Horizon of War Series

Ahorse-drawn carriage, trailed by two canvas-covered carts pulled by pairs of mules, approached the hill leading to manor that Lansius now knew was called Sabina Rustica. Anci, on lookout duty, recognized Thomas and Felicity. Swiftly descending from his vantage point, Anci waved at them and guided them to the camp where the others awaited.

As promised, Felis was accompanied by seasoned men in their late thirties or early forties. These duelists, watchmen, and thief-takers formed an intimidating group, some sporting proud mustaches while others were clean shaven. Dressed in gambesons or brigandines, they were ready for battle, and their carts were loaded with poleaxes, swords, helmets, and shields.

Felis introduced the seven men-at-arms for hire first, then presented their leader and his assistant. “This is a special friend of mine, Calub, the alchemist, and his assistant, Jardin.”

Calub was a tall, tanned man with short curly hair, and he wore a milky-white leather coat. He offered a slight bow, followed by Jardin. While Calub had the appearance of a scholar, the shorter Jardin exuded an imposing presence, his beard and muscular arms evoking the image of a living dwarven statue.

“Fire grenade.” Anci’s eyes flashed.

Calub heard the comment and smiled in response. Lansius guessed the two would become fast friends.

With little daylight remaining, they proceeded to discuss their battle plan. Together with Felis’s group, they had around forty men, but they had yet to decide on a course of action.

“Palisade walls with almost no gap. Armed men, patrols, even stables,” Anci reported.

“From the smuggler, we learned that the compound houses at least a hundred men, possibly more,” Hugo informed the newcomers.

No one spoke for a moment, so Anci took the initiative. “It’s within our strength. I say let’s storm them from two sides.” He used both hands to illustrate a pincer attack.

Calub shook his head. “You may have the numbers, but not the age or experience.”

Hugo and Jardin nodded in agreement.

“Indeed, many are too young,” added old Thomas.

Lansius wanted to suggest a different approach, but his background as a mere clerk weighed him down. He even felt that he didn’t have the right to be there.

Meanwhile, Felis seemed eerily comfortable. “We only have five crossbow users, including me.”

Lansius noticed that Hugo looked slightly uncomfortable. He suspected that, like him, others also doubted Felis’s ability, but they couldn’t risk offending her and her associates. They also needed as many hands as possible. “The spear and shield will do just fine,” Anci remarked. “The men have met the women and children I rescued earlier, so their morale is high.”

No one contested Anci’s words, leaving the decision to Hugo.

Among the three, Thomas was older but had only recently become a retainer. Before that, he was merely the equivalent of a foot soldier. Anci, on the other hand, was younger and had less experience than Hugo.

“Anci, take Thomas and twenty men. I’ll take another twenty. You’ll attack first and draw them out. Keep them preoccupied while I attack from the west side and stage a rescue.” Hugo then looked at Lansius. “We’ll leave the younger ones in your care. Just wait here. If we need help, we’ll come to you.”

By the ageless, that’s only a bit better than Anci’s plan.

Lansius glanced at the rest of them, but nobody said a word.

Where in The Art of War do forty go against more than a hundred with half-baked plan like this?

Thomas, Felis, and Calub turned their backs, signaling the end of the discussion.

A wave of panic washed over Lansius. His memory was a mess, yet he had glimpses of spending countless hours online, honing and perfecting his strategy and tactical skills. The time and effort he had dedicated as username: Lansius must have been immense, as some of it still lingered in his head. He could feel that he had made plans and led hundreds of players in guild wars, with thousands on the battlefield. Looking at the current situation, he was sure a disaster was brewing. His heart pounded hard, and an inner voice screamed that everybody was going to die.

“Do you mind if I share my thoughts on this attack?” Lansius spoke up.

Everyone paused. Calub looked at Lansius and asked, “You’re what, a scribe?”

“A clerk,” Lansius corrected, “but I have also studied warfare.”

Hugo and Thomas contemplated Lansius’s suggestion. Felis gave him an encouraging smile, while Calub nodded once to show his openness. However, it was Anci who broke the silence. “Meh, we’ve heard the slowpoke’s, might as well listen to the clerk.”

Lansius knelt down and quickly drew a rectangle, a series of lines, and a circle on the ground using a stick. Hugo, Thomas, and Calub immediately understood his intention and knelt down as well.

“This is our target, the manor on the next hill.” Lansius pointed to the rectangle. “And this is the only road from there leading to us.”

Calub followed the crude map, nodded, and asked, “And what is this circle in the middle?”

“There’s a lake between us and our target, just beside the road,” Lansius explained.

“The lowlands,” Anci remarked from behind.

Lansius continued. “My plan is not to attack them at their strongest point, but to lure them out and fight them at a location of our choosing.”

Thomas glanced at Hugo, who nodded. “And how do you propose we beat them once they’re out?” Hugo asked.

Lansius placed three stones on the map, saying, “We’ll bait them here, and then one team will hold them while another team flanks them from behind.”

Lansius’s basic plan began to make sense and captured everyone’s attention.

“My men and I can stage a defense. Even with a small force, we could easily hold off dozens of men if the terrain is suitable,” Calub offered.

“A bait and ambush might work better than just a surprise attack,” Anci commented.

Hugo seemed to like the plan.

“But first,” Lansius warned them, “this can only work if we eliminate their horses.” He knew all too well that fighting on foot was at a great disadvantage against cavalry. They needed a way to counter this.

An elderly man reclined in solitude beneath a large tree near the manor’s palisade gate. Though the sky was overcast, the summer heat was still relentless. He had hung his doublet on a nearby branch, allowing the breeze to cool him down. Since morning, he had toiled to maintain discipline among his men, resolving minor quarrels and ensuring order in the newcomers’ dormitory.

The sounds of steady plowing and weeding bore witness to his efforts. Everything was well organized, just as his master had demanded.

Following the Arvena war, Sabina Rustica Manor, also known as the Den, experienced an influx of “newcomers.” They were assessed like commodities; those with potential were further cultivated to garner a higher value, while the mediocre were assigned to work in the shops or on the farm.

Contrary to popular belief, female slaves did not fetch high prices. What drew a premium were skilled individuals. Unprincipled nobles would pay handsomely for laborers, carpenters, or scribes. Laborers were employed on farms or orchards; carpenters for private construction projects or concealed rooms on estates; and scribes to handle confidential dealings and transactions.

There was minimal risk of leaks, as slaves were bound to their masters. This loyalty made them ideal candidates for sensitive roles, such as serving in the inner chambers where family affairs were talked about openly.

Not all requests were malicious. Occasionally, a secret adoption would be arranged. There were other specialized roles, such as female bodyguards, as opposed to eunuchs. Nonetheless, it was indisputable that these slaves would never experience freedom again.

At the heart of this illicit operation was Bogdan, an old veteran of the northern uprising. As the caretaker, he directed his laborers to expand their fields. He had ambitious plans to enlarge the complex, which already included an additional farm, dormitory, and vineyard.

For Bogdan, the manor symbolized his reward, sustenance, and retirement, all in one. Though not the owner, his role as caretaker granted him near ownership. Sabina Rustica afforded him a life far superior to what his social standing would otherwise permit.

This advantage extended to many of Bogdan’s accomplices, including the elderly man who now enjoyed his tranquil private garden. The day was far from over, yet he was already contemplating his evening meal, a game of dice, and spending time with his mistress.

As he swatted flies away from the festering wound on his right hand, he was reminded of the incident two days prior, when he had been careless with an Arvenian woman. While punishing her, an unexpected guest had arrived, and Bogdan needed him to bolster security.

A sly smile crossed his face as he pondered the retribution he would exact upon her once the guest had departed.

Clang—Clang—Clang!

As if doused with icy water, the old man sprang to his feet, scanning his surroundings before focusing on the sentry atop the manor house.

The sentry finally noticed him and yelled, “Three horsemen!”

This revelation alarmed the old man. The Den was only expecting a carriage from Arvena sometime this week, but no one had mentioned horsemen. Hastily, he donned his doublet, grabbed his poleaxe, and sprinted to the gates. “Does anyone know about this?”

“No, boss. No one heard any . . .” one of his men replied.

He clicked his tongue, sensing something amiss. “You lot. Come with me.”

Four men groaned as they emerged from the wooden gatehouse. The heat was oppressive, and they had been secretly drinking.

“Where’d these horsemen come from? I thought the boss bought off all the local baronets and knights,” one queried.

“Maybe they’re just the guest’s men?” another suggested nervously.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” a third grumbled.

“You signed up for rape, loot, and arson, but not fights?” the fourth taunted his comrades, inciting a commotion.

“Silence or I’ll cut off your noses!” the old man barked.

The five men stood and waited until the three horsemen were close enough to shout at. They could see the horsemen wore brigandines and ring mail, but bore no banners.

“I’m Archibald, a champion from Arvena. Prepare to die!” the lead horseman declared.

“What did he say?” The men glanced at each other. Their instincts told them to flee, and so they did, legs pumping at the first sound of hoofbeats.

The old man readied his poleaxe, but he knew he stood no chance. He, too, sprinted away, yelling for support from behind the gates. “Crossbows, crossbowmen!”

The three horsemen thundered after the fleeing men, who desperately cried for their allies to open the gates. The horsemen easily caught up and attacked ruthlessly. Three of the fleeing men collapsed in an instant.

“Crossbowmen!” The old guard made his final plea before a lance pierced his back.

Fulfilling the old man’s dying request, a meager two shots were fired from the slits near the gate. Both missed their marks.

The horsemen laughed as they cut down the last man, who went limp before his face hit the ground.

Two of the horsemen dismounted, dragged the victims away, and stripped them of their gear. “Wow, look what I found—a gold ring and a necklace. These guys are loaded!”

Anci laughed and turned his attention back toward the gate. “Is there no one with manhood inside?”

The sentry above hammered the iron bell again. The sound drove everyone into the gatehouse. They had yet to learn what had transpired when they heard the sound of shattering glass from outside. Suddenly, the left side of the gate erupted in flames.

“Fire!” The guards panicked and backed away from the gate.

“Get the buckets! Tell the slaves to fill them!”

It took several moments, but they eventually extinguished the fire with buckets of water. That was when Bogdan arrived on the scene. “What are you waiting for? Get the riders out!”

Black smoke still billowed from one side of the gate as the heavy wooden door swung open. Eight riders brandishing swords and lances galloped out in pursuit of the three horsemen.

Seeing the new threat, Anci led his two comrades in a hasty retreat.

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