Horizon of War Series

Chapter 164: Defiance in the Cold

Defiance in the Cold

Lansius

When developing an object, it was wise to consult those who had extensive experience using it. Following this logic, Lansius had tasked Farkas with gathering information from the crossbowmen in the Nicopolan ranks loyal to House Lansius. Although they had already imported arbalests and cranequins featuring the latest designs from Midlandia, he was still contemplating further improvements to the crossbow design.

Farkas built rapport with the crossbowmen, who proudly boasted about the sophisticated crossbow designs from their homeland. Having grown up as a hunter, Farkas was well-versed in marksmanship and easily gained their trust. His breakthrough came when he was introduced to an experienced crossbowman, once a champion marksman.

Unexpectedly, this individual revealed that a group of refugees, posing as carpenters, actually included a master crossbow smith from Nicopola, along with his family and apprentices. All this time, they had concealed their true identities, opting to work behind the lines to survive.

With this crucial information in hand, Farkas moved quickly. He searched for the master smith, who fortunately had not settled in South Hill, Umberland, or Korimor but had traveled with others to Korelia. Once found, he promptly brought the smith to Lansius, who recognized the value of their skills and provided them with a house near the Eastern Mansion and a warehouse converted into a workshop.

Lansius offered them a work contract and funding to refine their Midlandian designs. He also consulted with them on specific designs and drawings he had in mind.

This encounter, largely being taken care by Farkas, had occurred shortly after their return to Korelia. Now, months later, that trust had borne fruit.

Accompanied by Carla, Sterling, and Farkas, Lansius rode in an old-looking carriage to a particular house near the Eastern Mansion. Around the area, he noted several skirmishers in plain clothes, providing security for the master craftsmen.

They entered the old warehouse turned workshop. The smells of timber, resin, and metal greeted Lansius as he stepped onto the premises. He noticed a young disciple carefully polishing a walnut-finished crossbow that featured an unusual wooden component at the top, where typically only a bolt would be present.

"Is that it?" Lansius asked the short but stout-looking old man with powerful forearms.

"It is, my Lord," the master smith said in a deep voice that hinted he was more accustomed to grunting than engaging in conversation. He motioned to his disciple, who readily handed Lansius the crossbow.

Lansius checked that it had a metal lever on the lower frame at the front, near the grip, connected to the upper frame by metal pins and hinges. With his right hand, he held the pistol grip he had specified in his drawings, pressing the rifle-like buttstock against his shoulder and body. It felt correct, indicating that the smith had truly understood his intentions, not merely followed a rough drawing blindly.

He then used his left hand to try the metal lever. Rough canvas wrapped around the handle aided his grip, and as he did so, he could smell the tallow grease as he fully extended the lever and then returned it to its original position.

The movement was smooth, though he encountered quite a bit of resistance with his left hand but managed it after some initial struggle.

"My lord, we found it's better to slant it to the left when cocking it so you can use both hands to press it," the master smith advised.

Lansius nodded, understanding that it would function like using a giant scissor. He took another look at the crossbow to appreciate its mechanism. Pumping the lever down moved the upper part forward, engaging the two metal claw-like hooks with the thick crossbow string. Pumping the lever up again forced the string back, where a rotating metal cylinder, called the nut, caught and locked it in place, effectively priming the crossbow.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crossbow resembled his idea of a proper crossbow, including its lightweight stock with holes to reduce weight, and more importantly, a pistol grip and a proper trigger mechanism. "What's the draw weight on this?"

The master smith pondered. "Probably about half of a full-sized cranequin."

"It's still powerful," Lansius remarked in amazement.

"Indeed, it will certainly put a hole through gambeson and ringmail, even a cheap breastplate at a shorter range," he nodded to himself. "I still have some ideas for refinement, and I think we can increase the draw weight without making it too hard to use. And more importantly with this mechanism and upper frame like this..." the man smirked widely, his unkempt but glorious mustache unable to hide his grin.

Farkas readily offered Lansius a long bolt, and Lansius loaded one.

"My Lord, you can use the rope target that we've set up," offered the master smith.

Lansius did so, took his stance, aimed, and pulled the trigger. He found the trigger pull tricky, but the crossbow shuddered as its powerful metal limb and thick, finger-sized string propelled the heavy bolt toward its target, making a sharp and satisfying 'thock'.

Farkas offered another bolt, and Lansius reloaded the crossbow using the metal lever, slanting it to the left like using giant grass shears, and cocked it easily with both hands. He loaded the bolt, aimed, and fired again. It was fast and effortless.

"No more stepping on the stirrup and pulling," Farkas commented.

"Or cranking the cranequin," Sterling added.

"Cranequins are still more powerful," the master smith argued.

"But they're heavy, and loading a lot of them would leave a bruise on the thigh and hip," Sterling countered.

Lansius chuckled, recalling that even he disliked reloading a cranequin; while cranking it was fast and fun, setting up the separate metal rail mechanism on top of the crossbow was tedious. The smaller ones used by the Light Dragoons were a bit better, but their penetration and range were far from those of a full-sized one. "Cranequins certainly take a lot of time," he remarked as he handed the new crossbow to Sterling, motioning for him to try it out.

Despite the new design, Sterling handled the weapon effortlessly, cocking and firing, then reloading and firing again. This pleased Lansius and the rest of the men present.

"The birth of speed reload," Farkas commented.

Lansius couldn't agree more. Interestingly, while he could attempt to replicate the famous Cho-Ko-Nu and achieve an even higher rate of fire, such a design drastically reduced range and penetrating power. Worse yet, due to its operating mechanism, its accuracy was also limited. It was clearly designed with close-quarters combat in mind, meant for use within a defensive structure rather than in open-field battles. Thus, he opted to base his design on a more modern one, which he hoped, once realized, would grant his House a decisive advantage.

"As promised," Lansius said as he fetched his coin purse. He had decided to be a generous patron to such a skilled master craftsman, the likes of whom Lowlandia did not possess. "This is for completing the project." He handed one gold coin, roughly equal to half a year's wage for a top artisan, into the master smith’s thick, calloused palms.

"And because it was done quickly," Lansius added, placing another gold coin in his hand. The master smith's face broke into a wide grin, and he let out a hearty, deep chuckle.

"Not yet," Lansius said with a grin. "And this is for maintaining secrecy." He passed another gold coin.

"We're now your subjects, My Lord. We'll uphold the oath to serve you before other lords." The master smith took a polite bow, followed by his disciple and assistants.

Lansius was pleased. "Then you can continue to work to improve the design. I'll assign several trusted smiths to help with the first batch of production."

"First batch?" The smith raised his brow.

"Not to worry about it," Lansius said. "It's how we make things in Korelia. Here, one person only needs to make specific parts; another person makes another, and then another assembles it all and finishes it."

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"Ah, I've thought about that too; it's like my old family shop. My uncle made the prod, I made the body, and then the assistant made the metal mechanism."

"Indeed. I believe assigning a person to do everything from start to finish, while ensuring quality, took a lot of time and caused a lot of burden."

Stroking his mustache, the stout man muttered, "Still, it's a craftsman's pride to make a completed one."

"I only have the highest appreciation for those who can do it," Lansius reassured him. "You'll continue to make crossbows for me and my House. I expect gradual improvements; feel free to try new designs." As he said this, he looked around the workshop and found it inadequate, especially for the upcoming winter. The smell of rotting wood prompted him to turn to Sterling. "Don't we have an unused building at the Eastern Mansion?"

"We have one. It was built for servant quarters but has never seen any use since our staff fit into the main building," Sterling answered.

"Is it well maintained?"

"I believe Sir Justin renovated it just in case."

"Perfect," Lansius turned to the master smith. "I hope you're not too comfortable here already. I'm going to invite you to the Eastern Mansion. The projects we're going to develop will require close cooperation."

And even more secrecy...

***

Sagarius

It was the second day after the snowfall. Sagarius, now Lady Sagaria, attended to a patient in a different chamber since the infirmary was occupied. There, joining her, were the knight commander, a stalwart-looking knight, and the guardsman who had given her gold coins to heal his comrades. "I hope your coins were well worth it?" she said to him.

The guardsman smirked from ear to ear. "One of my best purchases ever," he stated proudly.

The knight commander coughed dryly to gain her attention, saying, "My lady, may we ask what your plans are after this?"

Sagarius raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to discuss this in front of a patient?"

"I'm sure the patient doesn't mind," the guardsman persuaded suavely.

"And he's also asleep," the knight added with a charming smile.

Sagarius didn’t answer immediately but continued to place a clean folded rectangle of linen on the patient's chest before securing it by wrapping a long piece of linen around his torso. "I'm heading South or Southeast," she said as she worked.

"To where exactly, my lady?" Bald Eagle dared to ask.

"Midlandia," she revealed.

"Can we ask—"

"Then I'll also follow," the young knight interrupted with conviction. His two comrades looked at him, their brows furrowed in concern.

Sagarius found this amusing and decided to issue a playful warning. "You're too trusting of me, Sir Knight—"

"Please, call me Munius," the knight interjected, introducing himself.

"Well, Sir Munius," Sagarius continued, "what if I'm not human but a fell beast in disguise?"

"Then I shall become your hearty meal," Sir Munius quipped, unfazed. "But please, spare the children."

Sagarius just shook her head, amused.

"About your purpose in Midlandia?" the guardsman asked her again.

"I want to meet— No, to see the ruling House. I'm looking for a job there."

"A job?" The three asked at the same time, their eyes widening.

"Sir, I'm a hat-maker; I'm only useful in a peaceful city, inside a hat shop," Sagarius stated. It wasn't entirely a lie, as she had wanted to make hats both as a hobby and as a disguise.

However, the most startling reaction came from the patient. Amid labored breaths and wracked by a harsh cough, his eyes suddenly snapped open. Gasping for air, he managed to utter in a hoarse whisper, "Don't... go... to Midlandia."

"Do you know something?" Bald Eagle asked as he leaned closer.

The patient gazed at him, weak and dazed. "I'll only say this... because this lady is calling me back from death..." His eyes wandered as if he were hallucinating, yet he continued, "Midlandia... is ally to the King of Brigantes."

Everyone’s eyes widened, and their expressions were filled with anger and fear. This was a great betrayal to them.

"An ally, you say?" Bald Eagle asked.

"No wonder Midlandia's aid never came. Heck, they even took Elandia. Is this all their ruse?" the guardsman blurted out in disbelief. Meanwhile, the knight stood straight with his lips tightly pursed.

"How do you know about this?" Bald Eagle pressed.

The patient, still drawing labored breaths, appeared dazed.

"Please," Sagarius implored the three. "It's a miracle he survived with this kind of wound. He’s losing so much blood, and there might be black skin disease setting in. If you want him to answer all your questions, it's best to let me treat him."

The rest nodded as it was a reasonable request. They all knew that the young Arvenians were thought to be dead when the guardsman, who felt guilty for having taken his knife, returned it and found him still warm despite a layer of snow.

Like the guardsman who suggested that it probably led to something significant, Sagarius couldn’t help but recall the words often recited by his father, quoting his teacher: Sometimes, a small act of kindness can snowball into something great.

***

East Tiberia, Winter 4425

The sudden arrival of winter forced the newly crowned King of Brigantes to retreat. Many areas that the Northerners had conquered were so dilapidated by the fighting that they couldn't support a shelter for the winter. Thus, their great army suffered as it marched under the snow to their winter camp, and the battle line was immediately contracted.

The King of Brigantes and his royal entourage returned to Arvena to maintain his hold over the tumultuous region. His conquest of the Imperium was now in doubt.

In the Capital, the news of the Northerners' army withdrawal was widely celebrated. People rejoiced at the news, and the 100 Sages who controlled the Imperium were all too eager to accept the praise. Due to the Knight Commander's outspokenness and unpopularity with them, they downplayed the true victor. His name and his role were stifled and largely removed from official news.

What the citizens heard was the tale of the brave six hundred who defended their small city against 10,000 barbarous Northerners. Only scant rumors from those who participated in the defense of nearby cities spoke of the commander's name.

Against this injustice, the High Council fell silent. The majority of the High Nobles had returned to their regions, fearing instability or assassination. They brought with them their families and retinues, not wishing to become hostages.

Instead of fearing the lack of a competent military leader, the 100 Sages actually enjoyed this unprecedented freedom. For the first time since its inception, the bureaucracy ran without a counterbalance. The ministers, now grown to over a hundred, had truly ascended to masters of the Imperium.

And as if the world had congratulated them, another piece of joyful news would soon reach their ears.

With a sense of cold relief, the Sages delighted in the news of the victor's disappearance. Despite their effective censorship, they were haunted by concerns over Knight Commander Bald Eagle’s rising influence and potential claims to higher authority. Previously, they had clandestinely prepared to orchestrate a 'necessary' accident, one that could be conveniently attributed to a disgruntled soldier or a treacherous Northerner ambush. But now, the problem had resolved itself.

Only a few questioned his disappearance along with the entire force of more than two hundred hardened troops. They sent an investigator disguised as a reinforcement who braved the heavy snowfall—distrustful of the Hunter Guild's hawk mail—but found little.

The citizens of the newly liberated city only whispered of the troops’ hasty departure; no note, no farewell, just a silent exodus under the cloak of a harsh, unforgiving winter. Their garrison was now a loaned detachment from its sister city.

Despite waiting for a month, there was no further news. Many presumed that the commander and his men had tried to chase the Northerners' retreat for bounty, yet either perished in the fight or in the snow.

The agent's report was well received in the palace, and the Sages viewed the commander's presumed death as a blessing to their rise to power. As always, the Sages censored the news to maintain harmony, especially given the ongoing food shortage as Nicopola and Elandia were locked in a struggle.

Thus, in the winter of 4425, the citizens of the Capital feasted for victory and the return of normalcy, while the city's vast granaries were nearly emptied.

***

Elandia, Lord Bengrieve

Snow had begun to fall, covering the land with a shimmering white blanket. The air was crisp, and breaths turned to mist as the town prepared for the deep freeze.

A season had passed since Lord Bengrieve's arrival in Elandia. They had fought bitter wars against the Nicopolan armed refugees who, despite being neither well-trained nor well-armed, had massive numbers on their side. Even with fresh recruits from the Elandian population, they were outnumbered in almost every engagement.

This was to be expected, as South Elandia was predominantly a forested area with a smaller population compared to its northern region, which was closer to the Capital. Meanwhile, Nicopola was a heavily populated province even before the mass migration from the war-torn western provinces.

Only through Lord Bengrieve's preparedness, strategic decisions, and Sir Stan's bold leadership had they managed to maintain most of their gains in South Elandia.

But now, winter had come, and the Nicopolans were suing for a truce in exchange for food.

"This is outrageous," an old knight commented inside the command tent as the squire read the truce proposal aloud. A dozen other knights nodded in agreement.

"Could be worse," Sir Stan muttered, wearing a gaudy red-colored coat with thick fur linings.

Lord Bengrieve, the only one seated in his command tent, said nothing but continued to support his chin with his right hand. His men, already familiar with his mannerisms, knew he was deep in thought and waited patiently.

Finally, the lord yawned and surrendered himself to the comfort of his chair. As he slouched, he said, "It could be a ruse to lure us into a false sense of security. However, I'm inclined to think this is just pure insanity on their part."

His knights and squires smiled at Lord Bengrieve's assessment.

"Then what is your plan?" Sir Stan asked.

"Aside from staying alert, I say stall them," he said disinterestedly. "Promise them honeyed words, and when they begin to doubt, give them a cart or two of grain to show our good intentions. Keep stalling until the cold hand of winter does its work for us."

The Seneschal's decision concluded the day's meeting.

Afterward, with only Lord Bengrieve and Sir Stan remaining, the squire approached the table and put a letter down, stating, "It arrived just before the meeting."

"A missive from home," Bengrieve muttered. "Did the messenger say anything?" he asked as he began to read.

"Yes, he said that the whole of Midlandia is in great uproar," the squire stopped, unsure whether to continue.

"Well, go on, why are you stopping?" Bengrieve said, more irritated by the unnecessary delay than the news itself.

The squire nervously reported, "I heard they are led by Sir Reginald and are taking control of several of our allies' towns and castles. They're also sending large forces, likely to march to Cascasonne."

"Reginald who?" Bengrieve asked sharply, his eyes narrowing.

The squire froze, clearly not in the know.

Yet, against expectations, Bengrieve snorted and burst into laughter that echoed through the empty command tent. "Gratitude to the Ancients, I almost lost hope. I thought they wouldn't take the bait."

"It's about time," Sir Stan remarked casually as if discussing a late appointment rather than treason. "I'm getting bored of Elandia."

***

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