Steel and Mana

Chapter 272 – Avalon’s Retribution (1)

The snowfall was still relentless, and the icy winds blew across the rugged surface of the northern region every day, yet Avalon's forces pressed on undeterred by the weather. Under Pion's command, their march was even, trudging through dozens of kilometers thanks to their organization and disciplined execution. Being an army of two thousand strong carving a path through the wilderness, it wasn't as big as Otto's army was, yet its presence was just as frightening. Mainly thanks to their mechanized troops. Before them, six tractors were rolling in the snow, pushing it to the sides like an arrowhead, clearing the way before the army. They were fitted with massive wedge-shaped blades, sweeping aside the piled snow and clearing a wide, flat road for the foot soldiers and the rest of their howitzers that trailed behind them, pulling their supplies. Yet, the most deterring factor for anyone to get in their way was the Rook in the middle of the army, its every step sending flutters of snow flying into the air, leaving behind massive footprints, frightening anyone finding it after they were gone.

Pion rode near the front, standing on one of the howitzers, while Polo with the Rook constantly reported its sightings, acting as the army's scout with its much more enhanced senses. The Rook's fixed and now reinforced armor shone faintly in the pale light, every movement being smooth and fluent, with no signs of damage from Lothlia's siege. Pion's gaze swept across his forces whenever they stopped, visible pride mixed with anticipation flashing in his eyes. He knew that this journey was not only about survival or conquest—it was about retribution, and most of his soldiers were ready to show the Westland what happens to those who attack Avalon.

As they pressed on, whenever they set up camps, he sent out a few warriors to scout their surroundings, and there was always some news filtering in through the night. No matter where they stopped, his men somehow always managed to sight survivors from Otto's army. These straggler, foreign mercenary groups, who had managed to escape their fate, moved in pitiful clusters, robbing and terrorizing the small, clueless villages and towns dotting these poor middle regions of the North. Still, many they found were in no shape to fight back. Starvation and frostbite had reduced them to ghostly figures, barely recognizable as warriors, lost in the snow-covered lands they were unfamiliar with. Whenever they found such a group, neither Pion nor his men felt any pity toward them. He just raised a hand, and a small detachment broke away from the main force, moving swiftly to intercept.

The snowy lands concealed much, but Avalon's soldiers had trained for this. Moving with tactical precision, they always surrounded the group of stragglers they found. There were sometimes cries for mercy, sometimes only their silent surrender as the defeated men dropped their weapons, recognizing their enemies. The former was ordered to be put to the sword on the spot, while the latter got themselves bound and sent to the rear, dragged along the army's relentless march. Many of them perished from exposure to the cold, their bodies simply buried in unmarked graves, left to be forgotten on the roadside.

Even with these 'exercises,' the army kept up their march. As Avalon's forces advanced into territories under the influence of Otto's previous rule, they came across more mercenary bands trying to flee back to the west, wanting to leave Ishillia. These more goal-oriented rogue groups had turned their frustration and failure into violence against the local populace much more bloody than those who gave up at once when crossing paths with Pion. Word of their massacres had spread quickly amongst the local civilians. Villages lay half-burned, looted of everything valuable, including the families; men were slaughtered, and women and children were taken to be sold as slaves after returning to their home country. Anything to recuperate their losses and their missing profit.

Pion's jaw clenched as he received each new report, coming across burned-down settlements. These animals had to be made an example of. He dispatched skirmisher units in rapid succession, each given an order to leave no survivors, not even if they surrendered. Whenever they found an encampment of their enemy, tractors were uncoupled from their snow-clearing duty, instead plowing through hastily erected defenses. At the same time, Avalonians jumped on them like death-scepters, cutting them down like the animals they were.

The Rook personally joined one of these skirmishes when they came across a group that was almost six hundred strong, holed up in a pitiful town, home to some minor nobles of Hospet. Polo happily drove his mech with a grim sense of justice, wielding a flamethrower attached to its left arm. Just by its presence, the enemy's fragile moral was broken, wanting to scatter, but there was nowhere to run. Their backlines were constantly bombarded by either the Rook's cannons on its shoulders or by the howitzers from far away enough to remain unseen. A flash of light was what they saw for last before the burning flames appeared, melting snow, humans and their armor alike. There was no need to make graves this time around, as nothing remained, only ash that would fertilize the ground when spring arrived.

Within only half an hour, the battlefield was silent again. The locals, hiding in cellars and barns, wherever they found refuge, emerged to find the mercenary threat extinguished. What they were surrounded by were massive, burning fields and fire pits while a black metal monster stood in the middle of the remains of their village. One old man, his face lined with so many wrinkles his eyes were nonexistent, approached the Rook, kneeling and praying to it all of a sudden. Soon, any other survivors appearing did the same, surrounding his mech, asking for forgiveness, and mistaking the Rook as an avatar of Ariana, Goddess of Death. It seemed that not even correcting them, saying he was a Knight of Avalon, servant of his Sovereign, helped; they simply thought the Rook was a herald of the Gods, and they continued to pray to it.

He wanted to explain, feeling more frustrated at every second he listened, but there was no time to linger. Hospet was already near, and they had a city to conquer before the winter ended. If their calculations were correct, they were already in the month his Sovereign designated as February, close to the end of the supposed winter months. Even if this was a strange, long one. Leaving the village, the Rook and the tractors resumed their work, clearing the way while the howitzers were loaded and primed for action for their next assault. The Rook stood tall once more, its joints whining with hydraulics as it moved into position at the vanguard now that they were arriving at the heart of Westland.

Hospet, the capital city of the region, was about the same size as Lothlia. Pion's scouts had reported on the city's defenses, being the first to reach it, using their spotters to take a look from a distance so that they could remain undetected. Its walls were thick with age, showing cracks from neglect here and there. Especially where the defensive towers were sagging a little, asking to be toppled over by a well-placed cannonshot. They were no match for Avalon's might, not when most of their army left for conquest just to be destroyed. Still, Pion knew better than to underestimate his enemy, as it was also what killed Otto. Hospet would be defended, if not out of loyalty to Otto, then at least to protect what remained of those in charge of it.

As they approached, the landscape began to shift. The snow-covered fields gave way to ridges and outcrops of black stone, the remains of old quarries that had once fueled Hospet's growth. He knew they were for sure discovered and reported to the city, but they could do nothing to stop their advance. Whatever they had for an army, it was gone. They were left with those mercenaries who made it back before Avalon's arrival… and they were not people who would obey the nobles. No. They were frightened, and they were leaving, running further west and escaping the doomed city.

When arriving at the city, Pion simply surveyed it once, standing under the darkening skies, ordering his men to prepare camp. Tents, efficient and weather-resistant, sprang up in well-organized rows. Fires were lit without fumbling, their light flickering brightly, visible from the city's walls. Conversations were sparse amongst Pion's men, each of them focusing on their duty, keeping their excitement in check and ready for any ambush that may come their way.

Pion stood at the edge of the camp, the Rook towering beside him as accompanying mechanics were equipping it with long-range cannons for the upcoming assault. Both Pion and Polo thought of Lothlia, of the many lives lost and the suffering caused by Otto's hand. The desire for vengeance burned within the two, but so did the sense of duty. They shouldn't be like their enemies. If Hospet surrenders, they will be spared.

He would bring justice, not just for Lothlia but for all who had suffered under the chaos and terror of Otto. Avalon had come to make things right, and they would not be denied because if they resisted, they would be wiped out.

"What will you do with the prisoners you dragged along?" asked a female voice. As Pion turned, Matilda approached him, pulling her thick coat close to her body.

She and her sons accompanied the army silently, and even the three troublemakers shut their mouths for good this time. Not that they were complaining because they were excited about the prospect of taking up noble ranks once again, starting anew in a city that was not Avalon. No matter the awe they felt, they still considered it to be a prison… but now, here was a chance to return to being a noble.

"They are going to be an example." Pion answered her, looking at Matilda once, not hiding his plan. "We will put them forth before the city and execute them all. We will give an ultimatum to Hospet. Surrender or receive the same fate. Polo's voice will echo far and wide from the Rook, and he will make sure everyone hears that we are not here to punish the regular people. We are here to eliminate the rot that is their nobles, bringing the wrath of the gods on themselves."

"My sons still think they will be nobles again." She shrugged while smiling, stepping next to him, "Without realizing we are going to be simply advisors until the city settles down."

"They can play the role." Pion chuckled, letting Matilda lean against his body. "My Sovereign wants this city to be a spot where our caravans can head out of Ishilla and make connections with our western neighbors later. If your sons want to play nobles, they can be ambassadors."

"Don't you fear that they will bring shame to Avalon?"

"Ahahaha, not for Avalon!" He chuckled, "But for Hospet. This city is Mirian Ishillia's property, no? We are in Ishillia here."

"On paper." She added, smiling, "I understand. If they do something stupid, it will reflect badly on Ishillia; if they do it well, Avalon will claim it. Smart."

"We understand that other countries wouldn't entertain regular people, even if they are rich. On the other hand, if they need to act with those who have a noble bloodline, more doors would open for us for diplomacy. Your sons need not do the latter; we will send people for that. They just need to stick a leg in their door and not let them slam it in our faces. Introduce our people to nobles, and we will take care of the rest."

"That… they are good at." Matilda sighed, shaking her head, "They will be delighted to do nothing but attend parties and make connections with other nobles."

"Still," Pion nodded, turning his eyes back towards the city before them, "First, we will need to bring Hospet to its knees. Conquering it will unify the North. By the time the snow melts, the old Emperor will have no influence on this land."