Piscow, 500 kilometres from Aberdeen, Revalty's capital
An expanse of blue spread across over the land as far as the eye could see, completely devoid of fluffy clouds. The fresh air smelled of the fading flowers' fragrances; winter had struck down most of the vegetation in the bustling city, replacing the greenery with pure, unadulterated carpets of snow. The residents of the city, which was brimming with high-rising buildings shaped like cubes of wood and brick piled onto each other carelessly, received news of an impending army slowly encroaching towards their magnificent homes, bent on razing them to the ground.
Lately, many people from the smaller villages and towns took up lodging in the already cramped city, forced to relocate because of the destruction of the advancing army. Every one of them, uncertain of their fate like lambs set up for slaughter, fell into the despondent pool of despair as they fled, unable to look back at the heavy smoke rising up to the skies for fear of being captured or killed by the enemy. Their president, Mr Arden, known for his dutiful benevolence, instantly provided each refugee with new temporary homes in Piscow, forcing the countless tired, but grateful, citizens to move on their feet and reach the city before they were swallowed up by the momentous force behind them. Fear was spreading; word broke out among the newly instated city dwellers of the terrifying, inevitable arrival of the Ecclesian forces. They were only able to wait, hoping for a miracle to pull them out of their dire situation.
—
Standing on top of the tallest tower in the city and surveying the skyline of the city for the sake of turning his mind away from the stress of war, the military captain breathed in and out slowly, savouring the last scents of nature before the next major battle erupted. The air in and surrounding the city was much cleaner than that in Aberdeen, the capital—no polished brass everywhere, no towering chimneys blowing out steam and smoke, no overarching bridges—just nature and people; that is, if the weather hadn't turned freezing cold already and strenuous fortifications added to reinforce the city's already powerful defence.
Admittedly, the entire country of Revalty never had strong military power in the first place; their strength focused on their economic success, which was the very reason Ecclesia had set its grasp on the country in the first place.
Out of nowhere, clanging bells began to ring throughout the city, turning the crowds in the streets into a frenzied mess; from the captain's bird's-eye view, they appeared to be nothing more than a mess of panicking sheep.
"Captain!" cried a soldier, dressed in a navy blue tunic with a pair of simple woollen trousers warming his legs. A cloak, the same shade of blue as his tunic, slipped off his shoulder and hung askew before the soldier hoisted it back up with his free hand, the other clutching a thick rifle.
"What is it?" demanded the captain sternly, his brown moustache bristling with anticipation.
"There's been an alarm set off; something's been spotted by our watchmen—"
"Well, what is it then?" asked the captain impatiently. "Enemy soldiers? Cavalry? More refugees?"
In a split second, the hardened expression on the captain's face was washed away; his face grew pale, his hands trembled, and his legs partially gave in as he looked past his subordinate's shoulder.
Hovering just above the horizon was a giant zeppelin floating in their direction. Zeppelins weren't uncommonly seen by all means, but the specimen approaching them menacingly certainly was a new experience; no zeppelin had ever been used for military purposes before, much less a gigantic modified airship, which seemed to be more like a metallic bird of prey with its wide white sails on its sides, flapping as it moved closer and closer. Its plain wooden hull was overlaid with elaborate golden gilding, while several exposed cogs, both large and small, worked together to power a sturdy propeller at its rear. Additional gleaming silver bars made up the railing along the edges of this floating fortress with interval openings to allow heavy cannons to it through, their muzzles grinning dauntingly at all who dared to get a glimpse of them.
This foreboding sight shook the citizens to the core and even the most experienced soldiers couldn't help but melt in front of this firm display of power. Their captain, however, pulled himself together hastily and sped down the tower as fast as his legs, which only a minute ago felt like slush, could carry him.
"I've never seen anything like it before," muttered the captain nervously, thinking to himself how in the world they were supposed to take down the massive airship. "Did Ecclesia always have those in their possession? I knew their military strength was great, but this? It's impossible to think that their technology has evolved so quickly…"
At the bottom of the tower, from the moment the captain stepped out of the door, he knew they had lost the battle. The residents of the city were almost nowhere to be seen and those who were present wept as if the end had come. Indeed, for them it had, since nobody had even the slightest bit of willpower to flee any longer. Seeing this miserable sight only made him feel more dejected, if that was possible, but that wasn't any reason to give up yet.
Just as he was about to go and rally up his men in an attempt to hold out the city against the attackers, an automobile raced down the street, its bronze engine heaving madly, only to pull up right next to the captain.
"You are summoned to attend a meeting, Captain Bridgestone," said a man from inside the vehicle, who was donned in a neat grey suit and looked rather weak next to the seasoned soldiers seated next to him.
"Now?" questioned Bridgestone sharply. "Shouldn't I be preparing to hold down the city?"
"There's no need for that. I've gotten direct orders from General Torres."
The messenger held out a letter with a hasty scribble on it:
DO NOT ACT RASHLY AND GO WITH THE MESSENGER I HAVE SENT
Near the bottom laid the general's signature; a tree with hawks on each side guarding it was stamped in pale blue wax. Seeing this sign of authority, the captain immediately entered the messenger's vehicle and before he knew it, they were speeding through the streets, everything outside the window blurring as they passed by.
—
The first step into attaining the world is to equalise the three countries' positions in the war; I can't have revalty being run down so quickly… not yet.
"The captain is here to see you, sir."
Under the improvised shelter sat Blight, his usual comfortable armchair replaced by a half-broken crate. He didn't mind it in the least, however, and waited patiently, eyes floating upwards to admire the dirty coarse cloth spread out above him to act as a crude roof to block out the sky.
"Bring him in."
As the captain stormed in, his temper running like a fuse on a bomb, he saw Blight and froze. Both men, dressed in thick plain cloaks to protect themselves against the cold, stared at each other, neither of them speaking up until…
"General Torres has summoned me, sir?" asked Bridgestone, saluting to Blight to show half-hearted respect.
"Please take a seat, Captain Bridgestone. I am the one who called for you; the general merely, ah… allowed me to borrow his name."
The captain let out an audible sigh. Clearly, he didn't trust the new advisor who had just defected from Ecclesia yet, but as a soldier, he was always trained to treat his superiors with the utmost respect due to them. Taking a seat reluctantly, the captain asked, "Is there something you require from me, sir?"
Blight folded his arms before saying, "I called you here, Captain, because I want you to call off anything you might've prepared."
This stunned the confused soldier.
"Sorry?"
"As I said, I need you to stop setting up the defences. There is no reason to fear the Ecclesian army; they will not attack us so easily."
"But what about that airship that was flying around a moment ago?"
"Go and have a look. From the noises I hear, it must've returned to its nest."
The captain scrambled out of the post and asked a nearby civilian what had happened.
"The giant machine in the sky flew away as soon as the soldiers shot at it!" exclaimed the haggard wizened man happily. "They must've decided to attack some other day!"
Not convinced at all, the captain reentered the pitiful shelter, instantly hit by the smell of sweat and mud, and said stonily, "The enemy might return; they've probably retreated to lower our guard down."
Blight shook his head slowly then, brushing strands of hazel off his face, he answered, "That will not be happening, Captain."
"How can you be so sure of that, sir?" inquired the captain skeptically. Blight paused for a second, brought out a map of the region, then pointed at a tiny spot on the map.
"This is where we are right now: Piscow. If the Ecclesian army was to march from here—"
His finger glided over to another point marked:
CROUCHING MOUNTAIN
"—do you think they'll have enough provisions to reach us, who are situated a sheer distance away?"
Now it was Bridgestone's turn to smirk.
"I knew you'd think that way, sir, and I'm sure that would've been the case, if Grock hadn't formed a supply route between each destroyed city. Even though we did as you advised, burning down every village once the people had safely evacuated and out of sight, I don't think it'd be enough. In every fallen city, there are makeshift stations for the resources to move around safely to the next station, keeping their advancing army comfortably supplied. That's what my scouts have reported."
"The snow makes it impossible to receive provisions from anywhere but their supply chain, no?"
"That's right, but I don't see how this'll change anything."
"Do you know why Grock allowed their ambassadors to be killed when they arrived here for negotiating terms?"
Yes sir, it was to provide them with an excuse to get Sardis to continue reluctantly providing them with ammunition, wasn't it?"
"And why would they need help from Sardis, since they have a very clear advantage over us? Would they need an extravagant amount of force to crush a mere seed?"
At this, the captain gave no reply.
"Grock always prepares for the worst," continued Blight unrelentingly. "He is also a particularly cautious man; the zeppelin you saw earlier won't be used in his attack against us. At least, not so soon. He'll use the zeppelins in a minor battle to gauge its abilities before bringing it to a major fight; that way, he can spot any weaknesses earlier on."
"I still don't understand, sir," said the captain. "Even if they don't use their strongest weapons, it's just as you say—their forces will crush ours, regardless of the zeppelin's presence."
For the first time in a while, there was laughter present on the battlefield. A soft trailing chuckle escaped Blight's lips. Bridgestone's face grew dark and his moustache quivered with indignation.
"If you'll allow me to excuse myself, sir," he said, turning and leaving without a single gesture. Blight reached for a sealed letter, tapped the exiting soldier's back with it and said, "Follow these instructions carefully, Bridgestone. They're direct orders."
The captain took it, then waved goodbye to Blight and quickly left without a word in case of being called back.
"It's the rebel's time to act now," mumbled Blight, putting away the map. He strolled out from the military post to meet the same vehicle which had carried the captain.
The next thread was about to unravel.