Horizon of War Series

Chapter 212: Ex Ruinis Imperii

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.

"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—not 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?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"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—hopefully 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.@@novelbin@@

"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—better 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.

***