An army camp sprawled beneath a star-strewn sky, its canvas tents glowing faintly from the flicker of lanterns within.
Allen sat at a rough-hewn table in his command tent, the weight of leadership etched into his furrowed brow.
Parchments littered the surface before him—Hilter's meticulous reports from Geldos, scouts' insights on Count Cobry's marching army, logistics tallies detailing dwindling supplies, and troop movements. Each page was a piece of the puzzle he was determined to solve.
Behind him, Seraphina's hands worked gently, kneading the knots from his shoulders.
"You're tense as iron, milord," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with concern. "These reports won't bite, but they might wear you down if you don't ease up."
Allen chuckled, though it was a tired sound, his eyes never leaving the map pinned beneath the papers. "They're not biting yet, Seraphina, but Cobry's army might if we misstep. Hilter's done well in Geldos, but we're stretched thin."
"The count's men are bleeding in the Motz Hills, low on supplies, morale crumbling… he's like a wounded lion, dangerous kind."
Seraphina's fingers paused, her voice warm with reassurance. "You've outmaneuvered him so far, Milord. Geldos is ours, and Hilter's holding it tight. The victory would surely be yours."
Before Allen could respond, the tent flap rustled, and Elrod stepped inside, his grizzled face lit by the lantern's glow.
He bowed, the iron claw in his hands clanking softly, his voice steady but eager. "Milord, we're ready to march for Geldos to join Hilter's forces. The men are saddled, supplies packed, just give the word."
Allen leaned back, Seraphina's hands resuming their work as he met Elrod's gaze. "Good. We'll move soon, but I've been thinking about what comes after."
His voice grew thoughtful, a spark of contemplation flickering. "Once we've crushed Cobry, this convoy's too slow for what's next. Elrod, what if we left it behind? Took a small group of our best and rode hard for the Northlands on horseback? The convoy can follow at its own pace."
Elrod's eyes lit up, his voice brimming with approval. "A fine plan, milord! A swift ride'd get you to the Northlands in half the time, ready to claim your title. The convoy's a beast steady, but sluggish."
Allen nodded, his voice resolute. "That's what I want. For the next few months, I would stop waiting to conjure elites, but instead focus every summon I call to build that team ." He paused, his tone curious. "Elrod in your opinion, what's the ideal number?"
Elrod rubbed his chin, his voice measured but confident. "Twenty Bronze ranks for muscle, three Iron for versatility, and one Silver to lead the pack. That's a tight crew, strong enough to handle trouble, small enough to move like the wind."
Seraphina's hands stilled, her voice cutting in with a hint of challenge. "That's lean, Elrod, I'd go bigger. Thirty Bronze for a broader shield, five Iron to cover more skills, and one Silver for command. By Lord's summoning speed It should take ninety days for the Bronze, five weeks for the Iron, four for the Silver."
She leaned closer to Allen, her tone earnest. "You're not just riding to the Northlands, milord you're inheriting a legacy. More hands mean more strength otherwise the prominent faction in the barony might create trouble."
Allen's lips curved into a smile, his voice warm with gratitude. "You're both right, balance is key. Seraphina's numbers feel right for now. We'll summon thirty Bronze, five Iron, one Silver."
He turned to Elrod, his tone decisive. "As for experts from the army, we'll take the best, but unfortunately Hilter has stays. As my second-in-command both of us can't be gone from the cavern."
Elrod nodded, his voice firm. "Wise choice, milord. I'd say me, as your bodyguard, Seraphina for her magic, Bale for his speed, Josk for his deadly aim, and…" He hesitated, then grinned. "That five-star Silver knight from Fredrick's squad Loran. He's a fine lad."
"Loran's a good pick," Allen agreed, his voice brimming with confidence. "That's our core: Elrod, Seraphina, Bale, Josk, Loran. They'll ride with me to the Northlands."
He stood, rolling his shoulders as Seraphina stepped back, her smile faint. "Now, let's move. Geldos awaits."
The tent flap swung wide as Allen led his army out, the camp stirring with the clatter of hooves and the shouts of men.
____
The laborer camp in Geldos City glowed under the night sky, bonfires casting a warm halo across the plaza. Laughter and chatter rose like a tide, the freed laborers gathering in joyful clusters, their faces alight with a freedom they hadn't tasted in months.
The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the stale rations of their captivity. It was a flash mob of defiance, a celebration of life reclaimed. Hilter stepped into the plaza, Tarkel trailing nervously at his side.
"Never thought I'd see this," Tarkel muttered, his voice a mix of awe and unease. "These folk were half-dead a week ago. Now look at 'em feasting like lords."
Hilter's face twitched into a serene expression, "Hope's a powerful thing, Tarkel. Give men a cause and a full belly, and they'll fight for it."
He adjusted his net armor, the pure white gloves on his hands gleaming in the firelight, a symbol of his noble bearing amidst the camp's rough chaos.
"Commander!" Josk's voice cut through the din, bright with excitement.
He approached, his face flushed, leading a group of weathered men.
"These are old friends Nors, garrison captain from Baron Omador's lands, and Lind, a knight of the baron's house. And these—" he gestured to four others, his voice thick with emotion—"Hawk, Marius, Eite, Saibert. Guards, all of them. I thought they were dead, Sir. Half a year in that damned prison, and here they are!"
Hilter's heart lifted, "Welcome, all of you. Your survival's a gift we'll put it to good use."
His eyes met Nors's, then Lind's, seeing the fire of resolve in their gazes. "You're with us now."
Freiyar pushed through the crowd, his towering frame commanding attention. "Butler Hilter!" he called, his voice booming with enthusiasm. "I've told them everything Cobry's fall, and your takeover. They're eager to serve, every last one. And here's the best part: many in the laborer camp are their men. Arm them, and we've got a regiment ready to march!"
Hilter let out a smile on his stern face, but brimming with approval. "That's the spirit, Freiyar. Here's the plan: form one company of pike cavalry and three of garrison troops. You're in command, with Josk as your second. Sort the laborers into units as you see fit I want them battle-ready fast. Leave one garrison company to guard the camp; the prisoners' families here need protecting. The other three train at the army camp, starting now."
Freiyar and Josk snapped to attention, their salutes crisp. "Milord, we'll make it happen!"
Freiyar's voice rang with determination, while Josk's carried a quiet vow. "You won't regret this, Commander."
Hilter's gaze softened, "I'm counting on you both. Equipment's on its way report any issues immediately. Lord Styles is likely marching to join us. Let's not disappoint him."
"Yes, milord!" they chorused.
Tarkel shifted beside Hilter, his voice hesitant. "They're moving fast, milord. Faster than I'd have thought possible."
Hilter clapped his shoulder, his voice encouraging. "That's what freedom does, Tarkel. Keep up you're part of this now."
The plaza pulsed with life, the bonfires crackling as the laborers' laughter drowned out the ghosts of their chains.
Three days passed, and Geldos City slumbered under a deceptive calm. The bull's-head flag of Count Cobry still fluttered atop the duke's manor, a lie to mask the city's new masters. To the citizens, little had changed save for more soldiers patrolling the streets and a curfew pinned to every tavern door. The official excuse an assassin loose in the city halted the laborers' construction work, leaving cranes idle and scaffolds empty. None suspected the truth: Geldos had changed hands in a single, blood-soaked night.
On the third night, Allen's army slipped through the gates, their arrival cloaked in shadow. The duke's manor blazed with candlelight, its main hall a beacon of strategy and ambition. As Allen stepped inside, the gathered officers rose, their faces a mix of respect and anticipation.
"At ease," he said, his voice warm but commanding, gesturing for Elrod to guard the door. He moved to the round table, a beastskin map sprawled across it, and greeted each man with a nod. "Sit, all of you. We've work to do."
Hilter, Josk, Freiyar, Arman, Fredrick, Stroud, Tim, and the new laborer officers settled around the table, their eyes fixed on Allen. Tarkel stood at the map's edge, his pale face glistening with sweat as he prepared to speak.
Allen's presence filled the room, his voice steady but laced with curiosity as him, "You must be Tarkel, Hilter is quite appreciative of you. Go on, you've got the floor. Tell us what you know about the Cobry family's secrets."
Tarkel cleared his throat, his voice trembling but gaining strength. "Milord, Count Cobry's got..I mean had 67 illegitimate sons. Ten years ago, 17 were Gold ranks, 38 Silver, all trained by him. He took 38 to serve the First Prince; 6 Gold and 13 Silver died. After returning, one son hit Gold, four reached Silver, but he kept it quiet." His voice steadied, pride creeping in as he detailed the count's losses—2 Gold and 5 Silver in noble wars, 2 Silver by Josk's hand in Geldos, 3 Gold and 8 Silver in the rebel-sweeping corps, and more in the Motz Hills and manor massacre.
"Now, he's got 3 Gold and 9 Silver left, plus 1 Gold and 2 Silver at Williamiles Castle. With the count himself, that's 4 Gold ranks total."
Allen leaned back, a chuckle escaping him, his voice light with confidence. "Four Gold ranks? I'm not sweating that. By the time Cobry limps back, his men'll be starved, their allies nipping at their heels, morale in the dirt."
His eyes gleamed with ambition. "But I'm wondering… should we hit Williamiles Castle now, while the news of Geldos is still quiet?"
He outlined a daring plan: a company in Cobry's colors, claiming to bolster the castle's defense, would sneak inside. Kill the three illegitimate sons, then leverage control of Geldos where the garrison's families lived—to absorb the castle's forces.
"If everything works out perfectly we would face little to no resistance," he said, his voice brimming with certainty. "They'll fold."
Fredrick's brow furrowed, his voice cautious but respectful. "Milord, it's bold, but time's tight. Williamiles is a day's ride each way—two days total. If Cobry runs out of supplies and retreats to Geldos in that window, we're caught short."
Allen shook his head, his voice firm but thoughtful. "Letting Williamiles stand gives Cobry a fallback. He'll regroup, drag this war out. We cut his roots now, while the castle's weak, and he's got nowhere to run. Then we end him." His gaze swept the table, daring dissent.
Freiyar spoke up, his voice hesitant but earnest. "Milord, I'd rather join you for Williamiles. Josk's better suited to hold Geldos he's steady, precise. Let me fight where the action is."
Allen studied him, his voice warm but decisive. "No, Freiyar. I need your fire here, with Stroud,Tim, and Serena, keep this city locked down. Josk's coming with me his bow's too deadly to leave behind." He turned to his chosen team, his tone commanding. "Arman, Fredrick, Josk grab a light cavalry squad, a knight squad, and the two new pike cavalry squads. Wear Cobry's gear, take two horses each. We leave in an hour. I'm bringing Elrod, Bale, Hilter, and Tarkel. Stroud, Jasper, Freiyar, Serena, Tim will hold Geldos."
Stroud saluted, his gruff voice thick with loyalty. "We'll keep it tight, milord."
Tim's eyes shone, his voice fervent. "For the Tebri name, I'll hold the line!"
Freiyar nodded, his reluctance giving way to resolve. "Understood, milord. We'll make Geldos a fortress."