Ungol Horse Archers?
Duke Francois and Duke Bodrick's eyes lit up at the mention. In Brittany, the kingdom of knights, which boasts the premier heavy cavalry of the Old World, the might of these mounted warriors goes without saying.
However, since the national policy is to invest heavily in knights, other types of military units naturally have lower combat effectiveness.
It's not a big issue if the infantry is weak, as the decisive factor in wars remains the mass charge of the knights.
For light cavalry, Brittany has outriders promoted from serf infantry units. These outriders often hold privileged positions such as prison guards, patrol commanders, and militia leaders. Their status is equal to or even slightly higher than that of sergeants, representing the ultimate goal a serf could aspire to in a lifetime. For a serf infantryman, this promotion requires years of dedicated service, outstanding battlefield performance, and a just knightly lord.
These outriders rarely get the chance to ride the fierce warhorses of knightly lords, but riding alongside them on farm horses in battle is a supreme honor. Many folk tales tell of outriders who were promoted to knighthood after years of exemplary service and bravery.
In fact, from the founding of Brittany a thousand years ago to now, only five serfs have been elevated to nobility, and strictly from serf to noble knight, only three.
For a serf to become a knight, two formalities are necessary: a royal decree and an oracle from the Lady of the Lake. Both are required for promotion.
But the real interest for Ryan and his peers lies in the fact that even among outriders, those capable of mounted archery are very rare. In fact, aside from Duke Folcard of Montfort, who commands a unit capable of mounted archery—the Montfort Watchers—other ducal forces in Brittany lack significant mounted archery units.
(In theory, anyone with a short bow and horse-riding skills can perform mounted archery, but this refers to maintaining a certain accuracy.)
In practice, having such a mobile force of horse archers could be tremendously advantageous in warfare.
The Ungol horse archers from Kislev represent such a force.
As previously mentioned, the Kingdom of Kislev lies to the north of the Empire, bordering the Chaos Wastes and Northern Wastes. Typically, Kislev's northern boundary is marked by the Lynsk River, from Erengrad to Praag. However, many Kislevites also live on the opposite bank of the Lynsk River, known as Ungols.
The Ungols serve as the first line of defense against northern Chaos invasions. From birth, these fierce nomadic warriors combat the Chaos-worshipping northern barbarian tribes, learning horse archery and skills with scimitars and spears from a young age, making them some of the best light cavalry in the Old World.
"Is the Empire offering us the use of Ungol horse archers?" Francois showed interest, stroking his goatee with a curious look on his face. "How can you persuade the Ungols to serve us?"
Duke Ivan and Grand Alchemist Gert exchanged glances, thinking Emperor Karl-Franz was right; this offer could indeed sway the Bretonnians.
"Do you know of the Kislev Winged Lancer Legion? This legion, the strongest in Kislev, now serves under our Emperor," Ivan explained with pride, spreading his hands. "This elite unit of Kislev has been under the Emperor's command for some time. Why would you think we couldn't provide a unit of Ungol horse archers as well?"
"Hmm," Ryan lowered his head, pondering the implications.
After the Great War, Kislev was nearly destroyed, including the palace of the (unrecognized) Tsar of Kislev. Tsar Boris, realizing that Kislev alone could not withstand the threat of Chaos continuously, spent his entire family fortune (also unrecognized) to import a vast quantity of firearms from the Empire and hire Imperial engineers to train artillery units.
The expensive buildup of firearm units nearly bankrupted Kislev, leaving it unable to afford its historic and legendary unit—the Winged Lancer Legion. Already semi-independent, the Legion completely broke away and has long served under the Emperor, swearing only to return to Kislev in a major threat.
"If even the Winged Lancer Legion serves under the Emperor, securing a unit of Ungol horse archers is merely a matter of dispatching a letter," Duke Ivan said simply. "Many people are willing to fight, especially those Ungols north of the Lynsk River who struggle to find enough food. For them, fighting in exchange for food is routine."
"So, this is the Empire's offer?" Francois seemed interested yet hesitant. "By your accounts, we could also send emissaries to hire Ungol horse archers."
"No, I'm sorry, but I must be straightforward with you. Hiring Ungol horse archers isn't as simple as
you imagine," Boris the Elector Count said gravely. "You don't understand how indisciplined the Ungol horse archers can be. They love to raid nearby villages and take women at will between battles, and Kislev has decreed that they must be well-fed wherever they go. They're lawless, and if you tried to hire Ungols directly, the troubles they bring might outweigh their benefits."
"How would the Empire ensure we get the Ungols we want?" Ryan pressed.
"Many of the Empire's northern provinces have experience hiring Ungol horse archers. The Empire would select those who are disciplined, willing to honor their contracts, and won't harass the locals. If you're unsatisfied, the Empire promises to replace or refund them. How does that sound?" Duke Ivan proposed.
Ryan had to admit, the offer from the Empire was compelling and persuasive. He was tempted.
"Let's leave it at that for today; we can discuss more tomorrow," suggested Francois as evening approached, proposing a break.
"Agreed, we've reached many agreements today, and it's time to digest them," the Empire's delegation concurred. They had indeed covered a lot of ground.
...
Later that night, in the garden of Helen Hild's castle courtyard.
Dressed in silk robes of Bretonnian nobility, Francois and Ryan walked along the stone paths of the garden, the only figures in the cold autumn night air.
"Getting used to it? Ryan, they all came for your wedding, yet it turned into this," Francois said with a smile, continuing forward without looking back. "Are you disappointed?"
"Not really, it's a rare chance for everyone to come together, to sit at a negotiation table and talk things through," Ryan shook his head, following Francois. "I just have some regrets."
"Regrets?"
"Yes, I wanted to discuss matters with my godfather about the Empire, but he said it wasn't appropriate to meet privately until negotiations are concluded," Ryan gazed at the dark sky illuminated by the bright moon. The 30-year-old count's tone carried a hint of melancholy.
"You need to learn to enjoy the process," Francois seemed unsurprised. "Chaos is eternal, greenskins are endless. Over thousands of years, humanity has understood that foolish internal conflicts only benefit evil. Thus, everyone has learned to reach consensus at the negotiation table. You know well what's our own, who are our friends, and who are our enemies."
Francois's implication was clear: regardless of your good relations with the Empire, you're now a great noble of Brittany. You've learned to avoid conflicts of interest, and you've done well.
"Speaking of which, Francois, do you think the proposal to hire Ungol horse archers is feasible?" Ryan ventured.
"If the Empire can guarantee the quality of the troops and offers replacements and refunds, then why not?" Francois pondered the issue. "After all, the Ungol horse archers are certainly better than our outriders. With these archers, scouting and raiding would be much more convenient."
"But what about the King of Knights?" Ryan voiced his concern.
Brittany's deeply ingrained chivalric beliefs prefer using native strength to vanquish foes rather than relying on external help. Hence, knights rarely hire foreign mercenaries, with the only legally permitted exception being Imperial troops under the guise of cooperation due to the alliance between the Knightly Kingdom and the Empire.
This time, Ryan intended to hire Ungols, who are not Imperial subjects, making it hard to find a pretext.
Ryan and King Richard had always had a strained relationship; the king was unlikely to make an exception for him.
"Didn't you learn anything from Hubald?" Francois looked serious but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "This isn't like my normally cunning and resourceful son-in-law."
Ryan laughed heartily in response.
Duke Hubald of Carcassonne, whose lands bordered the Black Mountains, Estalia, and the southern kingdom of Tilea, managed the longest border in Brittany, constantly harassed by greenskins, skaven, and beastmen. His troops couldn't possibly secure every part of this extensive border, so Hubald devised a unique solution.
He allowed serfs to graze sheep along the borders, creating a first line of defense. Then, he dressed agents as shepherds to cross into Tilea and hire mercenaries to help guard against invasions.
But how could he pay these mercenaries if Bretonnian law forbade nobles from hiring them?
Hubald employed a simple but effective trick.
One day, a group of Tilean mercenaries passed near the Carcassonne border. A "shepherd" accidentally ventured across the border while chasing his sheep and, in front of the mercenaries, dropped a purse full of crowns.
"Oh dear, I've dropped my money. What bad luck, seems I can't recover it now."
The Tilean mercenaries took the payment and helped Duke Hubald guard the border
area.
"That method obviously won't work for us," Ryan said helplessly. "Carcassonne borders Tilea, allowing Hubald to do that. Ungols from Kislev would need to travel by boat for at least three or four months; how could they just appear here without reason?"
"But I think you've already thought of an excuse," Francois stared at Ryan.
"What about… an Ungol Circus? A Kislevite Ungol circus invited to tour Brittany long-term, bringing joy to serfs and nobles alike. We could even get a couple of bears from Kislev, the dancing kind, what do you think?" Ryan suggested with a mischievous grin. "Everyone would love it, and if enemies attack, these justly-minded Ungols might spontaneously fight to protect their circus. I think no one would object!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Francois burst out laughing, thoroughly amused by Ryan's idea. "That's brilliant, Ryan!"
"It's these rules that force us," Ryan continued laughing.
After the laughter subsided, Francois said, "Wait here, I'll get Julius and Gerard, and we'll all have dinner in your room. Sulia will join us too; I've asked the chefs to prepare for a hotpot."
Hotpot, a cuisine originating from the Empire, was said to be favored by the distant people of Cathay on the other side of the World's Edge Mountains. It had gradually entered Bretonnian noble courts and became a special culinary tradition during the autumn and winter months.
"Isn't it said to be bad luck to see each other before the wedding?" Ryan was eager, though he maintained a façade of propriety.
"That doesn't matter; you haven't really not seen each other before the wedding," Francois was quite open about it, his words filled with humor. "I've allowed Sulia to stay at your place several times; would I care about this?"
"Alright then."
Half an hour later, in Ryan's room at the ducal castle.
Ryan, soon to be a son-in-law, received the highest level of hospitality; Francois had arranged a large suite for him. Now, the dining table in the suite was centered around a large copper hotpot heated by charcoal. The main ingredients were slices of beef, ham, pork chops, and shrimp, with spinach, onions, and various seasonings and butters available. Naturally, the table was also set with Winfort's finest wine, "Luseluce."
Sulia, the Marquise who hadn't seen Ryan for months, sat beside him in a standard Bretonnian courtly noblewoman's gown and black boots. Her long golden curls were neatly held by a beautiful headband, and her delicately perfect face wore a gentle smile. Having been apart from Ryan for several months, she truly missed him and relished the chance to sit together as a family and enjoy a hotpot. Side by side with Ryan, her cheeks were tinged with a rosy flush of delight.
The dining hall was enveloped in the steam rising from the hotpot.
"It's a pity, Lord Norman didn't want to come. He said he'd already eaten," Gerard mentioned regretfully. "I think he's still intimidated by seeing the Duke."
"Insecure, is that it?" Julius coolly sipped his wine.
"It's nothing really," Francois was in high spirits, as the Duke always cherished his daughter and was very pleased with Ryan, a top-tier match for her. "It's just a dinner, but since he didn't want to come, let's not push it. There will be plenty of other opportunities. It was somewhat abrupt of us to invite him this way."
"Hmm," Ryan picked up a slice of beef, ready to swish it in the pot.
"Knock, knock, knock," the door sounded.
"I'll get it!" Gerard, who was sitting closest to the door, wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up to open it.
"Ryan... I wanted to see you tonight... oh?" The person at the door stopped short upon seeing Gerard.
Even more surprised was Gerard himself, who opened his mouth in shock.
"Morgiana, Your Highness??"
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