Ashen Dawn
As the ink on the declaration of war had barely dried, the ominous thrum of steel against leather heralded the end of peace. The Order of the Iron Thorned Knight arrived first. They sail from Albion's mainland, disembark on the port of the occupied Merlesia. From the occupied city of Merlesia, they marched eastward towards the Western Crossroads, a vital artery of commerce and defense now clogged by the coagulating blood of conflict.
In response, the Royal Army of Ardenia scrambled in haste. The call to arm echoes across the kingdom, a desperate plea to its scattered sons and daughters to defend their homeland. They gathered at the Keep, a formidable bastion of stone and memories, their faces etched with the grim resolve of men who know they are the last line of defense against the encroaching conquest.
War, the insatiable maw that hungers for youth and vitality, had broken once more. Its toxic breath clung to the land, choking the sky with the acrid smoke of burning villages and shattered dreams. The very earth seemed to weep, its tears mingling with the blood that quickly painted the battlefield a ghastly crimson.
Castalia, however, stood its ground. Positioned at Loriana Town, a strategic foothold that guarded the flank, they fought as one cohesive mind alongside the Royal Army. They were not alone in this desperate struggle. The Silver Wolf Mercenaries, renowned for their ferocious tactics and unbreakable discipline, joined the fray. Together, they formed a bulwark against the relentless tide of Albion's forces. Their role was pivotal in the defense of the Western Crossroads Keeps, a bastion that stood as a testament to Ardenia's unyielding spirit.
Yet, despite their valor, the tide of war is fickle.
Because, in both troops and supplies, it's clear that the Iron Thorned Knights held vast adventage over the defenders. The battle was gruelling clash of steel, magic, and desperation. War, in its terrible true nature, knows neither mercy nor a single winner.
____
A soft groan, and then, a sigh. A long, weary exhalation that stirred the dust motes dancing in the meager morning light. Zachary pushed himself upright from the wooden chair in his office at the Castalia headquarters. His back felt stiff. His hand massaged the throbbing pulse at his temples. This headache has become his daily companion for the past week. His gaze lingered on the chaotic sprawl of parchment across his desk—a mess of the deteriorating situation of Ardenia. He couldn't help but stare at it.
And this comes down to one absolute reason; Albion has moved, and they moved fast.
Like a ravenous beast sinking its teeth into a wounded prey, the Iron Thorned Knights had begun their offensive, pushing inland from Merlesia with a terrifying momentum. The stability of the kingdom, fragile as blown glass even before this, was now shattering. He picked up a report etched with the seal of the Western Crossroads Keep. The ink was smudged, likely by rain or perhaps sweat. He read it, his eyes tracking the terse words that detailed the crumbling defenses and the swelling numbers of the enemy. It was a bleak litany of casualty numbers, supply shortages, and desperate pleas for reinforcements that he simply did not have.
"Bastards," Zachary muttered, tossing the report back onto the pile. His voice was raw, carrying exhaustion in his sentence.
The logistical nightmare was perhaps the most infuriating aspect. Albion's formidable navy had swiftly established a blockade along the Telmar Gulf. Nothing was getting in or out by sea. Ardenia was effectively strangled, forced to rely entirely on overland routes to sustain its war effort.
The primary artery remaining was the long, arduous trek through the neighboring Gallia, a territory under the dominion of the Holy Empire of Rodinia. It was a precarious lifeline, connecting Ardenia to the distant trading posts of Sycillia and Qurtuba. Zachary thanked whatever deity was listening that the Holy Empire hadn't sealed that border. Judge Renalla's presence in Loriana, and her tacit alliance following the debacle with the Eclipse cult, had likely stayed the Inquisition's hand. For now. But it was a fragile thread, one that could be snapped the moment the Papacy decided Ardenia's fall was more beneficial than its survival.
The end of the cult crisis should have been a moment of triumph, a brief respite. Instead, it had merely cleared the stage for a far more devastating spectacle. With the immediate, visceral threat of the mutant Thralls gone, the 'Coalition of the Unwilling' that had gathered to liberate Roake was fracturing. It was an alliance built on necessity, not loyalty, and the prospect of a protracted, bloody war against a superpower like Albion held little appeal for many.
Just yesterday, Erik and his band of Northmen had packed up their camp. The towering were-bear had been straightforward in his departure.
"We fought the monsters, Zachary, but dying for a crown that isn't mine? That's not in the contract. We head North."
Erik had said in his parting.
Zachary hadn't argued. He fully understood. Mercenaries fought for coin or survival, rarely for ideals that didn't directly affect them. He couldn't fault Erik or the others who had chosen to leave. It was the pragmatism of their trade. But their absence felt unfortunate, a sudden hollowing out of his available forces just as the real storm was breaking.
Still, some of the Northmen decided to stay, as well as Vsovolod's group under the command of Hilda... That's a small mercy for us.
Corgan and Bernie also didn't leave. Despite being bandits, they seems to still have some national pride of being Ardenian and refuse to serve under the occupier Albion. Probably because if Ardenia falls, they will still be persecuted under Albion law. After all, they're still bandits with bounty on their heads.
Zachary rubbed his eyes, the gritty feeling behind his eyelids felt like a constant reminder of his lack of sleep. He needed a moment of clarity. A hot bath and a decent meal might not solve the logistical nightmare of the Western Crossroads, but it would at least make him feel human again.
He pushed away from the desk and walk down to his private quarters attached to the office. The bathwater, though tepid by the time he sank into it, was a small luxury he hadn't enjoyed in a couple days. After bathing, he quickly dressed back. Now, looking at his reflection on the mirror as he combing his hair... He knew there's an inevitability he cannot evade as he get older.
Oh... Oh no. At this rate, I'd be bald before forty. Zachary thought grimly. The receding hairline become more prominent as of late. The sheer stress of the past month had seemingly aged him a decade over a few weeks. The prospect of losing his hair in the prime of his life was an unexpected and deeply unwelcome fear, adding another layer of anxiety to his already burdened mind. Finlay must be having a laugh at my expense.
He quickly dressed in his customary midnight blue tunic and walked out into the crisp morning light towards Water Lilies' Embrace.
After quick breakfast, as Zachary approached the square, he saw Lady Orwella standing amidst a small group of her Avalon Knight defectors. She look tense, as if every muscle in her body was wound to simply snap at a moment's notice.
"Good morning."
She turned towards him with a sharp salute. They have long since dropped formalities between them, preferring practicality above politeness. Especially in these trying times.
"Commander Zachary," Orwella replied, her voice firm despite the underlying weariness. "The situation at the Western Crossroads is holding, but it's volatile. The Iron Thorned Knights are probing our defenses relentlessly. We've repelled two significant incursions in the last twelve hours." Her teal eyes, usually calm and composed, flickered with exhaustion.
"I'm sorry... I never thought the Council would sink so low. Knights who crossed oceans to fight for justice have become invaders who betray and trample peace..."
The Knights standing behind her silently agreed, their faces looks somber, full of disbelief and betrayal from their own homeland's unprovoked war. Orwella had been staring down her former comrades from Albion, the knights she trained with, the people she grew up knowing. Now, they were the very enemy.
Zachary nodded. "It is what it is, Orwella. Rest for a bit... We need to establish a stable logistical route. I'll need a couple days to reorganize everything, also I will send more reinforcements to the frontlines to assist the Royal Army."
Orwella smiled tiredly, but her gaze as hard as steel. "We'll do our utmost, no matter what, we'll keep fightning. For Ardenia's peace, and to defend the tarnished spirit of knighthood."
As Orwella gave her last salute and left with her knights to continue organizing the defenses, Zachary turned his attention back to the current situation. His footstep guided him to the Radiant Temple where rows of the wounded just got back from the frontline.
He spotted Clara started to doze off over a pile of bandages. Beside her, Sylvanne was holding Kirsche up against the wall, forcefully slapping him awake from his exhaustion. The rest of the town, however, didn't stop a heartbeat since yesterday. The Castalia Mercenaries have their hands full handling logstical preparation for the frontlines. Merlesian refugees who settled in the city are assisting with cooking for the troops, a show of their gratitude and newly found solidarity.
And Asep... He didn't see Asep here. That mean he's still out there in the frontline with Corgan and the others. May The Radiance watch over him. Zachary prayed silently.
Just then, Sylvanne approached him. Her face etched with exhaustion but still maintaining a professional front.
"Zachary, boss," She said. "The enemy has blockaded the Keep at the Crossroad, trying to cut the fortress off from outside contact. The Royal Armies sent for help. Requesting our mercenary group to aid and transported the supplies directly to the frontline."
It's clear that the pressure was high. The Iron Thorned Knights wasn't playing around. They wanted the Keep isolated, its defenders choked from resources until they succumbed to despair or starvation.
"I see. Prepare the Castalia vanguard. Round up the able-bodied men. We're going to break that blockade." Zachary commanded, his voice resolute, ringing through the cacophony of the busy square. He had made his choice, and now, there was no turning back.
"Understood!" Sylvanne saluted, and without wasting a moment, she rallied her men and prepare the operation.
"If the Council wishes to push Ardenia to the brink," Zachary muttered to himself, "We will make sure they bleed for every step."