Steel and Mana

Chapter 258 – The Siege of Lothlia (2)

The soldiers were trudging through the deep snow, their movements slow and rugged as the freezing winds howled across the barren plain, making setting their camps and firepits challenging. The cold winter had been snacking on their ranks since they left Westland, so the army of Otto now stood less than 10,000 strong, but it was still a frightening force. Yet, under the surface, there was now a mass of worn men, their morale as low as the temperature, mainly originating from the ranks of the conscripts. They were in the middle of positioning the siege engines and their tents after surrounding the city of Lothlia. It was a process that should have seemed straightforward and calculated, but in truth, it was falling apart at the seams... especially after the flying ship above them was forcefully pushed back, a shock to all within the army.

In the center of the camp, mercenaries—the backbone of their coming assault—were already huddling around campfires, warming their cold bodies. Dressed in their disjointed armor, cloaks, and padded furs looted from different previous campaigns and conquests, they were seemingly having a good time, laughing and drinking strong ale. They were the first to settle in, and their tents were pitched with the haste of experience, settling in just a few moments and offering shelter from the biting winds as they covered them with thick furs. They kept ignoring the other part of the army, even laughing at their slow efforts and when they fumbled with their tools. Even if the cause for dropping a hammer was because of the cold and their numb fingers and not from clumsiness. For them, this was another payday and, finally, a city to sack and burn with actual loot inside. The hunger for gold and plunder was visible in their eyes as they whispered among themselves, casting sneers toward the conscripts who struggled to start a fire in their own camps on the outskirts.

The scene was far grimmer at the periphery, where the less fortunate conscripts had been forced to make their quarters, which was not coincidental. The mercenaries already knew where the wind blew from, and even if just for a little, they were using them as a type of shield against it. Thin, threadbare blankets were usually what protected the conscripts from the unrelenting cold, and their scanty tents flapped violently in the wind as if threatening to give way at any moment. Many of them were young, pressed into service from towns and villages of Westland—places that now seemed like a lifetime away. They believed the words of their lords, of the righteous cause to defend their Empire, or they obeyed the call of nobles in hopes of riches otherwise far from their reach. Whatever the reason was, they were now here... In the freezing hell of barbarians. Their hands fumbled in the snow, struggling to light fires or pitch tents that wouldn't collapse under the weight of the falling snow. They were shivering, not just from the cold but from fear. For them, this wasn't an assignment or glory march anymore but a death sentence.

"I swear, the next time one of them asks me for help, I'll spit in their face!" muttered a tall, scarred mercenary, his face partially obscured by the heavy fur of his hood.

He was sitting close to the fire, his boots turned straight toward the flames, almost touching it. Beside him, a group of seasoned comrades in arm chuckled darkly, their eyes casting disdainful glances toward the struggling conscripts in the distance. This was not their first winter campaign, as they used to do raids against noble forces before, taking away supplies to survive the winter. They were more of bandits than proper mercenaries.

"Useless lot, all of 'em." another one sneered, stirring a pot of boiling water. "Half of them look like they've never held a sword in their lives. We're better off without 'em... or just let us put them into the pot and have some meat for dinner!"

The group erupted into laughter, emboldened by their sense of superiority. They had taken more lives than these scrawny lot, and they had no sympathy for the weak-willed recruits Otto had dragged along on his campaign. To them, the conscripts were little more than cannon fodder, and many of the mercenaries had already begun betting on how long it would take before the conscripts deserted, froze to death, or got themselves killed by the defenders of Lothlia.

One of the conscripts, a boy no older than sixteen, looked up from his struggling fire pit, his blue fingers fumbling with the flint. He had heard the insults and the laughter, but there was nothing he could say. He and his companions had no place to argue. He and a dozen of his friends had been conscripted from their village, given subpar equipment, and shoved to the frontlines with the vague promise of glory and a better life after they returned. Yet now, after weeks of bitter marching and facing the reality of Otto's campaign, a terrible truth had begun to settle in their hearts. Especially after seeing four of his childhood friends freeze to death before reaching the Frontier.

Otto's, the Eternal Emperor's promises had been a lie.

"This isn't what I signed up for..." another conscript, a stout man with a dirty, frostbitten face, muttered quietly to his friend. "We're not soldiers. We're just farmers, for Gods' sake! They told me that this campaign would be over quickly, hunting down a few savages to regulate them, and they would give us our own little land in return..."

The man's voice cracked with frustration, but he kept his tone low. He had seen what happened to those who spoke too loudly... Otto's personal knights were always listening, patrolling the ranks of the army since their last battle, and there were already instances of those who had been made examples out of because of inciting dissent.

"We should've ran when we had the chance... But it's too late now. If we try to leave, the mercs will hunt us down. And do it gladly, out of boredom! And if we stay…" His friend, a gaunt, hollow-eyed man who had lost two fingers to frostbite, nodded in grim agreement, stopping his speech before it got too dangerous.

As his voice trailed off, he glanced toward Lothlia's distant walls. The city stood firm, its stone fortifications a dark contrast against the snow-covered landscape. They had no doubt that the defenders would fight to the last, and the conscripts knew they would be the first to face the full force of that defense. They would send them forward to test their defenses... It was almost inevitable. Worse, seeing the city, they finally understood it. This... this wasn't a land of barbarians at all!

"They should use the ship..." the stocky man whispered. "We will die... Everyone saw what type of weird monsters were guarding it! They breathed fire at it, forcing it back! They forced the mightiest weapon of the Empire back!"

"Sssh! You want us killed?!"

A silence fell between them, broken only by the howling wind. They weren't the only ones thinking it. Over their long march, whispers had spread through the conscripts' ranks, quiet conversations held in the dead of night. Many of them were beginning to question Otto's leadership. They had followed him because they had no choice or were blinded by the opportunity of a lifetime, returning home as someone more than a peasant. Still, now they were starting to understand why people had rebelled in the first place, wanting to travel to the Silver Region and join their Empress. They were fooled and looked on as raw resources, not as people.

"Maybe she was right..." one of the conscripts had said the night before, his voice barely audible while his teeth were knocking together. "Maybe the Empire isn't what it used to be. Maybe Empress Mirian is the only one who recognized that..."

No one had responded that night, and by morning, he was lifeless, frozen to death. Since then, the thought has lingered in the cold air, as pervasive as the snow. None of them dared say it aloud, but the cracks were forming, and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the truth. The conscripts were losing faith, and the mercenaries were only widening the divide with their arrogant sneers, mocking laughter, and jaded confidence.

Unworried about the morale, Otto watched from the relative warmth of his cabin up on the Lawbringer. His eyes moved slowly as he surveyed his forces. After being forced back by the enemy's strange machinery, he decided that he would first surround the city in full before committing to any offense. Down below him, the mercenaries were doing their job, as always. They were reliable, but they were mercenaries, and their loyalty only went as far as their next payday. The conscripts, however, were a different matter. He could see the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty in their movements. It was a weakness, a festering rot within his army, and one that could spread if left unchecked, so they would be used first to test the defenders.

He frowned, returning to the modified map of Lothlia spread across his table. The city was heavily fortified, much more so than what the old records told him. The siege engines were in place, but they would take time to become fully operational, and Otto knew that they would be instrumental in his offense. What he was worried about was the abomination of magic he felt and witnessed. The fusion between magic and... craftmanship was not new. He, too, had artifacts; he was standing on one right now. But... Something was very off about what he was seeing. His instincts were warning him.

"The moment morning comes... we will attack..." He mumbled, "The weak will have its use, showing me the capability of these abominations. Then, I will burn the city and cleanse this world from these... Monsters!"

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"I still advise that we bomb the train station. We can always rebuild it along with the train. We emptied it out; we can't let it fall into enemy hands."

Oleg and Elliot listened to Pion's words calmly, standing in the castle's main ballroom, now converted into their military headquarters. It was already dark, and the city was lit up by torches and Edmund Lamps. Their enemy had surrounded them completely, sealing Lothlia more than the snow ever could.

"My nephew would probably be unhappy about losing a train."

"He wouldn't be." Oleg answered the city lord, shaking his head, "But we won't destroy it. Our enemy is interested in it, so it is a perfect bait. If they try to get it, we will bomb it to oblivion along with his soldiers."

"They know it is a bait, so I don't think they will bite…" Pion whispered, but his General simply smiled at him.

"There are baits that are too juicy to be left alone."

"How are our defenses?" Elliot asked, wanting to know in detail, even if he relinquished command of his troops to Oleg.

"Looking good. We have already established the rotation of the 2,500 footsoldiers within the city and also recruited about 700 militia from the populace. They are tasked with keeping order within the streets. We emptied the immediate vicinity of the walls, and many of the buildings have been destroyed to make way for the Princess and the Rook."

"Our howitzers have also been settled, and the rubble is used to build defenses around them." Pion added before Oleg could continue.

"We also have about 500 archers equipped and ready." Oleg sighed, wanting more, but with the cannons being installed on the walls, they had to do with what they had. Most of them were sent away to guard the borders, and they probably didn't even realize what was happening, thanks to the heavy snow and slow communication. They were stuck in their position without learning the region had already been breached.

"This does not count your numbers, yes?" Elliot asked, watching Pion and Oleg nod.

"Affirmative." They both answered, and Oleg continued, "Including your own personal guards, we have about 800 heavily armored warriors. I intend to repurpose the 400 cavalry units as we currently have no use of them. Our main priority is to hold the walls and sit tight. We have the advantage; we just need to bleed the enemy dry or let them freeze in the cold winds!"

"Can we hit them?" Elliot spoke after a moment of silence, thinking through Oleg's words.

"We can, but…" he answered, looking at the map of the city before them a bit uncertainly. "The enemy mage is sharp. He stopped his army at the edge of our howitzers range. Maybe he was just lucky… We can fire at them, but it would be imprecise, especially without our spotters having a clear line of sight. Best if we don't tell them we can fire that far."

"The only machines capable of shooting with precision that far are the Rook and the Princess." Pion explained in more detail, "For now, the former has been converted to be a completely artillery-focused unit. It will be seated more centrally within the city, able to fire in all directions. My men are equipping it with the shield spell to protect the castle and our command center. As for the Princess, it has been given the mobile shield unit and will reinforce the walls where necessary when they launch their attacks."

"So… we are going to be a turtle." Elliot hummed, leaning against the table. "Gods help us survive this…."

"No need to ask for the Gods' help." Oleg snorted, standing straight and confident. "We are already here."

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