Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

“Were we really going to withdraw, Viscount?”

“I already told you twice, Hunter. If you ask me again, I don’t care who your father is — get out of my allied forces!”

“But we clearly had the advantage, why—”

Viscount Frey’s face was full of impatience as he directed a servant to load his favorite armchair onto the carriage, and he explained to the young man before him with forced patience:

“Because nobody cared about the lives of the Resistance — no, actually I did care. They simply could not be finished off yet!”

“Uh, why?”

“Did your father only teach you to pore over those stupid books? Tell me who you are and why you are standing here!”

Hunter straightened instinctively:

“Your Viscountcy, I was Hunter Godfrey Watts, a scholar of the Grand Duchy of Alvarez, sent by the Grand Duke’s will to assist you in rooting out—”

“Stop. That’s enough.” Viscount Frey cut him off. “The Grand Duke sent you to assist me, not to make trouble for me!”

“But—”

“The Grand Duke did not care about the Resistance. This was Bazel’s domain; the Grand Duke would rather have more Resistance troublemakers. Tell me, since I arrived here, how many sieges have I commanded?”

“Not even once. You seem always busy with other matters.”

“Yes. Since I came here I had taken five castles from Earl Bazel’s holdings without losing a single man — all thanks to those Resistance fighters. They gave us the pretext to stay here, and now the nearby lands have been parceled out. We need to move on.”

Hunter’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then a faint understanding dawned on him.

“I studied three years at the Royal Army Academy, was in the last graduating class, and even placed second in the final assessment. If I wanted to, how long do you think it would take me to take Sleddinburg?”

“Uh, a week?”

“At most an hour and a half to punch through their defenses.” Viscount Frey sneered. “From the first day of assault our soldiers wielded spears and bows — firearms never made an appearance, and under the Grand Duke I had always commanded the musket squads.”

“No wonder you only let me build the catapults and forbade other siege engines.”

Viscount Frey raised an eyebrow. This stunned, gawky scholar was not quite as foolish as he looked.

“As for fodder soldiers, there were as many as needed. Elite troops?” Viscount Frey snorted.

“Did they even deserve them?”

“That band of beggars from the White Raven Principality couldn’t beat conscripted farmers. Were they worthy of my being sent to gather elites?”

“Hunter, never waste thought on the weak — it will only make you weak like them. Challenge the stronger instead.”

“We were to seek out stronger foes and clash with them honorably. Don’t bother with the Resistance; they were not worth our time.”

Hunter scratched his head in confusion, then nodded hesitantly.

“So next we—”

“Bazel had been amassing troops in the south, including the elite Frostsoil Guard and Winter Wolves. Several dukes had suffered heavy losses to them in the past; it was time to take them back!”

“We would find them, smash them, take their cities and wealth, and hang the Grand Duke’s crest over their castles.”

Viscount Frey stood with his hands behind his back, chin raised. “Those were the enemies worth facing — strong enough, deserving of our effort.”

“Do you understand now? Stop lingering here. Take your books and join me at the front; your siegecraft knowledge would soon be needed.”

“Oh.”

Watching Hunter’s retreating figure, Viscount Frey nodded in satisfaction.

The allied army’s departure had taken some time. Though Viscount Frey was the nominal commander, he could not directly order the troops of the other two dukes.

He could not command them, but he could buy their obedience with shared spoils.

All three dukes had set their sights on Bazel’s fat holdings. After half a year of secret attrition, it was time for the final blow.

Chaos in the Northlands, which had lasted for months, was about to draw to a close; from then on Bazel’s name would be struck from the Northlands’ table forever.

After half a day of bickering, disputes, and behind-the-scenes obstruction, the allied army finally moved out.

Viscount Frey sat erect inside his ornate carriage, brimming with vigor.

He had always longed for a worthy enemy, a chance to prove himself.

He had graduated from the Royal Army Academy over a year ago, but had only inherited rotten scraps of war; those foes could not even be called adversaries.

The Northlands were indeed backward, unable to let him show his talents.

In the academy he had been among the strongest — except for that one chief.

Viscount Frey frowned; that chief was just a young man with no background, yet always managed to outshine him. He vowed to duel him again if he had the chance.

Though perhaps there would be no chance now — he had heard the chief was sent to the Frontier Count’s side. How many of them survived?

Viscount Frey sighed. It was rare to find someone he truly respected; there were few in the world who had earned his recognition.

The allied army marched south, and Viscount Frey sent scouts ahead — of course toward the south. As for the Resistance trailing behind?

Viscount Frey had never cared about them.

As the army advanced, scout reports kept arriving.

“We can’t requisition grain? How is that possible — they are all farmers. How could farmers have no grain? Send soldiers to find the grain they hoarded!”

“Men of the Curia? Ignore them. Whatever the Church’s supernaturals were doing, they wouldn’t attack our forces. Also, restrain the soldiers from making trouble.”

“Metal monsters were moving along the road? Spitting smoke as well? Ignore it. Let the army press on. Times had changed; even if those were supernatural monsters, they couldn’t withstand muskets.”

Viscount Frey flipped through the scouts’ intelligence with a bored expression.

“These are all trivial matters. How was I to report this to the Grand Duke? That everything went smoothly? That won’t do.”

After a moment’s thought, his eyes brightened. He picked up a report and tossed it to the clerk beside him:

“Say we encountered southern steel monsters landing in the Northlands! Edit it — make it terrifying, add some details.”

“What details? Do I need to teach you that?!”

“Make it evil and dreadful, then emphasize that the brave Viscount decided to go meet them — highlight my fearlessness and mercy!”

“Ahem, but not too direct. Add some implied descriptions; show off your prose. This will go to the papers and the Grand Duke will see it!”

“All right. Send me the other reports too — I hope there’s nothing else dull.”

“What? The Grand Duke Dragonfang’s younger son has stomach troubles? Why wasn’t this reported sooner? Hurry, have the steward bring some medicine — or I’ll go myself.”