Count Cobry's rage was a living thing, coiling through the opulent chamber like a storm on the verge of breaking. His gnarled fist tightened around a golden goblet, the metal groaning as he crushed it into a shapeless lump.
The servants lining the walls froze, their breaths shallow, eyes darting to the floor. None dared provoke the beast pacing before them. With a distracted flex, he twisted the cup further, molding it into a small, gleaming ball—only noticing when a ruby encrusted in its rim clattered onto the table.
He set the mangled orb down with a thud and stalked to the veranda, his heavy steps echoing. A collective sigh rippled through the room as the servants realized no necks would snap today.
At 63, the count defied time's grasp. His broad shoulders and iron grip bespoke a man in his prime, a testament to his Two-Star Gold rank in Battle Force. Though noble tongues wagged about his vile temper and questionable lineage, none could deny his prowess.
Seventeen Gold-ranked and thirty-eight Silver-ranked illegitimate sons stood as proof of his military might. Through them, he'd carved a dominion across the northwest of the Redlis Kingdom, a hegemon poised to claim a dukedom.
Until now. His dream, so close, had been upended, and the fury burned hotter with every step he took.
Ten years prior, his alliance with the First Prince had sown the seeds of ambition. Disguised as bandits, his troops had plundered merchant convoys, spilling the blood of his own six Gold and thirteen Silver sons to pave his path to power.
The prize? The Duke of the Northwest, a title dangled by the prince—if Cobry could bend the old Empire nobles to his will. The northwest teemed with military lords, loyal in name but defiant in deed.
When the prince rebelled, few rallied; when he demanded taxes, they balked. A 20% levy was his goal, but Cobry knew they'd never yield without force.
So he took it upon himself to wield an unstoppable force, turning rival lands into wastelands, their nobles crushed or cowed.
From the veranda, Count Conty gazed at the dust-shrouded skeleton of his new city—a grand vision modeled after the capital, his future seat as duke. Once, the sight swelled his chest with pride. In two years, he'd planned a statue of himself to rise amidst the finished spires, a monument to outlast his mortal span. Now, that vision flickered.
Grasping the railing, he vowed no one would derail his destiny. The allied nobles were cornered, their secret letters pledging fealty piling up on his desk.
Victory seemed assured—until the merchant convoy blundered into his plans. He'd sent his rebel-sweeping corps—two pike cavalry companies and five garrison units—to crush the mountain insurgents and drag captives back as labor.
Unbeatable, he'd thought. Yet they lingered, tangled with that sprawling convoy, ignoring his orders. He assumed they feared reporting a tough fight against a dug-in foe.
Reinforcements—a third cavalry company with supplies—had marched days ago. Good news, he told himself, was imminent.But then came whispers of Burdock Bastide, his ancestral seat, fallen to mountain rabble.
Five days of looting, citizens fleeing with tales too wild to believe. He'd caned them for lying, yet their stories held under the lash. A squad of pike cavalry confirmed it: Divine Marksman Josk and a company-sized band had ravaged the bastide. Few returned, bloodied and broken. Josk's name sent a shiver through Cobry's shoulder, an old wound throbbing at the memory of that archer's arrow. His bastard sons there were likely dead.
Three thousand insurgents, he reckoned—every rat from the western mountains—had seized their chance while his forces were stretched.
Old he might be, but no toothless lion, he swore. If word spread of this humiliation, his house would crumble under mockery. He'd crush these pests himself. From Geldos City, he could muster 2,000 garrison troops and a pike cavalry company, leaving a fresh squad and two garrison units to hold it. With cavalry from Williamiles Castle and allied nobles' men, 5,000 strong would march—more than enough to obliterate the rabble. In three days, he'd strike.
"Heed my orders!" he bellowed, voice shaking the veranda's stones.
....
Miles away, Allen traced his finger across a weathered map in the convoy's command tent, his knights gathered close. "Here, here, and here," he said, jabbing at key points along the road from Burdock Bastide to Geldos City. "Jasper, station scouts there. The count will use that route if he moves, and we'll know the instant he does." He glanced at Josk, the marksman's lean frame taut with purpose. "You did well yesterday—half a pike squad gone without convoy help. The insurgents took a hit, though?"Josk nodded. "Lost about 200. I rode through with light cavalry scouts just in time—saved them from a rout. Left the enemy's gear for them; they're grateful despite the blood spilled."
"That's why I commend you," Allen said. "The count's defeat will stir him to march in force. We'll meet him here." He tapped a choke point on the map. "Without the insurgents bolstering us, his full assault would bleed us dry, win or lose."
"Where's Fredrick's convoy now?" Allen asked. Hilter pointed to a spot nearing the bastide. "They'll arrive by tomorrow afternoon. Arman's escorting with heavy cavalry—no trouble expected, milord."
"I'll rest easy when they're here," Allen replied. "Jasper, send news to Garrison to double the patrols, but ignore the insurgents' antics for now. No brawls over their filth—understood?"
"Yes, milord," Jasper said. "I'll keep the men in line."
"Tolerate it until the convoy arrives," Allen added, a cold laugh escaping him. "Then Elrod will round up the worst offenders and teach discipline. Defiance means death—a lesson for the rest."
The insurgents' savagery—robbery, murder, rape—ran rampant in Cobry's lands, vengeance for years of oppression. Allen understood, but wouldn't let it spiral. Fights had already flared between his soldiers and the rabble.
"Josk, your cavalry unit?"
"Slow going, milord," Josk admitted. "Need riders with marksmanship and Battle Force skill. Only a few dozen so far."
"Patience," Allen said, smiling. "It'll be a terror when ready."
The next day, Knight Captain and Vice-captain Fredrick and Arman rolled into Burdock Bastide with the convoy, greeted by cheers.
That night, in a torchlit hall, Allen studied the map anew. "Jasper's scouts report nobles allied with Cobry mustering at Geldos City. He's rallying—likely marching in a day or two to reclaim this place. We rest tomorrow, then move. Stroud, take a heavy cavalry squad and three pike companies to camp here." He pointed west.
"Fredrick's knights, Serena's archers, and the carroballista squad go too. Two pike companies stay here under Hilter to hold the bastide. Jasper, patrol and herd the insurgents exploiting the locals. Order them to our camp. If they resist—"
Elrod's weathered face split into a grin. "Fists'll sort 'em, milord."
"Good," Allen said, his killing intent a palpable chill. "Tell Tim he's with us—leading an ambush on Geldos City. Arman, assign knights to guard him."
"Yes, milord," Arman replied.The hall buzzed with purpose as Allen's gaze lingered on the map. Cobry's roar was coming, but the convoy stood ready—steel and strategy against a lion's fading might.