The sorceress was not willing to settle for less; she wanted everything that Veronica got from Ryan!
Ryan's smile gradually became mischievous: "Really? Teresa, are you sure?"
"I'm sure." The sorceress's attitude was resolute; she did not want to fall behind.
"It's not that I don't want to give it to you, Teresa... But this kind of mark only fully activates after that kind of relationship with me; otherwise, it needs to be repeatedly reforged." Ryan shook his head. "It's not that I'm unwilling to be with you, but it clearly isn't the right time. I can see you're not ready either. Let's talk about this later."
Teresa frowned, now knowing what was needed for the "spirit mark."
Veronica had merely mentioned the "spirit mark" to her somewhat boastfully. Teresa didn't know what exactly it was, what it was used for, or where it was applied, but a woman's instinct told her it was important, so she directly asked.
Hearing Ryan's response, a weight lifted from the sorceress's heart as she began to reassess her relationship with him.
Ryan didn't dislike her, but her presence was not part of his plans, which made her position here somewhat awkward. However, after talking with Veronica, Teresa knew what she had to do.
"Actually... we could find some time over the next few months, Ryan. I'm thirty-one now; I know what should happen." Teresa spoke softly. "Actually, I was ready when we went to Marlinburg."
That's why Veronica rushed you away; she must have seen it coming, Ryan thought to himself.
And I'm not ready.
"Anyway, let's talk about it in the coming months, Teresa. I prefer things to happen naturally rather than deliberately for some purpose." Ryan took the sorceress's hand. "There will be a right time; we just aren't there yet."
"Yes, we will." Teresa's smile was genuinely relieved as the weight of recent times seemed to lift.
...
After the rainy season, the air grew colder, but the soldiers of the Earl of Glamorgan could smell something burning in the air.
That scent was called war.
Early in the morning, before dawn, Betran woke up and instinctively reached under his pillow. Feeling the dagger there, he chuckled at himself.
He was in his townhouse, granted by the earl, not still out in the forests of Chalon struggling for a place to sleep against beastmen and orcs. He didn't need to keep a dagger under his pillow.
Old habits die hard.
The house's furnishings were simple—a table, some chairs, a few cabinets. The floor was covered with hemp and animal skins, his sword and longbow hung on the wall, and the stone walls weren't particularly sturdy but were enough to keep out the elements.
"Ah~" Betran groaned miserably. This feeling of being awake too early was truly uncomfortable. The new sergeant and head of the bowmen's company pulled the blanket over his head.
It was useless; he couldn't fall back asleep.
Betran decided to get up.
Today was the day the army departed. Soldiers from three towns had gathered in Gien Town. Over twenty knights, about a hundred knight attendants, a hundred sergeants, and over a thousand foot soldiers were assembled. Provisions and baggage were in place; all that was left was to depart.
Getting dressed under the still-dark sky, Betran washed his face with a bit of water from a bucket downstairs and began to heat water for soup. He tore up a basket of black bread into a large iron pot, adding some vegetables, flour, and even a small piece of pork ham.
As a sergeant, his salary and allowances were generous, allowing Betran to enjoy these provisions guilt-free.
A little later, as the sky just started to lighten, Betran's fellow Hugo got up. The two sergeants shared the two-story house, though Hugo had already found a lover—a refugee serf from the Duchy of Breyon, destitute and bereft of family. Hugo had taken a fancy to her golden hair and ample bosom and brought her home after their first meeting.
"Betran, you brigand, why are you up so early today?" Hugo, also a former brigand leader now made sergeant and leading a platoon, started helping Betran with breakfast, grumbling as they had long been acquainted. Betran liked to call Hugo "Shorty" due to his height of just 165 cm, while Hugo preferred to call Betran "Bingo" because of his exceptional archery skills—able to split an arrow already in the bullseye from two hundred steps away.
After a simple breakfast, the two sergeants were ready.
"Shorty, this is our first time in the earl's war. We must perform well; otherwise, we'll embarrass everyone." Dressed in leather, chainmail, a surcoat, dagger, longbow, and sword, Betran was fully armed.
"Yes, yes, I understand." Hugo also knew how merciful Earl Ryan had been to them brigands, allowing them to swear fealty and serve him unto death.
Early morning, sharp hammering sounds came from the town's watchtower as a sergeant hammered the great bell.
"Dong~ Dong~ Dong~"
"All troops, assemble!" the knights shouted.
Outside the town, a 1,500-strong army was rapidly assembling. Hundreds of pikemen were already shielded, crossbowmen ready, and swordsmen eager. Shiny armor, high-raised banners, the infantry was prepared—they longed for war, for spoils, for promotion.
Veronica appeared with a dozen witch apprentices in one corner of the army. This war was also a rare practical experience for these apprentices, and Veronica knew well that combat was the quickest way to advancement for most witch apprentices.
Over thirty knights would also march, mounted on fierce warhorses, dressed in fine knightly armor with ornate surcoats, their shields hanging on their mounts' flanks, swords at their sides, and lances in hand. Compared to the somewhat ragtag and homespun infantry, the knights were strikingly resplendent, the proud rangers lifting their heads disdainfully at the rustic foot soldiers.
It was only with the arrival of several kingdom knights that the atmosphere shifted. Grail Knight Armand, leading several kingdom knights and dozens of knight attendants on mixed-breed elven warhorses and carrying the earl's family banner high, approached. The kingdom knights wore full plate armor, and Armand, serious-faced, asked, "Are all here?"
"All here, except for the elves," Kingdom Knight Hex, in his fine dwarven-crafted plate armor, his expression serious, his shield bearing his family crest—a silver-grey base with a black feathered helmet crossed with a horn and sword.
The kingdom knights' gaze then fell on a group of dwarves. Their armor was somewhat old and battered, and while many dwarves' beards weren't exactly neat and tidy, they exuded a strong scent of bloodlust and battle-readiness. The lead dwarf wore a round helmet with two large horns and carried a battle axe as tall as a man.
"Come on, come on, war! I bet, the brave dwarves will certainly be the champions~
" Sven-Novogrin led the fifty dwarves, shouting enthusiastically. This clan chief, with Ryan's permission, had settled his clan here and was eager to take on the orcs and goblins.
"The elves have arrived too," Ryan's future brother-in-law Julius rode alone, not wearing a helmet, pulling on the reins, and spoke to Armand: "Lord Armand, look over there."
About a hundred Woodland Guardians and twenty to thirty Eternal Guardians, led by the woodland lord Ogros, appeared. Even in winter, the lord wore only a simple fur cloak with finely crafted scale armor and a long sword from Dron-Feyn and carried a recurve bow on his back, riding a stag.
Julius noticed that most of the elven troops appeared youthful, almost childlike. The Duke of Wintford's heir spoke discontentedly, "What do the elves think this war is? A game for children?"
"The elves are using this war to train their recruits," Armand shook his head. The Earl's banner-bearer had no strong feelings one way or another: "The wood elves want their recruits to gain experience but fear losing them, so they volunteered to join our winter war. This way, the recruits can be trained without too much risk."
"Hmph, the wood elves are really playing a clever game," Julius scoffed.
"But we also need the wood elves. With them, no beastmen can play hide and seek with us," Armand remained calm: "We just need each other."
"Alright then." Julius had nothing more to say; Ryan had emphasized following Armand's command, and although the Duke's heir was a marquis, Armand was a Grail Knight: "Lord Armand, are you commanding this war?"
Armand shook his head: "I'm just the banner-bearer and deputy; someone else is the main commander."
Ogros led the elven troops closer, the robust woodland lord's face and arms covered in green patterns, exuding wildness. Noticing dwarves among the troops, he spoke in broken human language: "The previous agreement... did not include... dwarves."
"We never said there would be no dwarves in this war, Lord Ogros. It was the wood elves who promised the Earl they would follow command," Armand said with a frown.
"... So be it then," Ogros frowned. Wood elves, unlike high elves, had no deep hatred for dwarves; they simply didn't like each other.
"Alright, we're going to war with pointy ears. Let's hope these pointy ears don't get in front of us during the fight; if they do, we might end up splitting their heads, and it can't be helped," Dwarven engineer Dugan Ironhand, carrying a jug of malt beer and two dwarf hand cannons on his back, mocked.
"Ha ha ha ha ha~ Let the pointy ears know our dwarven mettle," the dwarves laughed: "Pointy ears are just little brothers."
"Let the little brothers stand behind and shoot arrows."
The wood elves didn't understand what the dwarves were saying but instinctively knew it wasn't anything good. Most of the elven troops present were recruits, their youthfulness also meaning impulsiveness. Many of the elven recruits glared angrily at the dwarves, who continued to mock them.
The human infantry, caught between, could only bow their heads and endure. Faced with dwarves and elves, they naturally felt inferior.
Then, a wild roar pierced the gloomy winter sky as a massive griffon circled and glided above, obeying its rider's commands, roaring loudly, disturbing the entire town.
The army outside the town quieted down, all eyes on the griffon in the sky.
The griffon, wearing exquisite armor, exuded a strong sense of awe, unsettling even the dwarves and elves. The magnificent creature finally swooped low and landed before the crowd, spreading its wings in a display of power: "Aoo, aoo, aoo!"
A man in a white bear pelt cape and dwarf mithril plate armor leapt from the griffon: "Are you ready, my soldiers?"
"Yes! Lord Anglon, we are ready!" the knights and sergeants shouted back in response to the newcomer's query.
"Then let's move out!"
"All troops, march!"
...
Ryan stood inside the castle, watching through the window as the army slowly marched away, silent, his eyes filled with anticipation and also some anxiety.
He understood why the elector-princes of the Empire, the dukes of Brittany, liked to lead their troops in significant battles. Entrusting one's army to someone else brought a feeling of unease.
But thinking of Anglon leading the charge, Ryan felt somewhat reassured.
"You need to get used to this, Ryan. You're an earl now; you don't need to do everything yourself. You have to learn to let go, maintaining a certain level of mystique and flexibility is necessary, especially since you are the Lady's champion," Morgiana's voice came from behind Ryan. The beautiful lake sorceress, dressed in a seafoam white, elegant high-neck long dress, sat in a soft armchair, opposite Teresa. At Ryan's request, Morgiana was teaching the sorceress advanced methods of sensing the Winds of Magic.
Only Ryan could command this sort of respect; any other duke would likely be dismissed with a simple: "Get out."
"My scouts reported to me that there's a stash of gromril in the depths of Chalon Forest, inside an orc fortress. The purpose of this war is as much about training as it is about securing that gromril," Ryan nodded.
"Good, let's continue, Teresa."
"Mhm!"
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