A day had passed. The Aklan's, with their Prince dead and their army eliminated, sued for peace. A diplomat would arrive sometime today. For now, Rory paid a visit to the camp hospital, a loose tent that stank with overpowering flowery smell—much perfume had been used to cover the stench of blood and rotting flesh. A bit frantic, he rushed over to one of the nurses, who saluted him.
"How is she?" he asked.
"Same as before, my lord."
He sighed. "Can you do nothing?"
She shook her head. "Madness falls on many soldiers. It is only natural, after what they have been through. Some recover, some do not. Only the Gods decide."
"May I visit her?"
"Yes, of course." She caught him before he left. "I will say this. Mad she may be, but what madness sent a young girl like that out on the battlefield?"
"I... I have no defense."
"Well, no matter. You are victorious. I have no right to question your methods. Go, go and see her."
He nodded and pushed through the tent flaps. There, scrunched up, hugging her knees together, was Sarra. She lifted her head and looked at him.
"Papa... is it you?"
"N-no, I am Rory Vyncis."
She didn't say anything after that, merely staring at the tent wall in front of her.
"Do you recognize me?" he asked.
"Yes," she said finally, "you visited me yesterday."
He looked at his feet. "Yes... of course... Here, I brought you some fruit." He sat it down by her bed.
"Papa says I can't eat fruit."
"Really?" he asked, making sure his tone was gentle.
"It's too expensive."
"It's okay, then. I paid for it."
"Papa says we shouldn't hold debts."
"I'm giving it you as a gift. No debts."
She looked at him, then slowly nodded and reached out for an apple. She began to eat it, slowly and deliberately. Rory watched her for a while, but heard someone calling for him.
"I'll be back soon, alright?" he promised.
She didn't respond.
Outside, a few uniformed figures saluted him. "My lord."
"You are the Roniceri I stationed in Ien?"
"Yes, my lord."
"You did well. Where is the masked one? Your leader?"
That would be Gilas, wouldn't it...
"He went back to Illan, my lord."
His eyes widened. "What!?"
"He went back to Illan Tykis, my lord."
"When?"
"After you gave out our orders, my lord. He told us his intentions and left."
"And you let him leave?"
"You... you didn't order us to stop him, my lord. If... if you wish, we shall go and assassinate him."
Rory shook his head. "No, don't do that. That damned Illan..."
"Rory!" Cairn called.
"What is it?" he asked, turning around.
"The diplomat from Aklan is here. He waits in the Cathedral as you asked."
"Thank you. Come, Cairn."
A table was placed inside the main hall of the Cathedral. In one of the chairs sat a man. His hair was still a health brown, but his cheeks were engraved with laugh lines and small wrinkles. He wore the same robes all Aklan men did, colored in imperial purple.
"Rory Vyncis. We are deeply apologetic. The late Prince Marcus, against all good council, acted against you in a fit of insanity. We are willing to make any amends."
Sure he did...
Rory smiled. "Of course. Now, onto business. I have 14,000 prisoners."
The man bowed slightly. "We are offering 50 million gild for their ransom."
A good sum. Rory would not be too demanding; painful war concessions ruined Europe in the late 19th Century, and he would not make the same mistake. "Very good. I accept."
"Thank you. His Majesty wishes to inform you that war reparations will be decided at a later time, when we have consolidated our assets."
"That is fine. Now," Rory said, snapping, "we shall also send him over."
Some of his men brought out a wooden coffin.
"Prince Marcus' body."
The diplomat looked genuinely sad—an expert, that he was.
Rory shook his head lightly. "I pay you my respects. He died as any Aklan should."
"Honorably, in battle. I thank you." He took a drink of water offered to him.
Rory smirked. "No, actually, he took one of my friend's prisoner. I poured poison down his throat and stabbed him in the gut with his own sword."
The man began to choke on his drink. "M-my, lord...!?"
"Oh? What about it?"
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He quickly gathered himself, wiping the water off his robes. "...nothing. I... was merely surprised at your martial prowess."
Rory looked down at himself. "Yes, I am not large in statue, but I have a great deal of time."
The man's eyes shifted around nervously. "I-I should take my leave."
"Please do. Tell your master that he should pick his client's more carefully."
He gave a small start. He knew the plot, then? A confident to the King of Aklan? Well, it was no matter.
He shuffled out, looking a little flummoxed.
Rory noticed Cairn walking towards him.
"What is it?"
"Are you finished with the diplomat?" he asked.
"Yes. It was a quick business," Rory said, waving his hand, "the actual negotiations will begin in a few months. Mostly, they want to buy their prisoner's back. Need some kind of army, after all."
Cairn handed him a piece of parchment. "I have a letter, here. From King Hellbram."
Rory took it and began to read. He laughed when he finished.
"What was so funny?"
"Oh, nothing. I knew this would happen. The Aklan's will send us the 50 million gild sometime this day. Dispense it among the men."
"All of it?" he asked, alarmed.
"All of it."
"Building your reputation once more?"
"Of course," he said with an exaggerated flourish.
Rory began to walk out with Cairn following.
"You know what the people call you these days?"
"What? It's not 'sister-fucker' or some variation, is it?"
Cairn smiled. "They call you the Gunpowder God."
"I'm a God now?"
"You rained death and called fire upon your enemies. Is that not what a god does?"
"Technology, Cairn."
"No matter," he laughed. "If the Gods are the masters of all wisdom, and technology derives from wisdom, then what is the man who dispenses technology but a God?"
"Since when have you been so full of wit, Cairn?"
"I have spent a great deal more time reading these days. If not antiquated works, then your blasted records."
"Hope you had fun." Rory stopped for a minute. "The time is right..." he murmured. "Cairn, call assembly."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
He nodded and set off.
Half an hour later, Rory stood on a small platform erected in the middle of his war camp, all 10,000 or so remaining troops standing in attention before him.
"You have done a great thing these past few weeks. In less than two months, you men went from tending to your soil to massacring the finest fighting force on the continent! A mere 11,000 of you faced off against 100,000 Aklans, and you won! 1,000 troops died on our side. 70,000 died on their side. There is not a single Vyncis that is held prisoner. 14,000 Aklans are held captive here. A heroic victory! Today, the Aklans come here, their tail tucked under, offering us 50 million gild for those captives—that is how thoroughly we destroyed their fighting forces. 50 million gild! As you all were the ones that did the deed, I am distributing all of the 50 million to you."
A cheer rose up among the men. Rory held up his hand and waited for it to die down.
"Now, there is another matter." He held the letter up. "A message, from King Hellbram, who did nothing when the Aklans were invading our land, who prevented the Ayell's from helping until Aria ordered to the contrary. He says that I am a hero. He also request that I immediately disband my armed forces and come to the capital for an award."
A few murmurs rose up.
"Some of the brighter ones may already have noticed. Why did he not help us? Why did he hold the Ayell knights back? Why do I need to immediately disband my forces? He was the one who sent the Aklans! He invited them! All to ruin the Vyncis. Well, he saw how that worked out! Now, we are the only standing army in Adringum—an army that has faced 100,000 men and won! He is afraid!"
It was clear his plan. Some of the men cheered, but some were unhappy. They wanted to go back to the families, not fight a civil war.
"He has invited me back as a hero! To “honor” me! Will you let me take that "honor" alone!? Will you leave me to face them alone!? After I shed blood with you, ate with you, killed with you, will you let me go alone?"
It was too much. There was a unanimous cry of "No!”
"Come! Let us march to the capital! Let the King give us his "honor"—together!"
"Vyncis! Vyncis! Vyncis!" cheered the men.
Rory looked over the men and smiled. Well, Aria. It is done. The die is cast.