Horizon of War Series

Chapter 196: The Final Flourish

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—one 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.”

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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.”n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

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—especially 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—esquires, mercenaries, craftsmen, and traders—labored 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—albeit limited—quickly 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.

***