blueteamnovel Chapter 214: Glass and Smoke
Chapter 214: Glass and Smoke
Chapter 214: Glass and Smoke
Glass and Smoke
Arvena
Sir Justin received reports from his men. The situation had developed rapidly. The Crown Prince had made his move, and more mounted scouts had been spotted on the outskirts of the forest. The enemy had likely discovered Lord Arte's hideout in a village beyond the forest and was planning where to make their assault.
But so had their own scouts, who had gathered intelligence about the Crown Prince's strength. His column consisted of around four hundred fighting men and three hundred horsemen. This composition of men and horses was not typical for the Imperium but common among Northerners. Fortunately, it was also familiar to Sir Justin, who had seen similar tactics during his campaigns in the steppes of Lowlandia.
"Four hundred men, huh?" he muttered to himself.
"Indeed, Sir," one of the two scouts replied, looking at him with reverence. To them, Sir Justin was a figure of hope, the hero who had won the famed battle of Korelia."Good work. Report this to Captain Thomas as well," he instructed. The two scouts saluted and hurried off as ordered.
"Four hundred..." Sir Justin repeated, thinking aloud. Such a number meant the Crown Prince feared rebellion in Riverstead. "So, he’s worried about an uprising in the city."
This suggested Lord Arte had vast supporters inside the city, or that the Crown Prince was highly unpopular. If true, it was a crucial piece of information they could potentially exploit.
"Sir Justin, a moment," someone called from the crowd, hurrying over with two guards trailing behind.
"Meister," Sir Justin acknowledged the older man of the trio who operated the culverin. He motioned his hand to calm both the guards and his own squire.
The senior maester, as he preferred to be called, spoke hastily, his panic showing. "I’ve heard you plan to arrange an escort for me?"
"Indeed. You're going to Brunna. Midlandia is in turmoil, so you’ll wait there until I can guarantee safe passage to Korelia as per our earlier agreement."
"But Sir, why? I thought we agreed I’d help you bring down the target here."
Sir Justin met his gaze with understanding. "Walk with me." He gestured toward the woods where the demonstration had taken place two days ago.
They headed toward the woods, the two guards and Sir Justin’s squire trailing at a distance to give them privacy.
As they walked, Sir Justin began to whistle a light, carefree tune, perfect for a leisurely stroll. The senior maester seemed to enjoy it, his shoulders relaxing as the melody briefly lifted the tension lingering from their earlier conversation.
What he didn’t know was that it was all choreographed. Sir Justin had been waiting for this moment. The plan to send the trio to Brunna was true, but it was also a setup.
As the tune ended, the knight revealed to the old maester, "Despite the demonstration, Lord Arte still has his doubts."
"So the Lord is still uncertain?" The old maester ventured, his tone measured but betraying a hint of disappointment. "Even after witnessing its power and accuracy..."
"I think the issue isn’t the weapon," Sir Justin explained.
The senior maester halted. Sir Justin stopped as well, their eyes meeting. "If it’s not the weapon, then what?"
"I suspect it’s a difference in objectives," Sir Justin explained. "We want to capture the Crown Prince alive."
The old maester furrowed his brow but replied without pause, "We’ll bring down the horse, clearing the way for you to seize him."
"Many believe you’ll ‘accidentally’ kill the Crown Prince."
The old man hesitated before answering, "Accidents can happen in the chaos of battle."
"We’re afraid your employer ultimately wants the Crown Prince dead."
"That’s a baseless accusation," the maester snapped, his anger breaking through. "We’re here to help, not cause trouble."
"It stems from your own words." Sir Justin raised an eyebrow. "You did say it was a weapon fit for a king."
"That was only to draw your notice," he explained, sounding drained. "To be frank, we were scared out of our wits. The men who seized us could’ve passed for brigands."
Sir Justin chuckled softly, his amusement evident. "I sympathize with your situation. Still, your daring to approach us and your motives raise questions." He continued, "Whoever employed you must be powerful. That makes us cautious."
The old maester looked disheartened, his confidence waning.
Sir Justin studied him, pleased, and decided to plant his poison. "But to tell you the truth: personally, I’m fine with it."
The old man’s eyes widened.
He continued, "If killing the Crown Prince baits the King, then I don’t see a problem."
The old maester gave a small smile but remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.
Sir Justin saw through the man’s lie. He didn’t need quick confirmation and intentionally shifted the subject. "Are culverins widely used in the Eastern Kingdom?"
"I can’t speak for Navalnia, but in the past, Mercantile Kingdom kings did use them on their ships. However, they were lesser versions with questionable range and power. That’s why they stopped using them; too costly and complicated for too little practical use."
"So, they’re still fairly uncommon even in the Royal Army?"
"For portable ones like this, yes," the old maester added. "Common soldiery requires no such powerful weapons."
"So, it’s only useful for assassination," Sir Justin probed.
"We’re not assassins," the man replied, "but it can be used for that."
Piqued, Sir Justin asked, "If not for that, then what exactly is its purpose?"
"It’s definitely useful in naval battles. But right now, the destructive power is too small to make it worthwhile. However, in sieges, we can help silence parts of fortifications from below. The culverin can’t knock down walls or gates, but we can render a defensive tower or gatehouse useless, enabling men to scale ladders in better conditions."
"But the weapon is slow to fire," Sir Justin pointed out.
"If it’s for sieges, then we’ll employ plenty."
"Do you have that many? That sounds expensive."
"We can produce them in a few months, and I’m certain a city is worth many times our services," the senior maester replied confidently. He didn’t mention the 350 gold coins already paid for this mission, nor the additional 300 promised upon completion, most of it a risk premium for targeting such a high-profile individual. With that payment, he could finally fund his own workshop and begin production.
Sir Justin chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Maester, I’m ready to act on your behalf. But you need to confirm your actual orders. With that, I can bring your case before the council."
The senior maester hesitated, his expression unreadable. Sir Justin waited, about to continue walking, when the man spoke. "Wait."
Sir Justin stopped and turned to him.
Laughter rippled through the hall, with many taking the boast at face value.
"So much for the mighty tales of the Black Lord," the host commented in jest.
"My son saw him the other day," a lady said. "He described the Lord as commanding but lacking refinement. He commands frightening knights and soldiers, yet compared to Lord Bengrieve, he lacks elegance."
"So the tales of him being nothing more than a country bumpkin are true, then?" another remarked.
Dry, dismissive laughter followed. Yet, a more cautious and sensible noble spoke up. "But the new master is well-liked by the common folk."
"How quaint," someone sneered. "The poor, uneducated, and unwashed adore a ruler as common as themselves."
Mocking laughter rippled through the hall, with some nobles clutching their goblets as if toasting the insult.
"The freeborn love him because he lets them dream of power," quipped the head of a rising House. "Yet all they’ll feel is the grip of our firm hands."
There were nods of agreement as goblets clinked.
"Then there’s nothing to worry about," the host declared. "If he’s as unimpressive as we’ve heard, we can resume our businesses as usual."
"That goes without question," declared the senior-most noble, a landlord with vast properties, farms, bakeries, and workshops. "Our Houses have endured for centuries. No petty usurper can change that."
The host nodded in agreement. "As Reginald proved, whoever holds the title of Lord makes little difference. We’ll comply with his demands, as long as they’re not too costly. From what I hear, he only asks for crossbows and bolts."
"How warlike of him," someone mocked, prompting a ripple of laughter.
The host leaned back, his voice carrying weight. "Even if the tales about his victories are true, this isn’t Lowlandia. We have hundreds of towns and cities. He lacks talented men to enforce his will on all of us."
"And if he tries, we can bribe his people, or introduce them to an accident," another added.
Smirks spread, and the men exchanged knowing nods.
"Besides," one said, "there’s no talent in Lowlandia. I’ve even heard their knights can barely read."
Laughter erupted, filling the chamber. Goblets were refilled, and the mood lightened as they indulged in their supposed superiority.
Then came a soft knock against the door, yet it startled them. A few shuddered, their sudden stillness betraying unease.
The host rose, excused himself, and opened the door to a slit. A guard captain stood there, looking uneasy.
"What is it?"
"A group of armed horsemen, my Lord. They bear the banner of the new Lord."
The news startled everyone. They rose abruptly, sobering themselves. Despite all their mockery and boastful words, they were deeply afraid of the Lord Shogun. Only a fool would belittle someone who had won war after war with such ferocity that even their former Lord, Reginald, couldn’t hold a candle to him, despite commanding a much larger forces.
Whispers of spies rippled through the hall. Had someone betrayed them?
"What should we do?" one asked, already sweating.
"Does he have spies in the city?" another ventured nervously.
The host raised his hand, his voice sharp. "Relax. I’ll handle this. At most, it’s the new governor or supervisor. This will be simple, at worst, an inconvenience. Let’s see just how capable our new Lowlandian supervisor really is."
...
The host and several prominent nobles formed a welcoming committee, their robes immaculate and their expressions carefully practiced. They had watched the approaching riders from the walls and, judging by their numbers, found little reason for concern. Confidence swelled among them as they prepared to greet their new governor or supervisor.
"Such a young one," one noble murmured, eyeing the lead horseman as the riders dismounted. "He’ll be easy to manipulate."
The remark earned a few soft chuckles and nods of agreement. Their confidence swelling as they sized up the newcomers. Others smirked outright, already imagining how easily they might steer the young officer to suit their interests.
"Hail," the young officer called out, his voice clear but lacking the weight of authority.
"Greetings!" the host replied, stepping forward with a polite bow. "Are you, perhaps, the newly appointed administrator of Krakusa?"
The young officer flushed, momentarily caught off guard. He glanced at his fellow horsemen, but they offered no explanation but smirks and quiet chuckles.
The host and his companions exchanged amused smiles. They hadn’t expected Lowlandians to appear so clumsy and ill-prepared.
Finally, the young officer cleared his throat. "Good nobles, there must be some mistake. I’m not escorting an administrator, and I’m certainly not one."
"I see," the host replied, keeping his tone polite. "Then what brings you to Krakusa?"
"You may ask my master. He’s the one leading this inspection."
The nobles turned toward the horsemen, expecting someone to step forward, but no one moved. Their confusion grew as murmurs spread among them. "Forgive our curiosity, but where is he?" the host pressed.
"My master should already be at the castle," the young officer replied.
"H-huh?" the older noble stammered, his earlier smugness fading.
"My master," the officer replied casually, "is riding an airship."
"A-airship?" The host echoed, his voice faltering. Whispers rippled through the nobles as panic flickered in their eyes. They quickly turned instinctively toward the castle. Only then did they notice its gargantuan presence looming above the battlements. Sleek and ominously black, its hull gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting the last rays of the waning sun.
The sight of the leviathan stole the breath from many. They had heard tales of airships but had never expected to see one descend upon their city. Worse, it implied that whoever had been sent ranked unmistakably high in the hierarchy.
"Why didn’t we see it?" one of the nobles hissed, his nervousness poorly hidden.
The young officer allowed himself a smile. "My master prefers it that way; climbing high as he nears the target, then diving down at the last moment."
"W-who is your master?" the host asked, struggling to maintain composure.
Straightening his posture, the young officer’s eyes gleamed with pride. "His name is Sir Morton of Three Hills, Captain of the famed Black Knights, Lord Shogun’s most trusted Mage Knight, and more recently the Butcher of Kapua and the bane of Lubina."
***