"Let’s begin" she began, her voice cutting through the quiet like tempered steel, "it's illogical to think that the invasion force will strike from a single front." She reached for a marker and dragged it across the map, its tip scraping against the parchnt. "Their numbers will divide just like the pirate attack, along the western beach, at the eastern beach, and at the southern port." Each location was marked with deliberate precision, the markers clacking against the wood like the ticking of a clock counting down to battle.
The heavy silence was broken by David, the seasoned Knight Captain under Aurora’s command. His arms were folded, and his brow furrowed in thought. “Of course, that would be the ideal strategy for attacking a city like Kim,” he said. “You have only 300 knights, and a handful of militia—barely enough to cover one front, let alone three.”
“Which is why we can’t allow them to land at all,” Hughes added, his voice tight with concern. He stood with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his posture stiff. “These aren’t undisciplined local lord’s armies. The imperial knights are among the best trained in the empire—and many of them have years of real battlefield experience. Once they make landfall, we lose our advantage.”
Ravenna nodded in agreent, her gaze sharpening as she straightened. “We do have reinforcents en route,” she said. “Our priority should be to delay the enemy at sea for as long as possible. If we can hold them off, the tide may turn in our favor before they gain a foothold.”
She tapped a finger on the southern edge of the map. “They’re not a rogue army either. This isn’t the personal fleet of so ambitious lord. They’re using the imperial navy, and that complicates things. If it were a private force, they’d be less cautious, less eager to preserve their own resources. But with the imperial navy involved, they might be less willing to push forward… unless their chain of command disagrees.”
“That might be the case under normal circumstances,” Aurora said, her arms crossed and expression guarded. “However, we’re not facing a standard deploynt. Prince Nolan is backing Edward Jola, and that changes everything. Edward may have lost his title, but he’s still a forr duke. In an ergency, he retains the right to command a set number of imperial forces.”
She turned to Ravenna, her eyes steady. “If Edward insists on a full assault, the battalion captain leading the navy won’t have much of a choice—at least not unless they outrank him.”
John, standing beside Hughes, spoke next. “It’ll all depend on who the captain is. If the battalion is led by a high-ranking knight, soone with personal political influence—they may have enough autonomy to call off the assault if the cost grows too steep.”
“But if the captain is a lower-ranking officer,” Hughes added grimly, “then they’ll be bound to obey Edward Jola’s orders. Regardless of the situation on the battlefield.”
A weighted silence settled over the room as the implications sank in. Ravenna studied the map, her brows furrowed in thought. “This will be a difficult battle,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her mind raced through calculations, supply lines, casualty projections, weather conditions, and reinforcents that might or might not arrive in ti.
“We just have to inflict enough damage to make Prince Nolan reconsider,” Aurora offered, her voice firm. “If we make this battle too costly, he might decide it’s not worth the political risk.”
But Ravenna shook her head slowly, her eyes narrowing with resolve. “No,” she said, her voice like iron wrapped in silk. “That won’t be enough. A retreat leaves the door open for another attack, a one that's under more favorable conditions for them.”
She placed both hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward, the room seeming to tilt toward her as if gravity itself were bending to her will.
“Our best bet isn’t to make them rethink,” she said, her voice cutting through the rising uncertainty. “Our best bet is to defeat them—utterly. If we want peace, we need to leave them with no room to strike again.”
Sowhere in the Ancorna Sea, between mainland Ancorna and Kim Dukedom
The sun began its slow ascent above the horizon, its golden rays casting shimring threads of light across the wide expanse of the Ancorna Sea. The waters, still and serene just monts ago, now churned beneath the relentless march of a fleet—dozens of colossal ships gliding forward with silent nace. Each vessel cut through the ocean like a blade through silk, their black sails stretched taut against the morning wind, catching the rising light like storm clouds preparing to descend.
The magic ships, distinct in their sleek, enchanted hulls, surged ahead of the slower warships. Mages stood at their posts along the upper decks, robes fluttering in the breeze as they chanted under their breath. Arcane symbols glowed at their flowers on their fingertips, invoking gusts of wind and stabilizing runes to keep the enchanted vessels moving at unnatural speeds. A constant hum of mana vibrated in the air, an eerie undertone to the creaking of wood and the slap of waves against hulls.
Toward the rear of the fleet, one imperial cruiser lagged just slightly behind the formation, not due to damage or disrepair, but because of its lack of magical propulsion. The vessel was markedly less ard, less imposing than the others, yet carried within it so of the most dangerous minds involved in this campaign.
Inside a private chamber within that cruiser, Prince Nolan sat reclined in a worn velvet chair, arms crossed over his chest as the ship rocked gently beneath him. Across from him, seated with notably less relaxation, was Count Jeremy, sharp eyes, and an ever-present frown of disapproval.
“I still don’t understand it,” Jeremy muttered, his voice tight as he glanced toward the small, round window that gave a clear view of the trailing fleet. “Why in the world would High Priest Caldus offer to assist us in persuading Edward Jola? And now he’s gone as far as dispatching a few of the Church’s crusader ships to join our fleet. This wasn’t a holy war last I checked.”
Prince Nolan gave a casual shrug, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips before responding. “I still have my misgivings about the man,” he said after a sip, his tone disinterested. “But whatever his reasons, he’s proven… useful. Edward Jola was stubborn until Caldus got involved. Now we’ve got the old duke and his faction ready to move. That’s all that matters.”
Jeremy’s expression darkened. “Useful, yes—but aligned? That’s another question entirely. Caldus has always played the long ga. If he’s helping now, it’s only because it suits his agenda.”
Nolan smirked faintly, unbothered. “And what does that matter? His goals align with ours for the mont. If we both want Ravenna out of the picture and Kim under Jola’s thumb, then let him play his ga. We benefit either way.”
The count didn’t answer imdiately. His gaze lingered on the distant shapes of the church’s ships, sleek, white-gilded vessels flying banners of sunbursts and scripture. Unlike the rest of the fleet, there was sothing… unsettling about them. Their crews did not mingle. Their mages did not use flowers in the open. The very air around them felt different, thick with sanctimony and unspoken threat.
“I’d like to switch lodging ships,” Jeremy said abruptly, his voice crisp. “Put on one of the rearguard carriers, the furthest possible from those blasted crusaders.”
Nolan raised an eyebrow, lowering his goblet. “Why?” he asked with a smirk. “Afraid of getting blessed?”
Jeremy’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “I prefer my nightmares where I can see them coming. Those ships give the creeping feeling that they’d bless the sea with my blood and call it divine justice.”
Prince Nolan chuckled. “You act like so seasoned court conspirator, Count Jeremy. Playing cautious and cryptic, when in truth, you're scrambling to stay afloat like the rest of us.”
Count Jeremy stood slowly, adjusting his coat and smoothing down his sleeves with practiced elegance. “All Your Highness ever requested of was… favorable consideration,” he said coolly. “What I do to ensure that is no longer your concern.”
He offered a brief, almost mocking bow and turned toward the door, boots clicking softly on the polished floorboards. Just before stepping out, he paused.
“Oh, and Your Highness…” he said without looking back. “If I end up gutted in my sleep by one of his holiness Caldus’s pious madn, do the courtesy of rembering that I warned you.”
With that, the door creaked shut behind him.
Prince Nolan exhaled through his nose, swirling the remaining wine in his cup. His gaze drifted toward the window and the crusader ships gliding silently across the sea like phantoms of judgnt.
“Politics and priests,” he muttered under his breath. “One poisons your wine, the other blesses the dagger.”
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