Chapter 368 The March of Empires
Vindebona
Inside Sagarius’ chamber in the underground armouries, young girls and women fled through the doorway in panic. Judging by their reaction, she must have been unconscious for quite some time.
A coma? Just like the one Lans had spoken of.
Her head throbbed, and the chamber seemed to spin. Worse, when she tried to use her left hand, she was bitterly reminded that she had lost it.
“Out of my way!” a man’s voice boomed from the corridor. A moment later, a familiar face appeared in the doorway, his expression caught between disbelief and overwhelming relief.
“Master!” Marc cried as he rushed to her bedside.
Sagarius tried to answer as she forced herself upright, but no sound came. Her throat was painfully dry, worse than she had ever known, though her lips remained slightly moist. Someone had likely tended to her while she lay unconscious, wetting her lips with water and coaxing a few drops of honeyed milk into her mouth whenever she managed to swallow.
Noticing her struggle, Marc hurried to the long table where the girls kept their wax tablets and styli. The chamber was often used for lessons because its lights were gentle on the eyes, and narrow vents kept the underground air from growing stale. He seized a cup, filled it from the earthenware pitcher left there for the pupils, and brought it quickly to her bedside.
Against her better judgment, she drank too quickly. The water caught in her throat, sending her into a fit of coughing and spilling down her chin, across her shift, and onto the blanket covering her legs.
“Master,” Marc repeated, still staring at her in shock.
“Keep your voice down,” Sagarius urged him hoarsely. “I can’t think with you shouting.”
“My apologies, Master.” He drew a breath and managed to calm himself. “But you’re awake. How did you—” He stopped abruptly. “We tried everything—”
“How long?” she cut through his rambling, her gaze sharpening as it met his. “How long have I been asleep?”
“You’ve been—” Marc hesitated, then decided to answer plainly. “This is the summer of 4428. You’ve been asleep for more than a year.”
Sagarius’ eyes widened in disbelief. She looked down at her palm and slowly flexed her fingers, as though testing whether this world was truly real. After a long silence, she simply murmured, “Time flies...”
Marc waited for her to say more, but instead she closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink back into the bed.
“Master!” he cried in alarm.
She raised one hand to calm him. “Guard the door,” she instructed. “Let no one disturb me. I want to sleep. I’m very tired.”
“But you just—”
“A real sleep. One without a manticore shadowing me,” she muttered wearily. Her head still throbbed. Though her body had been asleep for more than a year, in the Corridor of Mind she had only just survived a battle. The ordeal had left her mentally drained, and the loss of someone precious weighed heavily upon her heart.
Her answer left Marc baffled, but she soon fell asleep. Gradually, the chamber grew cold, proof that her magic had returned and was flowing through the chamber once more.
When Bald Eagle, Sir Munius, and Paulos arrived after hearing the news, all they found was Sagarius sleeping peacefully, her light snores filling the chamber.
***
Characters of Sagarius’ Company
Sagaria / Sagarius. The central figure of this group. Known to others as Lady Sagaria.
Commander Bald Eagle (Sir Rodney). The Imperium’s senior commander who defended the cities of Tiberia and thwarted King Gottfried’s attempt to take the capital.
Sir Munius. A knight whom Sagarius brought back from near death. He later aided them greatly in surviving the manticore.
Uskar. A veteran squire, quick with the sword and loyal to Bald Eagle. He has followed him through hardship and battle. He was the one who found Marc.
Marc. Lansius’ brother and now Sagarius’ mage apprentice. He lost a leg during their recent ordeal but remains cheerful and devoted.
Marik. The young squire, now older and more capable.
Paulos. A talented official from the Capital who studies and tinkers with Dwarven artefacts.
Janus. A senior official from the Capital. Technically the highest-ranking minister who survived the collapse of the Imperium.
...
Sagarius
Four days after her miraculous awakening, Sagarius had recovered enough to walk and greet everyone. To their surprise, she even joined them for supper in the Great Hall for the first time. When several people asked about her long sleep, she told them that the manticore’s soul had clung to her after the battle, seeking vengeance, and that she had been forced to fight it a second time.
The explanation unsettled many of them, but they believed her. It was easier to swallow than anything she might say about the Corridor of Mind. The only alternative was to claim that the fight had exhausted her so completely that she had needed to sleep for more than a year. That would only invite further questions and risk exposing her as something other than human.
Truthfully, had she not been an elf and a talented mage, she likely would have died from such a long sleep. Her elven body, which aged and changed far more slowly than a human’s, had kept her alive, while her runes and magic kept her suspended in a state resembling hibernation.
Still, while everyone celebrated her awakening and recovery, Sagarius remained troubled.
Had she awakened because the manticore died?
She knew with certainty that she had awakened only after Lans breathed his last. That could mean the world had not been tied to her or the manticore at all, but to him.
Was I the one who entered Lans’ Corridor of Mind?
Yet that made no sense. He was not even elven, and they were certainly not related by blood.
The more she thought about it, the fewer answers she found. The only certainty was that she had to find this man. She had promised him, and he was running out of time.
Even with that gemstone strengthening him, no human could survive for more than a year in a coma. She remembered that he was no ordinary human, but even his body would deteriorate after so long. By now, the damage might already be beyond healing.
Thus, there was no time to waste.
That same evening, shortly after supper, Sagarius summoned the people she trusted most, Sir Bald Eagle, Sir Munius, and Uskar.
With Marc standing behind her, Sagarius sat inside the repaired inner chamber. Such rooms were usually reserved as private quarters for the lord commander and his family, but this one now served as a council chamber. Much work remained. The walls had yet to be plastered, and the ceiling was still unfinished, yet the change was already remarkable. When they first found it, the building had been close to ruin, with moss and even small trees growing wherever water seeped through and enough light reached.
Now, the stone floor had been scrubbed clean, the walls stood straight and sturdy, and fresh timber had been set into place. A chandelier hung overhead, while a working fireplace restored warmth to the chamber.
Sir Munius was the first to arrive. Sagarius found him as stalwart as ever, and the sight of him made her wonder what might happen if he and Lans ever fought side by side. Together, they would make a formidable pair.
They spoke briefly before Sir Bald Eagle entered with Uskar. Several others accompanied them as far as the doorway, and Sagarius noticed that they addressed the old commander by a different name than usual.
“Lady Sagaria,” the two men greeted.
Sagarius returned the greeting with a deep bow, maintaining her disguise as nothing more than a seamstress who also happened to be a mage.
Once they had taken their seats, she turned to the old man. “Sir Rodney?”
Sir Bald Eagle looked amused. “My name,” he explained. “There are many youngsters among us, and they decided that calling me Sir Bald Eagle sounded disrespectful. Yet it would hardly be proper for every lad and lass to call me Commander.”
Sagarius smiled as she understood the problem.
Seeing that the story had pleased her, he added, “It was Rooney, actually. But when I was still a young squire, my uncle wrote it down as Rodney. The name was popular among families in the capital at the time, and he thought it might make me look like one of them, at least on paper.”
“Did it work?” she asked.
“Well, cheap cloth has a way of revealing a man’s station. But I received more field assignments than most of my peers, so I suppose it worked well enough.”
The small story eased the mood inside the chamber.
Not wishing to delay any longer, Sagarius turned to the reason she had summoned them. “I ask your pardon for gathering you all at this late hour. First, I wish to offer you my sincere gratitude for all the work you have done to keep the people safe and secure. I have seen how both they and the city have thrived despite their isolation.”
Her words drew pleased murmurs from the gentlemen.
Sir Bald Eagle was the first to answer. “It has been no small amount of work, but we have been fortunate to have a proper base of operations.”
“It must be difficult to manage without coin to collect or pay the men,” Sagarius said.
“I’m surprised as well,” Uskar admitted. “Hardly anyone had money, but the men did not complain as much.”
Not wanting to give the wrong impression, Sir Bald Eagle explained, “At first, we paid the men with grain from the vaults. Then, beginning last year, we began using our share of the first harvest to pay them. We also receive a portion of the meat from every successful hunt.”
“Aye,” Uskar added. “The meat is made into sausages or smoked for later. The hides go to the leatherworkers for coats and blankets, while the fat goes to the chandlers for candles. All of it is then issued to the men as needed.”
When Uskar finished, Sir Munius said, “Most men are content so long as their bellies are full and their families are safe. With the Imperium gone, a peaceful life is hard to find.”
Sagarius nodded and said, “We must try to keep everyone content. Otherwise, they may begin to leave. The fewer people we have, the weaker the city will be in a time of crisis.”
Sir Munius glanced at Sir Bald Eagle, who gave him a slight nod before answering. “In truth, our numbers have grown. We found more refugees in the surrounding lands and escorted them here. The provinces are still plagued by war, rival mercenary bands, and bandits. This city may not be a metropolis, but it offers safety.”
“In time, it may become one,” Sir Munius said in support. “We already have many goods and services in the city. Barbers, cobblers, blacksmiths, weavers, mat makers, even an apothecary and several minstrels.”
“Also girls and women,” Uskar added, drawing low chuckles from the others.
Sir Bald Eagle continued in a more serious tone. “What we still lack is ale and wine. But we have managed to breed goats and sheep, and some of the people know how to make milk wine. Their milk has also allowed the cheesemakers to set to work.”
Sagarius was gladdened to hear it, but not entirely reassured. “But without coins, how do people pay carpenters, barbers, and others for their work? Surely they cannot barter for everything.”
“We use these.” Uskar reached into his belt pouch and drew out a small cloth packet. He loosened the tie and spilled a bundle of iron nails across the table.
“Nails?” Sagarius asked.
“Not just any nails,” Sir Bald Eagle answered. “These are Imperium nails, found here in the city and in the armouries. They have a standard length, weight, and strength. There is even a tiny mark on the head. We no longer have nails of this quality.”
Sagarius studied them with growing interest. She recognized the design. These were the nails her father had promoted for construction throughout the Imperium. From Sir Bald Eagle’s explanation, it seemed the Imperium had later abandoned that standard and left production to local smiths, who made lesser nails by their own measure.
“Three of them are worth a barber’s service. A few more will buy a large round of bread. Ten will buy a reed mat or pay a carpenter for a day’s work.”
Uskar picked one up between two fingers. “And if someone tries to pass a false one, it is easy enough to compare it with the others.”
“What if someone pulls one from an old building and straightens it?” Sagarius asked.
“That is acceptable,” Sir Bald Eagle replied. “It is part of the reconstruction. Children collect nails from old buildings and bring them to the smiths. The smiths will decide what can be saved and how much each nail is worth.”
Sagarius was fascinated by the arrangement. “Who came up with this idea?”
“Meister Janus, the minister from the Capital,” the old commander explained. “He said that while the city is still rebuilding, nails can stand in for common coins. Once we begin trading again and gather enough copper and silver, proper coinage can return to circulation.”
Sagarius recalled the older official, a man with a still-strong physique, a beard that could not quite hide his firm chin, and sharp eyes. “He seems very capable.”
“Indeed. He has lived up to his claim as a minister,” Uskar said with a pleased look. “He solves complex problems and creates solutions as if it were easy.”
“It seems Vindebona has been in good hands, with all of you and Meister Janus working together,” Sagarius said. “Again, my gratitude to you all for keeping the people safe.”
She paused, knowing how her next words might be received. “Now, while this may come as a shock, let it be known that I will be leaving the city on an errand.”
“An errand?” Sir Munius was the first to respond, while the others were still trying to make sense of the announcement.
Even Marc looked surprised.
Sagarius glanced around the chamber. “I have made a promise to help a comrade.”
“Who is he?” Sir Munius asked.
“A man who saved me,” she answered. “I did not wake from the long sleep by accident. Someone helped me. Magically,” she added, feeling the need to make that part clear.
The men in the chamber did not know how to respond. They could only exchange glances.
“He's in a place called Canadia. Does anyone know a place by that name?” she asked.
“Canadia?” Sir Bald Eagle repeated, brows furrowing as he crossed his arms.
“I know Canardia,” Uskar said. “It’s a small city in Midlandia, famous for its duck dishes.”
Sagarius was still considering whether that might be the place when Sir Bald Eagle asked, “What is the man’s name?”
“His name is Lans. Likely a—"
“Lans?!” Marc blurted out from behind her, drawing everyone’s attention.
Sagarius’ gaze sharpened as she turned toward him. “You’re familiar with the name?”
“I-I have a brother. An adopted brother named Lansius,” Marc answered.
“Is he around... sixty, with a thin beard and a strong back? Skilled with a great sword and lance?” she asked, hope mixed with doubt in her voice. “Possibly a mercenary leader?”
“What...? No.” Marc’s voice lowered as he realized he had mistaken the name for someone else. “My brother is around my age. He’s a scribe. Not a fighter, and certainly not part of any mercenary legion.”
Sagarius grew curious. She had never been good at judging human age. “How old are you, Marc?”
“Me?” He blinked. “Twenty-four or so.”
She nodded quietly, though the answer surprised her. She had thought Marc to be at least forty. Humans aged so quickly, unlike elves.
“Sixty, and still skilled with a great sword and lance...” Sir Munius muttered, clearly intrigued. “And he helped wake you through magic as well. He must be an incredible man.”
Sagarius held back from correcting him. It would be too embarrassing to admit she had mistaken a human’s age so badly.
“A foreign name too,” Sir Bald Eagle added. “But with the Imperium this vast, similar names are bound to appear.”
“Of all people, you would know that best, Chief,” Uskar said.
Sir Bald Eagle snorted.
Sagarius turned to them with a curious look.
The old commander explained, “As it turns out, there are several Rodneys among the refugees. Now that people have begun calling me by that name, I often turn around only to find they meant someone else.” He gave a rueful shake of his head before continuing, “Lans, however, is an unfamiliar name. I doubt there are many men called that.”
“Then my only leads are Canardia and his name,” Sagarius said.
“But Midlandia is vast,” Marc pointed out, concerned by how long it might take to find the man.
“Uskar,” Sir Munius called. “I don’t recall any mercenary legions in Midlandia. Do you know of any?”
“In Midlandia? No,” Uskar replied. “They don’t have such legions. They’re not like the Nicopolans.”
Sir Munius folded his arms and let out a heavy breath. “Then finding him may take years.” He looked toward Uskar again. “I’ll accompany Lady Sagaria. I leave the city and our commander in your care.”
The others considered the decision in silence, several giving small nods of agreement.
“Wait,” Sagarius said. “Sir Munius, you are needed here. I have already considered this. The people may grow uneasy if both of us leave. We were the ones who led the fight against the manticore.”
“The city would be left without its champions,” Uskar said bluntly.
“You can take our place,” Sir Munius argued. “We cannot allow Lady Sagaria to travel alone.”
“May I presume that you intend to take Marc with you?” Sir Bald Eagle asked.
Sagarius shook her head. “Marc is the only other mage here. I do not wish to leave the city without one in case something happens.”
Behind her, Marc gulped. He was still only a trainee.
“Then, if none of us are to go, who will accompany you?” Sir Bald Eagle asked.
“I am perfectly capable of travelling alone. At most, I may take one of the coachmen. I know one of them was once a merchant and is familiar with the roads.”
“Master, you truly won’t take me with you?” Marc asked, unable to hide his disappointment.
“The city needs a mage. Besides, I am not looking for your brother.”
“Mm...” Uskar murmured. The sound drew everyone’s attention, prompting him to explain. “As you said, Lans is an unusual name. And Marc came from Arvena, not far from Midlandia. There may be some connection.”
Sagarius turned back to her student. “What else do you remember about your brother?”
“Well, he did not possess great strength, but he was good with numbers. Very good, in fact. He served Lord Arte in Riverstead before the Northerners invaded. I lost contact with him afterward.”
The description had seemed to lead nowhere until Sagarius heard Marc describe his brother as tanned.
Her head snapped toward him, newfound hope surging within.
“And, oh,” Marc continued, “I almost forgot. He also has black—”
“Hair,” Sagarius finished for him, drawing every eye in the chamber toward her.
How could I forget?
Marc’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
Sagarius sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead as murmurs filled the chamber. She couldn't help but feel the threads of fate around them.
Outside, the trees of the ancient forest were singing. It was a rare song, filled with hope for their lovely daughters.
***
World View
The year 4428 began beneath a cloud of uncertainty. Across the continent, people waited anxiously to see whether the wars of the previous year would resume. Their caution was well founded. In 4427, the Eastern Kingdom had waged war upon the Imperium’s domains, shattering a peace that had endured for more than a millennium.
Its origins lay in 4426, when the mighty Navalnian Empire learned of the Imperium capital’s fall and the civil war that followed. Navalnia quickly prepared for war, redirected its resources westward, and eventually sent an army across the Imperium’s border.
At the heart of its ambitions were the fertile plains stretching from Edessa through Midlandia and Elandia to Tiberia, lands its forefathers claimed to have inherited from the Great Progenitors four thousand years ago.
Navalnia’s Great Houses prided themselves on being the true inheritors of the Era of the Greats. Their cities and harbors had been founded during the earliest days of the continent’s exploration, and many of their palaces had been built when Dwarves still walked across Aqua Terra.
Yet three successive Imperiums had claimed the vast heartlands of the continent, leaving Navalnia confined to its shores. The Great Houses of Navalnia were renowned mariners, but they had never possessed a great land army. Many times they had attempted to conquer the fertile plains, yet they had never managed to hold them for long.
As advances in shipbuilding opened distant islands to exploration, the Great Houses turned eastward and built their fortunes across the sea. Yet they never forgot the vast fertile plains they believed were rightfully theirs.
By the summer of 4427, the Empire had committed its main invasion force, increasing its presence in the embattled region from fifteen thousand troops to nearly a hundred thousand.
Divided into three armies, the invasion advanced along three separate routes. One army took the northern route into northern Midlandia, catching the region entirely unprepared. The other two descended upon Edessa and plunged the already panicked province into chaos.
What remained of the Imperium’s border guard, still commanded by the Margrave, conducted a fighting retreat, contesting every advance in a desperate struggle for survival.
Before the summer of 4427 had ended, the northern army, thirty thousand strong, had devastated the domains of nearly half the lords of northern Midlandia and turned much of the region into a battlefield. Only then did it encounter strong resistance. Northern Midlandia’s vast population rallied beneath their lords’ banners, bringing the Imperial advance to a halt. There were rumors that forces from southern Midlandia had joined the fighting despite their past hostilities.
Meanwhile, the main Imperial army rampaged deep into the heart of Edessa. Fortified cities fell, and thousand-year-old bastions disappeared behind tightening siege lines. With almost no aid arriving from beyond its borders, the Margravate appeared certain to fall. Yet the Margrave remained stubborn and steadfast. He would sooner see his army destroyed, his allies slain, and his House extinguished than surrender.
It was precisely this trait that had led the Third Emperor, the Ageless, to entrust the region to the Margrave’s bloodline in the first place. Every generation of the House had been stubborn to the bone, bred within a culture of harshness and cruelty that had made them unyielding.
Even in the face of certain defeat, the Margrave pressed refugees and the wider populace into service, sending poorly armed and barely trained levies into battle. Only then did the Navalnian advance begin to slow. The fighting grew bloody and bitter, with every victory exacting a terrible cost from both sides.
That was when the third royal army arrived, led by none other than the Prince of Navalnia. Its arrival sent a shockwave through the defensive line. All hope seemed lost. Cities and castles that had endured sieges since the previous winter began to surrender.
For Edessa, ruin was all but certain.
Meanwhile, for Navalnia, the arrival of tens of thousands of fresh troops made victory appear certain. The Prince had long awaited such an opportunity. He hungered for a conquest that would proclaim the glory of his generation and etch his name into history for all time.
However, the Empire had miscalculated.
To the west of Edessa, a new power was rising. Many of its neighbors had already learned to respect it. Yet those who had never witnessed its strength firsthand continued to dismiss it as little more than the remnants of a fallen realm, pieced together from a fractured Midlandia and a war-torn Lowlandia. Nothing worthy of concern.
Even the Empire’s spies paid little attention, believing them too backward, divided, and ravaged by war to warrant closer scrutiny.
In that belief, the Empire was about to receive a bitter reckoning.
At the most critical moment, a Shogunate force rode into the heart of the war. Five thousand Lowlandian horsemen and nomadic tribesmen joined the fighting and proved more than a match for the Navalnian irregular cavalry. Their arrival lifted the defenders’ spirits almost at once.
However, it soon became clear that even this reinforcement was far too small to challenge the full might of the invading armies. Their intervention was courageous, but it could do little more than delay the inevitable. Bloodshed and chaos continued to consume the battered defensive line.
Yet their arrival was only a diversion.
From the west marched an army twenty thousand strong beneath the Blue and Bronze banners. Only then did the Edessans begin to believe that the Margravate might yet survive. Their resistance hardened, and the fighting grew fiercer. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the discipline of the approaching columns. Their ranks were well trained, their morale high, and their soldiers clad in fine armor, with some of the finest knights riding among them.
Faced with this new enemy, the Empire changed its strategy. It avoided a pitched battle and instead withdrew behind the cities and castles it had already taken. Just as the Margrave had made the Empire pay for every mile of Edessan soil in blood, the Navalnians would now make him pay the same price for every stronghold he sought to reclaim.
The war descended into a slow grind of sieges.
Yet the Shogunate had not entered the campaign half-heartedly. Three airships had been committed to the war.
The novel flying vessels terrorized the Navalnian camps by day and night. But powerful as they were, three airships could only do so much. The invading armies stretched across dozens of miles, sheltered within captured cities, castles, and fortified camps. A single raid might kill scores, even hundreds, but across such a vast front, the losses were too small to alter the course of the war.
Their supplies of fiery naphtha soon ran low, but Lord Avery of Dawn, commander of the airship force, had employed other methods from the beginning. Rotting carcasses had been dropped into streams feeding the enemy camps. Rats had been released along the Empire's supply routes, near depots and towns. Diseased and parasite-ridden sheep and deer had been set loose near enemy camps.
In time, those measures began to bear fruit. Navalnian soldiers fell sick from fouled water and spoiled provisions, while dysentery, fever, and parasitic illness spread through several camps. Men weakened, horses died, and the already burdened supply wagons came under even greater strain.
And still, the attacks grew worse. After extracting considerable information from captives, the Orange Skalds learned the customs, dress, and procedures of Navalnian officers and high nobles. Soon, their agents were carried behind enemy lines by airship. Some posed as officers, while others went so far as to impersonate members of the royal household travelling on a hunt with servants and guards.
Once admitted into isolated garrisons, they set fire to the camps before disappearing into the night. At other times, they ordered entire positions emptied, stripped of supplies, and burned under the pretense of denying them to the enemy.
As the sabotage spread, fear began to turn the Navalnians against themselves. At one garrison, suspicious soldiers attacked a genuine officer and his escort when they arrived to conduct an inspection.
While three airships could not win battles, they greatly weakened the Empire’s ability to wage war. No camp considered itself safe. The airships denied the men rest, spoiled their provisions, strained the supply network, and spread fear and distrust between units and their commanders.
As the war continued, the famed Bone Breakers Brigade, ten thousand strong, struck through a weakened section of the line. After taking a fortified castle in only three days, the brigade separated from the main allied army and began a forced march across difficult country.
Several thousand Navalnian irregular horsemen harassed them throughout the advance. The Bone Breakers Brigade answered by advancing in compact pike formations, with heavy and light crossbowmen and slingers deployed along their flanks and corners. Whenever the cavalry drew near, the outer ranks closed into a bristling wall of spearpoints while the crossbowmen loosed their bolts from its protection. Against all odds, the brigade maintained its fast disciplined advance through relentless harassment and difficult ground.
While the main Navalnian armies remained fixed upon the fighting before them, the Bone Breakers drove around their flank. Their advance threatened the roads behind the invasion force and carried them toward the heavily guarded royal encampment of the Prince himself.
At the head of the assault rode none other than Sir Morton and his Black Knights. The hardened brigade crashed into the fortified camp, breaking through its defenses and unleashing slaughter among the troops within. Tents burned and the royal guard was driven back in savage fighting, forcing the Prince and his household troops to abandon the camp.
It was a devastating blow for the Empire. The battle line twisted back upon itself as commanders diverted troops to stabilize the front. Several cities and castles were retaken, yet the invasion was not broken.
Then came the autumn of 4427.
Without consulting his allies, and with scarcely a month remaining before the harvest, the Margrave sent sealed orders into every district held or threatened by the enemy. Fields heavy with ripened grain were put to the torch. Granaries, mills, storehouses, and fodder stocks within reach of the Navalnian forces were destroyed.
The smoke spread across Edessa for days.
The order drew the ire of the Margrave’s allies and much of his own populace. With his own hand, he had condemned the province to hunger. Famine soon took hold, and nearly a million people perished in the months that followed. Yet the devastation finally brought the war to a halt. Unable to feed its vast armies through the coming winter, the Empire was forced to withdraw more than half its forces, abandoning large stretches of occupied territory.
Despite the Empire’s retreat, the decision left deep bitterness among the Margrave’s allies, who were likewise compelled to withdraw as provisions disappeared. Rumors spread that this, too, had been part of the Margrave’s design; that he had burned the harvest not only to drive out the invaders, but also to ensure that his newfound allies could not remain in Edessa.
The Shogunate, however, did not leave empty-handed. Its forces held several captured cities and refused to relinquish them until the Margrave settled his old debts and granted them territories. The war had brought them together, but it had not erased the old feud.
With the Empire still occupying nearly half the province, the Margrave was forced to play his hand carefully. He knew well that, even with the Lord Shogun rumored to be gravely ill, the Shogunate remained more than capable of toppling him.
And so, the Empire's invasion of Edessa ceased for the remainder of 4427. Each side withdrew to lick its wounds, reinforce its positions, and consolidate what it had taken. The armies paused, but the suffering did not. Famine spread across the province, millions were driven from their homes, and columns of refugees fled westward as the Empire reduced those left behind to servitude.
Yet even as the war against Navalnia subsided, it was not the only conflict to scar the year 4427.
In the same summer, the second prince of Brigandia completed his conquest of the Margravate of Romelia after a long and bloody campaign. The annexation alarmed the neighboring Mercantile Kingdom, the other great power of the east. Rumors spread that it was preparing to act, whether from fear of Brigandia’s growing strength or from a desire to seize the opportunity for itself.
The audacity of the conquest made peace with the east more uncertain than ever.
Elsewhere, Bengrieve, the newly raised Earl of Elandia, saw an opportunity of his own. He marched upon the Tiberia Capital and reclaimed it without a siege, removing the unsanctioned regime that had held it. Imperial order was soon re-established, and the first efforts at reconstruction began.
The achievement brought him fame and elevated his standing throughout the Imperium. Yet, it also burdened him with responsibility for tens of millions of hungry people and the defense of the vast territories surrounding the capital.
Still in the same year, the Shogunate, alongside the Gray Skull Legion, continued its separate campaign against the Mountain Clans in the Five Peaks region. Despite multiple setbacks, the Clans remained entrenched in the mountains, and the region remained in turmoil.
Since then, a winter had passed, followed by a brief spring. Now, it was the height of summer 4428.
Riding in a slow-moving cart, a young seamstress, accompanied by her husband Marc and a young peddler, set out from Vindebona. Their destination was Midlandia.
They would soon discover how greatly the world had changed.
***
PS: Big chapter again. My eyes feel so tired from editing this week, lol.😅
So, what do you think of the war so far?
Yes, Navalnia Empire brought a 100k army, not a typo.
For all intents and purposes, Sagarius’ journey will be “speedy.” It will not be slow or draggy. I know many of you want large-scale warfare, and this chapter is only a teaser.🔥
The chapter image is a slightly edited version of the map. The usual editor is busy, so I tried editing it myself with the help of AI tools. The blue colors should look better, but the text and resolution suffered somewhat. It's not perfect, but it should do for now.
The mountains are also incomplete, but they’ve been quite frustrating to do. Please refer to the original map, which was created by a professional artist (publisher).
Note that the Five Peaks region, including Clavieras, lies along the mountain range between Umberland, Elandia, Nicopola, and Three Hills.
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆