Ancient Imperial Calendar Year 1813
The Kerbel Forest Campaign had ended, and Ricardo and his soldiers returned to Kislathor, the capital of the Kislavein Dynasty, with tremendous war spoils. While everyone longed to bathe, eat, and rest in their soft beds, the guards waiting at the city gates ran forward with worried expressions and knelt before Ricardo.
"We greet the heir of the dynasty. We bring terrible news."
From the guards' anxious demeanor and the gloomy mood of the capital's citizens, Ricardo understood that something bad had happened.
"What happened?" he asked tensely.
"The Pleyciys Dynasty has started a rebellion."
Ricardo was shocked. Although the Pleyciys Dynasty had been a rival of the Kislavein Dynasty for centuries, they had always been loyal.
"This is bad news, but why are you in such despair? Surely rebellion alone cannot be the only reason."
The guards lowered their heads, words stuck in their throats, unsure of what to say.
"SPEAK!"
Ricardo shouted in anger, his brows furrowing and veins swelling. The guards knew their silence could lead to a grim fate.
"Leader of the Pleyciys Dynasty, Wilheim, has executed his wife, your sister, Lady Cierra."
Ricardo was stunned. He had only seen his sister Cierra once—at her wedding to Wilheim. Still, the murder of a member of his dynasty—what audacity! He grabbed the guard by the neck and lifted him into the air in rage. Had his companions not calmed him, he might have snapped the guard's neck.
"Why would Wilheim execute my sister? Even if he rebelled, why kill his own wife?"
The guard who had been thrown to the ground clutched at his throat.
"Ugh—cough—ugh—"
As the guard struggled to breathe, another guard decided to answer Ricardo's question.
"Wilheim Pleyciys declared that he sought to avenge his father, who had been killed years ago by Lord Orsman IV of the dynasty, and to destroy the oppressive Kislavein Dynasty. He said he would spill Orsman's blood in exchange for his father's, and to do so, he executed his wife—your sister—Lady Cierra by beheading her. Then—"
Before the guard could finish, Ricardo, overcome by fury, used magic to choke him and lift him into the air. The guard's feet dangled, his breath failing.
"Then what? Speak," Ricardo demanded, his voice low, thin, yet filled with hate.
"Then—ugh—after—ah—"
Realizing the guard was about to faint from lack of air, Ricardo calmed himself and released the spell. The guard collapsed to his knees.
"He said he would kill everyone carrying Orsman's blood."
Ricardo walked between the two kneeling guards with fury. The capital's people were in deep despair over Lady Cierra's death.
When Ricardo reached the palace gates, he was greeted by his mother, Lady Seliarnevre, and Lady Maressil Gildiberdi, Cierra's mother.
"I'm glad you've returned safely, my son."
Seliarnevre felt both the joy of her son's safe return and the grief of Cierra's death.
"I greet the heir of the dynasty."
Lady Maressil bowed respectfully. Her face was hollow, her body so frail she could barely stand.
"My deepest condolences for your loss, Lady Maressil. Though we were once enemies, in these dark days, as the heir to the Kislavein Dynasty, I promise to stand by your side and assure you that I will avenge my sister."
Maressil felt some relief at these words. Since hearing of her daughter's death, her health had worsened. All her sons had been lost in the throne wars—Cierra had been her last surviving child. The promise of vengeance eased her mind.
"I'm grateful—so very grateful, heir of the dynasty. I cannot thank you enough."
Tears streamed down her face as she began to collapse, but her servants caught her in time. Looking at Ricardo, Maressil spoke with difficulty:
"My grandson—please save him."
From Cierra and Wilheim's marriage, a son named Oscar had been born. After Oscar's birth, Wilheim had never again been with Cierra. Now, Oscar was in Pleven, the capital of the Pleyciys Dynasty.
"I can't promise anything. After all, the boy is the heir to a rebel dynasty."
Maressil fell to her knees, bowing her head and pleading, but Ricardo ignored her and entered the palace. She shouted after him:
"I BEG YOU—MY GRANDSON HAS DONE NOTHING WRONG! HE IS YOUR NEPHEW—SPARE HIM!"
An hour later, Ricardo convened an emergency meeting in the palace. The commanders who had not gone on the Eastern Campaign with Orsman were present. Orsman had left some commanders and western lords in the capital in case of emergencies.
"What's our situation?"
In response to Ricardo's question, the intelligence chief, Rodwel Karluk, raised his hand to speak. When Ricardo gave him permission, Rodwel stood and pointed to the map.
"According to information from our spies, Wilheim Pleyciys leads a rebellion with thirty major dynasties and many minor ones. Their combined forces are estimated between 300,000 and 400,000."
"How do they have so many soldiers? When my father left for the Eastern Campaign, each dynasty sent three-quarters of its army."
"From what I've learned, these dynasties concealed their true strength and sent only a small number to the campaign. But do not worry, heir of the dynasty—our forces greatly outnumber theirs."
After Rodwel finished, Commander Argilac—Ricardo's brother-in-law through his marriage to Ricardo's stepsister Talissa—stood to speak.
"As the intelligence chief said, we are superior in numbers, with a total of 600,000 soldiers."
Questions kept swirling in Ricardo's mind—every answer only raised another.
"Then what makes Wilheim so confident in this war? Even if he seeks vengeance, victory is impossible."
Edward Rodwel, son of the late Lord II Herlman Rodwel and current head of House Rodwel, interjected.
"I have a theory, heir of the dynasty. What if Wilheim's rebellion isn't driven by vengeance alone, but because someone encouraged him?"
Ricardo found this plausible and focused on Edward.
"Explain in detail, Lord Edward."
"As you command, heir of the dynasty—my theory is that the Turvig Dynasty encouraged Wilheim to rebel."
Argilac frowned in curiosity.
"Why would the Turvig Dynasty do that, and what connection could they have with Wilheim?"
Rodwel continued:
"It's simple—if Wilheim's only aim was vengeance, he would have rebelled long ago. The only logical reason for doing so now is that he has a powerful backer."
The diplomat Varolyk Herlvein stood to speak.
"Lord Rodwel is right. On my visits to the north as an envoy, I became well acquainted with Jarl III Kayra Han of the Turvig Dynasty. He is a cunning politician and a dangerous warrior. The possibility that he incited the Pleyciys rebellion is far from unlikely."
The Northern Lands, with their cold climate and vast steppes, had shaped their people into fierce, ruthless, and strong warriors. During the Ancient Empire, the north had been divided into countless tribes, relying heavily on the Eastern Lands for food. In its final years, northern tribes rose in mass rebellion, even killing the 39th emperor, VII Harloumen. After the death of the last emperor, VIII Harloumen, the north fragmented into hundreds of tribes, warring for 200 years.
Eight hundred years ago, in Imperial Year 1212, the north was split between the Turk and Ving Dynasties, who fought for a century without a victor. In 1345, Jarl Astrid Ving ended the war by marrying Ülgen Han, lord of the Turk Dynasty, thus uniting the two houses into the Turvig Dynasty. To honor their heritage, Turvig rulers adopted both titles—Jarl and Han—placing one at the start and the other at the end of their names.
For five centuries, the Turvig Dynasty had been the terror of the west, center, and east.
"Their army numbers around 2.5 million."
"Counting the rebels, their strength could approach three million, Lord Rodwel."
"You're right, Commander Argilac—this will be a difficult task."
"Could we send word to my father for reinforcements, Lord Rodwel?"
"I can use my spy network to reach Lord Orsman quickly, heir of the dynasty, but the war in the east has grown extremely fierce—we cannot count on reinforcements."
Ricardo leaned on the table, studying the map in silence.
"We must crush the rebellion with minimal losses while preparing for a possible Turvig invasion."
Edward Rodwel pointed to the map, tracing the likely rebel route.
"The rebels will likely take the shortest path to Kislathor—through the Ragam Plains, over the Altor Mountains, and then attack Raven Pass."
Ricardo focused on Raven Pass.
"How long could this pass hold against 400,000 rebels, Lord Edward?"
"An estimated month. The pass lies between two mountains—going around them would take three months, so they will surely besiege it."
Ricardo touched his chin, thinking.
"Prepare the army—we must reach Raven Pass as fast as possible."
Commander Argilac stood to object.
"Even if we move quickly, we cannot reach it in less than three months."
Edward Rodwel agreed.
"By the time we arrive, the rebels may have already taken the pass and seized towns on the road to Kislathor."
"Leave that part to me, my lords."
The council looked at Ricardo in curiosity. His master, Eduardo Kislavein—father of Marco and Marilin—stood and asked:
"What is your plan, heir of the dynasty? How do you intend to reach Raven Pass before it falls?"
"The spoils we took from the Kerbel Forest include poisons, curses, and enchantments—normally used against the enemy, correct?"
Eduardo nodded, unsure.
"Yes, but what exactly are you suggesting?"
Ricardo's expression turned dark.
"What if we altered one of those curses to grant our soldiers tirelessness?"
This idea greatly pleased the Captain of the Royal Guard, Henryk Kislavein, who grinned.
"You're a genius, heir of the dynasty. It's never been tried, but it might be possible."
Ricardo's brother-in-law Terman Kislavein was skeptical.
"We've never tested this—can we risk it?"
"I assure you, Terman—it's worth the risk. Raven Pass is priceless for both defense and halting the rebels' advance."
Terman's concerns persisted.
"But curses are dangerous—there are barely a thousand curse-casters in the Western Lands, and casting such a spell on 600,000 soldiers would be extremely difficult."
Edmund Rodwel, Edward's son and Ricardo's other brother-in-law, interrupted.
"Terman, you worry too much—be more like your brother Tyrel. In the Battle of Magusa Port, he fought without hesitation and killed the enemy general, Ricao Ashbrum, despite the man being older, stronger, and more experienced."
Terman bristled—being compared to Tyrel was something he despised. Before he could lash out, Ricardo intervened to calm the room.
"Very well, if everyone is calm, let's finalize the details and complete the campaign plan."
The meeting ended an hour later. All commanders and lords retired to their chambers to rest—preparations for the campaign against the rebels would begin tomorrow.