Finally, the day of departure arrived. On the thirtieth day of preparations, the graph's troops set off, and Victor was delighted.
He grew sick of sitting in the camp, which disgusted him.
The sole bright side he saw was the lack of interaction with other nobles, though some did drop by uninvited.
Selitas frequented him frequently, learning of the incident and warning his companion that Baron Lemier was the son of Vicomte Natrim, notorious for unpleasantness.
Victor heard his friend out but paid no heed to concerns about the graphdom. More pressing were Pyotr Manita, the exposed western border, and seaborne attackers.
Though temporarily immune to peer conflict due to the king's martial edict, monsters would disregard restrictions, potentially targeting Baltas anytime.
Without a viable solution, relying on Cliosse, he brushed aside worries and focused on the campaign.
Already a month into the march, routine travels unearthed myriad problems.
Logistical inefficiency, poor discipline, and rampant filth rendered conditions unbearable.
Acting on Victor's suggestion, latrines were now installed at each stopover, alleviating the stench pervasive in campsites.
During one mandatory counsel meeting, a nobleman stood uncomfortably close, emitting an odor so potent Victor wanted to strike him dead.
He now grasped that tales of gallant knights in shining armor were sheer fiction. Knights in armor were mobile sources of filth and odors.
Armor maintenance was complex, requiring several squires' assistance. Typically, each knight employed two such attendants.
In battle, squires fought alongside their master, covering his back. In peacetime, their duties were arduous, leaving Victor uncertain which was worse: dying in combat or assisting with armor adjustments.
Adding insult to injury, ridicule followed him for bringing nurses, whom others mistook for bordello girls. Two soldiers from adjacent positions sneaked into the infirmary, resulting in detention.
Warned once and released, tonight they attempted another break-in, now in a group of five. Consequently, Victor ordered two decapitated, impaling their heads on spikes.
Back in the graph's tent...
— What are you doing, you bastard?! — the graph Sheremann roared like an enraged lion. — Trying to destroy our army before we even reach the battlefield?
Victor absorbed his father's tirade, unmoved by regret. Immediately after the incident, twenty-seven nurses became his followers, revealing intriguing surprises.
Eager for more attempts, he envisioned decorating the camp's walls with heads of intruding degenerates.
— Father, I protect my soldiers and will tolerate no interference with these girls, — the young lord defended himself.
— You brought courtesans to war; I understand that soldiers need diversion, — Sheremann bellowed. — But why deny other soldiers access?
Truly baffled, the graph misunderstood his son. Throughout the campaign, Victor had beaten three nobles—not for himself, but defending his soldiers. One knight was executed, another miraculously saved, and a third's hand restored, just like his own soldier's.
Then he displayed the heads of two soldiers, allegedly seeking pleasure.
— Father, they are healers, some married to my soldiers, — the lord clarified honestly.
Prior to the campaign, many soldiers wed nurses, causing several to be withdrawn due to pregnancy. Thus, replacements were recruited for village and urban duties.
Before departure, fraternization was strictly banned, given the campaign's duration. Unplanned pregnancies would render him accountable for dozens of pregnant women upon return.
Still, complications arose. One nurse discovered her condition mid-campaign, prompting Victor to locate traders to escort her back. Her husband received fifty lashes, still recuperating.
Interestingly, Silvia's lesson in village discipline influenced him. Humiliation was vital to enforce authority, lest soldiers view him as weak, particularly in war.
Exhausted by the campaign, Alexander sank into a chair, sighing deeply.
— You will pay two hundred gold coins to Baron's Krent for the soldiers and a thousand-gold fine to the graphdom's treasury, — he decreed dismissively, expelling Victor from the tent.
Nearby, Elian burst into laughter.
— Ha-ha, this kid is priceless, — the elf mocked, amused by Victor's antics. — By the time we reach the kingdom's border, you'll profit nicely from your son.
Alexander, however, found no humor in this. Bloodshot-eyed, he glared at his captain, burdened by countless complaints about Victor over the past two weeks.
— Damn bastard, takes after his mother, she never listened either, — he muttered, stroking a ring on his finger, nostalgic for better times.
Victor, unaware of this exchange, stormed back to his camp, kicking dirt, ready to vent frustration on anyone crossing his path.
This campaign brought him endless expenses, fatigued by recurring bills for upholding justice.
Reaching his encampment, he forbade soldiers, including knights, from leaving without permission. Intruders were summarily executed.
Nurses now veiled themselves, transformed into magicians and increasing in beauty, tempting desperate men.
Confident in his soldiers' loyalty, knowing the consequences of misbehavior, Victor enforced these rules primarily for strangers.
Believing such drastic measures justified in the Dark Ages, where women were not readily accessible, he admitted no better alternative.
Additionally, soldiers now wore distinctive red shoulder bands, signaling immunity from harassment, earning Victor a reputation as "mad"—which secretly pleased him.
Amidst this chaos, they finally reached Altera, capital of Lanteris Kingdom.
Stunning and majestic, the city was enclosed by twenty-meter-high walls.
Visible from outside were towers of mages dotting the cityscape, first-line houses, and, most prominently, the royal palace crowning a central cliff, towering hundreds of meters above the city.
From his vantage point, Victor discerned little detail, estimating the visible facade to stretch kilometers.
Through massive ten-meter-wide gates streamed continuous flows of pedestrians, carriages, and carts, exceeding any settlement Victor had seen elsewhere.
A mile west of the entrance, a vast military camp sprawled, housing at least two hundred thousand soldiers, with reinforcements still arriving.
However, no respite awaited Victor. Hardly issuing orders to his knights, Géctor rode up, urging him into the city.
Curiosity piqued, Victor agreed, instructing his team to follow, under Linae's reproachful gaze, unable to accompany them.
Closer to the city, he estimated each wall extending four kilometers, totaling eight kilometers for the visible façade.
Awed by the scale, he eagerly anticipated exploring the interior, but the gateway halted him. A man's voice summoned him.
Turning, he spotted Nolla Bleam, galloping toward him with four knights.
— Damn it, I waited for your arrival, saw Sheremann's banner, and rushed to find you, only to learn you'd already left for the city, — the viscount complained, arriving beside Victor.
Victor stared blankly, puzzled by this stranger's familiarity and hospitality.
— Apologies, Nolla, you should have alerted me; I'd have waited in camp, — he replied, introducing Selitas.
Following a brief greeting ceremony, the party of three nobles and ten knights proceeded into the city. Unchallenged at the gate, their breastplates verified, they entered, exposing Victor to civilization.
Broad cobblestone streets lined with ornate houses traversed ten kilometers toward the palace.
Longing for such grandeur, he savored the sights until diverted. The two men dragged him toward a column-lined edifice resembling a Greek amphitheater.
Earlier, they'd argued over direction, but united in opinion, now coaxed him inside.
Here, Victor identified the venue: An elite bordello, where stunning girls promptly greeted them, escorting them to a private wing with couches and tables laden with wines and delicacies.
Men relished the setting, while Victor resigned himself to fit in, sinking into a semicircular couch, enjoying female company.
Women catered to diverse tastes, notably fox-eared hybrids and demi-elf girls locally termed "half-orcs."
Distracted, Victor only later pondered the possibility of slavery, discomforted by the thought. Without moral dilemmas while passive, coercion concepts dissuaded him.
Calmed by Nolla,
— No slaves here, maybe some landed here involuntarily, but these girls choose freely, probably earning more than some viscounts, — he grinned, convincing Victor.
Deciding against missing out, he indulged fully, retiring with two vixens and a demi-elf.
Since arriving in this realm, he hadn't touched a woman, now confronted by irresistibly gorgeous creatures eclipsing even demi-elves.
Consuming food, wine, and pleasure, he reveled until the next day, caressing the demi-elf's small breasts, nipples sharp enough to cut. Next, he switched to twin sisters, boasting disproportionately voluptuous assets. Stroking their bodies, tail-fur, and ears, he spent nearly twenty-four hours in bed.
Leaving their embrace proved challenging, as their velvet-like skin and naked curves magnetized him. Wrenching himself free, he left the "World of Desires" brothel, paying an astonishing fifty gold coins.
Outside, he paused at the request of the fox-tailed twins, inviting him back privately.
Enjoying the prospect of renewed revelry, he promised to return another day, exiting with a lighter heart.