Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World

97  Alonso Snowcrest

Alonso Snowcrest, the King of Aritreia, was marching on top of his white horse, leading the huge army behind him, leaving their footsteps on the shallow snow that covered the White Merchant Road. It had been a few days since they passed through Mirante without spilling a single drop of blood on the pristine snow, a strange occurrence in any kind of war, giving people a sensation that they were not on a war, but on a simple vacation.

This feeling got more distinctive as they marched deeper into Stahl's territory. Normally, the beginning of winter was followed by hunter's sprint, hurrying to collect and store as much food as possible in order to pass through the most hazardous times of the winter, when a few hours outside was sufficient to kill a person. However, they found no such scene during the last few days marching North.

They had passed through seven villages that were located on the margins of the White Merchant Road, always on guard to extinguish any forces that wanted to resist their march and create an upward bloody stream that could reach Eisenburg. However, they didn't encounter a single living soul on they way north, only the burnt rubble of the villages, no house or wall was left intact, like haunted places.

Because of that, the army had to camp outside, finding no comfortable shelter to enjoy their food. Alonso had prepared enough provisions to last two whole months, expecting the war to last longer than two to three weeks, spending lots of money on logistics and food. In order to maintain the stocks high enough, the king planned on pillage the villages on the way towards the capital in case the war lasted longer.

It was a simple plan, used many times by his army when hunting down bandits in a deserted region of his kingdom. However, unlike war situations, the army would collect food of the villages near the region as a form of taxation, which could possibly result in the death of an entire village depending on the size of the dispatched army. Alonso and the other nobles regarded their subjects as livestock with their sole purpose being to provide food and gold for his treasuries. And, the extermination of bandits, who took away this resource was more valued than the lives of a few hundred subjects, whose numbers could be filled in only a few years.

"Your Grace!" - A burly, bald man, one of the few hundred mounted troops, dressed in heavy iron chainmail and black bear-fur attire, pushed his horse forward as he called out to Alonso.

When he was at a distance where his whispers could be heard by the king, the man tugged the leather reins, forcing the horse to slow down - "Our scouts have come back with news that the city of Icemit, the last fortress before we reach the capital, has permitted us to bypass them and proceed onwards." – He relayed as his eyes watched the trees that surrounded the main road of Stahl out of habit.

This man was Latrel Silversin, the Duke of Silversin, a distant cousin of the Snowcrest Royal Family and Alonso's right-hand man. He was responsible for articulating and passing down the king's orders within the noble's society. On Aritreia's lands, the throne held immense power, but as with many monarchs throughout Earth's history, his authority wasn't absolute. The noble families wielded great influence, holding vast lands and able to own their own military forces. This mean that unlike Henry, Alonso didn't have the military forces' command in his own hands.

Latrel Silversin served as a crucial tool for the king's orders to be heard by the noble society, responsible for persuading them into following Alonso's orders by understanding the nobles' grievances and desires. Even though Aritreia's political scene wasn't as complex as that in King Louis IX, King of France, on which even the etiquette code had to be followed to demonstrate power and status, managing the kingdom's affairs required a blend of strength and diplomacy.

The alliance between King Alonso Snowcrest and Duke Latrel Silversin worked like an invisible hand that influenced the noble's decisions and every steps Of course, the Silvesin Family had their owns demands. They wanted the king's right-hand position and the responsibility of being the ones to look after the kingdom's treasury, supervising the whole flow of money.

"Why do you think they allowed us to pass?" - Alonso inquired, a wisp of steam escaping his mouth as he turned to Latrel, the cold air permeating his whole being for a moment. His golden crown remained firmly in place on his grizzled hair.

"Just like the nobles, it seems the people have lost faith in their king. They might be waiting for us to remove him from power. If that's the case, once we've dealt with him, it should be relatively simple to govern the territory and gain the people's loyalty." – Latrel replied, forcing his horse to maintain a continuous trot as he kept a respectful distance from the king.

The king nodded in silence, his green eyes fixed on the horizon, where the snow-covered walls of Icemit began to appear. His gaze lingered on the soldiers stationed on the walls, holding their bows, and prepared to shoot them down if needed. After a moment, Alonso shifted his gaze back to Latrel and instructed - "Inform the nobles and the troops that we are not engaging the enemies, but they must remain vigilant for any potential attacks. It's wiser to conserve our strength for capturing the capital first, and then we can devise a strategy to deal with these fortresses."

"I oblige!" – Latrel said as he slowed down his horse to a halt, until he met again with the first line of soldiers, who were marching with a lack of organization, resembling a crowd fleeing from hunger. He could see a flick of fear in their eyes as the walls of Icemit appeared on the horizon. Most of these soldiers were normal citizens, living their lives while hunting animals or taking care of their own freezing lands. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The king's right-hand allowed them to pass with a sense of indifference and then directed his horse toward the line of mounted soldiers, who seemed to be from a different stratus. These men exuded an aura of strength and higher status, their horses and iron chainmail setting them apart from the rest of the troops. These were the nobles of Aritreia.

"The king has decreed that we shall bypass the fortress" - Latrel relayed the orders to the mounted soldiers, who were sharing amusing glance while looking at the ordinary civilians.

"Has he lost his balls while sitting on that throne and indulging with those women?" – Muttered one of the soldiers through gritted teeth, cursing the king but taking care not to be overheard - "We've been on these lands for a week, and we've yet to draw blood. There is no war here!" - He laid his hand on his weapon, a longsword, ready to unsheathe it.

Latrel remained silent while directing a stern gaze to the noble, his hands also resting on the two axes strapped to his waist. This response immediately silenced the noble, making him apprehensive about opening his mouth.

"I won't tolerate another word, especially not from a minor count" - Latrel asserted with angry - "We're bypassing the fortress to conserve our strength for the ultimate battle in the capital, where we'll decapitate the king. Is that perfectly clear?"

The nobles remained silent, implicitly consenting to his plan, unwilling to raise objections. They understood they couldn't challenge the man one-on-one, and they also were not foolish enough to be the first one to jump at him.

Recognizing their answer, Latrel nodded and delivered his instructions. -"It is good that we are all on the same page. You will all have your moment to fight and plunder Stahl's castle to your hearts content. Every gold coin you can put your hands on its yours. Now, go and tell your soldiers that we are not going to fight right now and to preserve their strengths."

The nobles didn't dare to linger and hurriedly made their way to relay the message to the soldiers. Latrel's gaze remained fixed on them for a few seconds, ensuring that they were all attending to their duties. Afterward, he shifted his attention to the king's figure, who was marching alone. His eyes shone with great intensity, but he concealed it swiftly, replacing it with a Machiavellian smile. He absentmindedly rubbed his bald head, as if attempting to calm his racing thoughts, but the smile never left his lips.

 "The chance has finally come." – He muttered.

-x-

A few hours passed before Henry slowly opened his eyes. The once-grey hue in his irises now had a darker tint, almost shifting toward a shade of purple. It was as if a living flame flickered deep within his gaze.

Despite a lingering sense of dizziness, Henry's mind quickly cleared. He hurriedly tore open his tattered black clothes, which were riddled with holes from the recent fall and the long days of fighting. And, to his surprise, there was no injury on his chest, only an intricate purple tattoo, resembling a dragon consuming its own tail. It was as if the sword's attack had been nothing more than a fleeting illusion, an imagination.