Horizon of War Series

Chapter 194: The Blitz Counterturn

The Blitz Counterturn

Sir Stan

The rainy season had ended, and the fighting around Cascasonne grew fiercer by the day. Lord Bengrieve’s much smaller relief force, led by Sir Stan, was doing its best to support the besieged castle. Through surprise attacks and flanking maneuvers, they’d dealt the larger enemy force a bloody nose. Yet, it was only in a hit-and-run fashion, as they lacked the numbers to offer a pitched battle.

After all, it was two hundred against nine thousand. Lord Bengrieve, however, had entrusted them with an alternate plan. Knowing that an army of that size required a massive amount of food, he instructed them to target the supply lines.

The supplies likely came from Sir Reginald’s staunch allies. Thus, Sir Stan focused his efforts on stalking and ambushing the weaker supply convoys that followed predictable routes.

Early on, he achieved great success, capturing two convoys and, when heavily outnumbered during a third encounter, destroying the supplies by dumping them into a nearby river. Now, after five days of risky stalking, Sir Stan’s men had tracked down another grain transport, moving near an abandoned village.

This would be their fourth, but they knew it would be different from the start. The enemy was better prepared this time, with a heavy escort accompanying the transport. The ambush quickly devolved into a brutal, grinding battle. What should have been a swift, decisive strike turned into a bloody slog as Sir Stan’s men were unable to break the ranks of the four hundred who defended the supply carts.

Knights and foot soldiers hacked through mud and grit. The two sides had once fought under the same banner, but now they were their worst enemies. Any hesitation had long since turned to hatred, each side convinced that their cause was worthier than the others.

Blood soaked into the earth, and the once-peaceful village became a grim battlefield.

"Sir Stan!" an aging lieutenant shouted, stumbling through the chaos, his battered armor weighing him down as he pushed through the thinning line of his allies. Up ahead, he caught sight of his commander directing his forces, trying to regain the momentum.

"Sir Stan!" he called again. This time, the baronet of Toruna turned toward him.

"I hear you. Say your piece," Sir Stan ordered amidst the sound of fighting nearby. He was preparing to rejoin the fray, his squire standing by with his helmet, freshly cleaned except for smudges of blood.

"We can’t keep this up," the lieutenant reported breathlessly. "Our flanks are buckling. We're far too outnumbered!"

"We’re always outnumbered," Sir Stan replied dismissively, preparing to rally his men. He had fought on foot, unwilling to risk one of his few remaining horses in case of a counterattack.

The lieutenant gripped the baronet’s armored arm, which, like the rest of his gear, was filthy, stained with blood, and battered. "Sir, the new recruits will break and flee at this rate," he urged his voice tight with urgency.

The tone halted Sir Stan. He paused to scan the battlefield and cursed at what he saw. "Damn it!" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. The ambush was unraveling, and they hadn’t even managed to take or destroy the precious grain. "Where are our reinforcements?" he complained, more to himself than anyone else.

Misinterpreting, the lieutenant replied, "There’s been no word from our allies."

Sir Stan stood with his face twisted in frustration and fatigue. He knew he couldn’t win this ambush; not without breaking his men. He looked at his soldiers, their eyes fixed on him with expectation. Gritting his teeth, he finally relented. "Pull back," he called, his voice cutting through the battle noise. "Pull back!"

The order swept through the ranks, and the exhausted force of barely two hundred began their retreat into the cover of the woods, abandoning the grain transport and bloodied escort.

***

Lubina Castle

A knight, his hair damp with sweat, wearing an equally damp arming doublet, approached the corridor with a hurried stride that seemed to herald bad news. The guard recognized him and quickly allowed him entry. As he stepped into the hall, the sounds of heated debate washed over him. A dismissed scout was heading his way, so he motioned for him to report his findings.

The scout obliged and whispered, "The Lowlandians have reached Krasna."

The knight exhaled sharply and nodded, signaling for the scout to leave the hall. Meanwhile, the council continued their debate.

"Radima, Yarosla, and now Krasna. What is our border garrison doing?" shouted another knight who looked as if he’d never fit in a saddle. He was there because he was a close ally of Lord Reginald.

"What is our border garrison strength? I assume they’re likely holding out but being bypassed by cavalry," Lord Reginald commented calmly, seemingly unfazed by the Lowlandian incursions.

"The border defense should have a hundred men-at-arms, along with another hundred from the local garrison and forty riders. Surely they can at least delay, if not prevent, an outbreak," the newly appointed Seneschal replied from his seat.

Lord Reginald turned to his ally. "The garrison should hold. We can probably expect them to break out and start their counterattack."

"My Lord," the newly arrived knight interjected.

"Sir Edmund," Lord Reginald greeted, "Glad to have you joining us."

"What news do you bring?" the Seneschal asked, motioning for Sir Edmund to take a seat.

"There’s no need for that; I’ll be departing again shortly. But let it be known: the situation is dire."

"We’ve assessed it," replied the Seneschal, "and we believe sending Sir Waller with a contingent to the border should—"

"There is no border anymore," Sir Edmund interrupted, his voice rising. "I was three towns away from the border when I found our garrisons in Ostra and Letwana retreating, leaving the towns to the enemy."

The council’s eyes widened in shock, their faces a mixture of disbelief and dread.

"We’ve been flanked from both east and west," Sir Edmund continued somberly. "And worse, we don’t even know where their main force is. Their army advances as rapidly as their cavalry, leaving our garrisons confused. One group from Kornika even hailed them, asking for directions, only to be ambushed."

"By the Ageless," muttered the large-bellied knight beside Lord Reginald, slumping into his seat.

"That’s exactly how a cavalry-based army moves. Don’t be disheartened; it’s just a large-scale raid," Lord Reginald reassured the hall.

From outside the hall, the guard let in another man under escort, his hurried footsteps echoing as he breathlessly announced, "My Lord, a report from the front."

"What is it this time?" Lord Reginald asked, bracing for bitter news.

"Luka. They’ve surrounded Luka. The city requests your immediate assistance," the soldier pleaded.

The news sent a ripple of murmurs through the council.

Sir Edmund stepped forward, asking the soldier, "Luka? Then they’re not heading for Cascasonne?"

The soldier could only shake his head, unable to answer, and was soon escorted out, his plea left unanswered.

"It’s too far east; it must be a diversion," another knight commented.

"Toruna," the Seneschal remarked, drawing attention to the map of the realm. What they saw unnerved them. The fact that the Lowlandians had managed to encroach on Toruna, a barony loyal to Bengrieve, in just a few days of fighting was a dire development.

"Tell me, what’s their end goal? Think! We can’t have a plan if we don’t know their aim," Lord Reginald pressed his council.

"From Toruna, they could follow the river into Lubina, passing through settlements rich with crops," the Seneschal replied grimly. "They must be heading here," he concluded, and the chamber fell silent.

Sir Edmund placed both hands on the table. "We need everyone here. We must prepare to defend Lubina."

"No," Lord Reginald replied, his voice firm, almost emotional. "Cascasonne must fall," he exclaimed strongly. "With stout heart, Lubina can withstand any siege." He echoed a famous line spoken hundreds of years before.

The council members exchanged unsatisfied glances but decided to comply. "How about pulling garrisons from our northern side?" the Seneschal suggested. "If we're lucky, we could even hire hired swords from Feodosia."

The council began to hatch a plan to reinforce Lubina while maintaining their stranglehold on Bengrieve’s bastion.

***

Lansius

After their arrival in Orniteia, which had decided to pledge loyalty to Bengrieve, the Shogunate army used it as their staging ground. From there, Lansius launched his Vanguard, Dragoons, and main army in three directions.

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Before his main push to Cascasonne, he aimed to paralyze the enemy's defense by bypassing well-defended places and advancing as deeply as possible, spreading panic and pressuring towns to surrender or forcing their garrisons to flee.

What he encountered, however, was a disorganized defense followed by a major collapse. Against his three-pronged advance, Midlandia’s southern border crumbled like a house of cards. However, this fortunate development concerned Lansius, especially after confirming reports of the 9,000-strong fanatical army besieging Cascasonne. He had naturally expected heavy resistance.

"Ostra and even Krasna," he muttered, naming the small towns that had just surrendered. "This is progressing too smoothly for my liking. I never imagined we’d be advancing this deep in just a few days," he said to Audrey as they rested in their tent after a weary day of travel. Margo was preparing additional amenities inside the newly erected command tent as they settled in for the evening.

"You fear a trap somewhere?" Audrey ventured, studying the map on the table. Lansius didn’t respond, instead leaning over the table and gazing at the map, his chin resting on his right hand.

"Perhaps it’s because of the succession war," he speculated, trying to find a reason.

"No," Audrey responded firmly. "I think we’re simply too good."

Her seemingly oversimplified explanation left Lansius perplexed.

Margo silently brought over a plate of green grapes that Francisca had tested earlier, her instincts keener than any human’s.

"Our brigades are moving so swiftly that it must look as if we’re everywhere at once," Audrey clarified, taking a bite of a green grape.

It was one of the goals he had hoped to achieve, but Lansius was still troubled. "Don’t the Midlandians fear the Lowlandians?"

Audrey frowned. "I thought you’d planned for this, with all the drills and the speeches." She mimicked his firm voice, "Do not damage the farms or the people’s livelihood, or else your blood and soul will fertilize this soil."

Lansius was amused. "I didn’t say the blood and soul part. Who made that up?"

Audrey giggled softly.

"But really, I haven’t prepared for this." Lansius sat back, more relaxed. "Indeed, I’ve kept discipline high so the populace will be more likely to support us. But they should only realize this after they’ve opened the gate, not before."

"Ah, you forget that, above all, they fear your punishment," she said, a teasing glint in her eye.

Lansius chuckled but countered, "I did not eat the souls of the living."

"Well, you did dock my pay last year, remember? Your troops remember it well," Audrey retorted smoothly.

"How does that even help make the Midlandians more compelled to surrender?" Lansius asked, at a loss. Lingering anxieties about ambushes, reports of enemy movements, and constant adjustments to war plans had mentally drained him.

"Our men haven’t faced heavy resistance, so there’s little reason for them to mistreat the populace. Meanwhile, on the other side, you’re quite famous among the Midlandians."

"Famous?" Lansius looked genuinely surprised, which drew polite chuckles from Margo and Francisca nearby.

Audrey turned to them, clearly enjoying the chance for some fun. "It seems the Lord of Lowlandia is completely unaware of his own reputation."

Instead of a grin, Lansius was frowning, shifting uncomfortably. "You mean the 'Black Lord’ who flogged old Servius three times? That hasn’t died out yet?" he asked weakly.

Audrey laughed, as did the others, leaving him even more perplexed.

"The Great Lord Shogun of the Steppe hath forgot his great deeds," Audrey continued, ramping up her teasing. "The victor of four battles, the salt giver, the liberator of Korimor, the grain provider of South Hill, the champion of the Nicopolans, and the savior of Umberland."

"Well..." Lansius tried to keep a firm expression, but a smile broke through. He hadn’t realized he had such a strong reputation.

Audrey took another grape before continuing with a proud smile. "Farkas’ men and the Orange Skalds have confirmed that your reputation precedes you."

"But how?" Lansius asked, curious. "It all happened far from Midlandia."

"You forget that most of your troops were recruited from Midlandia’s lowest ranks," Audrey replied, picking another grape.

"Ah," Lansius realized, feeling a bit foolish.

"Many who joined us in Toruna were once cutthroats, drunkards, and gamblers. Their families had no hope for them. And then they returned as reformed men, clad in fine surcoats, rich tunics, and sturdy boots, their jaws hardened, their eyes softened, their tongues filled with tales of valor, while their purses were heavy with coins. Imagine a hundred of them in towns, cities, and villages."

Lansius nodded, listening intently.

"They will undoubtedly attract attention. Even less interesting stories have spread far. I imagine they become the darlings of taverns, with minstrels flocking to them for tales. Farkas told me he’s already heard at least five songs about you. Not all are flattering, but at least you’re well-known," she added with a sly grin.

Lansius refrained from giving a response, allowing Audrey to continue in a steady tone, "The Midlandians may fear you and distrust the Lowlandians, but they’re also intrigued by your reputation. Besides, we’re not invaders. We’re loyalists to Lord Bengrieve."

He looked at her tenderly. "Your insight is invaluable, My Lady."

Audrey smiled proudly, enjoying his praise, and gently caressed her belly. "I must be getting some help from my son. He’s smart, like you."

"Don’t you mean our son?" Lansius corrected.

"No, he’s mine," she retorted playfully and tossed another grape into her mouth.

Lansius couldn’t resist her teasing anymore; he rose just enough from his seat and kissed her quickly, sucking the juicy grape from her mouth.

"Noo, that one was sweet," she complained, finally realizing what had just happened. Lansius chuckled and left the tent. He wanted to see Sir Omin to oversee their logistics and consult the Hunter guildsman in case of any issues with his hawks.

He had tried to establish a connection with the secretive side of the Hunter guild. They couldn’t afford to be ambushed by another group of assassins. As he walked, the sunset breeze stirred around him, as if beckoning him to admire the golden tapestry of clouds in the sky.

Francisca and several guards were with him. The half-breed was now his personal escort; otherwise, Sir Harold refused to leave his side or take a separate command, reasoning that they were now in a hostile land.

"Hostile land, eh?" he muttered to himself as he walked through the large encampment. With Midlandia crumbling like a sandcastle, Lansius knew he had the chance for a bigger victory. There was truly no longer a reason for a decapitation strike; he knew he could break Reginald and force him to live with his shame.

So heading to Cascasonne is the right choice.

But the issue remained: how to maximize his gain. He needed to capture the people’s support and keep the populace intact.

That very thought stopped him.

"What is it, My Lord?" Francisca asked on behalf of the guards.

Lansius turned to her, knowing she would give an honest answer. "Is it overly ambitious and crazy for me to think of ruling more land?"

Francisca looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "My lord, it would be even crazier if you didn’t. You have a pretext, legal support, and an army that is currently striking fear into the garrisons. I've heard the locals singing your name. What more do you need?"

Lansius chuckled. "As you know, I can be foolish at times. Do you think I’ll make a good ruler?"

"You already are," the half-breed replied, then opened her maw to let out a hearty laugh, drawing the attention of his weary men and guards, who watched them eagerly, smiles on their lips.

...

"My Lord," Sir Omin greeted Lansius as he approached his tent, accompanied by Francisca and several guards. Inside, a few men in fine clothing also greeted him with polite bows.

"At ease. I'm just checking things around, but it seems you have company," Lansius remarked casually.

"This is an impeccable timing. Please, allow me to introduce you to the esteemed families of Varsovia." Sir Omin motioned to his guests warmly.

"It’s an honor to meet you," they greeted Lansius.

"I assure you, the honor is all mine," Lansius responded, then got down to business. "I apologize for my army’s intrusion. What I’m doing is regrettable, but alas, your new lord is forcing my hand. Still, on behalf of Lord Bengrieve, please accept our heartfelt apologies."

"My Lord, you don’t need to." Their voices and smiles showed they were thrilled to hear such empathetic words from him. "It is indeed a regrettable situation, but we’re confident we can find a middle ground to resolve this unfortunate issue."

Lansius had long known that humility from a man in his position opened doors more effectively than a haughty appearance. Using Bengrieve’s name, guild connections, and a mix of honeyed words and bribes, they had secured considerable cooperation.

"Gentlemen, I’m all ears," he encouraged them to proceed.

The esquires, likely local landlords, shop owners, and wealthy merchants, exchanged glances before one continued, "As Sir Omin advised us, we wish for Varsovia to declare neutrality in this conflict."

The term "neutrality" was music to Lansius' ears. It was merely a white pretext to shield them from potential repercussions. In reality, they would offer him anything he needed and more. He had even heard reports that some of his troops had been welcomed into inns, as the city’s hospitality was extraordinarily friendly.

While Sir Reginald claimed to be backed by the educated elites, Lansius had grassroots support. This wasn’t due to his reputation alone but also to House Bengrieve's centuries-long legacy.

"What wonderful news," Lansius remarked with genuine amusement. "Then, gentlemen, how do you think we should proceed? Perhaps some supplies for my troops? A bit of wine, medicine, and footwraps? We’ll pay upfront and be pleased to inform Lord Bengrieve of your support when he returns."

The esquires’ faces lit up as they considered the proposal. They had likely come risking their lives to protect their city, and in return, they were securing a favorable deal.

Yet, it was also a great deal for Lansius. As the war stratagem stated, a pound of enemy supplies was worth twenty pounds of your own. By purchasing supplies rather than raiding, Lansius depleted his opponent’s resources while preserving his own. This approach also allowed him to gain the locals’ trust and support; a boon too good to pass up.

The money spent was almost insignificant compared to the cost of besieging town after town, losing precious time, and risking troops’ lives before the upcoming battle for Midlandia's supremacy.

With their business concluded, Lansius assigned horsemen to escort the esquires back to Varsovia.

"The fool conquers the land; the wise conquer the mind," Sir Omin recalled, turning to Lansius as he praised, "I must say, it is an excellent plan, My Lord."

Lansius smiled at the praise as they watched the esquires depart. "You did all the brewing; I’m merely pouring it into a goblet. The question is, who’ll enjoy the goblet?"

The former Lord of Korimor chuckled softly. "It wouldn’t be Bengrieve; preferably the baroness."

Lansius chuckled before commenting, "These people clearly adore Bengrieve more than the Saint Candidate."

"Aye, the border and southern parts of Midlandia are like that. But as we go northwest, we’ll be more likely to meet the tip of a spear than open arms," Sir Omin warned.

"That is only natural," Lansius replied, undeterred. "After all, we don’t come in peace."

With Varsovia declaring neutrality, Lansius would begin his pivot toward Cascasonne. It would be three days of forced march for his main army, while his cavalry would remain behind to sow chaos as a smokescreen. Their situation was now precarious, as they had moved deep into Midlandia with no reliable allies but opportunists and turncoats.

***

Sir Stan, Cascasonne

The baronet and his weary troops had just returned to their hidden camp in the woods. It was their tenth or so campsite, as they had to keep moving to avoid capture. They were up against an enemy force of ten thousand, with at least two thousand dedicated to hunting them down. Because of this constant threat, Sir Stan’s once-fierce surprise attacks on their flanks had been severely diminished.

Now, they had to operate from a greater distance, slowing their response times and limiting their flexibility, with the fear of traps lurking everywhere. Moreover, their strategy of harassing the enemy’s food supply had failed. Not only had their last attack fallen short, but Sir Stan had also learned that their opponents were accustomed to hunger and showed no sign of rebellion despite dwindling rations.

The enemy was evidently giving their best, even so far as to dedicate three saint candidates to accompany the army, rallying the soldiers daily with sermons that preached poverty and hunger as the swiftest path to salvation.

Sir Stan had barely reached his tent’s entrance when one of his captains, along with several men, found him. "Sir, you’d better come with us to the front. The situation has changed," the captain said cryptically, though concern was evident.

The mood immediately grew tense. "What’s happened?" Sir Stan asked.

"They’ve intensified the assault since yesterday. We've seen it ourselves, and we fear the castle may fall today," the captain reported grimly.

Sir Stan was immediately alerted and asked, "And what about our men in the south? Any movement from our allies?"

The men exchanged glances and shook their heads weakly. It was a question born of desperation. Everyone knew there was simply no way for even the Lord of Korelia to reach Cascasonne this early. Even if he received the messenger on time and reacted spontaneously, without considering gathering the banners or stocking supplies, the march alone would take at least fifteen days, just to reach the outskirts of the province.

Sir Stan looked to the sky, recalling Hannei and the maids he had once flirted with. His throat felt parched as he exhaled deeply. Never before had he felt so powerless. It seemed Cascasonne would fall before reinforcements could ever arrive.

***