Chapter 338: 334 - Interlude - General On The Edge
The hooves of Elheat's warhorse echoed softly across the stone ramp of the Thalassar signal tower, clinking in steady rhythm as he dismounted and ascended the final steps on foot.
Above him, the stars blinked cold and sharp over the western sea.
Below him, the port city of Thalassar glowed like a hearth in the night — Romanus banners hung from every tower, signal lights blinked in prearranged code, and beyond the harbor.
He had done it.
Three cities taken.
The coast was theirs.
And still, Elheat felt no triumph.
Only the weight of momentum.
He stood at the pinnacle of the tower and looked northward across the vast bay that separated Achae from the green and gold edges of western Francia.
The water was calm.
But not peaceful.
It was waiting.
Waiting for the next command.
The next strike.
The next scream.
Behind him, the port bustled like a city reborn.
The Iron Cavalry — what remained of it — had fanned out across the north of Achae, finishing the job of pacification, while securing the borders with Francia.
Village by village.
Fortress by fortress.
It was not a hard campaign — the fighting was brief, the opposition fractured — but it was not clean either.
No war ever was.
Many of the fortresses had fallen with barely a clash, the defenders disillusioned by the royal command's abandonment, their loyalty crumbling faster than their gates.
Others resisted.
They were buried.
Elheat exhaled slowly and leaned forward, placing a gauntleted hand on the edge of the stone battlement.
The wind tugged at his cloak, now faded from its crimson sheen into a scorched and salt-dulled gray.
He had seen much of war.
But never one like this.
Never one so full of purpose.
The men beneath his command did not conquer out of greed.
They did not rape or burn or steal unless it was necessary for the campaign's survival.
They followed orders.
They held discipline.
Because they followed Julius.
And Julius had not come for loot or glory.
He had come to reshape.
To take a world of brittle thrones and shattered kings and forge a continent under a single law, a single banner, a single destiny.
And Elheat — noble-born, hard-forged — had been made for this moment, this was the very reason he sought to pledge himself to such a noble youth as Julius, even when many were expecting Elheat himself to claim the throne after the fall of the Lunan Kingdom.
But for riding through the dark and bringing fire where it was coldest, this was what made Elheat really feel alive.
A sound stirred behind him.
"General,"
a voice said — young, eager, deferential.
A courier, judging by the breathlessness.
"The last of the scouts have returned, we should be ready for deployment shortly."
"Time?"
"Before sunrise, my lord."
Elheat nodded.
"And the scouts report?"
"No resistance spotted yet. They report the western roads are quiet. Too quiet. Though it's also possibly they've trusted their southern neighbor too much and sent all their forces east to deal with the Emperor."
Elheat grunted.
Good.
That meant the shock had worked.
The Francians were still dazed.
Still pulling their court back from the fire licking at their front.
They had assumed the land would hold.
Now the sea was carving open their heart.
While his own men waited to gourge themselves on the soft underbelly.
He turned back to the water one last time.
A mist was rising beyond the bay.
Not unnatural — just seasonal — but in it he could almost see the future.
Romanus banners flying above coastal villages.
Ships docked like anchors of inevitability.
The thunder of hooves echoing inland.
Francia would not fall in one stroke.
But it would fall.
It had already started.
"Signal Admiral Varro,"
Elheat said, stepping back from the tower edge.
"Tell him to make ready for coastal defense. The coast is ours. But now… we ride inland. We'll cut the spine from the west while his majesty breaks the head from the east."
The courier saluted and vanished down the steps.
Elheat followed slowly.
Every stride heavier than the last.
Not with age.
But with history.
~
The Western March Begins
At dawn, the sky over Thalassar turned gold and rose with the first break of sun.
Elheat and what remained of the Iron Cavalry surged forward once more — steel hooves pounding frost-dried earth, their silhouettes sharp against the sea-mist horizon.
They left no speeches.
No proclamations.
Only a simple decree carved in stone over the northern gate of Achaleon:
"We did not come to burn the world. Only to end the ones who already did."
As they rode out, ground forces followed after them, while slower caravans trundled down the road as well.
Elheat was operating under blitz tactics, his fast and manueverable cavalry forces conducted breakthrough attacks before then moving on to hit and run tactics while the infantry caught up.
Elheat was limited in what he could do, due to the limited number of his forces, each place they captured caused him to lose forces not just in deaths, but also in men that needed to be left behind to maintain control, thankfully with the arrival of the Navy a new legion was dropped off to replenish his forces but even still, his invasion into Francia would be small given his single legion and now half and iron cavalry.
But still Elheat didn't mind, his goal effectively was already done, taking southern territories was just to cause further division within the Francian high command.
The last word he'd heard from the emperor was about the war plans, with the north settling into winter, his own forces would be unable to make large gains, and so after making some small ones they were to hold positions and come the spring additional reinforcements would arrive and Romanus would strike out hard from three sides.
East-South-West.
Under the relentless assaults the Francian monarchy should have no choice but to wave the white flag, surrendering not only the prince, and their country.
But also giving back that which was stolen and making their emperor whole once again.