It’s been several months since Pope Vespasia sent out her call for soldiers across the Holy Continent. A new year had come about, and the calm of spring was already settling onto the land. The breeze itself promised perfect weather for the campaign.

Looking from the top of the castle's citadel, Franc could see the last of the military forces that were finally trickling into the rallying point at the base of Crag Overlook Castle, an impenetrable fortress nestled at the northern reaches of the Secondian Kingdom.

The total forces assembled numbered nearly eighty-five thousand—an imposing force to put a stop to the ambitions of the Dark Lord. All the nations that were directly ordered to provide troops had readily complied. To join a crusade was a high honour amongst the nations of the Holy Continent even without orders to do so, many more nations provided troops.

Looking down at the sea of neatly arranged tents, Franc couldn’t help but sigh. His liege, Duke Maxillius, had sent him to lead a contingent of knights and soldiers to join the crusade. This was, in truth, the last thing Franc wanted. He was more comfortable spending his time around his many mistresses rather than wasting time on a battlefield. However, he would not shirk his duty when ordered to. His loyalty to Maxillius superseded even his own wants.

“My Lord, the generals have requested your presence,” a squire announced, standing to attention with a ramrod straight posture.

“Oh, I suppose it is about time we sort out who’s going where,” Franc replied with a half smile as he stepped away from the parapet, making his way to the main hall where the various lords were gathering.

Walking through the hallway of the castle, he could see portraits of previous lords that had led crusades, even the ones that almost didn’t fail. Such was the case of the crusades of the past, not a single one had succeeded.

However, It never stopped the Theocracy. Everyone thought theirs would be the one to finally claim victory. He knew that regardless of the outcome of the current one, his likeness would be up on this wall. The thought of such a notion led him to a fanciful thought of ladies swooning at his handsome face.

He stepped through the doors to the hall with only a casual wave to those standing around the central table. Ignored the disapproving glares being sent his way, Franc settled into the remaining open spot. In total, there were ten beings that were the commanders of the arrayed forces—Eight true humans and two subhumans.

“G-good, we are all here now. I am, as I’m sure you are aware, Bishop Andglang,” a young man wearing priestly robes with armour plates awkwardly attached began his eyes sweeping over the assembled commanders.

“I will admit I am new to all this military stuff,” he gestured to the table with a map of the spider's pathway drawn out on it. “But I h-hope you will all stick with me through this most glorious endeavour.”

Bishop Andglang, despite his youth, was rather famous for reaching the rank of Bishop within a few scant years. Having bonded to multiple gods before he reached even fifteen years of age. But in the presence of such dominating warriors, he exuded an air of a small animal being looked over by predators. His eyes darted about the room at the assembled figures almost waiting for them to pounce.

“Now, Admiral Robert Rowtond, I understand you have requested to take the Eighth leg of the spider pathway?” Andglang asked a man whose obesity made it so he had an entire end of the table to himself.

“That is correct, young one. Though feel free to call me Bob, I much prefer to be free of stuffy niceties. Besides, I am the only naval officer here, and the eighth leg is the only route of the spider pathway that is on the sea,” he answered, his jowls shaking as he spoke.

“That is an acceptable proposal, sir Blob,” Andglang stammered, not realising he used the insulting nickname others often used behind the Admiral's back, though the man seemed to make a point of not acknowledging the teenager's faux pas.

“If Admiral Bob takes the eighth leg of the spider pathway, then I shall volunteer for the seventh,” Dame Agora announced, moving the wooden figure that represented her forces along with Admiral Rowtonds piece to their respective lines on the map.

“My warriors have experience working with naval forces, so if we work together, we can ensure easy cooperation,” she added with a warm smile at the large man who readily nodded his acceptance.

“I agree with t-the idea. You and Admiral Bob shall work well together.”

“My Lady, could you pass me my piece, if you would be so kind?” Franc asked, hoping to catch a fresh gaze down her form-fitting armour. Agora, in response, picked up his piece and—much to his disappointment—threw it at him, rather than sliding it across the table.

“If the eastern paths are taken, then I, the most exalted Lord Glitnir the Golden, shall take the first leg and hold down the western path,” the man standing next to Agora declared as a sneer spread across his face.

“Can the honourable representative of the Crossroads Kingdom manage such a feat?” Franc asked, matching Glitnirs sneer. Ever since Franc had first arrived, the two men had been at constant odds with each other.

“Please, Lord Francois, you have brought what, two thousand men in total? The Crossroads kingdom has brought ten times your forces in two great mercenary companies. I am sure I can manage such a route.”

“I worry about that, as the first leg is infamous for being something dire to large forces. You may find yourself trapped against the cliff edge.”

“He is not wrong, sir,” a mountain of a man said, leaning down so he was as close to Glitnir’s height as he could manage.

“I, Lord of The Titans Hammer mercenaries, have spent two centuries fighting for the Holy Continent. This isn’t even my first crusade, so trust me when I say the treasure you can plunder on that route will have a price far higher than you may be willing to pay.”

“Silence, Jarnvidr! I have hired you for your strength, not your opinion! I shall take the first leg, and if you are so cowardly that you wish to avoid it, then you can take your company down a different leg.” The nearly nine-foot-tall wall of muscle that was Jarnvidr let out a long and exhausted sigh and nodded.

“Very well, I shall take the second leg,” he declared, placing his piece on the relevant line on the map. “At the very least, I can come running when you require my aid.”

“So it is settled then. I shall take the first leg of the spider's pathway,” Glitnir as he went to place his piece on the map.

“Y-yes, I suppose that is acceptable. Any objections to these two taking the first and second legs of t-the spider's pathway?” Andglang queried, his eyes darting between the members.

“Now, hold on up. I have not given my agreement to such a man claiming the first leg,” an ethereal voice said.

“You wish to contest it, Mithgarth?” Glitnir asked, his sneer transforming into a scowl.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Indeed. That path will take you close to the Academy of Sloth.”

“Close? It is several hundred miles away from even the cliff’s edge!”

“I have heard the Academy of Sloth has countless skilled mages. It is likely they will be deployed, and I wish to test who has the greater magical strength,” Mithgarth explained, lowering his hood to reveal his face was covered with glowing tattoos.

“I simply refuse to let such a useless man as yourself seize this pathway from me,” Glitnir snarled, slamming his fists on the table causing a few of the figures to fall over.

“Gentlemen! You forget yourselves; you are in the presence of an Honourable Bishop!” Rowtond roared as he shook indignantly at the pair. His agitated movements caused ripples to spread across his form. Realising their error, the two men bowed to Andglang and asked for forgiveness, all while shooting glares at one another.

“He is right. You shall settle this like men and not children,” Jarnvidr added, slapping a hand against Glitnir’s back.

Both men stepped away from the table and stood face-to-face with one another. Placing their right hand behind their backs to prevent cheating, they stood ready to duel. Locking eyes, they chanted the starting oath.

“Let me hold no grudge, regardless of the outcome!”

With a flash of movement, they swung their hands out from behind their backs, holding them out at waist height. Mithgarth had his pointer and middle finger sticking out in a ‘V’, while Glitnir had his hand out in a full fist.

“Dammit,” Mithgarth grumbled, returning to his spot at the table while Glitnir fist pumped for winning the rock, paper, scissors duel.

“S-so, sir Glitnir has the first pathway?” Andglang nervously asked, looking around the table for confirmation.

“If I cannot have the first leg, then I shall choose the fifth,” Mithgarth declared, placing his piece on the table. “I understand there are more fortresses on this route, me and my mage company have new artillery spells we wish to test.”

“A-anyone wish to contest?” All at the table shook their heads at the increasingly panicked Bishop.

“What about you, sir Francois?”

“Me?” Franc said, looking at the few remaining routes in thought. They weren’t all that appealing, especially with his numbers they would be far more dangerous.

“A suggestion, if I may,” Franc began.

“I s-shall h-hear it.”

“No from the chest, lad!” Jarnvidr boomed, puffing his chest. Seeing this, Andglang squared up his shoulders and puffed out his chest, mimicking the titan.

“I shall hear it!” Andglang declared this time with more confidence.

“I would like to request we unify our forces and take the sixth pathway together.”

“Sir Franc, you should know as well as I why we do not do such a thing,” Agora said with an intense look as she tried to work out Franc’s scheme.

“You mistake me, my lady,” Franc replied, giving her a bow and flashing her his most charming smile. “I meant I’d unify my forces with the Bishops. He has only seen some eighteen summers and is inexperienced and as loath as I am to admit it. Lord Glitnir was right my numbers are far too few to tackle any of the remaining pathways alone.”

“I suppose you have the right idea. Very well, Sir Francois Rene Arnauld Convene of the newly established Maxillius Dukedom, I shall graciously accept your offer of guidance on this my maiden campaign,” Andglang began only for the two quietest members of the commanders to move and quietly whisper in his ear.

“I see… With the advice of the representatives of the Paladin order and the Inquisitorial forces, I am told I will require Theocracy aides. I apologise, Sir Francois, but I must reject your offer.”

“I understand,” Franc bowed. “If the commander of this force must cede to the will of those beneath him, then I suppose it would be better for me to work with someone not so weak willed.” Franc immediately recoiled as he felt the pressure of the aura emanating from the two he had given a backhand slight to. Andglang, though, seemed oblivious to how he had been insulted and looked to be deep in thought once more.

“I h-have changed my mind. I shall accept your kind offer, Sir Francois,” Andglang declared, glancing at the duo before they could move again.

“I understand your opinions. But you are both skilled officers, and you will be of far more use not babysitting me. March under your own banners. That is my f-final order,” Andglang declared, wincing at his stutter.

“With the last two pathways, you may divide it whichever way you so desire,” in response to his order, the representative of the Paladins placed his piece on the third pathway’s line, soon followed by the Inquisitors' representative placing her piece on the fourth.

“With that all settled, I think we can all head off and enjoy the rest of our evening.”

“Ahem!” a gruff voice as coarse as gravel announced. “I think you might have forgotten me, laddie,” the representative of the dwarven contingent announced from his step by the table.

“Ah, I’m terribly sorry. It wasn’t my intention to leave a subhuman race like you out. Which path would you and your industrious little people like to take?” Andglang asked with an oblivious smile.

The attendees around the table froze and let their gazes move back and forth between Andglang and the dwarven representative. The Silver Hill dwarves were famed for their short tempers. The worry was such that many had their hands ready on their swords to intercept him should he try to attack the Bishop.

“Laddie, I am Lokirum, and you will address me as such.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offence. You are actually the first stunty I have ever met. I was hoping we could get to know each other better.”

“Stunty?” Lokirum echoed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Tell you what, laddie, I shall accompany your forces alongside Sir Francois.”

“Oh, why? I already have an exceptional knight,” Andglang asked, genuine puzzlement plastered across his face.

“Your pathway will lead you to Port Staine. Besides, we can use the journey there to get better acquainted.”

“I see… Sir Francois, what say you?” Andglang asked, looking at Franc with a pleading and confused look.

“Lord Bishop, it would be wise to have such a skilled engineer accompany us. They can bring down a city's walls, saving us the energy needed to do it ourselves. It will enable our troops to better assault the heretics.”

“M-magnificent. I shall enjoy spending time learning about you and your people then,” Andglang beamed. “Now the pathways have been settled, we can enjoy the evening and pick up tomorrow with our strategies.”

“Perfect! I had plans for this evening, so this is perfect,” Francois said as he stretched his arms.

“No doubt Sir Francois will be enjoying the brothels and taverns,” Glitnir sneered.

“Why would I visit your mother twice in one day?”

“You dare!” Glitnir snarled, rising to the provocation.

“Sir, I would recommend you leave now,” Jarnvidr said, resting a hand on Glitnir’s shoulder.

“But he has insulted me.”

“And you have insulted him. Leave it at that.” Reluctantly Glitnir left the hall firmly in Jarnvidrs grip. Walking over to Agora, Franc put on his charming smile once more.

“So, would you like to share a drink with me this evening?”

“Please do not take this in the wrong way. But I would much rather cut off my own tits than spend a moment with you in private. So with all due respect, fuck off,” her blunt reply caused Franc to recoil in shock as he watched her leave the hall.

“What about you, Lady Inquisitor? I’m sure I can loosen your lips with my own,” The only response he got out of her was a middle finger as she guided Andglang with her Paladin counterpart out of the hall.

“Sir Francois, please stop. You are going to embarrass Duke Maxillius at this rate,” Rowtond disappointedly said, shaking his head.

“Aye laddie, you are not as charming as you believe you are,” Lokirum added

“I shall bid you goodnight. I must commune with the stars,” Mithgarth bowed once as he pulled his hood over his head and swiftly left the room.

“So… you two want to get a few drinks?” Franc asked, looking at the remaining pair.

“Laddie, I am a dwarf. If there is one stereotype that is valid, it is our love of booze.”

“Perfect drinks are on me then,” Franc declared.

“If that is the case, I shall join. Though I must warn you, I drink like a fish,” Rowtond replied. “Or should I say whale,” he added with a good-natured chuckle as he slapped his belly.