Horizon of War Series

Chapter 221: In Pursuit of Steel

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.

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—one 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."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"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—a 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—after 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.

***