Horizon of War Series

Chapter 184: Supremacy

Supremacy

Outside of Kapua

It was dark, cold, and wet in the leech and snake-infested swamp west of Kapua. The putrid water often rose knee-high, obscuring the ground and hiding countless hazards—from tangled roots and treacherous muck to hidden water channels that threatened to swallow an unwary man whole. The terrain was so challenging that no one would expect anyone to pass through it at night, let alone an army.

However, this was precisely what the Lord of Dawn had planned. Five hundred of his men advanced under the veil of night, guided mostly by dim lanterns through the dense canopy.

Today marked their third day of forced march, beginning in the woodland and now concluding in the swamp. This swamp was their final obstacle before reaching Kapua, effectively positioning them at the rear of the great mercenary army heading south.

Although it was a strategic masterstroke, crossing the swamp was arduous and grueling. Despite their preparation and a half day's rest beforehand, they still faced great difficulty. Even with reliable guides steering them clear of the most treacherous paths, every step forward met with muddy resistance. Even on drier patches, the dense underbrush was unyielding.

Yet, the worst was the pervasive dampness from the heat and humidity that soaked through their clothes, chilling their bones. Leeches greedily fed on their exposed skin in the shadowy waters, and even the air smelled rotten and heavy, making each breath laborious. Their only relief was the little activity of venomous snakes at night, though some still glided silently across the water, adding to their distress.

Despite the nightmarish conditions, their morale remained high.

"Where are the sand fleas? It doesn't feel right without them crawling up to my cheek," one jested, prompting murmurs of agreement from his comrades.

"Fleas on your legs, mosquitoes on your hands, and the master instructor in your face—the perfect combination," another quipped, reminiscing about their training.

"Fuck that island! Fuck everything on it," another cheerfully cursed under his breath, careful not to be overheard by the staff.

Their resilience was not by chance, but the result of rigorous training and conditioning.

Unique among the forces of the Imperium, the troops of Dawn Barony, though following the same levied system, were exceptionally well-trained and equipped. By tradition, each soldier spent several months on an isolated island, accessible only by raft, where daily survival depended on enduring long physical training, coping with hunger, and hunting in dense forests and swamps. This harsh regimen broke many men, but only those who endured were deemed to have passed the rites and earned the honor to bear arms.

Thus, to them, crossing this swamp was no different than revisiting their training.

Despite their grumbling and the profanities muttered under their breath, the men secretly relished the challenge. It reminded them of the time they met their lifelong battle brothers, reinforcing their camaraderie and belief in themselves.

The second reason for their high morale was the presence of Lord Avery himself. Despite his age, the venerable leader marched on foot with his knights, using a gemstone-mounted cane whose soft glow illuminated the surroundings. Leaning slightly on a pike fashioned like a walking stick, he openly grumbled about the conditions yet moved with a steady determination that commanded respect. His confident stride made even the younger soldiers look on in admiration.

It had been an hour since they could see the silhouette of Kapua city, with lanterns on the city walls and towers glinting like bright stars in the night sky. These distant flames served as beacons in the dark, fueling their resolve to press onward.

Then, suddenly, a tower in the northern part of the city grew brighter before clearly bursting into flames.

"My Lord," the lookout in front pointed out, but Avery had already spotted it as it cast a giant plume of fire that illuminated parts of the city wall.

"Trouble?" a knight asked, quickening his pace to get a better view.

"It's only expected," Lord Avery muttered, then turning to his staff, "Come, let us pick up the pace and join the battle."

"Men," the captain addressed the troops, "dry land and Kapua are but several stone throws away. Double the pace—the battle has already begun."

"This is it, this is the moment you've been trained for!" the veterans among them rallied further.

Despite their complaints of no rest time and fatigue, the men hastened their pace. As they pressed forward, the relentless muck and waterlogged terrain gradually gave way to firmer ground. The thick swamp reeds were replaced by sparse vegetation. The air, once heavy with the smell of decay and dampness, grew lighter and carried the scent of dry grass and earth.

"Marching column," the captain instructed as they reached an open ground west of the city.

Lord Avery quickly added, "Limit the lanterns and cover them adequately. I don't want us to be spotted so easily."

The men complied to avoid looking like fireflies lining up at the city gates. They had almost resumed their march when a large shadow fell over them. As they looked up into the night sky, they saw the silhouette of a large airship, shrouded in darkness.

A rope ladder was extended, and someone descended. The Dawn's men quickly escorted him to face Lord Avery.

"My Lord," the airship crew member greeted.

"What's the news from Angelo? I hope we're not too late?" Lord Avery asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Right on schedule, but the situation is evolving rapidly," the crew member reported.

"Explain," another staff member pressed.

"The infiltration group has abandoned the west gate; something must have happened there. They've headed toward the south gate instead."

Lord Avery exchanged glances with his knights and staff. Receiving no objections, he declared, "Then we'll follow. We march to the south gate."

***

Sir Morton

Onboard the Pride of Korimor, the mage knight observed the unfolding situation below. He noted how the SAR 2nd group had captured the south gate without raising the alarm. Inside the city, the mercenaries were in disarray; many fled to another part of the city, likely terrified by the unnatural fire and the presence of the feared Bat. Others attempted to storm the Keep, while some regrouped near the west tower, unaware that the group had slipped past their defenses.

From afar, Morton could see Angelo steering his airship toward the newly arrived Dawn army. He reckoned it wouldn't be long before Dawn's men marched toward the south gate, ensuring the successful conclusion of this operation.

"To see a stone tower ablaze like a giant candle must have been terrifying," murmured a young mage trainee to her squire husband, both seated behind Morton.

The mage knight didn’t turn to face them but felt a wave of sentimentality. He remembered his once rejected offer to Lord Lansius to train Claire, and if necessary, to marry her. Fate, however, had other plans, and for that, he was grateful.

Most mages didn’t have families. Even if they married, it was usually nearing their retirement. The common belief was that the secrecy of their crafts prevented such ties, but the real reason lay in their conditioning. From a young age, they were trained to prioritize duty above personal needs.

This focus made them effective bodyguards—loyal guardians and servants willing to sacrifice their lives for their masters.

Thus, they rarely married as it would only hinder their duties. This was also the reason why the Mage Guild usually didn't accept older candidates, as it was harder to indoctrinate those who were more set in their ways.

However, with the shogunate's plan ushering in an era of unprecedented safety, even the duty-bound Morton found himself feeling redundant. This was why he requested to be trained to pilot the airship, driven by both curiosity and a diminished role to play. Ironically, Lord Jorge was safer in Korelia than at his own home in Three Hills, where numerous plots against him had occurred.

Perhaps married life isn't so bad...

He mused, recalling the numerous suitors from the affluent families of Three Hills. Yet, he had already favored a seamstress who shared similar traits with him. She was beautiful, yet reserved, preferring solitude. Coming from an esquire family with a shop in her name, she faced many suitors but was dedicated to her craft, striving to keep her family's business thriving and rejecting all offers of marriage. However, some suitors were pushy, even rowdy, unable to accept a no.

That was when Morton first visited her shop by chance. Witnessing the altercation, his mere presence and stare were enough to disperse even the most obstinate suitors.

The woman thanked him and refused to let him pay for mending his clothes.

Afterward, under the pretext of having his training clothes mended and ensuring her safety, Morton regularly visited the shop. Although they never engaged in anything beyond casual conversation, they enjoyed their time together, and she often hummed a pleasant melody that filled the shop with a light, pleasant atmosphere.

The renewed fighting at the Keep snapped Morton back from his daydreams.

Deftly and with precision, he steered the Pride of Korimor toward the Keep. "Setting course to the Keep," he declared to Claire and Sterling.

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"Are you going to join the fight?" Sterling asked while Claire looked on, worried.

"Yes. I was instructed not to intervene, to assess the SAR’s capabilities. I believe we've seen enough. Now, I aim to prevent unnecessary casualties," he replied. He then gradually increased the throttle, feeding more fuel to the furnace above, and simultaneously opened a vent at the rear allowing a stream of hot air to escape.

Despite the new, vastly improved furnace, he found it inadequate for his taste and chanted words that tapped into his magical source. He created a large vacuum area in front of the airship that rapidly accelerated its momentum. He had discovered that pulling the ship, like a horse-drawn carriage, was more effective and steerable than pushing it from behind. Moreover, mages had been trained from a young age to create spaces devoid of air, precise and powerful enough to kill a man from a distance.

As they advanced toward the heart of the city, the unfolding scene below revealed the Keep complex under siege, with a crowd of armed men attempting to breach the gate.

"Sir Morton, where will you land?" Claire asked, her eyes flashing with concern.

"Ideally inside the Keep, but that would take too long." He rose from his seat and turned to the couple. "Leave the Keep to me and stay airborne until the city is secured."

"Sir, what are you doing?" Sterling asked, his eyes widening as he watched the knight step onto the gondola's side wall, his shoulder-length brown hair fluttering in the wind.

"What else?" Morton smirked and jumped without hesitation, to the horror of the two, who watched him plummet toward the Keep.

Morton summoned his magic, using an innate ability few possessed, to compress the air and cushion his fall—a trick he had mastered since childhood to impress his brethren by falling unscathed from towers. He never imagined it would prove useful in combat.

As he neared the ground, Morton commanded the full strength of his magic, which slowed his descent as if he were moving through water. Strengthening his muscles, he landed directly atop the crowd with the force of a bronze statue, crushing and knocking down four people beneath him.

As Morton stood, those who had cushioned his fall groaned from broken bones.

His sudden appearance and the loss of four of their members shocked everyone.

"What happened?" people from the back row demanded, but those in the front remained silent, having witnessed the pair of predatory golden eyes that now stared back at them. "Greetings. I'm Sir Morton, a Mage Knight, Captain of the Black Knights. Surrender now, or die," he declared.

"He's just one man!" someone shouted, attempting to rally the crowd, but he was the first to fall as Morton pounced swiftly like a beast and decapitated him with his newly acquired Midlandian curved saber. Effortlessly catching the head with his left hand, he displayed it before the crowd. "You won't get another warning."

Dozens fled, screaming and pushing past their curious comrades. Yet, about forty with drawn swords remained.

"Suit yourselves," Morton said, tossing the bloody severed head toward them before chanting to summon his magic. Soon, everyone around him began to suffocate, coughing and panicking. Many attacked him in their desperation.

Yet, even as his magic maintained a vacuum around them, Morton moved with terrifying ease. Without his plate armor, he was nimble, parrying each blow like an iron whirlwind amidst the chaos. He skillfully baited his opponents, knowing their breath would fail within minutes.

After more than fifty parries, no one was left standing. Those who hadn't fled had collapsed.

Morton inspected his blade, noting the nicks and scratches but still finding it battle-worthy. Observing the men who stood at a distance, some aiming their crossbows at him, he laughed scornfully. "You lack a Sir Harold among you, and you're certainly not the Black Lord of the Steppes."

Regaining his composure, and without asking for help from the first group inside the Keep, Morton advanced toward them like a hawk eyeing a family of mice. "Come, feeble ones, meet your doom."

***

For the defenders of Kapua, that night was marked by a series of tragedies. They lost their Keep and were cut off from their leaders. As they attempted to mount a rescue operation, the west tower was set ablaze. Many men lost their minds and ran, fearing that the rumored Bat would come to burn the city. It took tremendous effort to prevent them from opening the north gate.

Eventually, the situation stabilized somewhat, and despite the chaos, they managed to gather enough men to storm the Keep. However, at that critical moment, a mage knight appeared before them. All the fearsome tales they had heard about mage knights came into full display. Like a beast, he took down twenty of their bravest within minutes.

They pulled their crossbowmen from the walls, but even their mighty bolts proved ineffective. The situation deteriorated rapidly. Anyone foolish enough to resist met a swift end, and the best they could manage was to keep a line from a distance. As time passed, a sliver of hope remained that the mage knight might succumb to exhaustion.

But then, new trouble arose from an unexpected quarter.

"Captain," a voice called from behind, breathless. "Captain," he repeated, his eyes wild with panic.

"What is it?" The urgency was clear to all.

"W-we've lost the south gate, we've lost the south gate," the man stammered, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as he collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling under him.

"The south gate?" someone echoed in shock as worried glances were exchanged.

It was then that an unexpected proposition came. "Heard about the attack on the south gate, have you?" the mage knight asked, his body and face smeared with blood that wasn’t his own. "Say, I’m feeling generous tonight. How about you kneel now, and I won’t kill you."

Everyone, faces slick with sweat, paused to consider, their expressions a mix of willingness and suspicion. The tension hung thick in the air. Many chose to flee, but then one man threw down his weapon. The iron clattered loudly against the cobbled stone, and soon everyone else followed suit. They threw down their blades and knelt.

"Promise us you'll honor your word," they pleaded.

"Certainly. I, Sir Morton, guarantee your safety," the mage knight declared solemnly. "However, that does not exempt you from trial. If you've committed crimes, my words won't spare you from judgment."

As this sank in, two men fled. Sir Morton, picking up a spear, assumed a throwing stance and then launched it faster than one could blink.

They all turned and watched as two of their comrades were impaled by the same spear, crashing to the ground.

"I believe you'd have a better chance at a trial. Here, I can only offer the death penalty," Sir Morton remarked, his tone blending jest with grim finality.

...

Before the first light of dawn, five hundred men poured through Kapua’s south gate, securing strategic buildings and rounding up demoralized defenders who lacked leadership. Yet, this was not the end of the fight. Inside the city, they encountered resistance far fiercer than anticipated.

Hardened groups of mercenaries, determined to fight to the death, engaged in intense and brutal skirmishes. These mercenaries fought with ferocious tenacity, and their cohesion only broke when Lord Avery directed his weary men in a concerted effort, crushing the stubborn resistance with equal brutality and burning several buildings in the process.

Once they had assumed control of the city, Lord Avery's men began a painstaking search of every nook and cranny—from each tower and gatehouse to the Keep and its adjacent complexes—to prevent sabotage or assassination. They captured over a hundred mercenaries who failed to flee, while another hundred, particularly from the eastern section, managed to escape through the east gate. However, their escape drew the ire of the Bat, which pursued them and inflicted heavy casualties.

Inside the city, Lord Avery's first order was to calm the citizens and muster them to extinguish fires threatening to consume more buildings. He also directed his forces to confiscate weapons and armor from the mercenaries and to place them in separate locations to serve as temporary jails.

Meanwhile, the weary SAR groups completed their final task by escorting the captured mercenary leaders to the dungeons beneath the Keep. These were the very chambers where the mercenaries had once imprisoned the city’s rightful inhabitants while usurping the Keep for their decadent use. Now, the wheel of fate had turned: the stone walls that once echoed with the pleas of their captives would now enclose them.

These mercenaries would answer for their crimes, but first, it was deemed fitting for them to endure the harsh reality of the dungeons they had so ruthlessly controlled.

***

In the spring of 4426, the Lord of Dawn executed a brilliant military strategy, liberating Kapua City, the largest in Nicopola’s exterior. His victory deep behind enemy lines signaled the collapse of the grand mercenary army, whose supply line was decisively severed.

The nine thousand mercenaries, feeling the noose tightening, rushed to retake the city, only to be devastated from above as Dawn's airships, hidden from sight, bombed them relentlessly, day and night. To support this state-of-the-art bombardment, Lord Avery had constructed a makeshift airship hangar and depot within Kapua. This infrastructure allowed his airships to deliver unrelenting punishment, their effectiveness limited only by speed, storage capacity, and the need for ongoing repairs due to many of their features still being experimental.

After enduring three days of relentless assault, the grand army was routed. Despite their numbers, they dared not lay siege to Kapua and retreated deeper into the interior of Nicopola. Meanwhile, the Lowlandian light cavalry, having shadowed the mercenaries from the south, seized their moment to strike. They quickly decimated thousands of the fleeing forces and captured many of their commanders.

With the grand mercenary army vanquished, order was finally restored to the exterior of Nicopola. This victory coincided with the onset of the rainy season, which gradually washed away the scars of battle.

As Lord Avery managed the city and implemented policies, the Dawn military and the Iron Skull Legion continued to clear the surrounding areas, driving remnants of the mercenaries from their strongholds. Although they could have trapped the enemy between their forces and Kapua, Sir Servius opted to provide an escape route to prevent desperate last stands.

As skirmishes continued, wiser heads among the mercenaries prevailed; many lower-ranking officers eliminated their commanders and surrendered to Dawn's forces. Within a month, over three hundred villages and a dozen cities and towns were liberated—more than half of Nicopola. Although many places were reduced to rubble, it was already a sweet victory for the populace.

Lord Avery's primary goal was to secure as much fertile farmland as possible to stave off famine. Even before Kapua was liberated, he had arranged for the populace to return to their fields. Thanks to this foresight, despite challenging mud from recent rains, the logistical arm of the House of Dawn successfully transported farming tools, oxen, and draft horses.

He also deployed his precious air fleet to transport seeds, ensuring that cultivation could begin in earnest. The Nicopolans accepted this with great gratitude and worked tirelessly, aware that their lives depended on this miraculous second chance.

As the populace toiled to rebuild their land, the Pride of Korimor, laden with prizes befitting its contributions, headed east after completing its recovery and rearmament. Accompanying it was another airship, acting as a supply ship, loaded with fuel and other supplies.

Claire and Sterling commanded the supply ship, while Sir Morton helmed the Pride of Korimor. Together, they set course for Korelia, planning brief stops at Three Hills and South Hill.

While many onboard hoped the Nicopola campaign would mark the end of their year’s fighting, unseen troubles were already brewing.

***

Elandia

Sagarius was stunned upon hearing that the Capital had fallen to a peasant rebellion, and the Grand Imperial Palace—the last creation of the Great Progenitor—had been destroyed by fire. Despite anticipating chaos, warfare, and regime changes, she had naively never envisioned the palace’s destruction.

There were so many priceless works of art stored there, valuables beyond imagination. More than just Dwarven or Elven craftsmanship, some were even handcrafted by the Ancients themselves. She couldn't even fathom how to mourn such a loss.

Her eyes turned moist, recalling the many cherished memories of that place. She had sneaked in hundreds of times under various disguises across different generations and even served as an imperial official for years.

Now, her father’s life’s work, along with the bureaucracy he had built over a millennium, was gone, consumed by flames. She exhaled deeply, her fingers trembling as she remained seated on a tree stump, feeling weak.

Facing her were several Imperial officials who had escaped the Capital. They maintained contacts within the city who sometimes could spare them some news.

To compound her troubles, she had just learned that the House she intended to join, now called House Bengrieve, was at odds with the Imperium, likely having annexed South Elandia in collusion with House Gottfried. Now, all her plans were in jeopardy.

Sagarius glanced toward her followers, her gaze settling on Sir Munius and Marc. She felt the weight of fate on them.

Why has the situation become this complicated and unpredictable? What do the Ancients wish for me? Don't tell me they want me to start a kingdom...

A cloud of worries invaded her mind. She did not desire such responsibility. The thought of governing a human kingdom frightened her. It was taxing, futile, and punishing. She had witnessed its toll on her father, and she wanted no part of it.

Humans must govern themselves. There must be someone, someplace peaceful...

She reaffirmed her beliefs adamantly, her thoughts drifting deeply. Nearly missing the gentleman official's attempt to rise, she spoke with sudden regality, driven by a momentary lapse, “Stay thyself in your seat.”

The unexpected authority in her tone made the official comply instantly, caught by surprise. Before anyone could question her, Sagarius continued, "You mentioned an interestingly different lord in the southern lands. Who is he? Tell me about him."

***

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