The city of Arcantez wasn’t always a provincial capital. It existed before the Summerforth Empire’s founding, over a thousand years ago, when Missian was still an independent kingdom. Even then, it served as the realm’s ever-flourishing seat of power. In the modern day, Arcantez boasted a population of over five hundred thousand people. Few cities in Summerforth could claim to rival it in terms of sheer scale.
Castle Arcantez was situated at the very center of the city, and it towered over the buildings around it. It was the largest castle in all of Missian. The jet-black stone it was built from had earned it the popular nickname the Onyx Citadel. The stone itself was called royal onyx, and it was known for being sturdy and resistant to weathering. Needless to say, stone with those qualities was highly sought after, and royal onyx fetched quite a high price on the market. The castle was built a hundred years after the Kingdom of Missian’s founding, and it told a tale of the realm’s past prosperity.
Deep within the Onyx Citadel was a room known as the Chamber of Debate. A round table was set up in the very center of that room. On this day in particular, a cluster of nobles was gathered up around it, engaged in a war council.
“So our plan to entice Perreina to our side has failed,” said a man with long, black hair that reached his shoulders. His name was Vasmarque Salemakhia. He was the second son of the recently deceased Duke of Missian. At the moment, he was engaged in a power struggle with his elder brother, Couran, with the title of duke on the line.
“So it seems. I have to wonder how they pulled it off. It wasn’t a bad plan in my book. Then again, it’s also no skin off our backs─even if Perreina sides with the enemy, we still hold the advantage,” said a man who sat to the right of Vasmarque. His name was Thomas Grunzeon, and he was acknowledged as Vasmarque’s right-hand man. In contrast to his lord, Thomas’s head was close-shaved, though an ample beard covered the lower half of his stern face. He was also exceptionally tall and sported a muscular build. One might have thought him to be a downright musclehead, at a glance, but in truth, his mind was just as honed as his body.
“Nonetheless, Perreina’s betrayal is a hefty blow indeed,” mumbled an older man who sat to Vasmarque’s left. This tiny, white-haired, aged man’s name was Remus Ives. He had served the Duchy of Missian for decades as one of its wisest and most eminent tacticians. He was also the Count of Lomak, a county that was adjacent to Arcantez. These three outstanding leaders served as the core of the war council, and they drove the conversation forward.
“The enemy’s forces number a hundred and fifty thousand,” said Vasmarque. “Considering the fact that they’ll have to leave troops behind to guard their borders, we can assume their effective fighting force will be around ten thousand less than that.”
“And we’ve a hundred and eighty thousand that stand ready to mobilize,” added Remus. “Strength of numbers is ours, but alas, their troops have the edge in both training and skill. The west has always held the upper hand in military might, and word is that Lord Couran has hired the Maitraw Company to fight under his banner. All things considered, we ought to assume our sides stand on even footing.”
“Fair ’nuff, but it’s not like their commanders are anything to write home about, Couran aside,” Thomas noted.
“In terms of personnel, we have the overwhelming upper hand, yes,” agreed Vasmarque with a nod. “The odds of our loss are slim.”
Vasmarque had taken a long, objective look at the war he was about to wage, and had concluded that it was in his favor. He did not, however, believe that his victory was one hundred percent secured. He was not a man prone to imprudence, and he would not declare preemptive victory until he knew for a fact that he had won.
“What has become of your sister, Thomas?” asked Vasmarque.
“Huh? Her?” said Thomas, cocking his head. “Hell if I know. Out drinking herself under a table somewhere, most likely.”
“And where would she be doing that?” Vasmarque pressed. “I have a mind to let bygones be bygones and bring her back into my service.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the room descended into an uproar.
“Y-You can’t be serious, Milord! You’d let her be your retainer again?” asked Thomas, aghast.
“You can’t deny that she has the talent,” said Vasmarque. “And if recruiting her fails, then at the very least we’ll want to bring her back to the castle and lock her up until this is all over. Imagine the headache if she decided to side with Couran.”
“That’s…well, that’s fair enough,” said Thomas. “However, I don’t have the faintest clue where she could be right now.”
“None at all? Not even a guess?”
“None,” Thomas sighed.
“A woman like her is hard to miss. You’ve heard no rumors? Nothing? And not just Thomas─does anyone here have any information at all?” Vasmarque added, turning to address the rest of the room. Unfortunately, though, he was met with nothing but frowns and the shaking of heads. “Hmph. I see, then.”
“Trust me, Milord, she’s either dead in a ditch or off in some other duchy,” said Thomas. “And even if she were in Missian, no lord on Couran’s side would ever stoop to employing her. Skilled or not, the woman’s nothing more than an alcoholic these days.”
“I suppose you have a point,” muttered Vasmarque. He still felt uneasy, but he decided to cast that woman from his mind for the moment, for better or worse.
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