Leonard didn’t often wonder what his family would think of him now. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he simply was too busy for idle speculation. Every day the army marched forth, he needed to be there to guide its path, protect it from mistakes that would have spelled an early end, and lift the red and gold standard of the Revolution up for everyone to see that change was inevitable.
But today, he spared a few minutes to think about his father. He hadn’t been a very complex man. Indeed, he was prone to fits of anger that burned out just as quickly as they came. He was never violent, but it was apparent emotional control wasn’t his forte.
Still, sometimes, he had sage advice to give. “It’s just when you think things are going well that life fucks you up. Never, ever take success for granted. Work for it until you have firmly grasped it, and even then, keep your guard up because the scavengers come out when you think it’s over.”
So, more to honor his father’s advice than out of any genuine belief that things would go wrong, Leonard kept his guard up. The consequences of failing here would be massive, and he couldn’t afford to start over again.
His trusty horse calmly trotted below him, enjoying the wind and the rustling grass. Around him, an honor guard of his greatest soldiers marched in a tight ring, scrutinizing every inch of the ground and sky, ready for anything.
It was all more for show than out of a need to protect him. Everyone supposed to come to the meeting knew Leonard alone would be more than enough to take Treon with force, but appearances had to be maintained.
The city’s towering walls painted a picturesque backdrop to what would surely be told in the history books as the first major victory of the Revolution. Taking Treon would not just put sixty thousand souls into Leonard’s hands but also complete the southern conquest. With it, the Serpent Sea belt was entirely taken, and he could turn his attention northward, with a self-sufficient base at his back to provide the supplies he’d need for the next phase.
The city’s wards flickered for a moment, and the gates opened, letting a contingent of local leaders out.
If Leonard had been more open to dishonor, he would have attacked then and there. Wards were not made to make exceptions, especially ancient ones like Treon’s. If he had attacked with a [Sunrise Crescent], he would have destroyed their stability, possibly without causing a catastrophic backlash.
But he decided to trust in his people. The few losses he had faced so far had taught him the necessity of having competent commanders to take the wheel when he was elsewhere, and he couldn’t cultivate any if he kept holding their hands.
He’d be ready for things to go tits up, but for the moment, he’d trust Damien and Neer to have done their jobs.
An old man led the local delegation, wearing the robes of an Archmage and having done his best to fit the stereotype. A staff of silver pine hung at his sides, close enough to act as a focus but far enough to make it understood he wasn’t expecting a fight. Behind him, the famed Merida the Giantslayer, Guildmistress of Treon and terror of the Eturian Plains, looked directly at him with the same hunger Leonard recognized in all warriors who desperately wanted to test themselves against the new power in the block. Luckily, she didn’t issue a challenge, though Leonard made a mental note to offer her a spar. Sometimes, that was all it took to earn a battle fanatic’s loyalty.
Behind them, at enough of a distance to signify their lower rank in the delegation, was a group of armed commanders dressed in the city watch’s uniform. They seemed quite downtrodden, but he couldn’t identify a spark of defiance.
Good. I trust Damien to direct the takeover and Neer to eliminate the most troublesome elements, but their belligerence would have been an annoying roadblock.
Lastly, riding horses clad in decorative trinkets and dressed in richer fabrics, came the economic powers of the city: wealthy merchants, guild masters of the various trades, and even what he thought might be a cartel leader fronting as an alchemist, if he remembered the briefing correctly.
No pavilion awaited them, as the two sides couldn’t agree on who should raise it and how to decide what spells would be used. Leonard could have forced the issue, but he didn’t feel the need. It was likely a small test meant to see how heavily he’d weigh in, but it didn’t matter. None of it would matter once his grip on the city was assured.
“The Grand Marshal of the Glorious Revolution! The Hero of the Light! The Slayer of the Void! Ace of the Air! All hail Sir Leonard Weiss!” One of the soldiers shouted once they came to a halt, startling a few of the merchants with the volume of his voice.
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Leonard fought the embarrassed flush, still not entirely used to all the titles he had acquired recently. At least he wouldn’t have to conduct the talks himself. His presence had been deemed enough.
A shout of “Hail!” Resounded through the plain, and Treon’s delegation had the good sense to also greet him. He was supposed to be their new head of state, after all. It was not good for business to anger the person holding the big stick.
As the echo of the salutes faded, General Gerard Dortmund stepped forward, his bearing as calm and steady as always. He was a man of few words, but those words were always chosen with care, and the gathered representatives knew enough of his fame to take him very seriously.
“Welcome,” Gerard began, stilling any lingering murmurs. He met the eyes of each representative in turn, ensuring they all felt involved. “We’ve gathered here today to discuss the terms under which Treon will join the Revolution. But first, I must ask—do you all come in good faith?”
There was a brief silence as the assembled representatives exchanged glances. It was an old ritual not often used in these times, but that was mostly because Haylich’s cities hadn’t been put under siege in a long while.
Archmage Laurentis was the first to respond. “We do. Our hearts and minds are true,” he said firmly, dispelling any lingering doubt in his followers. “We understand the stakes and the need for a peaceful resolution.”
Merida the Giantslayer also affirmed her willingness, though her eyes were still locked on Leonard. The other members of the delegation followed suit, some with eager nods, others more hesitant. The merchants and guild leaders, who had the most to lose in any prolonged conflict, looked particularly eager to avoid a fight.
“Good,” Gerard rumbled. “Then let us begin.”
The Archmage, Guildmistress, and Gerard took their places at the center of the gathering while the rest of the delegation formed a loose circle around them. There was some lingering tension in the air, understandable as the locals had no idea if the basic framework that had been given to them would be respected, but it was underlined with a shared understanding: the time for posturing was over. The Revolution had won, and they could only haggle so much.
Gerard opened the negotiations with the most pressing demand of the Revolution. “Treon must come entirely under Revolutionary rule,” he stated clearly. “This must be clear to everyone, and there cannot be any doubt of our supremacy. Its people must be finally released from the tyranny of the old regime. All slaves will be freed, effective immediately.”
The Archmage nodded, his expression one of grave understanding. “We anticipated this, and we agree. The practice of slavery is an abomination, and it’s long past time that Treon ends it. However,” he added, raising a hand before Gerard could speak, “we ask that the transition be handled with care. Many of those who will be freed have no means of supporting themselves, and we need assurances that they will not be abandoned to their fate.”
Is this old man really trying to play the abolitionist with us? Light, he has some balls.
To be honest, Leonard was more amused than angry. It took some courage to stare down a decorated General who had led an army through a dozen battles and freed over a hundred thousand slaves and tell him he needed assurances they wouldn’t be abandoned.
Knowing Gerard, he likely agreed but kept a perfect poker face. “The Revolution will provide for them. As we have done for all the people we have freed, we will establish systems to ensure they are fed, housed, and given opportunities to earn their livelihoods according to their Blessings.”
Once that point was agreed, and a soldier had written down the terms on an enchanted roll of parchment, the Guildmistress spoke next. “We also need to discuss the city’s businesses. Treon’s economy is its lifeblood, and we cannot afford to disrupt it. We ask that you allow the merchants and guilds to continue operating as they have, without interference. Adventurers should be free to hunt monsters and sell their loot without undue tax. We understand that a contribution might be needed in times of war, but we ask you to think in the long term. A flourishing economy will provide much more to your coffers than a dried-out husk.”
It was a surprisingly cogent request from a woman with the fame of being a battle maniac, especially in a world where economics was little more than an obscure field of study. Still, it aligned with what had been their modus operandi so far.
Gerard looked to the Archmage and the Guildmistress, then turned to Leonard, who had remained silent but observant throughout the discussion. After a brief exchange of looks, Leonard gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
“We agree,” Gerard said, turning back to the delegation. “Businesses will be left alone. We have no interest in disrupting commerce or harming the livelihoods of Treon’s people. However,” he added, his tone frigid, “we will not tolerate any attempts to undermine the Revolution or the new order. Those who refuse to adapt and contribute their fair share will face the consequences.”
There was a moment of silence as the weight of his words settled over the gathered leaders. The merchants shifted uncomfortably but nodded, understanding that resistance would only lead to ruin.
Merida, who had likely encountered much scarier beings in her career, leaned forward, undaunted. “One last point. No one who doesn’t volunteer should be forced to work or fight for the army. The people of Treon are not soldiers and should not be treated as such unless they wish for it.”
Leonard shifted minutely on his horse, allowing a tiny portion of his aura to manifest.
Merida flinched back, and Laurentis paled dramatically. The other delegates looked ready to pass out, holding their breath in an instinctive reaction to a threat they couldn’t comprehend.
Message received, Leonard pulled his mana back in.
“We have no intention to massively conscript the citizens at this moment, but we reserve the right to decide on military matters on our own. We will tolerate no interference on this.” Gerard replied, unaffected by the wave of terror that had gone through the locals.
No one dared to raise a complaint after that.
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One would think that the army could march into the city as soon as the agreement was signed, but things weren’t so simple. First, a route had to be planned for each corps since the castle wasn’t big enough to host everyone, and the local barracks needed to be checked over for possible traps.
Secondly, the Security Forces required some time to establish a cordon around the planned path to ensure no one would be foolish enough to try anything.
Lastly, the sprawling revolutionary camp had to be broken so that they could move to more permanent allocations.
Eventually, after several hours of waiting, the signal was given. Leonard, heading the now massive army and surrounded by an honor guard ten times as big as the previous one, decked in the official uniform, urged his horse toward the open gates.
As soon as he stepped in, a wall of sound hit him.