Chapter 178: The Pact of Silent des
The Pact of Silent des
Mindia
As Bengrieve heard the news from the Capital, Sir Stan and the two captains watched him closely. Hisplexion turned pale as he settled into a hastily repaired wooden chair. Unfolding the letter, his eyes clouded over, and he stared nkly at the ground, his lips muttering gibberish—an unusual departure from his typicalposed demeanor that rmed the other men in the room.
The three exchanged nces, and Sir Stan approached Bengrieve. "Talk to us. What''s causing your angst? Weren''t we expecting this?"
Clenching the letter in his fist, Bengrieve answered, "No. I did not expect this. Not like this." He was still processing the news. "It can''t possibly fail. What are the chances that Gottfried failed to take the Capital, and instead, a bunch of armed peasants did?"
Distraught by his words, Sir Stan urged, "I think it''s time for you to reveal the n. Don’t leave us in the dark. Mindia and everyone are at stake."
Bengrieve stared at his cousin and the two captains. They had all been loyal followers of his house, and their doubts about his n stemmed from their professional roles as military officers, not out of self-importance. "Originally, I had calcted that the Capital could withstand anything except an imminent attack from Gottfried," he began.
"But now, not only has it fallen to angry mobs, but it was also plundered clean. The Pce and the ministries were destroyed. Worse, Duke Alvaro also arrived."
"There''s an indication that the Duke will not hold it," one of his captains interjected."It doesn’t make a difference," Bengrieve replied. "Without the Sages, my ns are doomed."
Sir Stan and the captains, hearing about all this for the first time, traded concerned nces.
"I was expecting Gottfried to take the Capital. I know he had powerful men in the Pce; he only needed to show up. Once he paraded his troops, they would throw open the gates for him and celebrate his arrival like a hero."
The three could only listen carefully. Rarely had they heard about the dealings behind the shadows.
"Gottfried isn''t ambitious, but he would bepelled to take the seat. His people want it. So, he''ll attempt to rule and, with the Dukes and us to worry about, he''ll resort to finding the middle ground. That means appeasing the Sages. He''s likely to allow the ministers to sort out their own rivalries. He''ll turn a blind eye to the massacres within the ministries as the Sages me each other for their corrupt nature. However, he would be a fool to trust the remaining ministers."
Bengrieve''s gaze drifted into the distance as he continued, "Even those who supported him will eventuallyce his food with poison that''ll slowly degrade his health in a few years. Or, they could have one of his sons do it, in exchange for the Sages'' support for the Northern Throne. Whatever the oue, it would be a boon for Mindia. But now..." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "''Now, everything is a mess."
Sir Stan raised his brow. "I''m still at a loss," he admitted. "Whether it''s Gottfried or the rebels, the Capital is finished, and no Great Entity has awoken to shoot fireballs in defense of the pce. So, we have no issue."
"Indeed, My Lord," his captain agreed. "Isn’t the most important issue whether the Emperor is alive or not? Now that the pce is razed, we can finally be free and bury this Imperium facade."
"No," Bengrieve replied firmly. "Now that we no longer have the Sages, we can''t let Gottfried take the capital."
Sir Stan frowned, and so did the other two.
"Don''t you get it?" Bengrieve asked. "Without the Sages, Gottfried will rule. He''lly im as the sessor, probably by marrying someone he ims is the daughter of the Emperor. Then he could take the regency as Prince, and his son could eventually be the 4th Emperor. And with control of the entire Northern Province, Arvena, and Tiberia, his House has a significant chance of seeding."
Sir Stan stroked his chin, his gaze now steady and sharp. "Now that you mention it, his taking the throne and the capital seems dangerous for us."
"That much is certain," Bengrieve confirmed. "Mindia and ndia’s strategic positions are threats to his rule. He''ll grow wary of us who could strike at his veins and jugr, either Tiberia straight to the Capital or Arvena, his biggest shipping port to the Northern provinces. It''s only natural for him to try to find excuses to eliminate us as soon as he is ready."
The three nodded, their expressions grave as they considered the bleak prospects.
Bengrieve kept quiet. He loosened his tunic, his mind racing to formte a new n.
Sir Stan knelt next to him, drawing his attention, and spoke, "You can''t fight this alone."
"I have you and the army in ndia."
"That''s not what I meant." Sir Stan maintained his gaze. "You need outside help, an ally."
"Lansius," Bengrieve uttered the name that now felt so pleasing on his tongue.
The bar whispered, "I know you have his mother and sister."
Bengrieve stared at him questioningly. Their identities were a secret.
"I''ve been with a few maids, and they''ve been quite talkative under the nket," he stated, without a hint of shame.
Bengrieve shook his head weakly. "It seems I''ve underestimated you."
"You assess your peers well, but you often overlook those beneath your station," Sir Stan rebuked.
Bengrieve exhaled deeply, his expression one of regret. "I will take your words to heart."
"You better," Sir Stan remarked as he stood up. Turning to the two captains, he said, "Let''s wait for more news before we decide anything. Rushing is meaningless if we''re going in the wrong direction."
"No," Bengrieve interjected firmly, prompting the three to look at him. He rose from his seat and dered, "Stan, you''ll stay. I''ll ride back to ndia. I''ll find a way to prevent Gottfried from marching to the Capital."
Sir Stan''s shoulders tensed. "You''re going to do what? Battle the King of Brigantes?" His words were devoid of jest.
"No, that’s stupid and reckless," Bengrieve retorted firmly. "I believe there are ways to sway him to stay put in Arvena."
Sir Stan nodded, but his expression remained cautious. "What exactly do you want me to do here?" he asked. "I can''t possibly take your role. I''m a poor speaker."
"Free Cascasonne," Bengrieve replied firmly, bracing himself for the inevitable verbal tirade.
The veins on his cousin’s forehead bulged. "We don’t even have three hundred! They have at least ten thousand,'' Sir Stan eximed. ''I’m not going to risk my limbs in a losing battle."
"Stop acting like a spoiled child," Bengrieve countered sharply. "You can win this. Just stick to the n I’veid out for you."
"Against such gargantuan forces, I’ll need more than just ns," Sir Stan insisted.
Bengrieve looked at the two captains, who showed their somber agreement, clearly aligning themselves with Sir Stan''s position.
"Fine," Bengrieve snapped, his lips curling in displeasure. "As you wish, I shall beg and ask the Lord of Korelia. Let''s hope he''ll be happy with adding Toruna to his fief."
"Oi, oi, not mynd. Give him Reginald''s," Sir Stan smirked, clearly amused by Bengrieve''s change of heart.
"My lord," one of the captains stepped forward. "Even if we involve the Lord of Korelia, may we know your n for Mindia?"
"Of course," Bengrieve said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, listen carefully..."
***
Korelia
It had been a week since news of the fall of the Imperium first spread. City officials confirmed the news and decided to publicly mourn the passing of the Ageless One. As a result, a somber mood enveloped Korelia. Taverns closed early, as did several of its newest entertainment venues, and the streets saw fewer people. Everyone understood that they were witnessing a catastrophic event that would be remembered in history.
Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined they would live in an age where the Ageless One perished. Fear gripped everyone''s hearts as the Imperium sailed into the shadow of the night, never to return.
Despite being taught by the Ageless One himself not to believe in prayers, the city, at the people''s behest, built an altar so that citizens could light candles, burn incense, and pray for the Third Emperor, the Imperium, and peace.
The Lord and Lady, along with their retinue, also paid their respects. After seven days, the altar was incorporated into the newly built gatehouse, enshrined so that travelers could pay their homage.
While themoners worried about the future of the Imperium and whether their way of life would be affected, the Lord''s council was in an uproar.
Lord Lansius had entrusted Lord Robert and Sir Omin with the task of writing letters to their neighboring lords to inform them of this cmity and seek their response. Meanwhile, he wrote five letters himself, one each to Lord Avery in Dawn, Lord Beatrix in Umbend, Servius in Nicop, Sigmund in South Hill, and Dietrich in Korimor.
With only two hawks avable and most neighboring lords not employing a Hunter Guildsman, most messages were carried by the usual horse-ry system.
While many were still in mourning, life, as always, moved forward. As farmers returned from their fields and shepherds tended to their flocks, a different rhythm began to pulse from the west. As the nting season drew to a close, thousands of nomads descended upon the region, their arrival heralding the start of their annual homage.
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As was their custom and to honor their oath to Lord Lansius, the tribesmen rode and camped on the verdant western ins. They brought wide carts with their yurts, and thousands of goats, horses, and sheep, bearing gifts of fine horses for the Lord of the City.
The Lord and Lady weed them on the ins outside the city walls. Arge crowd, including many recent migrants to Korelia, watched in awe as these majestic creatures were presented, their strong limbs and impable shapes gleaming under the sun.
The Lord, dressed in a nomadic-style tunic, greeted the nomads with a warm smile. Batu and his brethren, along with the elders, reciprocated the honor. Many were still deeply fascinated by how this unassuming man with ck hair had united Londia and brought significant changes to the region.
After the initial greetings, and with no inclination for theatrics or time-wasting, the tribesmen proceeded with the annual exchange. Lansius, Batu, and their retinue observed as the men showcased the fine Londia horses. Smaller than destriers or stallions, these horses boasted incredible stamina, were easy to care for, and could thrive on the sparse vegetation and limited water of the Great ins, making them suitable for warhorses.
In front of the gathered crowd, Lord Lansius called out, "Before I ept these gifts, I must ask openly—have these horses been seized in any conflicts or raids?"
"No, My Noyan," the tribes answered firmly and proudly. "All havee from grateful tribes."
"Does epting these horses and goods cause any grievances among your people?" Lord Lansius continued.
"No, My Noyan," they assured. "It is our pleasure to present these gifts."
"Then I ept this trade," Lord Lansius dered, ushering in two days of festivities. These included sumptuous feasts, meticulously arranged gift exchanges, and robust celebrations of alliances. After the festivities, the highly anticipated horse market of Korelia finallymenced.
For the following week, Korelia hosted itsrgest horse and livestock market of the year. Breeders, knights, and guildsmen from across the region converged, each seeking animals with the finest traits. They engaged in spirited bargaining, exchanged goods, and negotiated deals, all in the pursuit of profit.
As the Lord had intended, this strategy allowed the nomads to gain capital directly, bypassing the dominant local intermediary horse traders. Consequently, the horse traders werepelled to shift their focus to warhorse training and breeding rather than acting as mere middlemen.
For the nomads, this newfound capital enabled them to purchasend and houses in Korelia, educate their younger generations, engage in trade, start farming, or open workshops.
Lord Lansius hoped this approach would prevent conflicts between the sedentary and nomadicmunities from escting. He wanted to forge strong,sting bonds between them because he knew the alternative would be too painful to bear.
***
Londia
Morning light filtered through the shattered windows of the abandoned manor east of Korelia, casting long shadows across the weathered stones. Two groups of four, d in soundproofed ck brigandine and helmets covered in ck canvas, gathered amidst the ruins, their breaths visible in the crisp air.
The silence of the early dawn was punctured by the mechanical sound of rapid-fire crossbows as they unleashed bolts toward crudely fashioned wooden targets propped against the crumbling walls. The first group, having eliminated the wooden targets, climbed the stone staircase while the second group moved to secure the first floor.
In thergest chamber of the manor, once a grand hall, the second group moved swiftly from one corner to another. The echo of crossbow fire melded with the scrape of boots on debris-strewn floors. Each man loaded and fired with practiced ease; their new weapons were a source of confidence and pride.
Suddenly, the rtive orderly progress of their exercise was shattered. As they almost secured a seemingly unremarkable small chamber, the door they kicked swung back with such force that the first man wasunched to the floor. From the door, a seasoned knight and a man-at-arms stormed the room.
As they fumbled with their crossbows, the two trainers pounced on them with wooden maces and swords, delivering swift, punishing blows. The sh of wood on armor echoed as the four men were taken down.
"Don''t clump up and never forget the steel at your side!" barked Sir Harold, the lead trainer, as the group failed tond any shots on him with their training bolts. The rapid-fire crossbows, even in their infancy, were so effective that they had led to an overreliance, causing the men to lose their awareness.
Breathless and bruised, the men from the second group stood ready, nursing their pain and fatigue. Soon, the other group joined them from the upper floor, simrly bruised. Francisca, the half-breed, was escorting them.
"One knight, one man-at-arms, and one half-breed—just imagine if you were also facing a mage," Sir Haroldmented.
"You guys are also missing a crossbowman," Francisca added. Farkas, in his t gray setup, stepped forward from the shadows, saying, "I think I had a clear shot to get at least two of you."
"Captain!" the men called out.
"Don''t mind me; I''m just visiting," Farkas grinned.
The eight men''s smiles broadened despite being battered. This resilience was what made them special. Unlike most, they did notin despite the hardship because they were driven from within. They knew what they had signed up for and aspired to be part of elite groups, so no amount ofplex and hard training could dissuade them. They felt they were on the cusp of achieving something phenomenal, something unprecedented.
So far, only four men had passedst year''s grueling training. At least twelve were needed to form an effective detachment, with another four men as reserve and rotational backup.
They were mostly handpicked from the ck Bandits, famed for their skirmishing abilities. The battalion-sized unit had produced experts in unconventional warfare. After the events at South Hill, Three Hills, and Korimor, they evolved into a seasoned warband. They developed an innate understanding of disguise and stealth, learning that small numbers of highly capable individuals could significantly alter the battle situation.
Their sess was not achieved blindly but under the guidance of Lord Lansius, who directed them with a concrete goal in mind. It was as if he possessed knowledge of what was achievable, leading them not out of mere experimentation but with a certainty that hinted at a deep understanding of such a group''s capabilities.
Recruitment was by invitation only, testing the best candidates through rigorous physical and academic challenges. Their rewards included generous pay, a robust pension scheme,pensation for injuries, and some of the best equipment money could buy.
What motivated them most, however, was the pride of being the sharpest tip of the spear. They were the bestbat-ready group in Londia, receiving special treatment and preferential care. This included fully customized armor with velvet liners in their metal tes to reduce noise, the still experimental rapid-fire crossbows, warhorses from the Lord’s own stable, and even airship training.
At social gatherings, they also wore specially tailored tunics, which Lord Lansius and everyone involved in the project also donned whenever necessary, adding anotheryer of pride. Furthermore, they were exempt from mundane tasks, and outside of training, they were free to manage their own time, conducting additional training as they desired.
However, these privileges were reserved for those who seeded.
"You are to scout, rescue, or kill a specific target within hostile territory," Sir Harold lectured the candidates. "Do it sessfully, and you might prevent or end a major conflict swiftly, with as little bloodshed as possible. You’ll be hailed as heroes. But first, you need toplete the objectives and return alive. Now, repeat your creed."
"I am the sharpest instrument of the Shogunate," the eight men began. "I am the one upon whom the Lord Shogun relies to advance further, faster, and fight harder, both within and beyond his domain. Wherever he needs me, I shall arrive by horse, by boat, or by air. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong, and morally straight. My conduct, how I dress, and how I care for equipment shall set an example for others to follow. I''ll defeat the enemies by being better trained and better prepared. Surrender is not an option. Silence is preferable. Under no circumstances will I ever embarrass the Shogunate."
"Good," Sir Harold was satisfied. "Now march back to your hideout and reflect on it. We''ll send random patrols, and if they spot your ce, your group will camp further out."
Dismissed, the men began their march to their hideouts. The staff found theirpliance and nonining attitude refreshing. They had to admit that the Lord’s insistence on recruiting not the strongest, but fit men with good intellect, proved to be a wise decision. These men proved easier to teach, emotionally stable, more resilient, and capable of thinking independently to improve their skills.
"Good luck," Farkas said, his voice sympathetic. They responded with smiles and a thumbs up.
"Aren''t you being too harsh?" Francisca asked Sir Harold as they began to tally and reset the wooden targets.
Sir Harold smiled. "To tell you the truth, I''m proud of them. They''ve shown much progress in such a short time."
"Then why do we keep failing them?" Francisca asked without hesitation.
"She has a point," Farkas chimed in. "I think they''re doing fine. I counted eleven targets, each with two bolts in the torso."
Sir Harold looked at them and nodded, signaling his agreement. "The problem is the task the Lord wanted them to excel at—frankly, it''s near impossible. Imagine asking just eight or twelve people to infiltrate a town or castle, capture the leader, rescue a prisoner from a dungeon, or open the gatehouse for our advance party."
Francisca nodded, acknowledging the exnation. Yet Farkas, appearing unresolved, proposed, "If the issue is skill, why dy? Why not allow the candidates to try several more times today?"
"There’s a point to this," Sir Harold replied. "Lord Lansius believes that waiting wreaks havoc on people’s minds—constant waiting, the dullness, the restlessness, and theck of sleep. That''s why he included it as part of the training."
"Can''t argue with that, but it still seems so demanding," Francisca said, tilting her head slightly.
"I''m convinced that the Lord has experience with such elite groups in his homnd, otherwise I don''t know where he got that confidence and nning. He even structured it so that the group''s official function is search and rescue," Sir Harold reassured.
"A pretty inconspicuous function for a group tasked with hostage rescue or assassination," shemented.
"Funnily enough, he often said that such objectives can be achieved through various means. That''s why he purposefully made the trainingplex and hard; he wanted them to win through good tactics, not just by being better, but through trying new approaches, clever deception, or even outright cheating."
"Cheat?" Farkas’ tone carried a hint of amusement as he realized the possibility for the first time.
"Yes, it’s also part of the training. The Lord wanted them to think outside the box," the knight exined, simrly amused.
Farkas chuckled and then one of the veterans who worked with them as support and safety officers approached. "Sir, the second batch of trainees is ready."
Sir Harold looked at the sky and said, "Yes, send them in. Let''s hope this batch also does not disappoint."
...
The training was repeated three times against three different teams and finished well before midday. Farkas wrapped his crossbows in leather before packing them in a canvas bag. Despite being prepared to shoot training bolts, he hadn''t fired them today; there was no need. No teams had sighted him, which was worrying, but he hoped it would teach them a lesson.
"Care to join us for lunch?" Francisca asked.
"Unfortunately, with the tribesmen, guildsmen, knights, and prominent figures all in Korelia, I need to be where my agents can find me quickly," Farkas replied.
"Sir Michael and Sir Omin are quitepetent, are they not?" Sir Harold asked, stroking his chin.
"They are, but they''re not locals like me who know where to listen for whispers and talks on the streets," Farkas exined.
"True, one thing the Lord hates the most is surprises," the knight nodded in agreement.
Farkas was about to say something when Francisca asked first, "Is that why Lord Lansius asked me to send a letter, praising and asking Lord Beatrix for more of my kin?"
The knight looked at her, smiling. "No, he wants them as mentors. You see, mostmoners in Korelia cannot read."
Francisca furrowed her brow. "I''m not sure why the Lord wants everyone to be able to read. I mean, for farmers, themon alphabet isn''t really going to help them grow crops."
"Isn''t it the same as how Kaen the Hero wanted your kin to be able to read and write, despite your ancestors feeling they had no need for it?" said Farkas.
"Indeed," but then her eyes widened. "Wait, how did you know about that?"
The acting captain of the skirmishers turned smug; he was no longer merely the innocent hunter-turned-lieutenant from Korelia, known for his tasty brown grains. His experiences with Sigmund, Dame Danie, Sir Harold, Sir Morton, and Lord Lansius, coupled with the events at Three Hills, had transformed him into an effective agent, always listening, yet rarely seen.
"The scrolls," Francisca eximed. "You actually obtained and read Kaen''s dialogue scrolls."
"It is my obligation to do so," he answered humbly.
"Now, I have more respect for you."
"Am I that threatening?" Farkas quipped, hinting that he understood that respect among the half-beast culture was derived from threat assessment.
Franciscaughed and turned to Sir Harold. "This man is dangerous."
"Being dangerous is good. Perhaps, I should study the scrolls from him," Sir Harold said, unable to resist a light tease.
"No, you should ask me instead," the half breed replied heartily.
"But you didn’t bring the scrolls with you on your travels," Farkas remarked ever so casually.
"H-how did you know that?" She was both bbergasted and curious.
Farkas shrugged, eliciting a heartyugh from Sir Harold. "But seriously," the native Korelian said in a much more serious tone, "for security reasons, I weed more half-breeds into Korelia."
His words surprised Francisca. "I hope you aren''t naive enough to think that all half-breeds will be loyal to Lord Lansius."
"I''ll ept that risk," Farkas stated. "Our Lord has antagonized the new House of Mindia, likely wounding their pride or making them feel threatened. My sources believe there''s a high chance they''ll send assassins here even only to make a statement."
***