Horizon of War Series-Chapter 219: Lurking in Shadows

Lurking in Shadows

Lansius

Inside the Council Chamber, the post-midday sunlight streamed through tall, narrow windows, casting warm golden hues over the polished wood of the council table where Lansius sat. Tension ran high as he had just confirmed that their old enemy had returned with a vengeance. Despite their precautions and a good network of spies, they had been blindsided by the pirate attack and had nearly failed to uncover the truth.

Sir Michael, glanced at Dame Daniella and asked, "Who? It can't possibly be the beastmen," he quipped to ease the tension.

Lansius chuckled and motioned for Dame Daniella to respond.

She gazed at Sir Michael and said, "It's our old enemy, the smugglers."

The knight's one eye sharpened.

"Indeed," Lansius confirmed. "It's the same ones who launched a coup in Three Hills and even attacked Korimor last year."

"I should have guessed." Sir Michael exhaled sharply. "I fought them in Korimor. They almost lit a quarter of the city on fire."

Lansius recalled reports of the knight’s valiant efforts defending Korimor against the smugglers. Sir Michael had joined the fight and even helped extinguish the fires that ravaged several warehouses. "Smugglers... the name sounds insignificant. What they truly are is something far more insidious."

The two knights listened intently, hungry for an explanation.

"They operate under a guise, profiting from creating scarcity by burning warehouses and driving prices sky-high, reaping fat profits while the people starve. Only now am I starting to suspect they might have been the ones who whispered in Lord Jorge's ear not to sell grains when I first took power in Korelia, forcing me to owe Bengrieve heavily for our salt payment scheme." Lansius chuckled softly, more to calm his rising anger than out of humor.

Everyone’s expression darkened. Even Sterling, who only listened from further behind, looked incensed.

Lansius turned to Sir Michael. "It seems that despite the Black Knights’ and Skirmishers’ efforts in Three Hills, and your brave stand in Korimor, we only managed to capture their accomplices, not the main force. I believe they’re still hiding safely in the mountains between Three Hills and Dawn, or perhaps somewhere in Nicopola. And now, this... Black Guild is rearing its ugly head again."

As the two remained silent, Lansius asked, "All these suspicions have been on my mind for several days, but I cannot be certain if they are just figments of my imagination or truly plausible. Now, tell me, does it make sense?"

"Absolutely, My Lord," Dame Daniella replied firmly. "The more I consider it, the more everything points to them."

Standing beside her, Sir Michael hesitated briefly before nodding in agreement.

Lansius shifted in his seat, his gaze thoughtful. "If I were this Black Guild, after losing Three Hills, my main partner the Money Lender Guild, and the barley-ale business in Korimor, I’d find a way to recover. If I learned about the caravan and the South Trade, that would be like gold delivered straight to my doorstep."

The two staff members reluctantly acknowledged with a nod.

"Think about it," Lansius continued. "From what we’ve gathered, Corinthia lacks the knowledge, wealth, and willpower to orchestrate all this. On the other hand, these smugglers have proven they possess those capabilities."

Sir Michael’s brow furrowed as he considered the inconsistencies. "But what about Sigmund’s report that the fishermen saw the captured ships moving south to Corinthia?"

"Oh, I don’t doubt that Corinthia is involved," Lansius revealed, much to the two’s astonishment. "The Black Guild likely passed this information to Corinthia, enticing them to become partners and, secretly, setting them up as the perfect scapegoat."

"It all fits," Dame Daniella muttered. "The Black Guild's smugglers provided the information, boats, and weapons, while Corinthia supplied the manpower."

"And then they split the spoils," Lansius finished.

Glancing at the one-eyed, charming knight, Lansius asked, "We’ve come this far. Does this all make sense to you, or could it really just be one big coincidence?"

Dame Daniella kept a curious eye on Sir Michael as he said, "It all makes sense, My Lord, but as you said, it could also just be a rare coincidence."

Curious, she asked, "What makes you think so?"

"While I’ve never seen wooden boats up close," Sir Michael began, "I recall records that mentioned well-constructed wooden boats, large enough to fit tens of men, being more expensive than three dozen warhorses and the fodder to sustain them for a year. I doubt whatever this Black Guild seized from the caravan could pay for a fleet of them. Even as lucrative as the Southern Trade is, I doubt they’re transporting gold or silver."

She found his explanation reasonable, but Lansius merely smirked.

Noticing this, Sir Michael asked, "My Lord, am I missing something?"

"I believe there’s another factor you’ve overlooked," Lansius replied. "Consider this: who stands to lose the most if the Southern Trade establishes a direct and reliable route that can transport goods cheaply between Nicopola and Lowlandia?"

The two were struck by the clarity of the answer.

"Indeed," Dame Daniella blurted out, filled with the realization of something she should have noticed before. "The smugglers. Their entire livelihood would collapse."

"I believe their main motivation for attacking the Southern Trade is because their lifeline is at stake," Lansius added calmly.

Sir Michael exhaled deeply, nodding as he processed the reasoning, finding no fault in it. Meeting Lansius' gaze, he acknowledged, "Now that you’ve explained it, My Lord, it’s hard to argue. Everything falls into place too neatly for a mere coincidence."

Despite the two agreeing with him and validating his concern, there was no joy to be found. Lansius tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, his face thoughtful, before he suddenly said, "There’s still another factor."

His words immediately captured his staff's attention.

"This might be far-fetched," Lansius said, his voice cold and devoid of its usual warmth, "but I can’t shake the feeling that the Black Guild's goal isn’t just the caravan or their livelihood."

The two exchanged a quick glance before turning their full attention back to Lansius.

Dame Daniella asked, "There exists another goal, My Lord?"

Lansius met her gaze and revealed, "Three Hills."

His words prompted disbelieving expressions from the two, but he continued, "With the bulk of the Shogunate army focused on Midlandia, the upcoming punitive action against Corinthia will surely draw significant numbers from Korelia and Three Hills’ garrison. And when the city’s garrison is nearly empty..."

Dame Daniella’s shoulders trembled with restrained rage. "They’ll strike Three Hills again, just like last year," she confirmed bitterly.

Exhaling sharply, Lansius paused the discussion and poured ice-cold water into three goblets. The ice had been brought from cleverly insulated underground ice houses that preserved winter ice year-round. The water was infused with citrus slices and a touch of honey, giving it a refreshing aroma. He offered the goblets to the two knights, who accepted them with silent appreciation. Lansius even gestured for Sterling to take one as well.

Lansius poured himself a goblet and took a slow sip, allowing his retinue to savor their cold drinks. Only after they had finished did Lansius speak, his voice eerily calm. "If our concerns prove true, we may face a coup in Three Hills and a punitive campaign against Corinthia at the same time."

His staff and squire looked grim, though the refreshing drink seemed to have reinvigorated their focus.

Lansius glanced toward the ceiling of the chamber as he continued, "I believe their biggest prize is likely the former Money Lender Guild, now the Shogunate Korelia Yield Bank." He sighed. "I’ve been careless. With so much money concentrated in one place, I should have known it would attract bandits."

Sir Michael straightened his back and asked, "My Lord, you seem to have pondered this for a while. Is there any plan we can pursue?"

Lansius stroked his chin, muttering, "Ideally, I return to Korelia and covertly join Lord Jorge in Three Hills. Our SAR is occupied in Midlandia, but I could take enough men from Korelia. However, that would risk Midlandia."

"My Lord, please abandon that plan. Midlandia is tenuous. With the fanatics on the prowl and the nobility barely knowing or trusting us, it would spell disaster. If our enemies here start to move, we might lose our allies and everything we’ve gained."

Dame Daniella gazed at Sir Michael and said, "But this is Three Hills we're talking about, along with the Southern Trade, and the Shogunate Bank."

Sir Michael met her gaze. "It might sound odd coming from a Lowlandian, but I think, My Lord can afford to lose Three Hills and the Bank. Looking at the bigger picture, this House has just secured 30 estates, half of which are more populous than Three Hills. It's inconceivable to risk 30 for one holding that's not even his."

Lansius exhaled deeply. Last season, his problems had seemed so far away. Turning to Dame Daniella, he spoke. "What he says is true. However, I have given my word to protect any Shogunate members."

"My Lord, I'm not saying you shouldn't offer help, but you, personally, must stay in Midlandia," Sir Michael clarified.

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Lansius did not respond immediately but gazed at Dame Daniella, who said, "I agree with that assessment. I think it’s too risky for Midlandia to lose your direct leadership this soon. After all," she smiled, "you alone are worth at least five thousand men."

"Five thousand?" Lansius repeated, amused by the sudden praise. "Where does this come from?"

The two knights exchanged glances, faint smiles on their lips. She replied, "I think everyone would agree your battle acumen speaks for itself. Without your leadership, we wouldn’t have won Korimor, South Hill, the coup in Three Hills, and now half of Midlandia."

"Indeed, as she says," Sir Michael added. "Your presence alone is worth several thousand."

Lansius chuckled and lamented in jest, "Here we are, on the verge of crisis, and two of my brightest staff care only to flatter me with sweet honeyed words. My House is doomed."

They stifled their laughs, even Sterling joining in.

After glancing at the window, Lansius turned to them and revealed, "I have one or two alternate plans. I shall discuss them with you after I deliberate, as I am still without adequate information. Until Farkas returns, our troops movements are largely restricted."

***

Sir Harold

After reaching Ploiesta with the remaining four thousand recruits, Harold formally transferred command to Dietrich for field training with the vanguard stationed there. Ploiesta had become a hub of military activity, bustling with hundreds of Vanguard, four thousand recruits, and two thousand captured workers from the Cascasonne war.

This temporary buildup, featuring thousands of tents alongside the Midlandia River, was strategically placed to intimidate and distract the still-hostile Midlandia Lords across the river. Known for its boat crossing, Ploiesta began to refit older barges and construct new riverine boats under the Lord's orders. This move was designed to make the lords think twice before causing trouble and, hopefully, more inclined to seek peace.

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Besides the combined training, the special tools—metal-tipped shovels—would play a crucial role in determining which of the last three thousand recruits would remain. One thousand would not make the cut.

The training was scheduled to last seven days, but Harold had to race back to Canardia, leaving Sigmund and Farkas in charge. He was under orders from Lord Shogun to return home and take command of the reserve forces in case of an emergency.

Harold understood that the command was also a pretext for him to return to his newlywed wife. For a warlord, Lord Lansius displayed an unexpectedly soft and caring side toward his retinue, a trait that was warmly appreciated.

Arriving in Canardia around the first night watch, Harold and his riders were late for supper in the Great Hall. Opting instead for the night food stalls, he couldn't help but feel that Korelia, despite being less populous, offered a better selection of delicacies than Canardia.

As a member of the high-ranking retinue, Harold had been granted a large estate by the Lord within a walled complex in Canardia. He came home that evening with questionable roasted meat on a soggy bun. Unexpectedly, Clementine was waiting for him with warm soup, crunchy bread, and a small selection of cheese laid out on the table.

"You're waiting for me?" he asked.

"Lady Audrey sent her maid to inform me of your arrival. She mentioned you would be late," Clementine explained, her voice carrying some ethereal quality.

Harold nodded, feeling grateful. After cleaning himself up, they shared a dinner.

As they ate, they lightly touched on the fanatic activities, the full extent of which also surprised Clementine, a former member. "Maybe I should change my name to Clement or something," she mused.

Without hesitation, Harold advised, "If you intend to hide from your past associates, Clement won't be enough. A more distinct name would serve you better."

She looked at Harold with a slight frown. "A woman's name isn't just a name."

He nodded in understanding while biting into his crunchy bread topped with goat cheese.

"Harold," she called, still unused to saying his name directly. "Won't you suggest a name?"

"Mm, I don't know your life story well enough to suggest a name," he replied, savoring the delicious soup filled with carrots and chunks of tender meat. It was so good that the soggy bread and questionable meat were left untouched.

Clementine smiled, amused. "You should ask about my story then."

"Aren't you tired?" he asked, recalling that the Lord and Lady had summoned her earlier for questioning about what was now more fittingly referred to as Saint Nay's Cult.

She seemed surprised. "How did you know?"

"I'm well-informed." His lips curved into a smirk. "So?"

"Well, they just asked questions, and since I have nothing to hide, it wasn't tiring at all," she explained merrily.

Harold was pleased and relieved by her honesty, especially knowing Lord Lansius likely had Francisca to listen, who could sniff out lies.

Having finished her smaller serving, Clementine stole glances at Harold and silently poured more mead into his goblet.

Harold saw what she did and commented lightly, "Too much mead will make it hard for me to keep myself in check tonight."

Clementine blushed and drank the goblet herself, then remarked, "Please, keep yourself in check. The last time," she paused, her cheeks reddening further as she whispered, "I had difficulties... walking..."

Sir Harold raised a hand to his face, fingers brushing his lips to mask a guilty smirk. "My apologies, I haven’t been with a woman in a long time."

She sipped some water, finding the mead too sweet. "I know I’m yours, but please go gentle with me," she said meekly, making Harold’s sturdy heart flutter even harder.

Intoxicated by affection, he reassured her, "I’ll restrain myself better."

She looked at him wide-eyed and muttered shyly, "Does it really need to be that rough?"

"It’s just that I can’t help but recall your strength and vitality from our duel in Cascasonne."

Clementine giggled softly. "I'm not a fighter, but a healer."

Harold smiled warmly, a deep fondness in his eyes. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he had begun to earnestly enjoy her company. At first, he had been motivated mostly by a sense of protectiveness, but now he found himself craving her words, her cheerful smile, and even her shy, awkward glances. He couldn't help but reflect on the contrast to when they first met on that fateful night—a duel where he had witnessed her fighting with all her fury.

He wondered if she wanted further training. With her growing strength, she could likely overpower most fighters and perhaps even hold her own against knights. Harold finished the last of the soup his wife had prepared, drank his water, rinsed his hands in a bowl scented with crushed herbs, and rose to approach her.

The long-haired brunette glanced away shyly, her fair features glowing with modesty. With extra gentleness, Harold lifted her into his arms, earning a sweet smile from her.

He was in an unusually good mood, especially as he noticed the new house was now spotless and well cared for. "You've done well cleaning this dusty place."

"I had my younger sister and the maids to help," she reminded him.

Harold set her down gently on the bed, the soft linen freshly laundered and pristine. She quickly sat on the bed, unfastening her outer garment.

"No prayer tonight, sister?" he asked as he locked the door.

"I follow a different Saint now," she jested. Her conversations with several personnel, especially Valerie, had strengthened her rebellious side. Watching Harold pass the oil lamp on the table, she hurriedly added, "Don't forget to snuff the lamp."

Harold paused. "You know my answer to that. It’s not fair if only you can see in the dark," he said with an impassive expression, hiding a faint smile.

Clementine flushed, her hands fidgeting in embarrassment. "It's different, and it feels wrong," she argued.

He never tired of her flustered responses and walked toward her. "Show me some magic."

She gave an approving grin and, still seated on the bed, extinguished the oil lamp with a deft flick of her fingers.

In complete darkness, Harold broke into a grin as she joined her in bed. "Having a magical wife is so perfect."

Their marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, born mostly of questionable circumstances. Yet the two had been wise enough to make the best of it, discovering shared interests and growing mutual affection.

For Clementine, the fact that Harold had kept his promise to come home, despite the late hour, and avoided staying at an inn or brothel brought her great joy. She had questioned herself multiple times whether Harold truly liked her or was simply using her as a Healer, or worse, for some hidden agenda. But over time, both had naturally fallen in love, smitten by each other's affection.

***

Brigandia

It was the middle of the night in an opulent mansion complex. Inside the vast main hall, the Second Prince awakened, finding himself sleeping on the wooden floor with nothing but a thick silken blanket for a bed. He groaned, weary after several nights of restless sleep.

His trained and sculpted body had softened from days spent drafting battle plans. But it was a necessary sacrifice. The King had given his blessing for the campaign, and he couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

Cold and thirsty, he stood, shaking off his drowsiness. It had been a military meeting, so no servants or maids were permitted inside. Scanning the hall, he saw his staff and attendants sprawled across the wooden floor, sleeping here and there, their dedication and exhaustion mirroring his own. With no one awake to call upon, he began searching for a goblet of water.

He found one on the floor. He didn’t care whose goblet it was and drank from it without a second thought. Realizing it was spiced wine, he gulped it down all the same and wiped his lips with the hem of his robe.

With his thirst quenched, his eyes fell on a toppled brazier-like iron bucket, its black ashes scattered across the wooden floor. It was the bucket they used to burn war simulation records to keep them from prying eyes. The scene was unremarkable, yet he found himself standing still, transfixed.

The sight stirred a memory of the ashes from books he had once burned.

"Oh," the Second Prince mumbled with distaste as the realization dawned on him.

He remembered a time when he had been a foolish boy, desperate to impress his smarter, older brother. Time and again, he had failed to win his brother’s affection until, in desperation, he boasted that he didn’t need to read a book twice because he had a flawless memory. His older brother, naturally skeptical, didn’t believe him. Determined to prove himself, the young Prince burned a book and invited his brother to quiz him, answering every question flawlessly.

But it had all been a ruse; he had relied on a servant discreetly gesturing the answers from the sidelines. He repeated the trick several times, but it failed to earn his brother’s affection. Instead, it only deepened the rift between them.

The memory drew a sigh from him. "Brother," he muttered softly into the vast cold hall.

As he grew older, he had come to understand that his older brother’s bitterness and jealousy stemmed from issues with their mother. She had often reassured him, however, that it was due to their roles. As the elder, his brother bore greater burdens, which was why he had been sent away for his studies. Meanwhile, as the younger son, he was allowed to remain at home, enjoying a leisurely life.

Whenever he felt the situation was too unfair, their mother would remind him that his older brother would inherit most of the family’s land and wealth. That reminder had always silenced him.

Rubbing his temples to stave off sleepiness and the lingering effects of alcohol, the Second Prince exhaled bitterly, forcing the thoughts from his mind.

His gaze drifted back to the quiet hall, drawn to the gargantuan map stretched across its center. He studied the placement of the pawns and the outcomes of the last battle simulation. The capitulation phase had been so tedious earlier that it had lulled him to sleep.

Initially, he felt a flicker of satisfaction, but as he knelt for a closer look, dissatisfaction began to creep in.

Finding the need to start a new one, he found an empty silver gruel bowl and kicked it hard. The bowl clattered and rolled across the wooden floor, the sharp noise jolting his men awake.

"Rise and shine," the Second Prince said in jest. "I need this plan ready today!"

"My Prince," the staff greeted him, scrambling to their feet as they straightened their clothes and headdresses.

"You’ve had enough sleep. Now reset the board. We’re starting over," the Prince ordered.

Without a word of protest, his men, several of them knights and officers, obeyed. Their reddened eyes betrayed exhaustion as they hurried to gather the pieces scattered across the grand map on the floor.

"Set our numbers to seven thousand," the Second Prince commanded.

The staff exchanged glances. One quickly asked, "But the King is prepared to send twenty thousand."

"Father is insane. Sending twenty thousand men into famine-infested lands? We’d be dead within a month." The Second Prince scoffed. "Don’t be like Father. Be like me," he added in jest, knowing his father wouldn’t care for his sharp tongue.

"Yes, My Prince." The staff quickly adjusted the pieces to reflect seven thousand troops.

The Prince turned to a younger attendant. "Get outside and find us some drinks and something to fill our stomachs. Also, bring me updates about my brother in Riverstead."

"Yes, My Prince," the attendant replied and hurried off.

A senior staff member said to the attendant as he passed, "Check on Midlandia. There should be updates."

"Do that too. I hate being late to hear about things," the Prince said in agreement.

The rest of the staff finished resetting the board and preparing fresh parchment. A shared determination united them; they needed to prove to the King and the entire kingdom that the Second Prince was more than just a lazy, talentless second-born.

Amid the clatter of pieces and the murmur of voices, the war simulation for their invasion of Rhomelia began anew. Meanwhile, in Brigandia’s harbors, wooden ferry ships of all sizes had gathered, their decks bustling with preparation. The King’s permission had been granted, and the Imperial bannermen were rallying the eager Northern barons, many of whom had missed the opportunity to fight in last year’s war.

Before the east could react to the fall of the Imperium, the north would make its first move.

***