With the Camelot taking the centerpiece role of our march, floating above the army like an actual omen of our inevitable victory, Mirian’s army, my Uncle’s troops, and my forces pushed forward, doing our best to reach the Capital before it could get its reinforcements. The combined might of our soldiers, bolstered by my mechs walking ahead of them, acting as the tip of the spearhead, cleared the way for us surprisingly well. The sheer scale of what we amassed was unlike anything Ishillians had ever seen—evident from the fact that any smaller settlement we passed wanted to do nothing to stop us so far. Even if they were loyal to Pascal, just looking at us was enough to make them raise the white flag, especially after being scared by my planes, flying overhead of them, and scouting the path before us.
When we had set out early in the morning, Mirian, by then, had dealt with the captured forces swiftly and decisively. Most of the people who surrendered willingly went ahead and pledged fealty to her cause and were absorbed into the supply chain. Most of them were assigned to logistical work, scouting, or intelligence gathering, being sent out to all directions. Of course, we knew that they may still be loyal to Pascal, but it didn’t matter. Even if they were, what they would spread would be the news of our strength and the story of how we crushed our enemies. If nothing else, it would be a perfect weapon against their morale. If they did speak honestly about joining Mirian, then they could simply turn people to her side with honest propaganda, making the future much more manageable for her.
Some were even given a chance to serve under Mirian's officers in her camp to foster their loyalty and demonstrate Mirian’s magnanimity. This should reinforce the outlook that she is a merciful Empress who will pardon her people as long they ask for it with openness. However, there were still those who resisted or were caught clearly remaining loyal to the Eternal Emperor and were executed without hesitation. At this time, we had little patience for dead weight, and neither did Mirian.
Thankfully, after a day or two, we settled into a comfortable pace despite the size of our army and the different units making it up. According to our calculations, we should reach the Capital in only a week or so, taking the straight road towards it and cutting through a dozen minor nobles' territories, meaning mostly Earls and Viscounts. Well, right until we would reach the border of the Central region. There, we had to go through a loyal Duke’s territory, one who was the first to swear fealty to Pascal after Mirian's escape… But, as far as we were concerned, even if he had any army under his command, most of it should serve either in the South, defending against the Geth Empire’s intrusion, or be transferred to the East, taking the bait we planted.
True enough, after a week or so, we encountered the first signs of actual resistance when we crossed into the region of Duke Itelhad.
The first settlements and garrisons we encountered there still bore the Ishillian and the Duke’s own chalice-like banners, their defenders preparing for a fight. They most likely knew of our army coming, but probably not about its composition. The first smaller border city we had encountered, the moment they saw the advancing mechs at the front, they hesitated. Then they looked up, seeing the Camelot and the Judgement flying next to it... I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the nobles ruling the city called their sudden meeting to decide what to do.
Of course, I did hope that word managed to spread like wildfire ahead of us, especially as we continued to travel. I wanted everyone we released to run and tell outrageous tales of our ‘metal beasts,’ our flying fortress, and our skull-faced reapers with fire-spewing weapons. The more outlandish and the more scary, the better. I wouldn’t deny anything, not even if they say my Avalon is the nest of the devil. As for whether it worked this quickly or not, I don’t know, but to my surprise, these bunch were of sensible minds, sparing us from having to waste time bombarding a city and losing people trying to take something we didn't really need.
And it didn't stop there.
Some of these Ishillian commanders and nobles under the Duke, realizing they stood no chance, immediately ordered their men to lay down their weapons and pledge loyalty to Mirian herself. They betrayed their Duke on the spot, putting all the blame on him and his family for forcing everyone else to remain loyal to the ‘Mad Emperor.’ Heh... like hell if I believe that. They were simply opportunists, and Mirian knew it, too, but it was advantageous for us, so we said nothing. As our army passed through more of these satellite territories controlled by the Duke’s appointed lesser lords, keeping our pace up, it was the same everywhere.
I watched as many rushed to swear fealty to Mirian before we even arrived at their gates. Hells, they were waiting for us, greeting us with broad smiles. If anything, these little bastards were pragmatic men, the type who saw which way the wind was blowing, bowing to it without blushing. They welcomed Mirian’s forces with open gates and feasts, their banners lowered as a sign of surrender.
This is why I wouldn’t want to rule an enormous empire like Ishillia. You would need to delegate territories, leaving them to others, and then… who knows what kind of ambitions start to fester, deviating from your vision. There will always be people who will think they know better, and they may really do. Which then leads to a struggle for power… And headache. Fuck that. Avalon is enough, and the moment this is all over, I will take a break for at least a year! Do nothing but… enjoy life. My wives… and my children.
With that in mind, I mostly let Mirian handle the diplomacy on our march. All the sub-regions of the Duke fell with barely any resistance, their nobility switching allegiance in the hopes of survival at the snap of a finger. For every city that surrendered, Mirian’s forces also grew. Deserters and defectors were welcomed, her ranks swelling as we continued our journey. It was becoming clear that we would arrive at the Capital with a much larger force than we started out with. A welcomed surprise.
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Each time this happened, Mirian spoke before the people of these cities, delivering a message of unity and restoration, building her own little legend before taking the throne back. She promised a new Ishillia, one free from oppression, where the people would no longer suffer under the weight of continuous tyranny. As for how effective these speeches were, we would only know it in the future, but holding the legendary Spear of Death from the Goddess Ariana herself in her hand did have an impact.
Or it could be our war machines and the Camelot that reinforced their belief that this was the winning side. Who knows? The effect was still the same. How could the Eternal Emperor’s forces hope to defeat an army that commanded the skies and wielded weapons beyond anything he had at his disposal? Heh, he never even left the Capital, so he was a nonexistent figure for most people… Unlike Mirian, standing right there and then. So, each noble that joined swore an oath of loyalty to Mirian, bringing their own troops and resources along with us, further bolstering our march to the Capital. I had only one question, which Sasha also asked Mirian at one of our meetings.
"How long will it take for them to betray us?"
Not that any of us would have an answer for it, and she didn't expect one either.
Though not all bowed willingly. There were fanatical pockets of resistance, strongholds of the local Duke and Pascal’s most devout followers who refused to surrender. Especially after we were in their core province and passing through it. These self-proclaimed bastions of Ishillian loyalty believed Pascal to be a divine ruler, one chosen to lead Ishillia to eternal glory. Or something like that; I didn’t really pay attention to their defiant declarations. For me, it was enough that to them, Mirian was a heretic, an abomination who threatened their sacred empire, stealing their artifact.
When we confronted the first such city, they did not negotiate. They declared they would fight to the last man, that they would set their own castle ablaze rather than letting it fall into our hands. Of course, that was fine by me, so we wiped them out without hesitation. First, we bombarded the city into ruin. Then, my mechs stormed the remaining fortifications, leveling anything that still stood and crushing its defenders underfoot.
Even if they gave up halfway through, once we started, I ordered them not to stop. They had the chance to give up; they chose otherwise. So they would be served exactly what they ordered. It also helped to keep those who joined Mirian in line, witnessing what would have been their fate if they kept up their previous loyalty. By the time the first resisting city fell, blood ran through the streets, and most of the buildings were leveled, reduced to smoking rubble. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of incinerated bodies as we left behind a clear message to others.
Luckily, not every place in the core of the Duke’s land was manned by his more fanatical troops. There were farmlands and towns where people were simply trying to live.
As we moved through them, the local common folk gathered to watch our unstoppable march, usually staring in awe and fear at the sheer size and scale of our troops, already above 200,000 souls. Even without asking, I gathered that the sight of the Camelot hovering above them, shadowing their whole town, left many of them speechless. Some probably rejoiced, believing Mirian to be their savior, while others feared us as monsters. I explicitly ordered my men to keep an eye on Miran’s newest recruits and intervene if they try to take anything from these towns. Nobles, gripping their power with two hands, I would massacre, but regular people who just wanted to live should be allowed to do so.
It was like this when we finally reached the last hurdle, the main city of Duke Itelhad, the final hindrance before entering the Central Region.
His city was built around an overbuilt stronghold on the top of a tall hill, a thousand-year-old fortress whose walls probably had seen a few hundred skirmishes and campaigns, if not more. It could have been a historical site… Too bad because it could not even match what we were throwing at it. Mirian, Elliot, and I stood on the command deck of the Camelot, watching as our forces prepared for the assault surrounding the city.
“I should be amongst your mechs,” Mirian muttered, biting her lips.
“Or on your ship,” Elliot added.
“We will reserve that for the Capital.” I put in, “I don’t want you to risk it before the finale. We can’t underestimate them, so we will do this the safe way. Pascal’s loyalists will fight to the death. I don’t know what he told them to do so, or maybe he put a spell on them… Anyway, the Duke has nothing left to lose, so he is unpredictable.”
“Sovereign,” Oleg stepped up, adjusted his uniform, and saluted me properly. “Our forces are ready. The mechs are in position, and the howitzers are on standby.”
“Was there any change in their response?” Mirian asked, her gaze never leaving the city.
“No.” Oleg shook his head, no actual emotions in his voice.
We sent out our final warning to the Duke and the city. They must surrender, or there won’t be anything left of the city. We will reduce it to rubble as we did with every other resisting fortress he had. I didn’t expect anything to happen… those were fanatical, too, making me think there was indeed some kind of mind-altering spell used on them. Just thinking about it, I glanced at Kustov, who stood at the helm, hands clasped behind his back, looking at the projection of the outside world, making sure we missed nothing. The irony of the situation didn’t escape me, but… oh well. What’s done is done.
“I hoped they would stop this…” Mirian sighed as she really wanted to spare as many of our forces as possible. She even delivered her speech through the Camelot’s systems, letting it echo loudly over the city. But––
“There is something!” Kustov shouted, drawing my attention. After he waved to Elena to sharpen the image, we saw that soldiers were waving franticly and standing atop the walls. Others were cutting down the Duke's banners and throwing weapons down the walls… And then I saw it.
“Oh…” Elliot whistled, making me form a small smile.
From the looks of it, some kind of knight or probably an officer of the Duke’s army was waving and shouting at Camelot, standing atop one of the towers… holding a severed head, grabbing its graying hair, and holding it up as high as he could force himself to do so without falling over.
“I guess…” I looked at Mirian with a raised eyebrow. “Is that our Duke?”
“Yes…” she nodded, letting out a long sigh, “It is his head.”
“Well,” I clapped, turning back at the image, “It seems we won’t need to spend too much time assaulting this city, after all.”