Chapter 53

Meagerly Compelled

Commander Elivon Graven was one of the first Nobles to support Duke Wattar in his bid for the throne. He'd watched despondently how the Royal Maelen family ripped the gems of the Empire and guided it toward ruin. Continued increased taxes, both on the commoners and nobility, wars driven purely by ego and want of becoming names in historical tomes, buildings built to celebrate their blood but built so on the backs of severely underpaid and ofttimes starving commoners... their crimes were innumerable, but because their blood was vastly blessed, few dared shake their reign.

Until Duke Wattar.

Elivon still vividly remembered the incident that started it all--it was very simple, perhaps even, in isolation, inconsequential, but it lit the fire that would eventually become the beacon of war. Duke Wattar’s youngest daughter, Isabelle, was proposed to by the young Prince Hagal; both were children at the time, barely ten, but she rejected the proposal with some harsh words. Taking offense, Prince Hagal took out a sword and slashed at her. Luckily, the young Lady survived but suffered a scar on her face that would remain forever.

Duke Wattar desired and asked only one thing--an apology from His Majesty as well as the young Prince. Not even a public one, but one done in the quietness of the Palace. However... he was never given an apology. Rather, the young Lady's virtue was slandered relentlessly and just a few years later, she ended up jumping off the Bridge of Sorrows.

And thus, the war began.

It was a violent revolt--so violent that there wasn’t a soul in the Empire that wasn’t swept in its currents. Every man, woman, and child, it seemed, jumped into the fires that grew to be all-consuming. Noble Houses, one after another, declared their allegiances, and even those who’d claimed neutral positions for centuries prior had no choice but to now join, including Elivon’s own family.

Most of the Lesser Nobility sided with the Duke--unlike the Higher Nobility, they hardly had the wealth to keep paying the exuberant taxes, and were often the first target when the Empire needed a sudden influx of gold. They’d make fraudulent claims against the Lesser House and confiscate all the wealth it possessed. In lucky cases, members of the House still left with their lives intact. But in most... they all perished.

The war had been going on for nearly a decade by now, having already claimed countless souls in its ashen wake. Elivon himself had lost two sons to it while his wife became grief-stricken, having not left their estate for the past year. There was nothing holy or honorable about this hell, yet they had to fight and soldier on.

But Maelens were blessed, after all--one Royal Empyrean could match three non-Royals, and even with fewer numbers, they had access to centuries of artifacts and treasures they could use to close the gap. But it wouldn’t last for long. They were slowly running out, the victory bought out by the bodies of countless young men and women. It was scarcely a hallowed victory, but it was a blessing of its own make, in a way.

Today was supposed to be no different, Elivon foresaw. The Prince's army was holding on desperately, trying to keep them away from the hilltops, but it was only a matter of time. The line would persist today and tomorrow, and for some time still, but it would soon fall. They'd come out victorious. The war was theirs for the taking, he knew.

However, partway through the day, he observed something absurd, something he couldn’t have ever predicted--the opposing army’s rank... broke. There was a hundred yards or so long line of enemy soldiers that suddenly faltered with seemingly no reinforcements behind to rapidly replenish them. Elivon’s heart jumped in elation at the sight as did the heart of his surrounding Generals who all began to cheer.

They had won.

It came seemingly out of nowhere and with no signs, but they had won. Cheers erupted within the soldiers, too, as they desperately tried to march through the gap. Hundreds... thousands soon poured, seeming ready to devour everything in their wake. But before they could, an ungodly thing transpired. Elivon’s heart stilled and grew wretched.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

There was an abrupt pincer attack from both sides at the very rear of the invading soldiers, where they were at their thinnest. It wasn’t an isolated attack, either--there were groups of Magi previously on seemingly random courses just as every day before suddenly in perfect positions to assist. A barrage of spells, a deluge of shields, malforming of the terrain... it felt like, within seconds, the won battle was upturned.

Just as the pincer attack cut off his army in two, Elivon watched as a colossal force of thousands upon thousands of soldiers suddenly descended from the hill and began encircling the force that had broken through. At the same time, an influx of soldiers cauterized the line and closed up the broken rank in a move too perfect to have been a byproduct of desperation.

They’ve been had.

Elivon's heart sank--he watched over twelve thousand trapped souls be withered down like rocks slung against the rapid river, beaten slowly into perfect submission. Encircled and cut off from any magic support, they had no chance of surviving. Even though his own men desperately pressed to try and open the line again... it would not open. It was firm, unmoving. Still.

Just a few moments later, his focus was driven elsewhere--some mile eastward, he watched another gap open. It was much smaller than the first one, barely sixty-seven yards in length, and, just as the first time, the soldiers hawked and hollered at the victory. It shocked him, and that brief moment of shock was long enough to prevent him from being able to help--by the time he could instruct the soldiers, the same thing repeated once again. The pincer attack, the closing of the rank, and the encirclement. Three thousand soldiers, just like before, were ground into corpses in a few meager minutes.

They’ve been had.

No, he’s been had.

It shouldn’t be possible. The opposing army’s Commander was the Prince himself, and he was not instructing the soldiers. He was in the sky, battling the War of the Empyreans. His forces were commanded by his Generals, and though there were a few names among them even Elivon respected, he couldn’t think of anyone clever enough to construct such a stratagem.

It must have been him, his eyes widened in realization. A newcomer appeared just yesterday--however, he thought the man was just another ordinary General. He supposed that the General was the supporting type, which was why he never seemed to fight of his own accord, but just a General nonetheless. But a General cannot move forces in such a way and, especially, on such a scale. Executing a complex, multi-layered, and nuanced strategy to raw perfection using tens of thousands of soldiers was something only experienced and battle-tested Commanders could do.

"Reporting," a young messenger appeared by his side and knelt, firing off wounding words one after another. "Drysder, son of Elucent was among the soldiers who rushed through the gap...

“Anna, the Saintess Candidate was among the...

“Seoman, son of Walud as among the soldiers...” Elivon’s eyes narrowed further and further with each spoken name. Though most of them were ‘ordinary’ soldiers, commoner conscripts, there were also a lot of famed and named figures who rushed over when they saw the gaps. Sons and daughters of important Lords and Ladies who merely danced at the edge of the battle to gain some experience rather than actively involving themselves with the frontline.

“Why, if so clever, did they make it so small?” one of the Generals nearby asked and Elivon replied immediately.

"Strategy, no matter how clever, depends entirely on the soldiers executing it," he said. "Chances were that the new Commander didn't have the time to instruct the soldiers properly, perhaps out of fear that it might get leaked or even out of desperation, having yesterday realized that they were losing. As such, he bet on it, even on a smaller scale, perhaps to surprise us and make us doubtful of when we truly break the ranks, and perhaps to even capture a few figures as bargaining tools. Though clever, he is limited by the side he chose. Humph. A fool."

“Oh, so it is that way!”

“Hah, overconfident fool!”

"Indeed, indeed." while he listened to his Generals fire off insults toward the opposing Commander, Elivon hardly had the heart for it. Chances were if the man was by the Prince's side from the beginning of the war... he shook his head and shuddered, deciding not to dwell on the 'what-ifs'.

His lips parted in a smile--even if the enemy couldn’t execute it, that didn’t mean they couldn’t. With a bit of preparation, in just a few days, Elivon was confident in being able to execute the stratagem to perfection on the scale that the enemy Commander envisioned. What was supposed to still be a battle of attrition for some time... it would be so no more. He would win, achieving a perfect victory, and cementing his place as the Duke’s right-hand man.

With the Duke’s ascension to the throne, Elivon would guarantee the position for his family for generations and generations to come.

Humph, if you survive the war... I’ll ask the Duke to take pity on you and take you in, he mused as he retreated to the headquarters to draw up the plan. You deserve that much, at least, for giving me the key to winning the war.