(Thoedora Medici)
Instead, I found the princes' powers fascinating. Powerful magic existed throughout the world. Truly unique magic was rare; Arthur possessed something unique, and we all know people with unique gifts tend to change history. I moved toward the map table and studied the territories surrounding Bleakmarch.
The First Prince had armies; the Second Prince had political influence across the vast Verona Kingdom. Both possessed advantages Arthur currently lacked. Yet neither possessed momentum, nor did it inspire the kind of loyalty I had witnessed today. Neither wielded mysterious powers capable of making veteran warriors hesitate.
Most importantly, neither seemed willing to take risks, but Arthur did. Perhaps recklessly, perhaps brilliantly, time would determine which. I smiled slightly as I rested a hand against the edge of the table. The others saw a young prince attempting to carve out a place for himself.
I saw something far more interesting: a man gathering allies. A man building strength—a man acquiring power at a pace that was beginning to concern his enemies. Now, thanks to my investment, a man whose success would benefit House Medici as much as himself. The game unfolding around Verona was becoming increasingly dangerous.
For the first time in years, I found myself eager to see how it ended. Whether Arthur ultimately became king, conqueror, or corpse, one thing was already clear. The continent would not be able to ignore him forever. I relaxed for some time, waiting for the Veronian Legion to arrive at the entrance to Bleakmarch.
Three days later, I stood upon the observation deck of my mana blimp as it hovered high above the plains of Bleakmarch. The vessel was able to hover over the entire battlefield thanks to a Mana Tech breakthrough. From this height, the scale of war lost its chaos and became something disturbingly legible.
Armies were reduced to ordered movements of colour and steel, banners marking intent more clearly than sound ever could. My entourage lined the railing behind me. Brokk stood closest, already peering through his spyglass with the rigid focus of someone trying to impose logic onto something that refused to obey it.
Gorak lingered a step back, arms folded, impatient for the violence to begin as he watched the nearby mana screen. The rest of my staff waited in uneasy silence, because even they could feel that something about this did not align with anything they understood. Arthur's first battle was beginning.
The Ninth Legion was already deployed below, and the moment I focused, I saw what had unsettled me begin to reveal itself. The centre of the formation was noticeably weaker than Veronian military doctrine allowed, composed of lighter infantry, while the flanks were built entirely differently, heavy with disciplined Legionnaires.
Before I could fully realise the implication, motion broke across the battlefield. Cavalry erupted from both sides. Arthur's riders struck first, a disciplined wedge surging forward from behind the main line, moving to intercept the enemy horsemen advancing from the opposing army.
The Outlaws' cavalry met them head-on in what should have been a standard clash between mounted forces, the kind of engagement that usually decided early momentum in open-field warfare. But the moment they closed, something happened that shocked all of us and cemented my choice.
Behind his cavalry, something else moved. Hundreds of spear warriors surged forward in tight formation, moving directly behind the cavalry charge in disciplined waves that refused to break spacing even as they accelerated. At their head, unmistakable even from this distance, was the blonde Northman.
Lagertha.
The shock was immediate across the entire observation deck. ''That's infantry following cavalry?'' one of my officers muttered in disbelief. ''They'll never keep pace.''
The sentence ended unfinished as the truth corrected him in real time, and they did keep pace. Not only that, the Veronians closed the distance, the spear line moving like a single organism behind the mounted charge, and when they reached the enemy cavalry, the entire rhythm of the battlefield changed.
Arthur's cavalry did not attempt to win the clash alone. Instead, they struck just long enough to disrupt formation, forcing the enemy horsemen into disorder at the exact moment Lagertha's spear warriors arrived behind them in a coordinated surge that turned the engagement from a cavalry duel into an execution.
The effect was immediate; enemy riders were pulled from saddles before they could reform, horses collapsing under precise spear thrusts aimed not at chaos but at control, and through it all, the Northman moved at the centre of the collapse like something far less human than the men around her.
Where others struck to disable, she struck to break, her axe carving through armour and rider alike with a force that turned every impact into a decisive end. Brokk's eyes widened slowly. ''She's tearing through them,'' he said, as if he did not quite believe his own words.
Below, the Outlaws' cavalry line collapsed faster than any of us had anticipated, not simply defeated but dismantled under pressure they could not reorganise against. The spearmen advanced through the gaps immediately, locking down movement and preventing any retreat from forming cohesion again.
It was only then that I began to understand what Arthur had done. The cavalry had not been sent to win the battle; they had been sent to open it. The real destruction had arrived behind them.
***
(Arthur)
We marched for another three days until arriving at a place the Pathfinders called the Corpsewood, a dead forest that once covered the gap that led to Bleakmarch, where we set up a fort to wait for the enemy army. I was looking at the hills that would protect our flanks, rendering the outlaws' numbers null.
This revelation put a smile on my face as I turned to Selene. ''Take half the cohorts and form up on the left. Don't move until you see the signal.''
The brunette nodded before rushing off as my gaze fell upon a grinning Sahara. ''Take the right. As you see the signal, make sure you break our enemies, my general.''
When the Orc beauty heard this, her face lit up as she saluted. ''Yes, my prince! Today, we will prove to the entire kingdom that the Ninth isn't a cursed legion!''
''That we will,'' I replied.
After that, I turned to Lagertha and the Centurion of the Verona Spears, who was waiting nearby. ''Make sure you keep up with the cavalry, we need to wipe out their riders for us to have a chance to pull this off.''
The blonde saluted. ''Yes, master! I will make sure none survive!''
They rushed off, leaving Evangeline, Asmara, Garrick, Torvald and Lirael. I looked at my head, Centurion. ''Asmara, make sure the First is ready to take the brunt of the enemy charge; this will be brutal.''
The dark-skinned woman nodded. ''We are aware. We've trained for this moment and won't let you down, my lord.''
''Good,'' I responded as the old man stepped forward.
''Are you sure about this, my prince?'' He asked, looking worried. ''Not even the First Prince or your father did something so stupid.''
I laughed at his words, waving his concerns away. ''The commanders know the plan, I've spent the last two weeks reminding them, we've got this old man.''
Garrick stared at me for a moment, saying nothing. Then a smile spread across his weathered face. ''Your grandfather would be proud and so am I, I can't believe your change since the assassination attempts.''
''Thank you,'' I replied.
Before either of us could say more, Darius came racing toward us. The Pathfinder commander swung down from his horse and immediately dropped to one knee. ''My lord!'' he shouted, breathing hard. ''The enemy is coming. A massive horde of outlaws and mercenaries is advancing on our position.''
''Our scouts have counted no fewer than forty-five thousand men,'' Darius said, forcing the words out despite the tension in his voice. ''Possibly more, the entire horizon is covered with them.''
A murmur spread among the officers nearby. We had nine thousand one hundred men. They had five times our numbers. Darius glanced back toward the distant host and swallowed. ''I've fought my entire life, but I've never seen anything like this. There are dozens of companies among them, outlaw clans, raiders, deserters, and every sword for hire that could be bought with coin. They look less like an army and more like a flood.''
I followed his gaze toward the horizon; the sight was impressive. A sea of banners stretched across the plain, their advance marked by a vast cloud of dust that darkened the afternoon sky. The enemy line appeared endless, a moving wall of steel and bodies that would have shaken the confidence of most armies.
Fortunately, I had not spent months preparing for this battle just to be intimidated by numbers. I knew I had to speak to the Veronians, or they may falter under such numbers; anyone would.
''Prepare for battle!" I suddenly roared.
The command rolled across the camp like thunder. ''Form up now!''
Instantly, the army moved. Officers rushed to their positions while runners carried orders throughout the camp. Horns sounded across the field, each blast triggering a different movement as thousands of soldiers began executing the battle plan we had practised so many times that it had become second nature.
I watched the legionnaires form the wings exactly as intended. Nineteen hundred marched to the left flank while another nineteen hundred took position on the right. Their shields glittered beneath the sun as ranks aligned and officers dressed the lines, creating two disciplined formations that would anchor the army's position.
At the centre stood the formations expected to endure the worst of the fighting. The Verona Swords assembled in tight ranks beside the Veteran First Cohort, whose scarred veterans waited with the calm confidence of men who had survived battles that should have killed them long ago.
Together they formed the core of the army, the anvil upon which the enemy assault would break. The archers moved onto the surrounding hills, where prepared positions overlooked the battlefield. Within minutes, hundreds of bowmen were arranged along the slopes with crates of arrows stacked nearby, ready to unleash volley after volley into the enemy ranks.
On the right flank, the Legionnaire Cavalry gathered in plain sight. Their position was deliberate. Every enemy commander looking across the field would immediately identify them as our primary mobile force and begin planning accordingly. What they would not see was what waited behind them.
Hidden behind the cavalry and concealed by the gentle rise of the terrain, Lagertha and the Verona Spears took their positions on foot. A thousand spearheads remained lowered and out of sight while officers moved quietly through the ranks, ensuring the formation remained concealed from enemy eyes.
The warriors waited in disciplined silence; their purpose was not to be seen. Their purpose was to appear precisely when the enemy least expected them. Lagertha stood at the front of the hidden formation with her axe resting across one shoulder as she watched the cavalry screen in front of her.
Beyond it lay the approaching horde, still unaware that nearly two thousand fresh infantry waited behind the horsemen like a blade concealed beneath a cloak. As the final units reached their assigned positions, the transformation was complete. The camp was gone; in its place stood an army ready for war.
Across the plain, the enemy continued its advance. The horde stretched from one side of the battlefield to the other, a chaotic mass whose sheer numbers dwarfed our own. Their confidence was obvious even from a distance; men pointed toward our lines. Standards waved triumphantly.
Entire sections of the host appeared more interested in celebrating their inevitable victory than preparing for a difficult fight. They believed they had already won; that was the first mistake.
The second would be marching exactly where I wanted them to.