Steel and Mana

Chapter 267 – Penance

Reading the latest and also final report of the siege made me sigh multiple times, leaning back in my chair. I was alone in my office because my wives were tending to our children, who didn't know about what was happening, and enjoying building snow castles in the garden. Or at least, I don't know if my twins knew about it and just kept ignoring it… Their telepathic connection by now was so subtle we couldn't tell if they still had it or not. Not even Merlin was sure. Whatever the case, I was not about to ruin their mood by what was happening in the world. Let their dad worry about it, so when I join them later, it will be time for laughter and not for unease!

"At least it is over!" I sighed again, relieved that Yuri was okay and Merlin had arrived on time. In a few days, they will return, along with the prisoners and the wreck of a flying ship.

What came next for me was organizing our next step. With Mirian confined to Cerna, thanks to the remaining flying ships, Pascal's plan would turn against him. He cannot just stop, or it would give Mirian free reign to move around as she wishes. His chess piece will have to keep her in check... On the other hand, I will have the freedom to move around, and I was already drawing up battle plans to march to the west, to the borders of Ishillia, and conquer and unite the northern region under Mirian's flag.

Our enemy mage was dead, his army defeated, and those who escaped would bring back and spread their demise like a disease, along with the moral-breaking news of their utter defeat. I expect an easy campaign, but I am still preparing to send Oleg and Pion on it, with half of our army and the Rook. With the northern part of the country belonging to us, we will have a sturdy base facing the rest of Ishillia, and I can start establishing diplomatic relations with our neighbors.

As for the other half of the army… I will keep them in the Pass. This winter was the strangest yet. No monsters had been coming through since it started, and we were closer to spring than autumn. By now, there would have been at least one coming through, but no. It was silent. This vexed me more and more as the days went by, mainly because there was no remedy for the situation. We could do nothing but sit and wait for the inevitable.

I discussed it with Sasha and Mikan, and we came up with three reasons why it could be like this. The first was the simplest one, that no monsters visited the Pass this time around. Maybe the snow was so bad on their end that it closed the entrance. Could be. Then, there was a chance that we were given a grace period… to prepare for next winter, which may be the worst of it all. If this was a game, I could see it happening. Giving the players enough time to set their defenses up before the next, much harder round.

But… I didn't think that was the exact case. As for why, I couldn't explain, but by knowing what I know about these monsters, I don't think they would do something like that. My idea was that we had a mix of the two on our hands. We weren't given a grace period per se, and this heavy snowing could have created a barrier right now, which when it melts…. I had a nagging feeling that we may no longer have the calmness of the previous years. Since we have been exterminating the beasts, the pattern has been there. To break it, it had to mean something.

These mountains, raised by a higher level of civilization, had a purpose. And if I was the one who would design it, then if I wanted to raise the difficulty but keep it manageable, I wouldn't just increase the strength of the enemy. That could bring the opposite effect of strengthening 'my subjects.' Oh well, I can't guess it, so I can do nothing but wait and see what the results will be. But deep in my bones, I could feel that after this winter was gone, the monsters would return, attacking our walls under the warmth of the sun.

I have already told my father this. The moment the snow melts, they are going to plant as many mines as they can and equip the walls with massive flamethrowers so that if anything reaches them, they can melt its carapace, claws, fur, scales, or whatever it will have. And… there was something else.

A squad of twenty volunteers had been chosen. They will head into the Pass and report back via radio as long as possible, scouting as far as they can. It was they who brought it up, and after considering our situation, information was key, so I approved it. They are going to leave tomorrow morning, set a chainlink of communication at every kilometer, relaying their discoveries… And I would lie if I wasn't nervous and excited at the same time about what they would find. Even if they don't reach the end, we may just learn a bit about the deeper parts of the Pass.

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The fields before Lothlia were bitterly cold, even as multiple massive fires burned around the city, getting rid of the thousands of corpses of the defeated invaders. The fallen defenders had already been collected as they would receive a hero's funeral. The mangled remains of the enemy of Lothlia? They were burning and will burn until none of them remain.

Outside of the northern side of the city, over a thousand men stood side by side, flanked by multiple firepits, bundled in whatever scraps of clothing they had managed to keep or were gifted by their guards. Some were hunched, clutching at hastily wrapped bandages or rubbing frostbitten fingers together, thinking soon they would be thrown into the fires while still alive. They were lined up in neat rows, facing an elevated stone platform built from the wreckage of the walls. Multiple figures stood on it, along with some weird contraptions. The one in the middle was holding something in his hand, conversing with the black-armored warriors surrounding him. Judging by his attire... he had to be a noble.

Yet, it was not what made most of the prisoners nervous. It was the two massive mechs that stood unmoving to the side of the platform, their appearance, even if battered, sending dread through everyone looking at them. They didn't dare look up at their helm-like heads to meet their inhuman gaze, yet, every now and then, a head would twitch in their direction, a nervous glance flitting up at the towering machines that could end them with a single, powerful swipe.

While being herded out into the cold winter air, some muttered prayers, others simply closed their eyes, reliving the horrors of the siege that had left so many dead… The dull murmurs fell silent when everyone was finally present, and the figure on the stone 'pedestal' began speaking. His voice was amplified by unknown means, echoing throughout the snow-covered fields.

"I am Elliot of Goldengrove. You came to my city, to my region, to kill us, but you failed. You forfeited your rights as humans the moment you massacred my people and attacked my city!" he began, the words spat out as though he could barely stomach addressing them at all. "Invaders of my land, today, your sentence will be proclaimed! Be glad, as you…" He paused shortly, "You will not burn like the others. We, labeled as barbarians by you, are a merciful bunch. Those who needed killing had been killed. Now, only you remain." His words struck like a lash, some men flinching as if they had been physically struck.

Some wanted to murmur, say the words they wanted to say, but the two mechs moved their hands at the same time, immediately ending any desire to voice their thoughts. Instead, Elliot continued his speech, addressing the more than a thousand souls before him.

"Only those among you deemed redeemable stand here today. All others who served for personal gain, cruelty, and greed…" he gestured toward the fire pits, "They met their just end."

It was well-known by now that many of the prisoners, mostly mercenaries, the ones who had laughed as they pillaged and burned, had been executed, their bodies cast into mass graves and burnt as a final statement to the invaders.

"They have paid the ultimate price for their crimes against the Frontier. But you are the deceived citizens of Ishillia… you who fought for misguided loyalty, for a dream of glory under a banner that cares nothing for your lives... So, you have been spared." Elliot paused, observing the crowd, letting his words sink in, and watching their expressions shift from fear to confusion to something resembling hope—however cautious and uncertain.

Johan, his face pale with fever, leaned slightly on Arik beside him. The young soldier's scars stood out like brands across his face, a permanent maiming of his features, a reminder of his ordeal. Though weary and hollow-eyed, Arik squared his shoulders, bracing himself for what was to come, holding onto his friend. Elliot's gaze swept over them as if everyone stood before him, only a touch away.

"It is no small mercy you've been shown by this decision. Our city mourns." he continued, "But we believe that even the lost may find some path back toward honor, even if that path is long and difficult." His gaze grew sterner while addressing them, "And for you all, that path begins now. You thought you served your home, your Empire, which was usurped by a fake Emperor. You will have a chance to atone for being blind to it."

Two Avalonian guards stepped forward, unrolling a large scroll and handing it to Elliot. He took it without looking down, his gaze steady on the mass of prisoners. This was already rehearsed by Elliot, Pion, and Oleg… He was just playing his part and doing it perfectly.

"Your sentence has been decided by the Sovereign of Avalon. You will serve the Frontier in the mines of the Sovereign, far from here, where your hands and backs will atone for the destruction you've brought upon our lands! Five years of hard labor await you all. Only through sweat, sacrifice, and unyielding effort will you be able to wash off your sins!"

A soft ripple went through the prisoners as the weight of his words registered within their brains. Some men shook their heads, their shoulders slumping further… So they will be worked to death… The idea of five years struggling underground felt more like a death sentence than a mercy. No, this was worse. Still, for others, there was a sense of muted relief—if not gratitude, then at least a grim acceptance. It wasn't death. After the horrors they had survived: the brutal winter, the loss of friends to the cold, and then to battle… It was a kind of relief. This time, Elliot let them whisper and murmur, and they only spoke again after every prisoner finally realized the weight of their sentence.

"You will be fed, clothed, and housed, given shelter to withstand the years to come. Those among you who are injured will receive treatment after reaching Avalon. If you're able to work, you will live. However, make no mistake!" He yelled, his voice rugged and powerful, "The debt you owe is not something a few nights of rest or a warm meal can settle. Each day, you will toil until your sin has been sanded down through your hands, leaving no stain on this land. Only then may you walk free. You do that… Or you DIE trying!"

Johan felt a strange mix of emotions rising within him. It was a heavy sentence, a grueling, punishing one, yet it also carried the faintest spark of hope he tried to push down while waiting in his cell. He could feel the tremor in Arik's stance beside him, the silent relief that even if this life would be spent in chains, he would have it in his hands again. He would not rot in the earth beneath Lothlia's stone walls, burned alive and then being forgotten. He was reviled by those words he was hearing... To their surprise, when Elliot spoke again, his voice softened, but his tone was no less severe.

"You may think this is charity. But remember this: the lives you took, the blood you spilled, are debts that will never fully vanish. We are offering you this chance not because we pity you but because we understand that what brought you to the walls of Lothlia was a misplaced loyalty to your fake Emperor. It is not an excuse, but it is why your heads are still attached to your necks."

There was a long silence as his words settled over them. Then he raised his hand, gesturing toward the towering mechs behind him. The hulking machines moved in unison, their metal limbs groaning as they shifted, not yet smooth enough as the repairs they had were only superficial. Yet, it made them even more frightening as the noise reverberated through the crowd. It was a reminder that these machines, like the people of the Frontier, would show no hesitation in crushing those who dared break their second chance.

"You will leave at dawn," Elliot continued. "From now until then, you will be housed in the city's old barracks. You will receive food, emergency treatment, and whatever basic provisions you may need. I suggest you prepare yourselves well. The work ahead will test every ounce of your will. Then, when morning comes, you will board our trains and head towards your new life in batches of a hundred!"

Pion, who had been silent so far on Elliot's left side, stepped forward, raising a voice and speaking into his own device that transferred his voice to the speakers set up beforehand. His tone lacked Elliot's somewhat friendly but righteous theme, making the lord of Lothlia more… human. Instead, Pion's voice was chilling and like the whisper of Death.

"Any attempts to escape will be met with swift punishment. There will be no third chances, no further mercy. Anyone caught in defiance of my Sovereign's verdict will join those who fell in the flames. There will be no warning, no explanation. There will be only your heads rolling on the floor."

A few whispers passed through the ranks, but no one dared voice any resistance. The mechs stood watch over them, their inhuman gazes sharp and unflinching, emotionless… mechanical. Among the conscripts, a few exchanged glances, a bitter understanding passing between them. Escape was futile. The army, their mechs, their machines—all of it was beyond anything they could hope to stand against. It was useless, and they knew it. They had known it since the battle had begun. At last, Elliot stepped back, giving a final nod to the guards below the impromptu podium.

"See them to the barracks."

A collective exhale rose from the prisoners as they began to move. Johan glanced once more at the mechs as they resumed their statuesque stillness, towering over the landscape with their weapons fixed on the crowd. As they filed away, he caught sight of one of the city's residents lingering at the edge of the destroyed wall fragments—a woman with a young child in her arms, bundled against the cold. Her expression was one of hushed fury, her lips pressed into a thin line as she met Johan's gaze with an intensity that shook him. He quickly looked away, his face flushed, heart heavy with the silent judgment she cast multiple muted curses upon him.

At that moment, he understood just how deep the rift was between the Lothlians and the prisoners. It would take more than five years of labor to bridge it if that was even possible. As they trudged toward the barracks, heads bowed against the cold wind, Johan muttered a quiet prayer under his breath. It was not a prayer for salvation or mercy—it was a prayer for strength, for the resolve to see the next day and to last through the years to come. He and every man beside him knew that this sentence was more than just atonement. It was a lifetime's worth of penance.

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