The wind rustled through the trees along the side of the dirt road leading north. The almost melodic sound of countless feet marching filled the air, accompanied only by the song of nearby birds. The assembled Crusaders continued their march northwards. It had been a couple of days since they had passed through the Seraphim walls. They had yet to encounter any resistance. Even their march along the borders of the Braxis Woodlands, a place notorious for its aggressive monster population, had been relatively peaceful.

Shifting his gaze at the scenery, Andglang slowed his horse to ride alongside the other Over-Commanders. “Why haven’t they attacked yet?”

“It is to be expected, sir. Should we be surprised that the messenger of demons and monsters carried lies?” the Paladin commander asked, keeping Andglang between himself and his Inquisitorial counterpart.

“But sir Jarnvidr seemed so certain that we would be attacked, and soon.”

The trio glanced at the Titan on his warbull, at the forefront of the column guiding them to Stompingham, where their forces would rest before splitting.

“It is only to be expected that a subhuman like him would not have the stout heart of a true human. It is why he let that race traitor escape,” the Inquisitor snarled.

“Please don’t disparage him so much,” Agora said, bringing her own horse up to the group. “He has more experience than all of us combined. I would say we should take his opinion even more seriously.”

“Is that so?” the Inquisitor asked, a manic grin momentarily spreading across her face. “You do know who that man you encountered was?”

Agoira nodded. “Yes, he was the Jack of Diamonds.”

“Do you know what the Jack of Diamonds does for a living?”

Agora shook her head. Such information wasn’t available. “I imagine he is a war leader of sorts. Maybe someone who creates vast evil rituals.”

“He is a teacher.”

“A teacher?” Agora echoed incredulously.

“Indeed, I am part of the Inquisition. Part of my job requires gathering information. I will say this, a large portion of the Deck of Fifty-Two this time around aren’t warriors but are itinerant princesses, teachers, farmers and even blacksmiths.”

“Well, we should not judge them on their chosen professions. I myself am an Itinerant princess, yet I am a threat.”

“Indeed, I won’t deny that. But the concern will need only be held by the common folk,” the Inquisitor replied, gesturing to the long line of conscripts behind them. “They are threats to these sorts, not to the likes of you and me. I dare say the subhuman there has likely started to go senile in his older age. It is rare to see a Titan live beyond a hundred.”

“I suppose,” Agora conceded, glancing at Jarnvidr, who seemed as lively as ever. Internally though, she could not accept their words. She had seen the monster in human form herself. If he was a humble teacher, what did it say about their soldiers? Slowing her horse down, Agora let the Theocracy trio move on ahead as she pulled alongside Franc and Lokirum.

“What say you two?”

“Hmm… about what?” Franc asked, confused.

“Aye, lass, we were discussing the exceptional assets of that lady,” Lokirum added, gesturing to Agora’s second in command, a petite woman with an easily noticeable large ‘personality.’

“Care to rephrase the observation?”

Lokirum began to sputter before finally answering. “Lass, I am a happily married dwarf. I meant her combat chains, not her tits, yah right tit!”

“Oh… My apologies then.”

“I was referring to them, though.”

Agor decidedly chose to continue her usual method of ignoring Franc unless necessary. “Anyways… I was referring to the lady Inquisitors' observation about Jarnvidr being old.”

“Oh well, lass, he is very old. Most Titans don’t live beyond their first century, let alone into their second.”

“Oh…” Agora mumbled, feeling disappointed and wondering if the Inquisitor was right.

“Aye, lass, they are a loony bunch. Always fighting in any battle they can get their mitts into. If they weren’t such fervent believers in the Northern Pantheon, they could easily live well beyond a thousand.”

“Pardon?” both Agora and Franc chorused.

“Did yah not know? Titans only live such short lives because they strive to die in battle. Hells! The current Emperor of the Frozen North is eight-hundred. What’s that saying? Fear the old in a profession where the young die?”

“Something like that,” Franc conceded.

“Yeah, the old Titans are the really scary ones. I mean, they have survived more than their fellows. If we weren’t going up against such monsters, I would say Jarnvidr would be able to win this solo.”

“I suppose we should be grateful for us to get a chance at glory.”

“Lass…” Lokirum looked at Agora with the kind of look a father reserves for when a child has disappointed him. “Glory and honour are mug’s games. There’s a saying from the Dark Continent that ‘Honour and glory are the currency of fools and deadmen.’”

“So they lack even basic honour?” Franc asked, surprised.

“Well, if you could launch a surprise attack-”

“I wouldn’t. That holds no sense of chivalry!” Agora immediately shouted.

“Well, if you could launch a surprise attack, you could ensure victory at a lower cost.” Lokirum continued, glancing at Agora. “Tell me, Princess, how many lives of your ladies is your honour worth? Could you look their families and loved ones in the eye saying, ‘Yes, the lass died, but we fought a harder battle than we needed to, to make me feel better’?”

“You are being facetious, Lokirum.”

“Am I? Or are you dismissing an uncomfortable truth because you don’t know any better? How many lives would have been spared had the previous Crusades stomached my race's presence and let us work as war engineers? How many more families and people would your nations have to call upon had you not so stubbornly held to such ideals?”

Agora lowered her head, avoiding Lokirum’s gaze. “I…I don’t know.”

“I don’t say this to be mean, lass. But you need to get your head out of your arse and recognise this is a war. Wars are messy stupid things done so people in power can do something. You should be doing your best to minimise your losses.”

“But what about my reputation?!”

“Take sir Franc here, for example.”

“Me?” Franc asked, surprised at suddenly being let back into the conversation.

“Yes, he is undoubtedly one of the most loathed men amongst the upper brass present. I have heard he turns ladies' stomachs just by being around them.”

Agora nodded. “He does do that.”

“Now hang on!”

“But he does his duty. He doesn’t mess about with honour or reputation. He is probably one of the most practical fighters in the Crusader army.”

“Sir Lokirum, please, I still feel upset when people talk about-” Franc again tried to stop the barrage against his emotional well-being, only for the pair to continue to ignore his protests.

“So I should be like this low-brow piece of garbage?”

“Not to such a degree,” Lokirum replied, ignoring how dejected Franc had become. “But he recognised the lacking nature of his army and joined forces with the young Bishop.”

Looking at the boy in question, the trio could see he was in an animated discussion with Glitnir about something.

“All I’m saying is you should recognise your strengths and weaknesses. A wise commander will always plan around their weakest soldier, not their strongest. So don’t bother doing dumb stuff for honour and glory; just focus on living till the next day.”

It was nearing the end of the day when the Crusader forces finally arrived in Stopingham, where they could finally rest after a long protracted march. The fear of being ambushed in the night had left even the most free-spirited of their forces too scared to sleep soundly.

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“Ah, honourable Crusaders, I welcome you,” a man in finery greeted them, bowing before Jarnivdr.

“The Boss is the young one over there.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies!” he cried out, rushing over and throwing himself to the ground at Andglang’s feet.

“It is alright. Uhm… W-who are you?”

“I am this town's Mayor and elected representative. I am here to ease you and your forces into your occupation to allow as little friction with my people as possible.”

“See Glitnir, and you said they wouldn’t welcome us.”

“Indeed, my lords and ladies are entirely welcome. I am ashamed, though, that our prices have changed somewhat due to the state of things.”

“Prices?” Glitnir repeated with a scowl.

“Yes, my lord. You see the merchants who would usually bring our supplies fled in the face of your mighty armies. So we find ourselves strained to supply anything but the most basic of necessities.”

“That is understandable. The Gods do say those that cannot provide for themselves shall be granted charity,” Andglang replied, making a gesture of blessing to the Mayor.

“I thank you. So for your forces, the current price per room, per night, is one large silver.”

“One large silver?!” Glitnir cried out. ”A room, even at an inn catering to nobles, would run at most one small silver?”

“Yes, as I said, we barely have the supplies for ourselves, let alone such a sizable force of mar-brave warriors. So we must charge to not allow your men to overwhelm us.”

“I would never let the armies do such a thing!” Andglang protested.

“Now hang on, you were going to call us marks!”

“Of course, you wouldn’t, sir. Beg the thought you would personally allow it. But it is a sizable army, and no man can be everywhere at once,” The mayor continued ignoring Glitnirs protests.

“I s-see…” Andglang stammered dejectedly, looking pleadingly at the other Over-Commanders.

“We would also like to reserve the right to self-defence?”

“Self… I’m sorry, what?!” the Paladin snarled.

“We have had past Crusades leave us ravaged by the greedy,” the Mayor glanced at Glitnir briefly. “If they are to use force freely, we wish to reserve the right to defend our rights and property.”

“I… I… I don’t know… Lud-Lady Inquisitor?”

“They could slaughter us in our sleep.”

“We would never dream of harming such lucra-honourable guests. I will pledge as much right here and now. So long as you do not harm us, we shall not harm you.”

“Would you make a soul oath to that effect?” the Paladin pressed, his gaze steeling.

“I shall,” the Mayor replied without hesitation, holding out his hand, ready to begin the process. Andglang looked at the offered appendage and then shook his head.

“You need not offer your soul to ensure the oath. I shall take you at y-your word,” taking the man's hand in his own, Andglang gave what he hoped was a confident handshake. Mostly relieved, he would not have to force the man to risk his very existence should someone out of his control commit an act against the oath.

“Now we have prepared a tavern with fine drinks for you to enjoy. Please follow me,” the Mayor smirked, spinning on his heel and leading to the most prominent building connected to the town square.

Entering the tavern, the assembled nobles and officers could see a massive banquette laid out before them with barrels already on tap for them to help themselves. Without hesitating, they all went about enjoying the amenities. Gods only knew how long it would be before they could enjoy such pleasures. A few even took a chance to rest up in one of the bedrooms on the above floors.

After a long rest in a private room, Agora joined the festivities, pouring herself a drink and settling in the corner of the Tavern alone, watching as the people in front of her made merry. She knew soon, many of them may die. This was her first campaign as the leader of the order, but Lokirums words from earlier continued to roll around her head.

Letting out a long breath, Agora looked down at her calloused hands. “Is honour really worth it?”

Settling up against the bar, she let out another disappointed sigh at not seeing Admiral Rowtond present. Something about the man's presence made her feel comfortable, unlike the one approaching her.

“What’s with the sigh?”

“Listen, go away. I’ve made my opinion of you clear.”

“Well, you are looking lovely this evening. I must say you already looked lovely without makeup,” Agora readied to exhale an even longer sigh. It was such an overused line that no woman ever wanted to hear, only Franc didn’t stop at that point. “But your skills with makeup have only served to elevate your beauty to new heights.”

Agora stared at Franc and repeatedly blinked as her brain took a few moments to comprehend what he had just said to her. Eventually, her brain finally settled on the most appropriate reaction as her face contorted in a deep grimace.

“Say… Sir Franc, do you leave here often?” Agora asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the bar.

“Pardon?” Franc asked, looking baffled.

“Do you leave here often?”

“Uhm… no?”

“Good, then you can get some practice. Here, I’ll even demonstrate how you can fuck off.” Without another word, Agora stood up from the bar, leaving the man alone.

Assuming her dismissal for catty playful flirting, Franc let Agora go as he went to join the most interesting table of the evening, where Andglang had gotten Jarnvidr to share more of his stories.

“So they have these quick-build forts,” Jarnvidr explained to his rapt crowd. “They can build them within a single evening!”

“Surely you jest lord Jorn bear?” one of the officers slurred.

“I wish I was. During the seventh Crusade, I was with my boss's merc company, and we set up camp. We crashed out and next morning. Boom!” clapping his hands to emphasise his point, Jarnvidr smirked, seeing how many he had startled. “There was a fort right at the top of the hill opposite us.”

“How do they do it?” Andglang asked eagerly, looking once more like a schoolboy.

“Their forces each carry parts to build a simple fort. They arrive in a space, and it is just a slot-it-together deal.”

“How clever… must’ve had some of my folks with them,” Lokirum bragged.

“So they have tens of thousands of soldiers then?” one of the more sober officers asked.

“Hard to say. The Dark Continent focuses on protracted defensive campaigns. We will be stuck fighting enemies who will vanish into the night.”

“No Honour!” a knight still in his armour barked.

“Crafty fighting, you mean,” Lokirum corrected.

“It is the case. It’s why the spider pathways exist. They can pincer easily and funnel larger forces down roads they want, even setting up fortresses in new positions so old maps are useless.”

“What kind of fighters will they have then?”

“Well, young boss… Same as us, mostly. Folks just doing their duty. Though there are a few clans of warriors nuttier than squirrel shit that we will likely encounter.”

“Like?”

“Ironwood Elves. Those elves aint the hoity-toity types you are imagining. They are people whose common sense was stolen and had no choice but to make a new bizarre one.”

“How bizarre?” Agora asked, having stepped over to the interesting discussion.

“They will not use any tricks or feints. They are the most direct fighters I have ever encountered in my life.”

“So they should be easy to counter?”

“I should say the opposite. They will press through any plan and act so unpredictably that we will have little choice but to play to their game. Fighting them is like a mix of herding cats and pissing in the wind. I even heard their princess will participate this time around. She is said to be the physically strongest being on the continent.”

“Strength isn’t everything. There are methods to use an opponent's strength against them,” Agora pointed out.

“Aye, Lass… but the kind of power Jarnvidr is alluding to is the kind even to overpower the likes of him. Mera-Sae, the guy who got him, is an Ironwood elf.”

“What about the magic men?!” the drunk officer blurted out, trying his hardest not to slur his words this time while using one of his fellows for support.

“They are leagues above anything you could imagine,” an ethereal voice replied as Mithgarth glided towards the assembled group.

“I wish to test my mettle against them. But there should be some that are my equal.”

This revelation sent a fresh stir among the people. Mithgarth was considered exceptionally powerful, so for them to face mages of his calibre would be something else.

“Pah, subhumans!” the Paladin snarled. “Werebeasts, vampires, elves, orks and race traitors. They will all fold before the holy might of our forces!”

“I’m more interested in their artefacts,” Glitnir sneered. “There are many treasures in this land that could recoup all my nation's expenses into this Crusade and then some.

“Then you’d want to go to one of the Bridgetons,” the Mayor helpfully added, joining the conversation. “The three cities are your only way across the Great Chasm and onto the Western Arm. Lots of riches in Greed’s domain.”

“Good thing I got the pathway that directly leads to it,” Glitnir boasted.

“Oh, such joys, sir. I am sure you will get all that you deserve,” the Mayor praised with a smile that failed to reach his eyes.

“I shall!” Glitnir cheered, holding up his tankard for a toast.

“Sir, I shall say again, please pace your progress,” Jarnvidr said with the exhausted expression of someone who has already had the conversation a dozen times. “I know you fear the Bridge Barons collapsing the crossings, but we can’t let our formation break with you charging forwards too fast.”

“Silence, Jarnvidr! I am aware of my duty, and the main body of my forces will keep pace with the rest of the Crusaders.”

“I’m more intrigued about who is going to take the coastal roads?” the Mayor asked, looking at the assembled officers.

“That would be me,” Agora replied.

“I hear that there are coastal caves with dragon hoards that any fool can claim. I am sure you will claim great wealth before reaching Lord Pride’s fortress city.”

“Agora, switch with me!”

“Sir Glitnir, the paths have already been decided. I won’t let your momentary greed separate me from my pathway. Regardless, dragon hoards have dragons guarding them. Are you as accomplished a dragon slayer as I am?” Glitnir retreated under Agora’s pressuring gaze.

“I thought not.”

The conversation around Jarnvidr calmed down as the distinct metallic thudding of footsteps descended the stairs to the bar area. Glancing up at the source, the assembled crowd of both drunk and sober men felt a chill run down their spine.

“You lot stop spouting our battle plans!” the Inquisitor snarled. “We are not in allied territory no matter how kindly they have welcomed us,” she added, glaring at the Mayor, who gave a p[lacating smile at her approach.

“Now, finish up your drinks. I doubt you wish to continue our divided march hungover?”

With one final toast, the assembled officers and nobles cheered for the future yet to come.