Enlightened Empire

Rupilo couldn’t feel his fingers any longer. He didn’t know if it was from the cold, from clenching his fists too hard or from the fear that had crept into his bones.

When he had watched his warriors charge down the hill full of enthusiasm, he had still been optimistic. They were the elites of Medala’s lords, and they had all come together to deal with the threat from the south as one. Yet as soon as they reached the foot of the hill, he had to let go of all his fanciful notions of victory. Like witchcraft, the noisy, inelegant weapons of the southern King Corco droned out their battle drums as they washed away their soldiers like dust in the rain.

When he had watched his warrior charge fail, the numbness had spread from his fingers all throughout his body.

Even when it seemed like they could push through and force a melee, they still failed spectacularly. As if held back by a divine being, his men just couldn’t push past an area only a few steps away from the enemy front line. Every time an organized command of his core infantry charged the lines, Rupilo was hopeful once more; and every time, they would fall down as if hit by lightning.

He wanted to make fun of them, wanted to call them incompetent and blame them for his failures, but he just couldn’t. Not in the face of such inferiority. Now he understood: even though he had been so careful, it still hadn’t been enough. He never should have tried to fight against Corco, in any fashion.

Although his men finally pushed through to the front line, Rupilo’s head was spinning and he barely noticed at that point. When his wide-open eyes stared at his collapsed right flank, a numbness had come over his entire body, and he soon collapsed on the floor.

When he came back to his senses, the battle was still fresh in his ear.

"Master!"

A desperate scream, together with the pull of a hand, brought Rupilo back to reality. His eyes still glazed over, he stared at the top of his command tent. If he hadn’t recognized the washed-out red colors, we would have had no idea where he was. Before he could fully get his bearings, his personal attendant moved his head into his line of sight, his face filled with worry. Only now did Rupilo understand that he had lost consciousness and was lying on the ground.

"What happened?" he muttered. At least the battle still raged on in his ears, so he couldn’t have been out for long. His servant shouldn’t have heard the words, but he still answered.

"Master, our right flank has collapsed and the southerners have turned and threaten to encircle our front! We need to go and reinforce the line!" the attendant screamed. Though his face was pale, his eyes were still firm. Of course, bravery was much easier for him. This servant was only a simple warrior, while Rupilo was a mighty lord. Compared to him, what had some warrior to lose? Unlike his attendant, Rupilo couldn’t just die here and pretend it was honorable.

He would have to get away, by any means necessary. If only he could escape from the battlefield today, he could still send tributes to the two kings for insulting them and wasting their warriors. Although his estate might face a few lean years as a result, there was no reason to bother with him so long as he remained in his territory for a decade or two, until everyone had forgotten about his transgressions.

Now that he had a proper goal in front of his eyes, life returned to the commander’s body, and he finally sat up.

"Retreat," he ordered in a raspy voice.

"Master, the men are already on the back foot. Our front line has been driven back up the hill and is about to collapse. If we order a full-on retreat now, we will only speed up our demise." As he spoke with urgency, the servant helped up his master.

"Nonsense, what does some lowly warrior know?" he screamed and threw off his loyal servant’s helping hand. Even though his sense of duty was grating, the servant’s loyalty was the key to Rupilo’s salvation. Loyalty was good, for loyalty made him stupid. And a stupid servant would be easier to take advantage of.

"Tell the second line reserve to step up and cover the retreat of our warriors in the front. Add in the skirmishers as well. They better perform if they don’t want to be held accountable for their mistakes at the start of battle. Those commoner skirmishers will join in too, as will those useless warriors with the fake hand cannons from Herak. I don’t care how many die, just make sure they can buy enough time for the lords. We can allow much, but we cannot allow King Corco to imprison lords of the central kingdom. We would never live down the shame!"

"What about the warriors?" the servant asked and glanced at the other guards in the tent. These men must have carried Rupilo into the tent after he had fainted.

"What about them?" Rupilo sneered. "The warriors will be fine! That king always says how much he cares about his people, so nothing bad will happen to them even if they are caught. In the worst case, we will just have to pay a bit of ransom to buy back our servants. The harvest was good this year, everyone will be able to pay that greedy merchant king. Now stop talking back and do what your master tells you!"

Although he looked unhappy, his attendant still lowered his head like a good dog.

"Yes, master. Of course, master."

"No, wait!" Rupilo called his attendant back before he could leave to relay his master’s orders.

"You," the commander pointed at one of his honor guards. "You get to relay the orders. Take all other honor guards with you to make sure nothing happens on the way. The battle is chaotic after all. My attendant stays here, there’s still much to do if we are to salvage this mess."

Like good little servants, the honor guards bowed and left without another word of complaint. As soon as they were gone, Rupilo began to take off his armor, to the stunned look of his attendant.

"Why stand there and watch like an idiot?" he scolded while he struggled with his helmet. "Help me get rid of all this pointless metal."

Without a word, but with a skeptical frown, the servant helped the lord remove his burdens. Although he looked like he wanted to say something, at last the loudmouth servant had learned his lesson and waited for his master to explain. Rupilo decided to reward him with the greatest honor he could think of.

"Good, once you’re done with my armor, remove your own. We will be switching positions."

As he understood his master’s words, his hands ceased and the servant stared in shock.

"Why look at your master like that? Are you trying to say you do not feel honored? For once in your life you will be allowed to wear a lord’s armor and helmet. Even better, you will get the chance to command a king’s army. What a great honor this will be for you."

Although Rupilo had given his servant such a great gift, the little bastard still dared to clench his teeth when faced with Rupilo’s generosity. He had to go a step further.

"Your actions today will be a great boon to House Rupilo. Your family back home will lack nothing, should something happen to you."

The reverse of Rupilo’s promise remained unspoken, but was obvious: Should the servant dare to rebel, his family would be the ones to suffer. In the end, the underling was still trained well enough and realized the grace bestowed upon him.

"This servant will obey," he managed to squeeze out, before he finally followed instructions.

"Move, move! We are short on time!" Rupilo urged him, the sounds of battle getting ever louder in his ears. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the useless servant had done his part and taken off his armor. Rupilo rushed to him and latched onto the sheets of metal as if they were a life raft.

"From now on, you are the commander of the king’s army," he said while he squeezed into the cheap warrior armor. "You are to play the role of Lord Rupilo and will buy time for the lords to escape in the confusion. Do your job well and once I ransom your freedom, I will award you handsomely."

*That is, only if you survive the vengeful southern king’s wrath,* he thought as he sneaked out of the tent, the helmet still not properly on his head. When he looked back upon his army halfway down the hill, there was only chaos left. Isolated pockets of warriors still showed resistance, but small black dots had spread all over the white countryside, as far as Rupilo could see.

Outside of his view, the mighty warriors of northern Medala had already scattered and fled for the hills. After he calmed his heart for a moment, their commander joined them in their attempt to avoid captivity. Hidden within his men like a tree in a forest, there was no way the southern brat could find him.

This wasn’t the end of it. If only he could get through this crisis, Rupilo could still make up for his mistake. He was still a highly respected lord, with many warriors and great wealth at his disposal. He just had to squeeze the commoners a bit more and divide a few extra benefits to the surrounding lords. Maybe his people would bleed for a bit, and he might have to leave his Arguna mansion barren for a few years, but eventually, his house would rise once more.

As he forced his body through the ankle-deep snow, he cursed his own cheapness. Why had he handed his own attendant such low-quality armor? Although it looked quite pretty, the cheap iron was tight in all the wrong places and rubbed against the skin, while the poorly made hinges got caught and hindered his movement with every step.

He had never been the most diligent cultivator either, so his strength was barely beyond a normal commoner. Still, the lord pressed on. Driven by his desperation, he climbed hill after hill as he left the sounds of battle behind him. The deep furrow he left in the snow behind him was easy to follow, but trails meant nothing when there where thousands of them at once. Rather than help Corco, they were much more useful to himself.

Every time he came across someone’s trail he changed directions, too afraid of facing one of his former subordinates. Some were lined in blood while others retained a pure white, but in either case, Rupilo couldn’t know who they were and how they would react with no witnesses around. He wasn’t willing to gamble, so soon enough, all the snow around him was pure white.

At some point, the sun behind him fell and colored the snow red. He felt reminded of the battle he had left behind, of the way the white had been soaked in blood. As he forced his burning muscles to march ever forward, the world began to spin around the lord again. Once he had crossed the crest of one hill among countless along Sinchay’s southern coast, a heavy bout of nausea gripped the out-of-shape lord. Before he realized, he had already lost his footing and tumbled down the incline. For the second time in a day, the lord lost consciousness.

When he came back to his senses, he felt as numb and cold as he had atop that nameless hill. Just as powerless as back then, he tried to get back up, but his arms failed him.

"You, did you not hear us? Raise your head." This must have been why he had woken up. The voice sounded impatient, as if it had called him a few times already. Even so, how dare they talk to a great lord of Medala like that?

Somehow, he found enough strength to move his tormented body. His burning muscles forced his upper body out of the snow. The first thing he saw felt like a hallucination, as if he had seen warriors stand atop of two wooden boards.

*What a peculiar thing to imagine,* he thought. Then, his eyes went further up, to see the lanterns the two men had hung on their belts. At last, his eyes fell upon their faces, and the recognition that bloomed on both of them.

"That is him! We did it, the bounty is ours! You go light the signal flare. I will restrain Lord Rupilo."

Shocked and frozen stiff, the lord failed to react at all. Even though he had tried so hard, even though he should have been safe, Corco’s men had still found him. However, despite everything, Rupilo wasn’t surprised that he had been recognized without his insignia.

The two men who had found him were people he had seen before. Never would he forget the humiliation he had received at the hands of King Corco at the foot of that hill, right before the disastrous battle. These were two of the ten faces who stood behind the king that day. They were the personal guards of King Corco.

Exhausted in both body and spirit, the lord didn’t even struggle as the warrior bound his hands and feet with rope. He dreaded what King Corco would do with him. Maybe he would have been better off dead in the snow.