Southern Midlandia now firmly in his grasp, many began studying his rise with great interest. They found his victories in the far-flung Lowlandia to be no mere coincidence but the result of military brilliance.
More and more sharp minds saw Lansius as a juggernaut ready to spread his wings. Among this circle of like-minded individuals, they began to quietly question whether the now-famous Blue and Bronze banners harbored an imperial ambition.
Lord Bengrieve watched the situation unfold with silent glee. He wasn¡¯t bothered by it. However, his closest staff did not share his confidence and had begun to question his stance.
"My lord, Lord Lansius now controls a vast swath of Midlandia," the older knight, usually merry, said with uncharacteristic seriousness inside the small council chamber.
"And?" Bengrieve replied lightly.
Another added quickly, "The Midlandians are praising him, joining his army, and talents are flocking to his banner."
"As it should be," Bengrieve agreed unexpectedly.
His staff exchanged frustrated glances.
"Aren¡¯t you worried about him?" the older knight asked.
Bengrieve glanced at him and merely said, "Why should I be?"
"Your influence, my lord," the knight replied bluntly. "Before, Midlandia was your House''s puppet. Now you''re losing it."
Bengrieve found it amusing. Without looking up from the document he was reading, he asked, "And what have I gained in return?"
The four staff members, young and old, traded uncertain glances until the senior knight cautiously replied, "We dare not venture to guess."
"Freedom," Bengrieve revealed with a soft chuckle, much to their puzzlement.
"It¡¯s like being freed from an iron shackle," he explained with an unusually merry tone. "For a long time, my House has wanted someone competent to take control of the Earldom. We even tried so hard with the Healers'' Guild and the idea of a theocracy, just to produce a modestly capable figure without the latent corruption or scandals. But all we ended up with was twisted faith and fanaticism."
"To err is human," the older knight offered consolingly.
Bengrieve snorted, finding it too kind. "But the mistake wasn¡¯t just about letting that wretched Nay take over the Monastery and throw the entire Guild in with Reginald. The mistake was deeper." He smirked and added, "I think my grandfather and father mistakenly didn¡¯t aim high enough."
Finding his statement cryptic, yet familiar with Bengrieve¡¯s habit of leaving riddles, the other knight ventured, "We humbly ask for your insight, my lord."
After exhaling, Bengrieve turned from his parchment to regard his staff one by one. "I believe what my grandfather wanted wasn¡¯t a puppet but someone competent. And now, a new candidate has arrived to volunteer himself."
The senior knight frowned, finding the statement contradictory. "But Lansius isn¡¯t a puppet. Your House will eventually lose all power east of Cascasonne."
A smile tugged at Bengrieve¡¯s lips. "That¡¯s not necessarily bad. Sometimes, you gain more by letting go." He motioned toward a silver jug on the table. "Like giving up ale to improve your health, or giving up gambling to save money."
His staff remained unconvinced but found it difficult to argue.
Bengrieve continued, "It¡¯ll be an interesting situation. Lansius will be surprised by Midlandia''s corrupt nobles, its colorful people, and its fanatics. And they, in turn, will be surprised by the new lord''s ruthless efficiency. Both sides will be surprised." He chuckled softly and returned to his parchment.
"Time will tell whether the result is beneficial to us or detrimental," he concluded. "For now, we have our work cut out in Elandia. Internally, we need to recruit more and equip them. Externally, there¡¯s Gottfried, the ailing Old Duke Louis, and the capital to deal with."
His men acknowledged him with firm nods before departing one by one.
A young knight remained, and Bengrieve glanced at him, prompting him to speak, "My Lord, about the hundreds of refugees from the Capital; there are reports that they''re getting close to our chain of castle towns. Shouldn''t we be concerned?"
"Knight Commander Bald Eagle," Bengrieve muttered a name instead of giving a straight answer.
"Indeed, My Lord. That''s the one who claimed to be their leader," the young knight confirmed.
"It''s a shame I can''t convince him to join. He commands a force of a few hundred competent fighters and scores of valiant knights," Bengrieve said evenly, then turned to his retainer. "He''s a war hero, the last of the Imperium''s. Keep an eye on them as they march toward the mountains to retire. Task two dozen riders to serve as his escort, following at a safe distance. Treat him with respect, but there''s no need to shower him with gifts. I already gave him three barrels of grain as a token of hospitality when one of our agents met him last week."
"Acknowledged," the man sprang to action, pleased that Bengrieve had been aware of the issue.
As the last retainer exited, Bengrieve glanced at a letter from Stan detailing Lansius'' warnings about the new weapons. Unsurprisingly, the black haired man knew about the dwarven weapon. He had likely lured, captured, and interrogated Valerie, just as he had done before.
Yet, it mattered little to Bengrieve. His plan had not changed. The pawns on the board had shifted beyond his control, but the stage and the victory condition remained the same.
***