The flames of war in Hillock County burn far more intensely than you had anticipated.
The bloody suppression carried out by Colonel Hamilton, the Victorian commander stationed in Hillock County, became the final straw that broke the Thracians' backs.
The military supplies you sent via Serafina came into play at the most critical moment.
Abra Lana did not hesitate in the slightest to pour her vengeful wrath upon the Victorian garrison.
Late at night, the garrison camp in Hillock County was torn apart by a series of violent explosions.
Leithanien-issue mortars, equipped by the Deep Pool forces, delivered shells directly into the camp's command center, logistics depot, and barracks.
Victorian soldiers, accustomed to bullying civilians, had never witnessed such ferocious firepower; many were blasted into the sky while still in their sleep.
Colonel Hamilton's command system was paralyzed during the very first round of strikes. His adjutant, Hill, had his head pierced by a crossbow bolt fired from eight hundred meters away by the Deep Pool cadre known as "The Accountant"; his corpse remained frozen in a posture of calling for reinforcements.
Colonel Hamilton himself was thrown by the shockwave of an explosion, slamming into a wall and breaking seven or eight ribs. The bloody froth gushing from his mouth prevented him from issuing even a single complete order.
The war cries of Deep Pool resounded from all directions. The indigenous people, whom the soldiers usually regarded as lambs, had transformed into avenging demons. The garrison collapsed completely, and soldiers dropped their weapons to flee in all directions.
Deep Pool forces swiftly secured the entire station and opened the dungeons where Thracian rebels were imprisoned.
The Thracian rebels, who were meant to be sent to the gallows, saw the light of day once more. Looking at the devastated camp and their cheering compatriots, their eyes filled with hot tears.
Abra Lana stood atop the ruins of the command center, the war banner of Thracian behind her. She made no speech, simply raising the sword in her hand and pointing it in the direction of Londinium.
Cheers resembling a tsunami declared the first true victory for the Thracians in hundreds of years.
Through various channels, the news spread to all settlements where Thracians lived.
A people oppressed for centuries saw hope for the first time.
In Durham County, miners put down their pickaxes and attacked overseers with rusted tools; in March County, farmers set fire to the nobles' granaries and hanged the rent-collecting butlers from oak trees.
The flames of resistance, starting from a single spark, rapidly converged into a prairie fire.
The name of Deep Pool became a holy hymn for the Thracians, and Abra Lana's image was depicted on walls and banners.
With Leithanien's new weapons in hand, Abra Lana's tactics became increasingly flexible and bold. No longer satisfied with guerrilla harassment, she began to actively surround and annihilate small detachments of the regular Victorian army.
Her troops appeared and vanished like ghosts, striking and then retreating. The Victorian army was run ragged, yet could not even catch a shadow of Deep Pool.
Every victory caused Abra Lana's self-confidence to swell unprecedentedly; it was as if she could already see the banner of Thracian flying over Londinium.
Yet, amidst the clamor of victory, Rafshini, acting as the Shadow, felt a bone-chilling cold.
Leithanien-issue equipment was visible everywhere in the camp; Leithanien advisors were constantly mentioned by the cadres; even the tactical theories her sister Abra Lana cited in military meetings had the shadow of Leithanien all over them.
Watching the fire of ambition burning in her sister's eyes—a look both familiar and strange—she grew increasingly worried. Deep Pool had merely driven away the wolf that was Victoria, only to invite in a far more terrible tiger: Leithanien.
Is my sister truly restoring the nation of Thracian, or is she merely adding another piece to the Leithanien Emperor's chessboard? This worry and self-doubt fermented continuously in her heart.
When the news reached the upper echelons of Victoria, it triggered fury.
The Council of Dukes erupted into a chaotic quarrel. The representative of the Duke of Normandy fiercely accused the Wellington Duke of lax military discipline, which led to the festering situation in the south.
The Duke of Gododdin sarcastically implied that certain colleagues whose "hearts are with Thracian" perhaps ought to recuse themselves.
The Wellington Duke himself remained silent, but everyone sensed the dangerous aura radiating from him.
On the surface, they were discussing how to suppress the rebellion, but in reality, they were all seizing the opportunity to test each other's bottom lines, calculating how to weaken their opponents amidst this chaos.
In this endless internal friction, effective military mobilization became a joke.
In Londinium, Countess Eleanor of March, acting as the proxy for the Duke of Normandy, keenly scented the shuffling of power.
She moved through major salons and clubs, recording every secret meeting of the ducal proxies, every complaint, and every unusual flow of funds, sending them all to the desk of the Duke of Normandy.
Meanwhile, you instructed Serafina to continue increasing the intensity of aid to Deep Pool.
Batch after batch of even more sophisticated weapons, and even several experienced military advisors, arrived silently in the Thracian territories.
At the same time, Serafina began to make contact with the internally conflicted Rafshini, using words full of empathy and seduction to quietly plant a seed in her heart.
The true killer move was played by the Kaest Duke's Grey Top Hat.
A ledger, carefully modified by your Intelligence Minister Gertrude, was placed before all the Grand Dukes—except Wellington—through a seemingly accidental interception.
In the ledger, the records of the Wellington Duke's confidants providing funds and weapons to Deep Pool were irrefutable proof. Although the critical parts were processed to be ambiguous, it was enough to trigger everyone's suspicion.
A secret meeting was convened immediately. The atmosphere was tense, with daggers drawn, and all fingers pointed at the Wellington Duke.
Facing his outraged colleagues, the Wellington Duke was furious. He slammed the table, roaring a rebuttal that this was a despicable frame-up.
He certainly knew what he had done, but this was absolutely not the reason for him to be judged.
What angered him was not being exposed, but that this group of sanctimonious hypocrites dared to attack him in such a manner.
The Duke of Gododdin and the Duke of Windermere tried to play the role of mediators, calling for everyone to calm down and prioritize the greater good, but they knew better than anyone that the cracks in the sinking ship of Victoria were already too large to mend.
Londinium's government decrees fell into utter chaos. The instructions received by the various ducal proxies contradicted one another, and the entire bureaucratic system was nearly paralyzed.
Gertrude's agents were able to move freely through the muddy waters.
In the latest correspondence with Abra Lana, Serafina inadvertently mentioned the internal turmoil in Londinium and expressed concern that this might affect subsequent aid.
These words completely ignited Abra Lana's ambition.
She decided not to wait any longer; she would strike the most lethal blow while Victoria was sick to its core.
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