Fuck... I’m really starting to get tired of this whole war business. Plan after plan, carrying them out, and then endlessly assessing the results. Over and over again. I’m exhausted.
I’ve been trying to adapt to this military life, and one could say I’ve done fairly well. But even if I’m just imitating the way the original Leonardo used to act in his mories, I’ve grown sick of it. For weeks now, I’ve been away from ho, rotting on these damned roads.
In my past life, I would often wonder how our ancestors ca up with brilliant gas like chess. Now I understand. Boredom can drive a person to do anything. And yes, I had invented my own ga.
The worst part was, only I knew the rules of this ga, so only I could play it. I felt like one of those protagonists in old black-and-white French art films.
"My Lord! A letter from Baron Douglas."
The soldier who entered my tent handed a sealed letter. Finally, sothing to break the monotony. Baron Douglas was infamous in the west for his cowardice and was one of the lords who had dared to encroach on my lands.
Inside was a trembling plea for peace.
"Glorious Count Leonardo," Douglas wrote. "I have heard of Baron Sulka’s fate. His arrogance was shattered before your genius; his army toppled like stones. The shadow of corpse towers has reached as far as the west. I have no wish to wage war against such power. I send you my respects and offer to settle our matters without bloodshed."
As my eyes ran over the lines, a faint smile curved my lips. This was it - the confession of desperation, fear bleeding into ink. The towers that had risen over Sulka’s ruins didn’t just crush enemy soldiers, they made enemy barons tremble too.
But when I read it again, I realized this was an opportunity. Douglas’s request for peace was the announcent of his weakness. He sought peace because he saw as a terrifying executioner. If I accepted, my reputation would grow stronger; if I rejected, it would serve as a brutal warning to the rest.
Leaning back, I stared at the shifting fabric on the tent’s ceiling and grinned to myself.
"So, the cowardly fox doesn’t dare leave his den..."
I thought for a mont. What should my move be in this ga? Push pawns forward, or checkmate the king in one strike?
For , this wasn’t just about land or victory anymore. This was the next act in the ga that kept my boredom at bay. And I could rewrite the rules as I pleased.
"Douglas..." I whispered. "I may not need to spill your blood. But I must keep your fear alive."
I picked up a quill and began writing my reply.
As the ink touched the parchnt, I imagined Douglas’s trembling face. How many tis had he dread the sa nightmare behind those thick walls? The image of his n crushed beneath the shadow of corpse towers. Perhaps he even woke at night, shuddering in his sheets.
My answer would rob him of sleep entirely.
"Honorable Baron Douglas," I began. "I understand your concerns and appreciate your cautious approach. Sulka’s demise was not only the result of standing against but also the punishnt for his own arrogance. The rotting bodies of his army still sway in the wind; this is a lesson given not just to him, but to all my enemies."
Here, I paused with a smile. The key was not to state threats openly. The ghosts a man imagines are far more terrifying than a sword at his throat.
"I welco your request for peace. However, true peace is cented not by words, but by loyalty. If you wish to show your submission, I demand you send one of your children to as a hostage of peace and transfer one-third of your yearly taxes to Argenholt. Only then shall no blood be spilled, and the shadows will not consu you."
That last line I chose deliberately. The shadows, so he would rember what awaited him.
I set the quill down and lifted my eyes from the parchnt. Though it looked like a contract on paper, it was really just another move in my ga. If Douglas accepted, his cowardice would beco part of my strength. If he refused... then another corpse tower would rise in his lands.
I sealed the letter. As the wax hardened, I whispered to myself:
"Let’s see how long it takes for the fox to learn to surrender his den to ."
Most likely, he wouldn’t answer until my veritable war had begun.
----
Among my enemies, the strongest by far, the one who had already gathered his entire army, was Count Ronald. He was infamous for his cruelty and depravity. A man who killed his own children for minor mistakes, who murdered endlessly in his city, who committed countless other atrocities. Not that these could even be called cris; Imperial law did not recognize them as such for a lord.
But Ronald’s greatest cri was none of these. The old bastard had a particular obsession with young boys. Rumor had it his dungeons were filled with them.
Count Ronald... even speaking his na polluted the air. Most lords whispered of his cruelty, but none dared oppose him. Because he wielded not just a sword, but the vilest weaknesses of n as weapons.
Think about it: in this twisted system, executing your own children could be excused as "a lord’s prerogative." The Empire’s warped scales of justice had beco a shield for n like Ronald. Cris committed in the shadow of law were bloodier than law itself.
But beyond all that, there was the rumor. Shackled children rotting in his dungeons. So alive, so long dead. Hope decaying in darkness, serving as entertainnt for a soul drenched in filth. This was not re arrogance like Sulka’s, nor cowardice like Douglas’s. Ronald wasn’t just a political rival; he was sothing monstrous.
And, strangely enough, that excited .
"So, my next enemy will be the devil himself," I murmured. I realized then that my ga had gained a new piece. This was no longer just chess to stave off boredom; it had beco a theater where the last shards of justice within might find satisfaction.
Ronald’s army was vast. Rumors spoke of twenty-five thousand n.
Thanks to Ironheart Mike’s efforts and my crushing victory in the first battle, my army had grown from five thousand to eight thousand strong.
Eight thousand.
On paper, nothing against Ronald’s twenty-five thousand. When I imagined the weight of swords, spears, and shields, the scales tipped heavily against . In a direct battle, I would almost certainly lose. The only way to win without numbers was through deception.
"A straight fight won’t work," I muttered. "If it happens, I’ll lose. Ronald believes victory is his. That’s where I’ll strike."
n like Ronald had one fatal flaw: they placed too much faith in their own strength. With twenty-five thousand n, he was blind, careless with pawns. This ant it was advantageous for fighting dishonourably.
At that mont, one of my soldiers entered the tent; my spymaster, whose talents had proven themselves many tis.
"What have you brought this ti?"
Silently, he bowed and spread several scrolls across the table. His eyes glead; clearly, this news was far from ordinary.
"My Lord," he whispered, "Count Ronald’s army is growing restless. Yes, there are twenty-five thousand n, but many are raw rcenaries or peasants. There are disputes, n complaining of unpaid wages. And within the army, there are two factions: those from Ronald’s own city, and the units other barons were forced to send him. They despise each other."
I tapped my fingers on the table. "So, there’s a crack within."
He nodded. "Yes, my lord. But I also bring worse news. Two pieces of it, in fact..."
His voice sank further. The lantern cast half his face into shadow.
"The first, my lord: in the east, the devout baron has joined Count Ronald. It seems he truly believes the rumors that you are a vampire, and that this war is your thirst for more blood. With his n, Ronald’s strength now numbers thirty thousand."
The words weighed heavily in the air. My hand reached for my wine cup, though I didn’t drink. The crimson liquid glimred like blood under the lantern’s light.
"Thirty thousand... So, the rumors have beco a weapon against ."
The spymaster lowered his gaze. "Yes, my lord. In his sermons, the devout baron speaks your na. He calls you a creature defying God, a devil in human form. His n see fighting you not as service to Ronald’s coin, but as holy duty. Fear or greed, but faith fuels their courage, not."
I smiled. A smile so sharp it sliced through my own exhaustion.
"So, instead of standing with the man who slew a true High Vampire, he chose to side with that child-molesting bastard... Perfect! Now, what’s the other bad news?"
The spymaster swallowed. His fingers trembled at the edges of the scrolls, as if the parchnt itself recoiled from the ssage.
"The other news, my lord..." he said at last, without eting my eyes. "Your forr advisor, Lady Eliza, she now serves Count Ronald."
Reviews
All reviews (0)