Edward and Elliot both threw up on the ramp when they saw the aftermath of the carnage in person.
AVCEs and Engineer’s bulldozers were pushing piles of bodies into mass graves and makeshift funeral pyres. The acrid smell of dried blood and the stench of rotting corpses were immense. But the mushed-up ones that had been crushed under vehicles were possibly the worst sight and smell of them all.
At least the road had seemingly been cleared, as well as the spot they had landed on, with columns of trucks and APCs already streaming across the hastily reinforced bridge. One especially disturbing thing that they found during that work was the set of black powder charges fitted to the underside of the bridge, the kingdom’s last resort.
His gut felt like it was turning itself inside out as the last set of dry heaves made his mouth dribble with saliva mixed with vomit.
Edward then finally had the opportunity to pat Elliot’s back, sweeping a bit of his hair out of his face as the diplomat hurled up one final time.
A slow clapping then came from right behind him, as Victor walked up, carrying a wet cloth over one arm, “Well, I see you’ve sniffed the roses already then, ey? Catch.”
Victor tossed the cloth towards them, with Edward completely failing to catch it, with the only thing stopping it from falling into the puddle of sick on the floor, being Elliot’s far better reactions.
“Here-“ He gagged, Elliot pushing the cloth into Edward’s hands just before falling into a fit of dry heaves of his own.
“R-Right…” Edward stuttered, quickly wiping off the dribbles of saliva and stomach acid off of his coat. He’d thought to bring his great coat given the chilly weather of the brightening day, but he hadn’t quite account for the stench. “You’ve got the POW?”
Victor nodded, “Right in the fort over there, got him in a dungeon under it. Discovered it while clearing it out, but there weren’t really any incidents during that.”
Edward started to clean Elliot front, his expression not changing from its sour neutral one. “Well then, you lead the way and us two will do the rest. I’m sure you have a lot more things you need to deal with right now.”
“Then let’s get you two out of this fucking stench then. I can barely stand it myself despite my iron lungs.”
Edward nodded, bringing Elliot along with him as they walked through the graveyard that this area had become, Elliot looking down for the entire time. He his head bowed down for the entire way there, not moving his sight or head at all until they stepped into the dungeon.
The dungeon was a dark place, with only a few rays of light streaming from slits near the celling. It smelled of damp, sweat and several other things that were too unpleasant to mention, but at least they somewhat masked the other smells from outside…
And here was the prisoner, a huddled-up man, garbed in thick, woollen clothes, with a rusted skullcap left tossed aside in a corner. The man himself was a little skinny with light, sun kissed skin that contrasted with the blotches of dirt on his face and hands, wiry brown hair left unkept too.
Edward’s eyes softened a little upon seeing him, his state almost making a tear drop from his face, with Elliot, however, unable to hold back on letting his eyes wet.
He signalled for a pale soldier with curly black hair to open the door, the two visitors entering, the admiral pulling a stool behind him. For a moment he thought about offering the man a sweet from his pocket. Edward then realised that offering something called a “Jelly Baby” to a man as shaken as this would be a bad idea.
Instead, he cleared his throat, trying to be gentle with it while still drawing attention.
The man slowly looked up, their eyes trembling as they saw Edward as they rushed to prostrate themselves, a move that made Edward deeply uncomfortable.
“Y-You don’t have to do that mate, please, sit down where you want.”
The man looked up again, a flash of understanding crossing over his face as he got up, swallowing to reply, “Well t’ank you ‘y- Uh-“
“Call me Fletcher. And so, your name is?”
“Ken- Kenri…” they stuttered, regaining a little of their composure as they settled onto the hard cot by the wall, “S-supose T’ey were righ’ abou’ you lot!”
“Right about what?”
“T’at you aren’ like t’e nobles, you aren’ all above us.”
Another thing struck Edward, his mind starting to trundle along, “But, who’s this person you keep talking about now, the person who told you this?”
Kenri swallowed, “W-well… You see, t’e church and t’e nobles d-don’ like us talkin’ abou’ it, bu’ a lot of us country and lower folk know the truth about you angels and of Ifcan and such…”
“Go on…”
“T’at the first prophet was false and a liar! A-and Ifcan doesn’ tell people to do half t’e t’ings t’ey say he does! But they said it was heresy and burn’ a load of us! And we know you are angels of Ifcan, t’ey say you’re of Chin but we know better!”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Holy shit. It was both absolutely horrible and one of the best pieces of news yet. Both news of people being burnt at the stake for getting their supposed “prophet” was a manipulative bastard and a vital part of a hearts and mind campaign revealing themselves at the same time… And the artillery in the battle probably killed hundreds of people who would have surrendered if they were given the chance…
Edward glanced towards Elliot, who’s brows were furrowed. He beckoned Elliot to lean over so he could whisper in their ear, “Whats wrong?”
Elliot shook their head, “I-I know multiple languages, but… But I didn’t get half of what he said. I’m not that good with accents…”
They both locked eyes for a moment before Edward whispered back the translation of what Kenri had said, Elliot’s eyes widening as his jaw dropped.
“W-wha-“ Elliot stammered, “They murdered them!? Over religion!?”
“It’s the medieval period mate, they don’t exactly take those differences well. And this religious difference also completely undermines the authority of the church and the nobility, destroying their divine mandate to rule in the eyes of their subjects. It’s a major issue for them and they don’t care about killing people they see as their lessors…”
A thought clicked into his mind. It was a thought of questionable morality, but it was an idea that would spread support for them, and solve some of the garrisoning issues if it worked…
But the morality of it all! It’d be manipulating an entire belief system that was already create for manipulation, one that he was trying to give these people the opportunity to break free from! But this might only cement its control further, only transferring who was the master in the relationship.
But. But through it they can take the first step of deposing the current masters and then reveal the full truth. thereby giving everyone the information, they need to decide to be free. Hell, they could even keep their beliefs if they wanted but they would at least know that it wasn’t the one way to think about the world…
Edward turned to Kenri and asked, “Kenri, how would you feel about bringing the remaining followers of the truth together to fight with Ifcan? And about spreading the truth to your comrades?”
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King William sat on his throne as usual, his heart feeling like it was clenched by some spirit. It’d been like this for over a week now, the tension from not knowing what was happening in the battle against Chin felt like it was killing him at this point. But there was nothing he could do about it but hope for the best.
The petitioner’s requests dragged on as usual, but now with the war there were a lot more calls for aid and people offering up resources directly to the crown for the fight.
But any mention of the war just made the tightness in his chest worse. His body was crumbling on itself. He cursed his age and the last two rough years for taking so much of his strength away from him, especially at such a crucial time for the kingdom.
Heigfal seemed to be rather off as well as of late, ever since he informed the court of the true nature of the so-called diplomats they had met. William had been trying to decipher it, but he could not with his mind occupied with so many other things.
Just as he started to dose off in a lull in the court, he felt someone poke his arm, looking up to see Heigfal, swallowing before leaning in, “My king, I have something very, very important to tell you. And we cannot talk about it her-“
The large wooden doors to the main hall opened, cutting off Heigfal as the king’s guard by it announced, “Your Majesty, the Forgotten of the Down Bellow and their representative, Alpha.”
Everyone in the room stared at the newcomers, eyes wide.
A small procession of the forgotten walked in. They were cloaked in deep brown fabric suits that covered their entire body, with sturdy black shoes on their feet and their faces obscured by odd masks that let no one see their eyes through black glass. Their breaths were noticeably laboured as they walked, their suits constraining the rising and falling of their chests and their backs carrying large packs connected to their masks.
Everyone parted way for them as they strode towards the king, the sound of their shoes beating against the floor resounding all around in the silence. The smell of acrid compounds wafting off of them.
Then, without bowing, they spoke.
“I praise the day, king.” Alpha’s voice resonated, it’s sound muffled by the mask, “And I have come baring new of our progress. Your funding has finally allowed us to put our knowledge to practise and we praise thee for it.”
William swallowed, “And I thank you for your quick work. Now… What do you have to show us?”
Alpha bowed their head, taking a parchment roll from one of their entourage and offering it, “We have developed a new gun for your smiths and have made several of our own examples. This is only the very earliest parts of our knowledge we have managed to produce, a steppingstone. We will soon have the weapons you and your commander truly desire…”
A king’s guard knight moved forward and retrieved to the parchment, handing it to one his aids.
“And an example for your smiths to examine as well…”
A new, shining handgun was unwrapped in front of the king. It didn’t look very different from a regular handgun, but there was no matchlock, instead a piece of flint was in it’s place and the barrel seemed a lot more refined.
“And we do have more to show you. Weapons and plans for ambushes so you may have something to use against your enemy sooner rather than later.”
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The flow of schematics and of knowledge continued for hours. Then it was time for dinner, then William decided he’d stay a little in his throne room, even as darkness started to fall.
He wasn’t quite sure why. It might have been some nostalgia from soon after he took the throne after his mother abdicated and before her death… At that time everything felt so exciting and new, everything seemed possible, and the future was bright. But over time he realised that reality was not always as kind at it first appeared.
The time of his rule had been somewhat stable at least. There had been a few wars, but the borders had stayed mostly stable. But this war threatened everyone. This war was not like the others at all. Had he made the right decision to immediately go against them? Should he had tried to trick them in turn? Lead them along? But all those decisions were in the past and he had to live with them now, like everyone else in the kingdom.
His brooding was broken by the doors being opened again by the guards. But what greeted him now, was not good news. In the now fire lit halls stood Duke Nathaniel, stained in blood, dirt and sweat, his clothes damaged and dirtied and the man himself barely able to stand up.
He staggered forwards, taking shaky step after step towards the throne before finally collapsing on his knees. “Your Majesty, the enemy now have the bridge. There was nothing I can do. But now, I need to go to my quarters and I apologise for my state.” His voice was incredibly stable despite his state, only display a slight warble.
The duke then stood up, wrapped his arm around a knight that rushed to his side, and staggered out with them. Not saying another word.
A flood of thoughts went into William’s head, swirling around and around. The worst had come, they had a clean shot to the capital now and would be there within days! It was a bit over 120 miles from the bridge, a march that would not be that taxing on an experienced army. Who was left even of the forces that had held the bridge. How many of those trooped had survived and had not ran to the hills!?
Even more thoughts started to emerge. The most prominent one of which was, “Oh Fack.”