The Real War Begins

Adam understood that Maximillian was his first friend in this new life, presenting a chance to experience what he couldn't before in his previous body. As they savored the truly tasteful ale, its flavor was rich and woody, with a crispness hinting at the bitterness of the native herbs used in its brewing. Yet, it carried a complexity, a subtle sweetness from the malt balancing the herbal notes. Despite its expense, it exuded a rustic charm, cloudy yet inviting, reminding Adam of the riches he once possessed. While drinking, Adam considered sharing the information about his sister. His joyful expression dimmed, replaced by one of desperation and sadness, catching Maximillian's attention. Sensing Adam's distress, Maximillian refrained from joking, understanding that if Adam wanted to reveal something, he would do so in his own time.

Choosing not to burden Maximillian with his sister's story, Adam shifted the conversation to Maximillian's wound. "You leaped in front of an arrow like a madman. How did you react so fast? How's your shoulder holding up?" he asked, his expression now more upbeat. They clinked their tankards together.

Maximillian responded, "You know, in battle, everything feels a bit slower, and I had my eyes on that archer, so I just reacted. I didn't know Elara was there; I just knew someone was behind me, and that arrow was aimed for a comrade. To be honest, I'm pretty lucky I managed to raise my shield so fast," he said, chuckling. "But now my shoulder is holding up pretty well. The wound is almost healed; the doctor said it will take about four more days until I'm fully functional again if I continue to take his questionable medicine," he added, laughing once more.

"That's quite good," Adam said, glancing around for any lurking shadows beyond the tent before leaning close to Maximillian's ear. "Any news about the other army? And what's the camp up to lately?"

Returning to his bed, Adam gazed at Maximillian, who simply shook his head and replied, "Elara didn't share any new information with me. So, between us, I suspect she won't engage in battle. She seemed quite distressed, despite our minimal losses. And she's still holding Zangenberg captive. If I were to guess, she might attempt to negotiate Zangenberg's release for safe passage."

"I know you haven't been here for long, maybe a week and a half at most. But what you should know about our dear Commander is that she values the lives of her soldiers more than anything else." Maximillian looks down, "Even though I want to believe that, I've heard her say that she only values our lives because even a Pawn can turn into a knight. She thinks of everything in terms of chess pieces, and losing even one pawn can lead to downfall. We don't like it, but we tolerate it because it guarantees our survival." Maximillian buries his head into his neck and stares at the ceiling. "You know, Adam, I've been involved in this war business for way too long. But it pays far too well to stop it."

"And if I had to guess, that's the opinion of most of the guys here, and you can feel it in the camp. Since the battle, the mood is kind of damp. No one really chats with one another anymore. We don't know if we should prepare for another battle or not. It's tiring on the mind." Ending with a sigh, Maximillian looks into Adam's face. Adam's eyes were watery since he knew down to the pin how Maximillian felt, how this entire camp probably felt. Having heard this, Adam lay down in his bed. Both of them continued to chat about what funny and unfunny things happened while Adam was passed out in the medical tent. And as the stars began to show themselves, Adam and Maximillian both fell asleep.

In the meantime, Elara's tent was full of life. All three of her advisors were present: her second in command, Leldur, a sturdy man with a weathered face and a scar across his cheek, who had been with her since her first campaign at the age of 13; her personal knight, Sullvian, an older warrior with graying hair and a steely gaze, standing tall and imposing with a closely cropped beard and piercing brown eyes, who had served for nine years in the royal family; and her quartermaster, Kiran, a slender and agile individual with a quick wit and a penchant for strategy, whose calculating gaze belied his youthful appearance.

"Elara, he won't agree to such a deal. He outnumbers us, and he harbors a personal hatred toward you, not only because of the succession war," Kirian exclaimed, slamming his hand onto the desk before him. "Your ideas have driven me to express anger, something I rarely do. Can't you see how out of touch this plan is?"

"I agree, my Princess," Sullvian said calmly, adding, "Lord Denholm would never entertain such a proposal."

"My Princess, you have us as advisors, so please heed our counsel and abandon this idea," Leldur urged.

"You're all traitors! You doubt my negotiation skills, do you all want to be hanged?" Elara's intense gaze swept over them. Kirian, unable to contain himself, raised his voice, "If you hang me and refuse to negotiate with Denholm, then hang me for the sake of you and your descendants' lives! So that that stupid crown may sit upon your head my grace!"

Hearing that, Elara slumped back into her chair, resting her elbows on the desk and burying her face in her hands. "Then what do you suggest? This was the only idea I had," she muttered in defeat.

"My grace, you should rest for now. Let us come up with a plan," Sullvian said calmly, while Leldur and Kirian nodded in agreement.

"Alright then, I'll excuse you. I hope you rest well, Leldur, Kirian, and Sullvian. I apologize for my outburst," Elara said, addressing them respectfully.

Leldur and Sullvian saluted, while Kirian bowed before Elara, before all three men exited her tent.

After all her advisors left, Elara remained seated at her desk, her head still in her hands. She sighed heavily and muttered, "Why did you have to make us fight over your succession, Father? Why didn't you destroy all the factions within our kingdom before you grew this old? Now I, the goddamn second princess, need to fight against all three of my brothers. Did you really think they spared your daughters because they are women? I hope you rot in hell when death takes you, while Sarah remains in heaven, never to be seen by your eyes ever again."

Elara let out a sigh. "I must survive, I must fight, I mustn't give up." She raised her head and slapped herself. "I miss you, Sarah, and so does your mother and mine." She rose from her chair, turned off the oil lamps in her tent, and replaced them with candles. After that, she changed from her banded mail armor into her nightgown.

And as she made her way to the bed the candle light reflected from her silver hair. making it shimmer gracefully and beautifully.

And so Elara's night came to an end as well. Now, almost the entire camp had quieted down, except for the night watch.

As the morning sun bathed the bustling camp in its golden light, Maximillian and Adam made their way to the training grounds, their bodies still feeling the strain from their recent clash with Zangenberg. Determined to regain their strength, they threw themselves into their exercises, the clang of swords and the grunts of exertion filling the air.

In the midst of their training, they couldn't help but notice a group of soldiers demonstrating exceptional skill and discipline. Intrigued, they approached, drawn to the camaraderie and proficiency displayed by these six individuals. As they sparred and drilled together, bonds formed naturally, strengthened by shared tales of triumph and tragedy on the battlefield.

Over the following days, the eight soldiers became an unstoppable force, their unity and prowess unmatched by any other group in the camp. Adam and Maximillian found in them not only capable comrades but also loyal allies they could trust with their lives. Together, they honed their skills, refining their tactics and strategies, forging a bond that transcended mere camaraderie.

Meanwhile, within the dimly lit confines of her tent, Elara sat at her makeshift war table, surrounded by an array of maps depicting the varied landscapes and strategic positions of the region. The flickering candlelight danced across the parchment, casting shifting shadows that seemed to breathe life into the inked lines and symbols.

Elara's keen eyes moved methodically over the maps, her fingers tracing the winding paths of rivers and the jagged contours of mountain ranges. Each map told a story, revealing vital information about enemy movements, resource locations, and potential battlegrounds.

As she studied the maps, Elara's mind buzzed with calculations and strategies, her brow furrowed in concentration. She considered every possible angle, weighing the risks and rewards of each potential course of action.

Occasionally, she would reach for a quill, making annotations and adjustments to the maps as new information came to light. Her advisors hovered nearby, their voices intermingling in heated debate as they offered their insights and opinions.

Despite the imminent threat of conflict, there was a certain determination inside of the tent. Elara and her advisors worked tirelessly, their resolve unshakable as they sought to outmaneuver their adversary and secure victory for their cause.

And as the candlelight continued to flicker and dance, casting a warm glow over the maps spread out before her, Elara remained resolute in her determination to lead her forces to triumph, no matter the cost.

As tension and uncertainty hung in the air, a collective sense of determination permeated the camp. Each day brought them closer to their ultimate goal: victory over Lord Denholm. And as Adam and Maximillian trained alongside their newfound comrades, and Elara strategized with her advisors, they knew that together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

And so, a week passed, filled with fervent preparations. Following the dawn of the new week, Elara summoned everyone to her side. Standing upon a makeshift stage, she addressed her 630 soldiers. "Though we may be few in number, we possess exceptional prowess. We are going to face Lord Denholm in battle. And since my earlier plan may not come to fruition, we have a spectacle in store for you."

With her words, a wounded and battered Ser Zangenberg was brought onto the stage, and Elara was handed her sword. "For the act of treason against the crown and conspiring with an enemy of the royal family, you are sentenced to death, Ser Zangenberg. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Ser Zangenberg glanced up at Elara and spat on the ground. "I serve the third prince, not some run-of-the-mill princess. Your father's days are numbered, and you hold no sway as you once did. Long live the third prince!" he proclaimed proudly.

"If that is your stance, then you align yourself as an enemy of the king," Elara replied calmly. With a swift motion, her sword descended, severing Ser Zangenberg's head from his body.

The crowd of Elara's soldiers looked upon the princess and shouted in unison, "May the Princess live long!" With a simple bow, Elara acknowledged her soldiers and made her way back down the stage, while knights collected the head and body of Ser Zangenberg.

Back in her tent, Elara sank into her chair. As soon as she settled, Kirian burst into the tent, breathless. "My Grace, a messenger just arrived with a letter bearing the royal seal," he announced urgently. "Huh? Give it to me," Elara replied, immediately breaking the seal. As she slowly began to read the contents of the letter, her eyes widened, and her expression shifted to one of concern.

Elara's expression turned grave as she looked at Kirian. "Father is lying on his deathbed," she relayed, her voice heavy with concern and sadness.