24 Tavorhel.
‘... Therefore, I propose that we properly integrate the Foresters as citizens to better ensure their loyalty as well as reduce our dependence on the Mercenaries’ Guild.’ Crown Prince Amovishel stood proudly before the king, his hand on his chest as he smiled, his long white hair swaying slightly from his body’s subtle shifting. His courtier and aide, a young girl raised in the palace, meekly handed over some documents to one of King Tavorhel’s aides before the latter delivered them to the king’s desk.
The hall was silent. Everyone looked at Amovishel with bewildered eyes as if he was speaking in some foreign language. Even his own tutors and guards looked away in embarrassment, unable to step forth and support the prince’s statement.
His father stared directly into his eyes. Instead of the condescending gazes like the advisors, however, the king looked on in disappointment, his face slightly drooping in defeat.
‘Look, Amovishel,’ he said. ‘I understand your concerns, but this cannot be accepted.’
‘But why—’
‘Please repeat what you were saying, Crown Prince,’ an advisor stepped out and interrupted.
‘We should integrate the Foresters as citizens—’
‘I thought you knew better from your first campaign in the south,’ a general replied swiftly. ‘The king has graciously given you the chance to see the battlefield firsthand, and this is your conclusion?’
‘I personally am all for the improvement of living standards for the Foresters, but it’s simply impossible to treat them the same as our own,’ another general added. ‘They are too different from us.’
‘Am I wrong?’ Amovishel shot back. ‘The way we use Foresters like disposable tools is torture for their souls! The kingdom paid great money to hire their services when many of them already live within our borders! We shouldn’t even need to do this when our own military training can simply be applied to them on a voluntary basis!’
‘On a voluntary basis?’ a third general scoffed. ‘The war has dragged on for long enough that we cannot solely rely on volunteers even in our citizen armies! When even well-off Trelvenese are being conscripted to the reserves, what right do the Foresters have to suddenly become a protected species within the kingdom?’
‘This isn’t equality, it’s outright privilege!’ another advisor declared. ‘The Foresters are necessary to protect our true citizens as much as possible, and your proposal is simply going to reduce the number of Foresters available to fight for us!’
‘Then why don’t we just hire every single Forester to prevent our enemies using them against us in battle?’ Amovishel questioned. ‘After all, isn’t Rhinn’s recruitment of them also reducing the number of Foresters that can die for us? Why don’t we just dump all our money to buy all of them as sacrificial slaves so we won’t even have this debate in the first place?’
‘Are you saying we’re wasting our funds by having the Foresters fight for us?’
‘Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying!’
The grand hall quickly erupted into a ruckus, the advisors and generals alike increasingly raising their voices against Amovishel. Despite the prince’s attempts to respond, his voice was quickly drowned out by the commotion, the hall of grown men and women all directing their objections towards him.
In a way, he had expected this reaction. Despite being a mere near-sixteen years old, he was already quite familiar with how things worked within the palace. For all the conflicts the scholarly advisors and generals had against each other, themselves divided into Progressives and Traditionalists, they all agreed on one thing: the Foresters were necessary as soldiers to protect Trelvenese interests. Beyond that, there was nothing more of value. Some generals went even further, sacrificing the Foresters in suicidal attaacks so there’d be minimal casualties to the Trelvenese soldiers.
The entire system didn’t make sense in his eyes. Trelven had the capacity to efficiently train effective troops, particularly for the infantry which all Foresters belonged to when they fought. Despite decades of war, the economic system was still holding up relatively well. Most of the Foresters on the continent existed within Trelvenese borders, and with their ingrained warrior culture, they could easily be trained alongside the Trelvenese soldiers. From a purely rational point of view, it just made more sense to train the Foresters as one of their own instead of relying on the Mercenaries’ Guild, a third nationless party that only cared about profits from the war.
It made even less sense from a moral standpoint. The only difference the Foresters had compared to the average Trelvenese was their appearance. The green eyes, the tall bodies, and a natural affinity to use magic were the only three things that set them apart. The Foresters had every bit of intelligence and empathy the Trelvenese had, if not even more. From the small skirmishes he took part in, Amovishel saw the camaraderie of the Foresters. The way they called each other ‘companions’, their grit and unity in battle and even the way individuals protected each other were beyond that of the Trelvenese. And yet these were the people sent to die for a kingdom that could care less about their wellbeing.
Amovishel loved his kingdom. He loved his people. He loved everything beautiful that lay within the lands. His dream was to protect everything that was good in Trelven, to protect and love the lands and the people.
But that dream could not be built upon the needless sacrifices of those considered subhuman.
‘Order!’ one of Tavorhel’s aides shouted, his voice purposefully sounding somewhat similar to the king. In the moment of the distraction, Amovishel glanced towards his father… and noticed his particularly displeased expression. Many others had noticed this as well, and appearing ashamed, they retreated back to their positions, their mouths now unwilling to utter another word.
Yet one figure chose this moment to stand forth, taking up a position besides Amovishel. His face was that of an experienced general, but his physique appeared to be no different than a warrior in his prime. The prince suddenly seemed like a small child compared to that man, the latter’s aura even overwhelming everyone else in the hall.
‘Is this how the royal court is now?’ the man questioned. ‘Just a bunch of grown men picking on a boy not even at the doorstep of adulthood?’
‘Commander-General Esiel, what are you trying to say?’ the king asked.
Hearing this, the man quickly went on one knee. ‘I have no intention to insult the crown prince, your Majesty.’
Amovishel grimaced. This was not the first time he had encountered the older, stronger man. Commander-General Esiel had always been one of the most outspoken individuals whenever he attended the royal court. Despite his rudeness against nearly everyone in the court, his exploits in the battlefield were considered too great to remove him from his office. Possessing the lowest casualty rate of all commanding officers, Esiel was seen as irreplaceable from the king. The Trelvenese army would simply lose far more soldiers without him.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Forester casualties were never counted in the reports sent back to the capital after each engagement. Esiel was well-known for requesting the most replenishments of Foresters before every battle, the number basically the same as what other generals would be granted each year after the kingdom had hired a new batch from the Guild.
‘Stand, Commander-General,’ the king said. ‘There is a reason you decided to step out now, is there not? The man who always chose opportune moments to stand out from the crowd.’
‘There is a question I’d like to ask Crown Prince Amovishel,’ Esiel requested.
‘You are being much more polite than usual today,’ Tavorhel commented.
‘That’s because my question may come off as… uncomfortable for the prince.’
‘You want my explicit permission and therefore protection for what you are about to say?’
‘You are always perceptive, your Majesty.’
‘... Very well, as you wish.’
Esiel turned towards Amovishel, his intimidating aura only growing as they made eye contact. ‘Allow me to be direct, Crown Prince… Why do you treat the tools of the army, the beasts of the battlefield, as equivalent to our own citizens, as people of our kingdom?’
Amovishel glared at him. ‘What did you say?’
‘Answer my question, Crown Prince. There’s no benefit in responding with anger.’
‘Because they are. Is that not obvious enough?’
Esiel chuckled. ‘Let me ask you another question. Do you love the kingdom of Trelven and its people?’
‘I do. More than anyone else in this hall besides my father.’
‘Do you wish to protect it with all that you have?’
‘I do.’
‘I see that’s why you chose to go to the battlefield at such a young age. A fine example to the young generation,’ Esiel said. ‘Now, what do you use to protect the kingdom on the battlefield?’
‘My spear.’
‘What else?’
‘My armour.’
‘What else?’
‘My horse.’
‘Fine answers, Crown Prince.’ Esiel took a step forward, slightly blocking Amovishel’s line of sight towards the king. ‘Have you ever considered giving, say, your horse citizenship for its services for you to protect the kingdom?’
‘... This is a leading question.’ Amovishel looked away.
‘That would be a “no”, Crown Prince,’ Esiel said as he stepped to face Amovishel again. ‘No sane person would give their horse citizenship when it was used as intended. The same way no person would give their spear citizenship for being an effective tool. The credit for their effectiveness comes from the user. You would agree to this, wouldn’t you?’
‘Your argument doesn’t make sense.’
‘And where doesn’t it make sense, may I ask?’
Amovishel was silent.
‘Allow me to continue,’ Esiel leaned closer. ‘You already know where I’m going with this, Crown Prince. When the spear does its job, it isn’t granted citizenship, but is continually used until it can’t do its job. The horse carries its rider into battle as it should, but is not granted citizenship for simply doing its job.’
‘Do not—’
‘The Foresters are the same. They are hired… or perhaps I should say bought from the Guild and used in battle to protect the kingdom and the people. In fact, they are even less dependable than a spear, a set of armour, or even a horse. Despite their magical abilities, they are frighteningly fragile. They are simply not reliable at all. They can be bought and used by our enemies and hold no particular allegiance to any kingdom.’
‘That’s why we should give them a place in our kingdom, should we not?’ Amovishel cried.
‘Are you suggesting we grant citizenship to tools, to animals as well?’ Esiel laughed. ‘The whole reason why we even need to use the Foresters is to prevent our enemies from using them. They are also, thankfully, at least rather effective at protecting our soldiers at the very front if under competent command, being strong shields in the thick of battle.’
‘Your “competence” is absolute cruelty, Commander-General!’
‘You said you love the kingdom and the people. Why, then, do you want to deprive the kingdom of a tool, even if it is little more than a shield for our armies? Why do you see them as people when they are clearly not used as such? You wouldn’t call spears “people”.’
‘Because they are people!’ Amovishel shouted in indignation. ‘Do you not understand this basic fact, Commander-General?’
‘Just because you call an object something, doesn’t mean they have become that something. Just as a spear does not become a shield when one calls it “shield”, you cannot make the Foresters people by calling them such.’
‘Your logic, your rationale— No, your entire viewpoint of the Foresters is simply wrong! I love the kingdom with all my heart, but that does not include sacrificing an entire people and seeing them as subhuman!’
‘As I see we differ even on the fundamental definition of “people”, I suggest that you continue to devote yourself to the battlefield to protect the kingdom,’ Esiel concluded. ‘At least that will be more productive than this silly argument.’
He leaned towards Amovishel’s ear. ‘By being on the battlefield, you will soon realise the necessity of sacrificing another race of animals for our race of animals. Only that can truly protect the kingdom of Trelven, a kingdom inhabited by a superior race that call ourselves “people”.’
Esiel stepped back and knelt briefly before King Tavorhel again. ‘I thank you for allowing this, your Majesty.’
Tavorhel sighed. ‘Return to your position, Esiel. Amovishel, once again I cannot approve of your proposal. Perhaps you in your fiery youth do not understand now, but as you grow and mature, you will soon realise the nature of Esiel and the court’s stance in all of this.’
‘Father… This is all absurd, and I will prove the ridiculousness of whatever “stance” the court has towards the Foresters.’ Amovishel marched off, slamming the doors as he exited out the hall with his courtier and guards following behind.
‘Where have I gone wrong in his education…’ Tavorhel muttered.
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In the next three years, Amovishel would gradually take command in increasingly large campaigns against Rhinn to the east, though not to the scale that Esiel would lead. Leading his troops into battle, he would be renowned not only for his commanding prowess, but also his generous relationship with the troops. Notably, Foresters under his command were among the best-armed mercenaries in the Trelvenese armies, and he even managed to talk with many of them while on his regular patrols within the army camps. Before he was recalled to the palace, he had the largest proportion of Forester troops in his army. His army was eventually sent to Prentdor for the summer campaign in 27 Tavorhel, with many of them permanently stationed there anyway throughout the year.
King Tavorhel would become even more reserved over the next three years, the war being always a chore for him to delegate to his subordinates. In the royal court, little changed as the Traditionalists and Progressives continued their bickering mainly on matters of bureaucracy and war. It was just the usual, nothing really causing significant conflict within the palace.
Esiel continued to make gradual gains against Rhinn during his many campaigns, most of them being in the wastelands of Prentdor. Maintaining his reputation, he dealt heavy blows to his enemies at minimal cost of his own troops, gaining him even more power and control in the military. Unexpectedly exhausting himself after overusing his magic during a campaign in the beginning of 27 Tavorhel, he was recalled to the capital for rehabilitation until he could be considered fully recovered.
All that changed when a group of Foresters revolted against the kingdom. Despite the short-lived uprising seemingly being crushed at the city of Maerila, the true consequences for Trelven was still to be felt, the ripples of rebellion still travelling across the entire kingdom and throughout the continent.