Day 36, 5:40 AM
“Dum vivimus, vivamus!”
— Latin proverb
I got laid! The festivities lacked the fire and weren’t quite as intense as the last time; less ‘don’t you fucking die on me’, more ‘you’re so sweet, turning humans into meat patty for my sake’. Less urgent and more tender, but I liked it, and I think Manuella enjoyed it too.
“Are you all right?” I whisper, hugging her back.
“I am better than all right.” Her voice is steady. She neither trembles, nor shies away from me.
That’s a good sign.
I kiss her shoulder.
“So, what’s the plan for us?”
“We steer away from Ballenmir. That traitorous snot will stab us in the back after we leave, and we will have a hostile village close to home should we kill him.”
I’m not asking about the state of the kingdom or humanity in general. I meant us, like you and me. Now. Should we get up? Do you want to cuddle a bit more? Go for another round? But I guess we can be geeks and discuss strategic expansion before sunrise, too.
Deep down, I wish to complain, but rebellion isn’t a joking matter, and, grudgingly, I turn serious. “I could assassinate him. However, once our existence becomes public, everyone will know we killed him.”
She rolls away from me onto her stomach and leans on her elbows to get up. The predawn light is faint, but she is beautiful, even as a feminine outline holding a half-plank stance.
“That is a bad move. We steer away from them altogether. If the king attacks us, he will go to Ballenmir first, and either badger Ballen into joining and becoming a liability, or he will slaughter them when Ballen starts spinning empty words, helping our cause. Ballen is and always was a thorn, and anyone touching him will get pricked.”
She lowers herself and rolls onto her back.
“The only solution is to raze them, and we can’t do that. Not yet. So, we leave Ballen alone,” she repeats, the unwilling note clear in her voice, “and head straight for Krimagord, where you will repeat what you have done here. I will be closer, and we will march into town as soon as the gates open. That should help with the legitimacy and gathering more support. Coremir’s situation is horrid, and we need not do much. If we throw the baron’s corpse into the street, all able-bodied villagers will follow us, unless madam Parren lied to us.”
“And Eaglegord?” I ask about our ultimate target, using the old name, not to suck up, but because I’m more used to it. Besides, it will be Eaglegord shortly if I have any say in the matter.
“We are moving slower as a group and we will rest early whenever we take a settlement, but I hope we will reach it in twelve days. Sixteen might be more realistic. We will need to spend two days resupplying and organizing, maybe more, and giving Ballenmir a wide enough berth for the locals not to notice us will waste another day or two. News will almost certainly leak by then, and Gohen will be ready for us.” She pauses. “Are you paying attention?”
“You are beautiful,” Blunt says, Direct agrees, and I build on top of their wisdom. “I want to spend my days making you happy.”
“Are you speaking to me or my breasts?” she asks, and I raise my gaze to meet hers. The sky is brighter and her steely gaze mesmerizes me in the red dawn.
“To every inch of you.” I close in for a kiss and push her down, climbing atop of her. She returns the kiss and wraps her arms around my neck, but crosses her legs.
“We have work to do.” She pushes me away. “Fun will have to wait until we capture Eaglegord. Once we have a proper seat of power and solid walls with a thousand men in training, we can relax a bit and spend more nights the way you want.”
She pauses and stares into my eyes, probably amused by my sour face.
“I like you. We are where you wanted us to be. Where we want us to be,” she corrects herself. “We are close to our goal, and soon, every night we spend together can be like this. Is that worth waiting and a little sacrifice now?”
“It is,” I nod with a straight face, and she relaxes her guard. It’s worth countless times more. I grab her wrists and pin them above her head. I peck her on the forehead with a devilish grin and let go.
We can do this. We will raise an army big enough to meet Gohen in the field and defeat him. That bastard is the one who made Manuella suffer. I clench my jaw at the thought.
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“Are you all right?” she asks, I must have froze, staring into her face again. “Your teeth creaked.”
“I’m fine,” I growl in a low voice, which makes it obvious how fine I really am. “I just thought about how they hurt you, and how I don’t want anyone to hurt you ever again.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you, but do not think about it. That is the only way to survive. Live your life to the fullest. Pretend it never happened and move on, seizing every good thing life throws your way.”
She smiles and smooches my other cheek. “Like you.”
“God, you’re so strong.” A tear escapes me and falls into her eye, making her blink. “I wish I was that strong.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, her smile gone. Her cheerful mask cracks, revealing the vulnerable, wounded woman hiding beneath.
“Yes, I also wish I was that strong,” she whispers, and my throat clenches.
***
Day 42, 6:40 PM
Six days later, we’re close to Krimagord. We detoured around Ballen with none being the wiser, meeting an odd traveler here and there while marching down the road. Thanks to our armor and civil behavior, they believed me when I claimed that count Arangel, the county’s overlord, had sent our company with orders to hunt brigands.
I had prepared a whole spiel about the women and viscount Parren’s son being hostages we saved, but nobody asked. People meekly following a group of soldiers, dressed in cheap tunics fit for slaves don’t even earn a glance, let alone sympathy from law-abiding peddlers.
A surprising number of things has improved in these six days. We have sixty sturdy backpacks, making everyone’s life easier. Most of our cooking pots remain in Harkgord, replaced by large ox skins. Unfortunately, the book in which Hanibal’s army cooked in hides either lied, or gave an inaccurate account of how they did it, because animal skins burn, even when filled with water. You can use them once or twice, but then they are ruined. But the base idea is sound.
You can heat the stew by throwing a bunch of searing rocks into the soup after heating them in a fire. It still damages the hides, but considerably less, and I think I have a solution for that, but it will have to wait for our campaign against the king.
Training under supervision for two hours every evening helped hone my staff skill and made me realize just how stupid I was for not practicing while Manny and I traveled alone. The training also helped build some rapport between myself and the soldiers.
Despite trying my best twice, I failed to level up. I had Nugget Two tied in my backpack and ten recruits trying to kill her to earn themselves chicken dinner. I defeated them, protected the chicken outnumbered five to one, but the level up notice didn’t pop up.
My guess is I failed because my own soldiers don’t count as enemies. Stupid BSD gave no explanation even after I spent several minutes whispering various proper-sounding questions.
“Are you ready?” Manuella snaps me out of my thoughts after I wrapped up my training with the boys. “Krimagord is ten miles away. We will head out before sunrise, without breakfast. Hopefully, we’ll be there two hours after sunrise.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle this.” I turn towards the troops.
“Right, boys?” I shout.
“Right, Sir,” they shout back, sweaty and panting. And yet, this level of exercise failed to quicken my pulse.
I’ll have to do some intense training once we capture Eaglegord. Come spring I will have to lead an army and fight at the front to raise morale.
It’s a dumb thing to do, really, placing the general in the front line. I think Julius Caesar said a general at the front is just another sword. Logically speaking, he was right. But I believe that my presence, charisma, and strength will inspire the troops and boost everyone’s morale. Knowing their general is with them, even fighting at the front, leading them in every sense of the word should inspire them. And given my strength and speed, I will decimate anyone foolish enough to try claiming my head.
I flash Manny one last smile, and she graces me one before I turn around and start running.
I reach the town in the dead of night, scale the wall without a hitch, and before you know it, a dead viscount sprawls in a bed before me.
I free the mill slaves, and the rest feels like Holgord. Maybe even easier. No reluctant slaves, no second thoughts haunting me even as the mill slaves string up the viscount.
By the time Manny and the troops reach the town, the crowd is wild, shouting, “We’re not gonna take it.” But when she arrives, they go into a frenzy. Older women burst into tears, and the townsfolk drop to their knees immediately, cheering and professing loyalty.
The atmosphere is amazing. Ironically, the rotten man, whom we have to thank for this incredible reception and good mood, sways with the wind. Everyone is in high spirits and the day passes in a blur of recruitment, distributing equipment, and purchasing of slaves and supplies.
“Do you think the next place will be this easy?” I ask Manny, as she presses against my chest, illuminated by the waning moon.
“Why are you bringing that up now?” she mumbles. “It will be even easier. What worries me is Eaglegord. I think Gohen will be ready for us. We have caused too big of a disturbance and the word must be spreading.”
“I can take him. I don’t know how strong he is, but I will rip him to shreds.”
“You are much stronger than him, Aang,” she says, pushing herself up and looking me in the eye.
She’s serious, grave even, and I don’t like it. I reach for her boob, but she slaps my hand away.
“This is serious, listen to me. He is a man of war. You have been training a couple of hours a day for ten-odd days while he has been training for eight hours a day for decades. You spar with inexperienced peasants or veteran militia. He has been sparring with knights. The difference in skill is huge, and I am afraid for you.”
“You’re cute,” I say, and she looks like I slapped her.
“I am genuinely concerned for your safety,” she says. “If this rebellion fails and my brother does not appear, the king will assume him dead, and hang me. Your life and mine are linked in every sense of the word. You die, I die.”
I gulp, my playful mood deflated.
“All right. I promise I will take this more seriously. Just so you know, I’m already serious, but planning how to fight a knight while in bed with a beautiful princess is practically impossible.”
She gives me that look. It’s been some time since she last looked at me like I’m a moron.
“Then why, in the name of light did you bring up the next invasion while I’m snuggling with you?”
I’m a moron.