Celestial Hymn 13 (Patreon)

Celestial Hymn
Chapter 13

-VB-

Unlike what most people dreamed about medieval warfare and envisioned in the Game of Thrones, most lords and their smallfolk (or commoners on Earth) wanted nothing more than to avoid such things for one simple fact: large scale conflicts costed too much.

Everything involved in such a conflict costed too much. It took forever to train valuable men who were going to die, it took forever to plan out and set up for war, it took forever to call up the lords and their levies to organize, and it took forever to get to a battlefield.

Feeding tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of soldiers cost a fortune every meal. Arming them cost even more. Keeping them in line costed their commanders their endurances and patience.

For the peasants, slaves, and smallfolk, war meant death. Death in the battlefield gave no compensation, and their families would lose a productive member, which can lead to all sorts of damages - mental and financial to name two.

The point was that war was a costly affair most wanted to avoid, but I was preparing for it the best way that I could. This meant training myself and my men, and there was only so much sparring could take us. For us, I supplemented real life experience with magic-induced monstrous martial arts.

I watched from my wooden tower as twenty of my men-at-arms armed with enchanted leather gloves fought against all of the currently levied peasants. The peasants were armed with wooden weapons and shields as were my men-at-arms.

And it was a slaughter.

I winced as I saw one of the smallfolk men took a vicious strike to his chest followed up by a stunning backhand to his chin that knocked him out of the fight. Similar scenes repeated themselves across the field as my suddenly martially inclined men-at-arms devastated the smallfolk levies.

It was a good example of exactly how a real life battle would turn out, too, as I removed all those deemed “defeated by lethal measures.”

This in and of itself was a preparation for what I felt was going to happen.

My neighboring lords started to probe harder. There have been rumors of “bandits” circulating more and more. I knew of no reason why such a rumor would be popping up when I knew for a fact that there weren’t any increase in bandits (or any bandits in my territory, period) unless it was a set up to give my neighbors a “probable cause” to my death when I suddenly disappeared or something.

Because they, I don’t know, plotted my death and succeeded.

No, I would take the fight to them.

I watched as the smallfolk levies began to rout, and then they lost when more than half of them closed a line I’ve dug in the dirt for them.

“And stop! Victory to the men-at-arms!” my master-at-arms shouted using the parchment megaphone I made. I watched as the men fighting on the slopes below paused before helping each other get back up. There were a few laughs, but the smallfolk levies grumbled mostly about having to fight after working for days at the aqueduct.

Must I remind them why they worked as levies instead of being paid labors?

“Have the rest of the men-at-arms come and train out here.”

“Yes, milord,” the master-at-arms acknowledged.

“And make sure none of them are using my stuff. I don’t want them to get too used to it.”

The master-at-arms nodded even as he unconsciously rubbed the copper ring I’ve given him, which he wore on his left index finger. The ring he wore was a special one just like my shortsword. Instead of giving him superior swordsmanship, the ring acted as a “pool of reserve” for strength, endurance, and speed. The ring would siphon a little bit of everything about him each day as he worked out, and only when he was resting, and give him all of that back when he broke it. Because the ring was copper, it wouldn’t too hard to break or cut, especially since the man carried a steel sword around.

“Yes, milord.”

Earning myself the loyalty of my men-at-arms had been easier than I expected. Gifting them with minor jewelry enchanted to grant health and which guaranteed not only their position as my vassal but also their children? They swore heartfelt fealty.

For what reason would they betray me? Money? I had lots of it. Prestige? I had even more than most lords. Power?

I gave them power that they could wield physically; I turned all those who accepted my offer into another Barristan Selmy.

I stopped for a moment as the Forge woke up once more… and nothing. Tis was the usual.

I paused in my rumination as I saw someone running over one of the hills.

“BANDITS!”

… holup, what?

-VB-

“THERE WERE ACTUAL BANDITS!” I yelled angrily as twenty of my men-at-arms rode to fight.

Forty-four hooves thundered down the packed dirt road, and the bandits, who had struck one of my northern villages, tried to run away.

We swung in, swinging our swords at the running backs of the bandits. Half of us dismounted to put out the fires while the rest of us chased after the bandits. They ran, but against mounted soldiers, they may as well have stood their ground.

It took us no more than half an hour to kill and capture all of the bandits and put out the few fires that had been started.

I grimaced as I looked around the burnt village. I only managed to get here as quickly as I had because we were already armed and ready with horses to spare.

Well, spare was the wrong word; I had all of the available warhorses brought to use for the training, and we just happened to be able to use them on the spot. Even then, a dozen men-at-arms couldn’t ride yet, and thus had to be left behind.

What I wanted to know was where these bandits came from.

I turned towards my soldiers bringing the surviving bandits in ropes.

“Have them kneel.”

The bandits protested, but my soldiers kicked their knees and forced them to kneel.

I glared at them all. A few of them glared right back in defiance.

“Take the black with a missing hand, tell me what I want and take the black with both of your hands, or die. I give you ten seconds before I start executing,” I snarled at them before pulling out one of the bandits’ own swords. “I don’t promise a clean cut.”

After the first death and three left hand-less black-takers, I got what I wanted.