Horizon of War Series-Chapter 238: The Third Front

The Third Front

Lansius

The steady thump of an axe cleaving wood echoed against the stone walls of the castle's backyard. Several guards and servants stood watching as Lansius worked, channeling his frustration into each powerful swing. Unlike the Korelians, who were accustomed to such displays, the castle staff in Canardia witnessed this for the first time, and their curiosity was only natural.

Yet, nothing remarkable happened. Lansius continued splitting wood, with Sterling assisting him as needed. Some of the younger maids were noticeably blushing, though he attributed that more to the waning summer sun than to his physique, which, compared to others like Sir Harold, was neither overly muscular nor particularly toned. Still, he had heard from Valerie that with his kind of lordly power and influence, even if he were fat and unsightly, many women would still swoon over him.

Power and wealth have their charm... Is that also why Audrey agreed to marry me?

He paused, then delivered a powerful blow that cleaved a thigh-sized log cleanly in one go. The dull thud of the split wood echoed as the pieces tumbled onto the grass, rolling lazily before coming to a stop.

As he watched the fragments settle, Lansius realized that his concern was meaningless. Audrey was still physically more powerful than him.

Now that she has magic, she’s even more powerful. Sometimes, it feels like sleeping next to a cuddly lioness.

Without Lansius noticing, Audrey had arrived. The onlookers, aware of her presence, straightened and offered respectful curtsies as she approached with her entourage.

"There you are," Audrey said as Lansius swung his axe one last time at a thick, stubborn log. It resisted, refusing to split cleanly. He drove the axe into the stump he had been using as a chopping block and, with practiced ease, picked up the log and wrenched it open with his bare hands.

The satisfying crack made him smile as he turned toward Audrey, who raised a brow and wore her usual smug expression.

"What?" Lansius asked with a slight smirk as the staff quietly retreated to give them privacy.

"Feeling stressed, are you?" she asked, her tone playful.

"Somewhat," he admitted.

"Join me for a walk," she suggested.

Lansius glanced at Sterling, who quickly stepped forward to take care of the axe.

The two strolled toward the garden, taking a roundabout path while the SAR guards formed an escort, maintaining a respectful distance to avoid disturbing them.

"Husband, you better praise me for sitting down quietly and watching the tooth elixir demonstration," Audrey said, breaking the ice.

Lansius chuckled. "You did well, love. Well enough to earn an extra kiss tonight."

It was subtle, but he could see it had lifted her mood. Still, she didn’t press him, likely giving him space to speak on his own. Lansius recognized that the way she handled his frustration wasn't always the same. Sometimes, it was the gentle approach: I’m here if you want to talk, and if not, I’ll pretend not to notice. Other times, it was the opposite: Tell me now. Don’t carry it alone.

He found it strangely comforting, even endearing. He smiled faintly and finally asked, "Is Francisca around?"

"She knew better than to eavesdrop and likely headed to watch over the castle gate," she replied, guessing his intention. "Unless it's something really important... then I think I can do something."

"Something?" Lansius was intrigued.

"Ingrid and Valerie taught me how to conjure a wall of air. It's not dense, but rippling, enough to muffle sound."

"Ah, clever," Lansius murmured, his eyes filled with interest as he sensed the subtle shift in the air.

Audrey glanced at him, and Lansius, having witnessed magic countless times, recognized the telltale signs. He reached out to touch the translucent air. It was barely visible, but it felt like a delicate membrane, smooth yet resistant. Ɽ𝒶ΝÓ𝖇ЁŜ

"Mine is still full of holes, though. I need more practice," she said, her tone modest. "And any unexpected things can break my concentration."

"I see." Normally, he would have taken this moment to tease her with a playful gesture, maybe a pat on her rear, but the troubling news from Arvena had dulled his mood.

"So, what's the issue that’s making you split wood?" Audrey asked, moving gracefully, her pregnancy appearing to have little effect on her.

"Well, a letter just arrived."

"How bad?" Audrey asked, bracing herself effortlessly.

"It's from Arvena," Lansius said, and Audrey immediately stopped, her eyes locking onto him.

"Finally, news about the conflict. How did it go?" she asked, her tone optimistic.

Lansius stopped and turned to face her, his expression guarded as he spoke carefully. "The war went in Lord Arte's favor."

She sighed, a breath of relief escaping her lips.

Lansius wanted to leave it at that, but he had to tell her the rest. "But I think they overdid it."

"Why?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"They killed Gottfried's son, the Crown Prince of Brigantes," Lansius said with a hint of regret.

"Oh, I see the problem," she murmured, her expression thoughtful. "That's inexcusable. But now the blood feud is partially paid."

"Drey..." Lansius was perplexed by her reply.

Instead of offering a comforting answer, Audrey asked, "Do you not understand the significance of this?"

Something told Lansius he had missed something, so he explained, "I understand that this will lead Gottfried into another war—"

"That much is certain. A father has lost his son. Gottfried will undoubtedly try to burn Arvena to the ground. But can’t you see?" Audrey met his gaze. "Gottfried did it first to Arvena, to Lord Maurice. Every Arvenian will do the same to Gottfried. Blood has been spilled, and I think the Arvenians will rise."

Lansius' eyes wandered briefly before returning to her. "But Lord Arte has been trying the same thing since last year with little to show. What’s different now? His growing reputation?"

"Indeed. Lord Arte has shown his people that he is capable of wielding their vengeance," Audrey explained. "I might not be an Arvenian, but I lived among them long enough to understand. These highland people harbor past hatred like no other."

Not easily swayed by such broad sentiment, Lansius tried to consult his own experiences, but he remembered that Marc, his brother, was not originally Arvenian. Without a solid counter, he could only exhale.

The two continued walking and eventually entered the garden. Lansius spotted the familiar stone-domed gazebo, surrounded by old trees that filtered the soft glow of the waning afternoon sun. As they moved along the garden path, he began to think that the Arvenians likely understood what was coming for them. With the Crown Prince dead, the repercussions would be more than just severe.

Lansius didn’t know Gottfried personally, but if he was like any other lord, his response would be violent and brutal.

Audrey, her wind barrier now gone, didn't opt for the gazebo and instead perched gracefully on the sturdy wooden rail that protected the prized medicinal herbs. As was customary, various herbs with medicinal properties were carefully cultivated in the garden.

Lansius remained standing and said, "The way I see it, with the Crown Prince dead, the Arvenians will realize there’s no hope of coexistence. They’ll know that only war awaits them."

"That’s an even stronger reason," Audrey agreed. "Do you think Arvena can win this war against the Brigantes Kingdom?"

"Against Brigandia and four other northern provinces?" Lansius shook his head. "Economy, manpower, horses, talents..." He stopped, feeling no need to continue.

Yet, Audrey held his gaze, her eyes searching for hope, but he had nothing to offer.

"Maybe if they all rose to arms," he muttered softly. "Arvena’s population is smaller than even Midlandia’s, but it’s still a good three to five million souls. If a twentieth of them rose, that would be around one hundred thousand men. But that’s unlikely... too far-fetched to believe."

"But can it happen?" Audrey asked.

A strong gust of wind swept through the garden, rustling the leaves and making the branches sway.

"I have no idea," Lansius said. "It depends on Lord Arte’s charm and his ability to win over the local chiefs."

"You missed my point," she argued. "What I’m asking is whether they stand a chance of victory."

Catching her intent, Lansius replied, "Of course, it’s possible. As I said, if everyone in Arvena hated Gottfried and was merely waiting for a leader to rise, then yes, it can happen."

Audrey let her legs sway gently, her tone lighter. "And now they have Midlandia’s help."

"Drey," Lansius muttered, uncertain.

"Don’t tell me you don’t want to," she said half-teasing.

"It’s not that I don’t want to," he replied, his voice heavier. "But I can’t. Not with our situation."

"I’m not asking you to be fully invested in Arvena conflict," she clarified in a serious tone. "We are now Lord and Lady of Korelia and the Shogunate. Our ties to Arvena do not surpass our loyalty to our own baronies. But I propose that we can offer more than just congratulations and pleasantries."

Lansius nodded readily. "Now, that aligns with what I had in mind."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"When reason prevails, the path is often shared," she replied with a satisfied smile.

Aided by her view, a plan quickly formed in his mind. He was surprised, it was exactly the kind of idea he had always admired. He would take a page from what Tokugawa Ieyasu had done when he was just a starting daimyo with only a handful of troops. Ambitious but short on manpower, Ieyasu could not afford to be left behind by the rising power of Oda Nobunaga. So, he chose his fiercest and most loyal men to form an elite unit, one that would volunteer for the harshest tasks and fight to the bitter end. They would later become famous as the Red Demon Guard.

Even with only slightly more than a hundred men, they defied the odds by always holding their ground, asking to be on the vanguard and in the thick of the worst fighting. And Oda Nobunaga used these allied troops well, if not recklessly. To him, Ieyasu's troops were something to be thrown in as fodder to soften the enemy, yet they gained victory after victory.

When others failed and ran, the Red Demons fought and succeeded. Their stubbornness and refusal to retreat earned them respect across the field. In the end, despite their small number, they brought great honor to Ieyasu and strengthened his reputation among the lords. This would be the bedrock from which he built his Tokugawa Shogunate, which lasted for more than 250 years.

If even such a number worked for Ieyasu, then a bigger one should also work for me.

One name came to mind. There was only one who could succeed in such a task. And unlike the Red Demon Guard, he could afford to send more. At once, his thoughts split into several parts, each presenting a different angle.

From our position, we could infiltrate West Arvena and wreak havoc on Gottfried’s power base.

But we need Gottfried to balance Bengrieve and the other lords. That's the big plan.

No. Sooner or later, Gottfried will become too big a menace.

It’s only fortunate that we can fight this war through a proxy. Lord Arte is willing. It’s not our fault.

Damn it, Bellandia is caught in the middle. Are you going to destroy that, too?

Screw it. I’ll build a new Bellandia from scratch if I have to. We need to blunt their momentum and help our allies.

At last, the strongest reasoning surfaced from the depths of his consciousness.

The Arvenians are counting on us in their darkest hour. We can’t turn our backs.

Meanwhile, Audrey watched from his side, satisfied that a little nudge was all it took for her husband to push past the mental barrier.

***

Servius

Leading 300 men, supported by 300 levies, Servius picked up a clue when rumors reached him that someone had been recruiting troops across various villages. They moved quietly, but their growing numbers meant reports began trickling in from multiple sources. The news was surprising, though not entirely unexpected. Even though peace had been guaranteed, Servius’s legion couldn't feed everyone.

Lord Lansius’ villages in Umberland were thriving, and their crops helped sustain the populace under Servius’s care. He continued the work of restoring broken farms, repairing irrigation channels, and rebuilding granaries. There had also been several successful plantings of vegetables and fast-growing grains. However, until the main harvest in the fall, food remained scarce throughout his part of Nicopola, now under the control of the Gray Skull Legion.

In many communities, there wasn’t enough grain for bread. Gruel was all they had to fill their empty stomachs.

“Around two hundred from the five villages around the mountain, another two hundred from those gathering around the manors nearby, and the Ancients know how many refugees they picked up off the streets,” said an older man, seated across Servius in a weathered wooden cabin.

Servius nodded, grateful for the report.

The man continued, “Servius, please. They're not your subjects, but give them leniency. They're only trying to find food.”

“It’s partially my fault. I won’t punish them,” Servius replied, hoping to reassure his old mercenary comrade. Then he chuckled. When his friend gave him a questioning look, he explained, “Their lives might depend on whether I mess up or not, but they're not my subjects. I'm just a knight.”

"How many towns, manors, and castles are under your control?" his condottiere peer asked.

Servius could only chuckle in amusement, unable to counter or dismiss the point.

"You're a baron, just not in name," his friend remarked.

Servius nodded to acknowledge the view. With a gesture of his left hand, Servius signaled his squire to pour them drinks.

The young man brought out two silver cups and filled them with a good wine.

"Ah, fancy stuff for a pair of old cripples like us," his friend smirked. "I can tell by the smell. This is Three Hills’ wine."

"We captured plenty from the rebels’ stash. A pity there were no grains, only silver and wine."

"A pity," his friend echoed, accepting the goblet offered to him. He swirled it gently and lifted it to his nose, savoring the aroma.

"Give him the whole wineskin," Servius instructed. The squire obeyed, placing the wineskin on the table.

"Gratitude," he said with a pleasant smile, his scarred face softening for a moment.

"For old time’s sake."

They drank, and after a brief exchange, Servius rose to leave. The sky was overcast, but at the foot of the mountain, the weather was always unpredictable.

Walking with a slight limp, he made his way toward his horse, followed by his squire and guards. All around them, hundreds of troops were returning to formation, having seen their commander rise and understanding that the rest was over.

"So what now, Sir?" his lieutenant asked as they walked. "Will we give chase?"

"Yes, their move should give us some leads," Servius replied calmly. With help from his men, he mounted his horse. His left leg was injured, and his right hand ended in a metal hook.

"But what about our Nicopolan comrades being goaded into a fight?" the lieutenant pressed.

Servius gave a faint smirk. "That will resolve itself. As for us, we'll open the third front as scheduled."

Riding his horse, Servius set his sights on the East Nicopola mountain range with its five peaks. From their side, the slope wasn’t as steep as on the Three Hills side, and there was no jungle. The smugglers didn’t bother to hide their villages, as there was little reason to do so. The locals knew of the village in the mountains and its history but thought nothing of it.

Both sides shunned each other, although the locals admitted that the people coming from those villages now looked rich and powerful.

However, even the locals were surprised at the idea that there might be even larger cities and a citadel at the top of the mountains. Some refused to believe such a claim. But that didn't change a thing. Servius was certain that if he followed the mountain, village by village, the path deeper into the range would reveal itself.

***

Mountain Region, West of Three Hills

Farkas slapped a nasty bug that tried to bite his neck in his dilapidated field tent, where Ted, his squire, was washing their underwear in a bucket of water. It was nighttime, and their tent was lit by a bonfire, into which he had thrown some incense to help ward off insects. There were patrols with dogs outside, which came in handy, as even in the clearings, the vegetation was tall, and wild animals still roamed here and there.

After several days of moving northward from their earlier search, the recently returned airship had found the swamp and guided the nine hundred toward it. As they got closer, the bugs exploded in both size and number, making life even more miserable. They had spent three days trying to find boats or build a raft, but it was no use. The swamp was vast, and without the proper know-how, the raft got stuck easily.

And it wasn't as if they even knew where they were heading. From the swamp, all they could see was the mountain or the jungle.

After a string of accidents and sickness from bad water, they retreated east to find cleaner streams to drink from and open ground to make camp. So far, the only resupply they had came from the airship, which brought what it could when refueling in Three Hills every few days.

The supplies it brought were meager for nine hundred but still a welcome addition.

"You don't need to scrub that hard. It's clean enough," Farkas said. Ted had already used three buckets of water to wash just a few articles of clothing, their underwear and socks. Those two were the most important.

Ted nodded and began wringing them out before hanging them near the tent pole to dry. The heat from the fire would dry them before morning.

"Captain," Ted asked as he finished.

Farkas glanced at him, still rubbing his bruised foot. There wasn’t even a ten-year age gap between them.

"I overheard something strange. A few of the men said they’re eager for supplies to drop further."

"You actually heard them say that?" Farkas chuckled before Ted could answer.

Ted nodded, looking puzzled.

"Oh, those fools. They really love pasta," Farkas said. "If the supplies drop a bit more, we’ll open the pasta cache. It's reserved for last since it keeps longer than grains."

The squire nodded in understanding. He had heard about the pasta but had never tasted it. He was naturally curious, but the itchiness on his limbs demanded attention. "Captain, when do you think Sir Morton will return?"

"I'm not sure. It could be tomorrow. Why?"

"I asked the crew to bring some ointment for my skin," Ted said.

"Rash?" Farkas guessed.

Ted nodded shyly.

"Apply some salt and rub it off. Might help," Farkas said, watching as the young man did as he was told, rubbing salt on the areas where rashes often formed from sweat.

Without rising from his woolen carpet, Farkas instructed, "Now get some rest. I'll take first watch."

"Captain, you shouldn't treat me like a spoiled kid," Ted said, though he looked weak and pale, with dark circles under his eyes.

"I only did what I had to. Tedzeus House or not, if you get sick, you'll slow us down. We've already got plenty of sick men, and the airships can only evacuate a few."

The squire didn't argue further and began preparing his woolen blankets for sleep. He hoped to dream of the buttery oublie he always had at home.

Nearby, Farkas sat with his spear, sword, and crossbow within reach. It had been many nights, and still they had found no way into the mountain. At this rate, in another week or so, they would have to retreat and declare the campaign a failure.

...

The next morning, after meeting with Farkas, Sir Arius decided to act on a report from one of their scouts, who had found a goat path leading upward. It appeared wide enough and showed signs of recent use. It was still unclear if this was the path they had been searching for, but it was a far better option than trying to navigate the swamp again. Despite stories of smugglers using boats to cross it, those could have been rumors meant to deceive them.

Though they loathed the jungle and the harsh terrain and had seen no real results so far, the nine hundred Lowlandians broke camp and began preparing to march. They understood how vital the expedition was, and morale held steady. Their officers had delivered the news: they were heading for another side of the mountain.

"At least it's not the swamp," many murmured in agreement.

After several hours of marching, they found that this part of the mountain held a deep downward basin where a thicker jungle awaited. Green leaves brushed against their faces, and lush vegetation closed in from all sides as they moved in tight formation. Eyes scanned the trees and distant ridges, searching for hidden routes or signs of ambush.

The scent of damp earth and rotting leaves hung in the air, and the humidity was stifling. The Lowlandians, unaccustomed to such conditions, sweated heavily. With armor weighing them down, they moved slowly, still maintaining a net as they searched for one of the smugglers' open routes. But it was growing harder and harder.

"I miss my horse," Ted murmured as they ducked beneath a series of low-hanging branches.

"Me too," Farkas replied nonchalantly. Since the event in Toruna, where he had been ordered to work with the Dragoons to create a diversion, he had considered himself one of them. And like them, he felt a bit exposed leaving his horse behind in Three Hills.

"Captain, the route can't be this hard," Ted said after snagging himself on a shrub, too tired to struggle past it.

"Somewhat agree." Farkas pulled him free and nearly tossed him into a patch of ground where thousands of red ants were gnawing on a large insect.

Farkas looked over his men, the Black Bandits, who were struggling to advance. Even if the scout had found a likely route in the mountains, it was hard to believe smugglers would travel through jungle this dense. He turned to his lieutenant and motioned for him to approach.

"Yes, Captain," said the lieutenant, who wore a tunic and ringmail with padded shoulders, stepping closer.

"Find the scout. Something doesn’t add up. It's too dense."

"Will do," the lieutenant replied before hurrying off to locate the advance guard.

No sooner had he left than a group leader approached Farkas. Like the others, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

"Captain, the men on our side can't move any farther. Request permission to collapse formation."

Farkas, who commanded the right wing, made his decision. "Stop the advance," he shouted. "We’ll move to the center. Leave no one behind."

As the command was relayed, Ted looked around and saw how pitiful the men had become. A thought struck him: was this really the famed army that had once bested Midlandia? Many scratched at their limbs, their clothes filthy and worn beyond belief. Nearby, Captain Farkas let out a burp, still suffering from the sour fruit he’d eaten for breakfast.

Ted felt disgusted, but before the feeling could settle, an insect flew straight into his nostril, forcing him to pick his nose.

"Careful there, boy. That might bleed," Farkas said.

"An insect—"

"Take it easy." Farkas turned to speak with the scout who had returned alongside the lieutenant.

Suddenly, a rustle, then another, and more followed, sharp enough to set them all on alert.

The men looked tense. Even Ted had drawn his sword before taking out the insect still stuck in his nostril. But the direction of the sound was hard to pinpoint.

"Ambush!" someone shouted.

"Defensive circle, now!" Farkas commanded.

They huddled together despite the dense vegetation and raised their weapons.

More rustling followed, then suddenly a deer bolted from the underbrush. Some men flinched in surprise, and others laughed, but the creature vanished within seconds.

"You morons, you let food escape!" one of the officers shouted, and the men chuckled.

But soon, more rustling came, and more animals burst past them.

One deer, panicked by the sight of men, charged straight through the formation, ramming the hesitant Ted in the stomach before others wrestled it down.

While the men laughed at the scene, Farkas and a few others with hunting experience grew alert. That many animals were fleeing toward them was a bad sign. Worse, they were coming from the rear.

Then, from the distance, a voice rang out: "To arms!"

It was clear that Sir Arius and the Crimson Knights at the center had found something.

"Arms and armor!" Farkas shouted, recalling what Lord Lansius had told him. "This might be it. The thing the Black Lord predicted."

The jungle exploded with battle cries.

***