Horizon of War Series-Chapter 236: The Second Front

The Second Front

Mountain Region, West of Three Hills

The summer sun cast golden rays over the mountain region while the morning breeze swept through tall grass still heavy with dew. It was a serene and naturally beautiful place, untouched and quiet. Across the plateau, nine hundred men advanced in a wide, staggered line, all facing the looming mountain. Most were levies from Three Hills, with the Shogunate forming the disciplined core. They moved with measured steps, eyes searching the terrain for any sign of a trail or hidden pass. Overhead, a lone airship drifted silently as their lookout and guide.

This was their fifth day on the march, and the sense of isolation had only deepened. The last settlement they had passed lay three days behind them, several dozen miles to the east, toward the city of Three Hills.

They had long since left the fertile valleys behind, where vineyards spread across gentle hills. In contrast, this land was wild and rocky, untouched by plow or hand. The ground was uneven, strewn with scrub, tall grass, and occasional clusters of trees. Ahead, the mountains loomed tall and menacing against the sky.

The terrain grew harsher with every step. The climbs became steeper and more punishing, and fresh water was increasingly scarce.

As they neared the base of the mountain, the wind turned colder, tugging at cloaks and banners. After four hours of hiking and combing the land, the Shogunate men had covered significant ground, and the landscape had changed dramatically.

No matter where they looked, the mountains stared back. It was a clear sign they had reached the foot of the range. Dense foliage stretched in every direction. The weather had turned fickle, with sudden drizzles breaking through the summer heat. Scouts had discovered several narrow goat trails winding upward, and small teams were still working to determine which, if any, led to a real passage. Even from the airship above, the entrance to Nicopola remained hidden.

Old local stories spoke of caverns, living root bridges, hidden swamps, and steep climbs, but no one could name their exact locations. The smugglers had long since concealed the paths, ensuring outsiders could never find their way easily.

Still, it was difficult to hide everything, especially when smugglers regularly used these trails to carry letters, trinkets, wine, and even larger goods.

Even if they traveled on foot with bags slung over their shoulders rather than using mules, traces remained. Expert scouts and hunters involved in the expedition had picked up signs. The only issue was the drizzle, which kept the ground perpetually soft and made tracking difficult.

They had found several sheltered resting spots large enough to accommodate a dozen men, complete with fire pits, cauldrons, and even a small creek nearby stocked with fish.

Sir Arius of the Crimson Knights, commanding the expedition on behalf of Lord Jorge, decided to let his troops rest. Advancing any further without proper scouting would be reckless. Farkas, a Korelian native and now acting captain leading the Black Lord’s dragoons and Black Bandits, agreed with the decision and allowed his men to stand down as well.

"Sir Arius," Farkas greeted the nobleman as he arrived at the smugglers' shelter now repurposed as an officer’s rest stop.

"Captain," the Crimson Knight replied, his voice clear and composed. He stood in the prime of youth, clad in a crimson brigandine. The humid air made full plate armor far too stifling to wear.

"It might be wise to keep your men alert. We’ve found nothing so far, but I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched."

"I share the same concern," Farkas replied, his eyes fixed on the looming grey mountain ahead. "They could easily maintain a lookout from higher ground. And if what we heard from Lord Avery is true, they may have access to items like the Ekionian optics."

"True," Sir Arius acknowledged, also turning his gaze to the heights. He was familiar with such tools, having once been invited aboard the Pride of Korimor by Sir Morton, where he had seen the optics firsthand.

"Then my men will take the first watch," Farkas offered.

"Much obliged," Sir Arius nodded, visibly pleased. His eyes then turned to a young man who had just arrived at the shelter. "And who might you be? You look Elandian."

"I'm Captain Farkas’s squire," the boy answered quickly.

"Can’t be. First time I’ve seen you," the knight said with a teasing smile.

Farkas spoke up. "The boy is still in training. Only recently has he been assigned to my side."

"Ah, I see." Arius stepped closer and patted the youth’s shoulder. "Always be alert. These woods have eyes and ears. And I fear we’ve walked into a trap." 𝑅𝘢ƝȏＢÊŜ

"I... I’ll keep my eyes open, Sir," the boy stammered.

Sir Arius chuckled and stepped outside, flanked by his escorts.

The squire was flustered. Sir Arius shared the same effortless charm as his cousin, Lord Jorge. Their House seemed destined to produce one handsome heir after another.

"Ted," Farkas called.

"Yes, Captain," the boy straightened at once.

"Let’s be clear. You’re only here because your grandfather from House Tedzeus donated a score of riders to this campaign."

"I understand," the boy replied, a little stiffly.

"You’ll have a hard time earning the men’s approval, but don’t let that discourage you. The Lord’s army runs on merit, not names. So prove yourself. Just don’t you dare take a sword blow for me."

"But Captain—"

"No buts," Farkas cut in, firm and final. "To me, you're a guest here to learn, and I intend to keep you safe."

"Captain," the squire murmured in protest, but Farkas pointed toward the gear. "Clean the spare crossbows, check the cords, and oil the mechanisms lightly. It's too humid out here. I don't want our bolts veering off target."

Meanwhile, high above, Sir Morton and his crew remained aboard their airship, which required no rest, continuing to scout ahead.

Even with nine hundred men, the officers knew they might be facing a formidable opponent. Lord Avery’s findings from Corinthia had revealed the mountain people’s strength and the extent of their operations, which may have even influenced the recent coup in Three Hills. Because of this, Lord Jorge had thrown his full support behind the campaign, providing the money and supplies needed to raise hundreds of troops, many of whom bore grudges against the smugglers.

If these mountain people could strike at Corinthia and threaten the Southern Trade, then they could just as easily endanger the fragile peace in Lowlandia. No one wanted another war to break out. Even the levies understood that this might be their only chance to eliminate the threat at its root. If they failed now, even their children could be forced to fight and endure another war-torn generation.

***

Mountain Region

Hundreds of armed men stood guard for Roderic, now the commander of the campaign to retake and migrate to the city of Three Hills. They knew the elders might try to kill him to halt the movement.

Several days after his bold declaration, they had secured the stone fortress, whose defenders pledged their support following days of tense standoff. Carved deep into the mountain, the fortress was small compared to a castle, but it controlled the critical gateway between Nicopola and Three Hills. It had been completed generations ago, built with forced labor and the help of skilled tunnelers brought in from other provinces. Those elite talents chose to remain, settling in the mountains where thriving cities offered everything they needed.

Despite being completed, the fortress had never seen use. Its stone corridors were wide enough to fit a horse-drawn cart or allow three armored men to march abreast. It was built to serve an old ambition: that the mountain people would one day rule both Nicopola and West Lowlandia, with their capital nestled in the mountain. But that plan, generations in the making, was never realized. The council of elders, generation after generation, frightened by the risks of war and already living comfortably like princes, refused to commit.

This was why the younger generation, men like Roderic, chose to carve their own path.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor before the guards outside allowed a man to enter the spacious command chamber, where tall windows let in air and sunlight without obstruction.

"What do you want?" Roderic’s lieutenant asked sharply, shielding the commander and his staff from view.

"A message from the east," the man reported.

"East?" Roderic asked, turning from the map-covered table around which he and his staff had been gathered.

"Yes, Commander. We spotted plenty of movement and an airship. Hundreds are coming from Three Hills, marching toward the mountain."

Murmurs erupted across the chamber, but Roderic flashed a grin. "The mountains favor us. They're walking into our hands. No need for subterfuge. We'll crush them outside their walls and smuggle ourselves in."

"Enter in a fake victory parade?" someone quipped, earning laughter from the others.

Their spirits soared.

"Commander," the scout called again, more serious now.

"What is it?" the lieutenant asked.

"Their numbers might be close to a thousand."

Silence fell across the room. The staff exchanged uneasy glances. The number was higher than expected. They had over a thousand men, but their forces were split, with half stationed in the east and the rest in the west, guarding each gateway. After the Corinthia fiasco, several hundred had also been assigned to the coastal village. Whether the elders intended to keep using the boats or sell them off, those men were committed to that task.

"It's fine," Roderic said calmly. "Better, even. If they’ve stepped onto our land, we can handle them."

"But we need a decisive victory," one of his staff cautioned. "If we win but take heavy losses, we won't be able to strike Three Hills before they catch wind of it."

Roderic turned to the newcomer. "How deep are they in? Where exactly are they heading?"

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"Right now, toward the swamp."

"It's a dead end for an army that size," Roderic said, pointing at the map, the best one they had, carefully drawn by one of their brightest after studying under the Ekionian guild. The map depicted a mountain range with five peaks that stretched northward toward Umberland.

"They'll search this area," Roderic continued, his finger tracing a path. "But we can seal the entrance. Meanwhile, we take the route between the third and fourth mountains and emerge on the plateau behind them."

"But that's longer and will take days," one of the staff cautioned.

"Look on the bright side," another countered. "We'll appear behind them and cut off their supply train."

"Or disguise ourselves and strike Three Hills while it's unguarded," someone suggested.

Roderic smiled at the bold idea. "We’ll plan for both."

***

Canardia

After the success of the Hair Elixir and Medicinal Soap, the castle now carried a mild, soothing fragrance. Everyone’s hair looked lustrous, clean, and faintly scented. While the soap had been crafted primarily for their child’s birth, Lansius was grateful that it had gained unexpected popularity. His quiet and almost secretive marketing, where he merely mentioned that the soap was useful during a plague, had accidentally sparked public curiosity.

Peddlers began to stockpile and sell it as a potent cure, especially for skin problems. Some even believed it was a beauty product for the face, and it worked well as a mild cleanser. But the biggest impact came when word spread that it was remarkably effective against body and hair lice. Demand surged, and suddenly, soap was flying off the shelves.

It was a stroke of good fortune, not just economically, but for the hygiene of the entire city.

Lansius had always been pessimistic about the soap’s prospects. His doubts stemmed from the fact that a free alternative, fireplace ash, was readily available in every home. Even the cheapest tallow-based soaps struggled to sell. Meanwhile, high-quality Castile soap, made from vegetable oils like olive or linseed, was ridiculously expensive and used only by the nobles.

For Medicinal Soap, which was almost as expensive as Castile soap, to sell in such numbers was an astounding victory.

This success shattered his own pessimism, rooted in the history of his own world.

The truth was, soap and hygiene had always been a hard sell. People in the past hadn’t understood the concept of germs and saw little need to wash their hands. As a result, cross-contamination was frequent and caused high mortality rates, even among those treated by trained medical professionals.

He remembered the tragic story of Ignaz Semmelweis, a doctor who had tried to convince his colleagues to wash their hands to prevent infection. Despite clear evidence that his method reduced deadly fevers in maternity wards, his peers rejected his ideas. They were offended, especially since Semmelweis couldn’t explain why fewer mothers died from childbed fever. His life ended in tragedy, but he was later honored as the Savior of Mothers after advances in science proved the existence of bacteria and the role of germ infection.

Somehow, likely aided by his position of power, Lansius had successfully introduced basic hygiene to the populace. His next goal was to push for hygienic practices among every medical practitioner in the city, including his still-training mobile field medics. He refused to let easily preventable infections claim lives.

Lansius took this victory solemnly, fully aware of how difficult it had been to achieve without the invention of a microscope.

Thanks to strong demand, Lansius further supported the soap-making industry by providing loans to establish larger workshops and recruit more talent. He also guaranteed them a steady flow of orders to ensure growth. He planned to use his stockpile of soap both for sale and as part of his strategy to polish his image as an intellectual nobleman fit to rule Midlandia.

With Medicinal Soap and Hair Elixir, Lansius’ charm offensive was in full swing. Slowly, his soft power began to seep into the minds of nobles, the influential, and the wealthy. More than mere cleansers, these products became extensions of his personal brand. He wasn’t just selling soap and shampoo. He was selling the image of a refined leader who appreciated the finer things in life. His shampoo cleaned, detangled, and left a pleasant fragrance, but above all, it delivered on its promises.

That was the core of good marketing, a public relations effort that touched almost every one of his subjects.

From a humble shampoo, the people saw a lord capable of ushering in change that improved everyone’s lives, regardless of their status. In just a few short weeks, Lansius had won the hearts of many of his subjects, especially the women, who eagerly awaited more from him.

To them, his staff and heralds cleverly promised further innovations, if only the lord wasn’t so busy protecting Midlandia and safeguarding their very way of life. This further enhanced the image of a diligent leader who tirelessly worked on various tasks, correcting his earlier reputation as a crude and rough foreign warlord commanding despised Lowlandian raiders.

...

Inside their private hall, Lansius sipped hot water infused with petals, carrying a light, floral taste reminiscent of chrysanthemum tea. Despite still being summer, the room was pleasantly cool, courtesy of his mage wife. To have a mage was a blessing. To have several was a luxury. But to have a mage wife? That was extravagance beyond measure.

The thought made him glance at her, sitting on the padded couch, immersed in a book. Somehow, she noticed without looking up.

"Love, it seems my breasts are going to get bigger again."

Lansius almost choked and barely managed to swallow before coughing. "Drey, I'm drinking."

Audrey giggled softly, closed her book, and leaned forward, subtly emphasizing her bosom before turning to him. Her hazelnut eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile widened into a smug grin. "I'm bored," she declared.

"Well..." Lansius paused to think. Her pregnancy had advanced so much that she had stopped practicing archery and returned to her books. Now, she had developed that focused, bookworm stare. But reading had never been her true passion.

Lansius recalled something and stood, fishing something from his pocket. He sat beside her and presented it. "How about this?"

"A letter?" Her tone was instantly more excited.

"A messenger just delivered a new coin design for my approval," he explained.

"Ah, the minters," she murmured with interest.

"Yes. The SAR sent this along with a report that they’ve established a training ground and camp in the village." He unsealed the letter again, the wax still slightly tacky, and revealed three pristine silver coins.

Her eyes lit up as she inspected one closely. "They're so round, and they have this... shine. They're flawless."

"Yes, fresh from the mint. They followed my specifications exactly," Lansius said, leaning in slightly. "Since we’re introducing a new design, it needs to look superior to maintain the coin's value. Anything less might cause issues."

Her gaze narrowed with fascination, but after a moment, she glanced at him questioningly. "Why change the design?"

"I didn’t want to at first," Lansius admitted. "But an old Arvenian knight who’s followed us for a long time warned me that sooner or later, I would have to. The Imperium is gone. If someone else introduces a new coin standard before we do, we’ll be forced to follow. Coins and their purchasing power hold influence. Surrendering that control to a potential rival would be like arming our future opponent."

"But the face doesn’t look any different—oh, wait," she said, her eyes narrowing. "In memoriam transitus Tertii Imperii."

"Yes," Lansius confirmed with a nod. "Instead of the Third Emperor, the Ageless One’s face, we’ve replaced it with text, saying: In memory of the passing of the Third Imperium."

Audrey nodded in understanding. Lansius was about to explain the ribbed edges designed to prevent coin shaving when she spoke first. "But the change is only minor. Was that intentional?"

"It was," Lansius replied. "We’ll change the design later, once the people trust the coins we mint. Trust is paramount. Before anything else, we need to secure that. Otherwise, its value could be put at risk."

Audrey took another coin and examined it. She looked pleased, and Lansius hoped that his staff, like Sir Harold, Sir Michael, and Dame Daniella, would also approve. Then he could broach the subject with his allies, including House Tedzeus and other local families who could provide him with the necessary insight.

***

Mountain Region

Two days had passed, and Roderic’s plan was well underway. He was pleased to read the latest reports detailing the progress of his men marching toward the plateau via the northern route. With reinforcements gathered by his allies, their numbers had risen to seven hundred. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. By tomorrow, Roderic and his officers would take a different, shorter path to rendezvous with them.

Their plan was simple. They would strike from behind, feigning reinforcement while cutting off the enemy’s supply line. Due to their smaller number, the first battle would be inconclusive, but the next would be decisive. They would avoid the decisive engagement for as long as possible. A pitched battle would only be offered once they were certain the enemy had been weakened by hunger.

Without supplies, a thousand men in such a wild, inhospitable place would soon find themselves in danger. The mountain people knew better than anyone how impossible it was to live off the rocky, forested land, especially in such numbers. Meanwhile, a hundred of Roderic’s men would infiltrate Three Hills and reconnect with former allies. Their goal was to cause chaos or even incite rebellion.

Some powerful Houses, like the moneylenders, might still be within reach of their influence.

The last messenger had brought news of the latest enemy’s movement, and chuckles echoed throughout the chamber. Everything was going according to plan. Even with an airship, the enemy had little chance of spotting their hidden strongholds. The thousand-man force was merely wasting time scouring the foot of the mountain.

“They’ll find nothing but broken bridges,” one of his staff said with a smirk.

“Or apes. Plenty of apes up there,” another added, drawing laughter.

Roderic’s only concern was if the airship decided to fly high at night. With persistence and a bit of luck, it could spot their cities and citadel by the lights.

“Out of my way!” came a muffled shout outside, followed by the sound of a commotion.

Roderic barely looked up. He’d grown tired of clan members sent by the elders trying to sway him. But the guards opened the door, drawing the attention of the entire room.

“What’s the urgency? We’re in a meeting,” Roderic’s lieutenant snapped.

“It’s urgent,” the guard replied, ushering in a man covered in dust from head to toe.

Without waiting, the messenger blurted out, “The coastal village is under attack. All our men have been killed.”

“What did you just say?” one of the younger staff burst out.

"Are you joking?" Roderic added sharply.

"Who sent you? The elders?" the lieutenant snapped, eyeing the dusty man with suspicion.

"I saw it with my own eyes. Smoke was rising from the village, and the men we expected to arrive never came. I asked the patrols, but they brushed it off, said it was probably just some dumb accident. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling, so I went to take a closer look with my grandfather's optics. It's old and blurry, but after I crossed the giant snake bridge, I saw our men—" he faltered, struggling to continue.

"What happened to them?" Roderic pressed.

"I see men, our men, impaled," the man finally said, his voice hollow.

A stunned silence fell over the chamber. Eyes shifted from face to face. That kind of brutality, in their land, was beyond anything they had imagined could happen.

"What is happening down there?" Roderic's voice was low with fury. He was on the cusp of historic progress, ready to etch his name into history, to become a lord or even a king now that the Imperium had fallen. And now, a boulder had just crashed into his plans. "Who did this?"

They all turned to the dusty man, who said, "I saw the banner. It's the Dawn’s."

A wave of disbelief rippled through the room. Voices rose. Fists clenched. Some cursed under their breath; others stood in stunned silence.

"First, it's the Three Hills, and now Lord Avery on our coast?" one of the officers muttered.

"This isn’t normal. It’s coordinated," another warned.

One shook his head, muttering, "No way. You're telling me the Black Lord is in this?"

Another exhaled slowly. "Our captured men in Corinthia probably talked. Who knows what they did to them..."

The eldest among them fixed his gaze on Roderic. "We need more men to defend the coast."

In their panic, no one even questioned whether the Dawn would truly attack. They feared Lord Avery, and none were willing to bet against his army.

"No, we can’t," Roderic refused. "If we take from the seven hundred, we might lose the war against the Three Hills army."

The chamber tensed.

"If the elders hear of this, they’ll spread it, and our troops will flee to protect the families they left behind," the older staff warned sharply.

Roderic shook his head. "No. The elders don’t need to know." He looked to his lieutenant. "Take him to the camp. He’s not to leave."

Then, to the dusty man: "Our generation depends on you. Keep your silence, or you’ll doom us all."

The man nodded weakly and followed the lieutenant out.

As the door closed, one of the staff asked, "Then what about our plan against the Dawn?"

Roderic didn’t answer right away. Taking his time, he said, "We need to confirm the sighting first."

One officer stepped forward. "My clan will head there to check." freeweɓnovel.cѳm

Roderic clasped his hand. "Then I’ll leave it to you."

With no objections from the others, the officer left the chamber with a purposeful stride.

Afterward, Roderic looked over his staff and said, "We can deal with this."

But the older man remained unconvinced. "We need to inform the elder. Avery’s airships could burn the city and the citadel."

Roderic paused in thought before replying, "There's no need. I'll divert two hundred men to seal the approach. If we have to, I'll cut the giant snake bridge. He said it himself—they all died. No one needs to cross to the coast anymore."

"Then... can we win against Three Hills with reduced force?" another asked.

Roderic exhaled and stepped away from the table, then sank heavily into a wooden chair. From there, he said, "I stayed here for a reason."

His staff exchanged worried glances.

Roderic wasn't lying. He had remained in the mountain fortress for one reason. It served as the gateway between Nicopola and Three Hills. On the Nicopolan side, he had plenty of desperate men willing to do anything to feed their families. Many of them were skilled mercenaries.

The only problem was that using the hidden path would expose it to the world.

Even Roderic had hesitated to reveal his birthplace, but now he was cornered.

Soon, he realized it was inevitable. He intended to rule Three Hills and refused to be cut off from the mountains or Nicopola. He had once claimed to choose the city over the mountain, but that had only been a lie. By holding this fortress, he maintained control over the mountain cities. Even if the elders controlled the Citadel, he could bypass them, especially with allied clans guarding the Nicopolan side.

Roderic knew his goal remained unchanged: a victory in Three Hills.

Cold sweat ran down his back, reminding him that he would likely face not only Avery but also the Black Lord.

He had to raise an army. A thousand Nicopolans or more. Rabble or not, they would be needed as sacrifices to throw at the Black Lord. If he couldn’t win through strategy, he would engulf him in a tide of flesh and blood.