Will of the Battlefield

That single day sent ripples across the entire continent, the day the deal was sealed and idiotic stubbornness and belief in companionship overcame what was known as formalities, academy dignity, and the ego of those who could decide fate for others.

Some ripples were rather insignificant, though for others it might have turned into storms.

Far away from Blue Leaf Academy and its blooming youthful dreams, kings, generals, merchants, and spies found themselves discussing one name.

Thane Ironforge.

Though the Count who made the scene received no less attention than him. The father and son were hot topics.

Yet what made Thane stand out most was how things came to be... He joined the selection without a family name, without any privileges.

He could have received them, yet he paved his path on his own. He defeated privileged nobles from faraway lands on the continent.

Getting lost in the last test was soon forgotten. What remained was the desire the academies held for him, even after his seemingly nonsensical demands.

Yet the giant himself remained blissfully unaware, busy arguing with Max over whether such giant breakfasts were truly necessary.

He still believed everyone was too thin and needed to eat more to grow up strong like him.

The continent, however, did not sleep. It watched and moved.

The Royal Palace of Bentram wasn’t different.

The mighty old king of Bentram, King Dorian Montgomery, sat upon the throne.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

His fingers drummed rhythmically, yet slowly, against the armrest.

The throne hall was not crowded, unlike how it usually was at times such as that.

Only a handful of core men, the most trusted men.

Before the throne stood the Interior Minister, Rufrey Voss.

The fat minister looked exhausted. "I still fail to understand why you are smiling, Your Majesty."

King Dorian smiled wider, very unusual of him. "Because Thomas threatened secession again." His eyes held amusement rather than any other emotion.

Rufrey’s face contorted, looking rather horrified. "Again?" He doubted his ears.

"Again." The king laughed. "This time he threatened to restore the Ironforge Kingdom over academy admissions."

The fat interior minister closed his eyes. "One day that man shall kill me with a heart stroke." His hand went to his chest, feeling his pulse rising rapidly.

"Your Majesty, this is serious." He tried to speak common sense to the king, who seemed to be enjoying his time.

The king waved a hand in dismissal. "It is the Ironforge clan."

"Exactly." Rufrey had a different reason for his reaction than what the king had on his face.

The king’s smile faded somewhat. "Did he mean it?" He raised a finger.

"Probably?" the fat man answered with uncertainty. The king, on the other hand, turned his gaze at him, eyes sharp.

Rufrey froze for a moment. "Not?" he finished his unintentionally incomplete sentence.

The king nodded in approval. "The Ironforges have never broken an oath. But they have never tolerated insults either."

The hall fell silent. Everyone present knew what those words meant, even if the king himself did not elaborate further.

After a short pause, the king chuckled. "Still. He came. He’s not that much different from his father, even if he seems to avoid leaving his county."

Rufrey nodded. Thomas Ironforge hated the capital with passion. He did not visit and ignored summons unless the king himself was the one summoning him.

He threatened ministers multiple times, insulted nobles, and sometimes outright assaulted them over trivial matters.

Yet he still came all this way for his son.

"Family," the king whispered.

"The Ironforge clan has always been ruled by the concept of family."

Across the vast continent, somewhere in the Drevlorn Dynasty...

Ten riders thundered across muddy roads, wearing black cloaks and weathered armor.

Hard mercenary folks. The Iron Jackals.

Their leader rode at the front: Aratharn. Four black lines marked his seasoned face.

Rain poured relentlessly. His bald companion spat into the mud. "We should’ve reached Bentram three days ago," he complained while making sure his hood didn’t come off.

Aratharn grunted. "Weather."

"Fuck the weather," the bald man cursed.

Another rider laughed. "At least we’re not marching to war in this."

None disagreed. The rains had become monstrous.

Rivers overflowed and roads vanished beneath mud. The risk of flood was not distant either.

Entire supply caravans disappeared. No sane commander would wage war in such conditions. No one would sacrifice his troops to mother nature meaninglessly.

A scout rode behind the leader. "The borders are just a day away, maybe less if the weather improved."

Aratharn nodded. "Good." The mercenary glanced toward the black clouds stretching far beyond his eyesight.

He knew too well it was unlikely for the rain to stop, with the sky darkening even at the brightest hours of the day.

The war had paused, but only paused. Every sellsword on the continent could still smell blood.

And for them, blood meant coin.

At another corner of the continent, the city of Handh, Krynova Kingdom~

General Cameron Grant stood beside a map table. Several generals surrounded him.

The atmosphere looked heavy, with everyone standing wordlessly, their faces grim.

"How long?" asked one.

"Two weeks," Cameron replied, but after a short second, "Perhaps three," he added.

Another cursed. "The damn rain is getting worse, over a very vast region at that."

A third general frowned. "The Khanate gains time."

Cameron nodded. "So do we. What about supply?"

The strategist replied. "Delayed."

"Our scouts?"

"A bit late."

"And mercenaries?"

The strategist smiled. "They’ll come."

Mercenaries always came. Gold had a way of defeating weather.

The chamber doors suddenly opened. A messenger hurried inside. "General."

Cameron accepted the scroll. The seal upon it made him frown.

The imperial seal of the Great Murak Empire.

The strongest empire on the continent.

The Third Honored Knight broke the seal. His eyes widened. A soft chuckle escaped his lips all of a sudden.

"Interesting."

The gathered generals exchanged looks. "What is it?"

Cameron’s smile widened. "The Emperor seems to be getting bored."

He carefully folded the scroll back before handing it to one of his men. "Send it to the king," he ordered.