Chapter 313: Two Leaderless Armies

The Second Prince’s letter arrived at the Royal Capital on a drizzling afternoon, brought back by two knights who took turns changing post horses throughout ten days of travel.

Count Aldric Thorne received the letter from the Royal Palace gatekeeper, glanced at the wax seal, then personally brought it straight into the study handing it directly to the Emperor. His Majesty the Emperor was sitting reviewing the treasury’s expenditure ledgers. He saw Thorne step in, pushed the ledger stack aside, holding out his hand to receive the letter Thorne presented.

The letter was more than ten pages long. The handwriting was sometimes neat, sometimes scrawled like a person both writing and thinking.

The Emperor read very slowly. He read the segment where his son queued up taking a wooden tag to make a temporary residency paper, the segment where the escort was caught and forced to sit copying regulations ten times in the prison, the segment where two thirteen or fourteen-year-old children argued to see which kid had enough ability to take the exam to enter the Planning Division. Reading to the final few lines, he stopped for a very long time, so long that Thorne thought the Emperor had fallen asleep.

The thing refusing to go has never been the ox but the person holding the plow.

"Thorne." The Emperor called, his eyes still glued to the paper page.

"I am present."

"Which two armies left the Royal Capital a few days after this boy’s delegation?"

Thorne was stunned. He bowed, answering that the Archive House completely had not received a copy of any troop deployment order in the past month, while according to custom, all troop deployment orders must be copied sending one copy to his place to enter into the ledger.

"Then you go investigate for me." The Emperor folded the letter: "Investigate seeing who signed, who stamped the seal, took troops from where, currently traveling arriving at what segment. Within two days I want to have an answer."

Thorne spent a day and a half investigating.

The thing he pulled out from the Archive House’s basement was not a new troop deployment order, but an old document signed since autumn last year, when the Royal Family and the Church were still discussing the matter of conquering the heresy together. In the document, the Royal Family committed to contributing thirty thousand troops, entrusting the Church with full authority to arrange the marching schedule and gathering point.

Under the document were three signatures, among which was the Emperor’s own signature.

The person taking this old document out to deploy troops was Duke Alban, one of the twenty-three members of the Royal Council, also a person having two large territories located in the South, right on the route that Lyra’s goods still passed through every month.

Alban only needed to bring this document down to the barracks, pointing at the Emperor’s signature and seal, saying that the time had come to fulfill the promise.

"A total of about twelve thousand people, Your Majesty." Thorne read the report before the Emperor, his voice still soft as usual: "Cardinal Marcellus leading the Holy Knights of the four major parishes along with the mercenary crowd hired by the Church spending money, traveling ahead about one day’s journey. Tailing behind is the garrison troops dispatched to the frontline since last month, whose flags still fly the Royal Family’s flags."

His Majesty the Emperor sat still on the chair, one hand unconsciously rubbing onto his still shiny bald head.

He slowly said: "Meaning in the eyes of the Lyra people, I both sent my son down delivering a peace proposal letter, while sending troops tailing behind his back."

Thorne did not answer. Looking at His Majesty the Emperor’s complexion at this moment, whatever Thorne said was wrong, best to shut his mouth tightly letting the Emperor speak himself.

"Where is Alban?"

"Your Majesty, the Duke returned to his Southern territory half a month ago, saying going visiting his land."

The recall order was drafted right in the night, stamped with the Seal Keeper’s seal, copied into three copies, handed to three knight squads taking three different routes to ensure having one copy arriving at the place.

Thorne stood in the Royal Palace courtyard watching the three knight squads galloping away in the rain, while in his belly he had finished calculating a math problem that he did not dare to speak out into words. Infantry travels about five miles every day, having traveled ahead more than twenty days. Knights changing post horses run four times faster, but departing late losing that much time.

Calculating whichever way, the recall order would only catch up to the army after they had stood before Lyra’s red and white barrier pole.

At the other end of the kingdom, Lyra knew the news even before the Royal Capital.

Noon the day before yesterday, Kaelen was sitting in the nursery behind the City Hall, displaying a row of wooden pots out in the courtyard to separate several seedling roots for the afternoon class children to practice planting. He was untangling a root system tangled into each other, then stopped his hands, raising his head looking toward the North.

Ivy sitting beside, seeing that, dropped the soil-loosening trowel: "Father, what is the matter?"

"Too many people walking." Kaelen answered, his eyes still looking toward the trading road: "The grass on both road sides from Crossford upward is trampled crushing into a wide streak. A streak like that must have several thousand people passing through to be able to create."

He dusted his hands, stood up, instructing the little girl watching over the seedlings for him, then went straight up to the meeting room.

That afternoon, the Department of Military Affairs dispatched three scout squads going upstream toward the North direction. Two days later, the first squad galloped horses returning, their bodies smudged with mud and dirt, reporting that there were two armies marching down toward the South following two parallel roads, separated by about one day’s journey, troop number estimated at more than ten thousand.

"What about the flags?" Godfrey asked.

"Lord Director, one side flies the sun flag of the Church." The scout swallowed: "The remaining side flies the flag of the Royal Family."

The entire meeting room turned looking at the guest sitting at the table corner.

Lucien sprang up standing, his face white as a sheet, stammering forever finally managing to form a sentence that he asked to take his honor out guaranteeing, his royal father completely did not issue an order deploying troops, he left the Royal Capital when the Council was still arguing, if there was an order then he must be the person knowing.

"We believe Your Highness." Elric said, his voice still gentle: "But outsiders standing looking will not believe you know. One side holding a peace proposal letter going ahead, one side dragging troops tailing behind, this matter is hard to explain smoothly."

Sane sat at the central position, lazily spinning the communication bracelet on his wrist, not showing any appearance of caring. Godfrey stood up asking for opinions, asking seeing whether should deploy the entire three hundred people of the Department of Military Affairs to the frontline, whether should dig trenches at the narrow road segment, whether should call more people from the reclamation groups.

"No need." Kaelen answered.

He sat at the end of the table, his sleeves still lingering dirt from the nursery, continuing speaking with a calm voice exactly like instructing household chores.

"The Department of Military Affairs just keep the troop number intact, whoever guards which place then guards that place. You only need to order moving the coming market session into the East market courtyard inside the city, informing the citizens of the villages three days in advance so they avoid carrying goods out outside. The reclamation groups located close to the trading road then dispatch people down asking seeing who wants to enter the city staying temporarily for a few days, whoever wants to stay is also fine, but at night must have the Department of Public Security’s people on duty together. As for the checkpoint then starting tomorrow lower the barrier pole one hour earlier."

Elric noted rapidly, finishing noting looked up asking: "Lord, then what about the army how do we calculate?"

"Then let them go." Kaelen answered: "That road is the kingdom’s road, they have the right to travel. As long as they have not stepped across the stone marker then we have no business with them yet."

That night, Lyra’s broadcasting station read a news bulletin about the two armies.

The news bulletin was read three times, reading clearly the estimated troop number, clearly the two routes, clearly the remaining distance calculated by travel days. At the end of the bulletin there were additionally several lines instructing the citizens of the reclamation groups close to the trading road to go up to the Department of Public Security registering if wanting to enter the city staying temporarily, and reminding that the coming market session moves inside the city.

Lucien sat in the guest room of the guesthouse, hearing the speaker sound echoing in from outside the street unable to believe his ears.

In the Royal Capital, a news like that would be kept secret until the final minute, because people feared the citizens panicking, feared villains taking advantage of muddy water catching fish, feared prices inside the city jumping up three times. Yet this city brought the whole number of twelve thousand troops out reading thunderously in the middle of the street, finishing reading even guided citizens going registering accommodation.

He dragged Ferris out onto the street to see how the citizen situation was.

The streets were still crowded as usual. The tavern at the head of Dyer street still lit its lamps, inside there was a crowd of porters arguing noisily, but the argument’s content made Lucien stand dead frozen outside the door.

They were betting.

One guy firmly insisted that that troop crowd tomorrow morning would simultaneously become bald exactly identical to the official crowd in the Royal Capital, placing a bet of three copper coins. The guy sitting opposite pouted, saying being bald was old already, this time whatever way it is also losing pants, betting five coins.

In the innermost corner there was an old man sitting drinking alone, hearing getting bored then finally leisurely contributed a sentence that according to him completely nothing would happen, that crowd arriving then only increasing the population for Lyra city.

The whole tavern exclaimed "oh" together, then swarmed in betting the rest with the old man.

Lucien stood outside the tavern door, looking into that human crowd currently laughing and talking noisily inside there, in his heart surging up an indescribably bewildered feeling. More than ten days’ journey away there were twelve thousand troops currently marching down, while here people sat betting seeing whether the army crowd would lose hair or lose pants.

Three days later, the army wing traveling ahead arrived at the place.

They stopped about half a mile away from the stone marker, pitching camp right on the empty land plot by the roadside, white tents covering an entire hill patch. Looking out from the watchtower of the checkpoint, people counted more than two hundred tents, sun flags planted forming a long row before the camp gate.

The recruit boy guarding the barrier pole that day was named Pell, eighteen years old, Oakhurst village person, just entering the Department of Military Affairs for four months.

He stood still inside the watchtower looking out, his two hands tightly gripping the spear to the point his knuckles turned completely pale white. Godfrey stood right behind his back, patted his shoulder once, then told him to just do exactly what he had learned, having anything then already having adults taking care of it.

Arriving at mid-afternoon, from inside the camp three knights galloped out, stopping before the barrier pole.

The person traveling in the middle wore a white cloak with gold trim, in his hand holding a sealed bronze tube. He loudly declared that this was an ultimatum of the Church of Light sent to the person claiming himself Holy Son currently occupying Lyra city, demanding an authoritative person coming out receiving it.

Godfrey stepped out of the watchtower, receiving the bronze tube.

He opened it, pulled the paper inside out, read from beginning to end right on the spot, finishing reading then carefully folded it, then spoke to the three envoys with the calm voice of an official currently doing procedures.

"I have received your document. According to Lyra city’s procedure, all documents sent from outside must be transferred up to the Mayor’s Office entering the incoming dispatch ledger, after that the City Hall will consider and reply in writing. The replying deadline is three working days."

The envoy was stunned: "What did you say?"

"I said three working days sir." Godfrey answered: "Today is already past the dispatch receiving hour, so your document will be calculated starting tomorrow morning. During the time waiting for a reply, please feel free resting out there, do not step across the stone marker. Drinking water then our side can sell, the listed price is pasted on the board over there."

The three envoys turned their horses returning to camp, both riding and cursing loudly.

Lucien stood watching that entire scene from behind the watchtower, because that morning he had relentlessly demanded following Godfrey out to the checkpoint, saying that he was a prince, who knew he might be able to talk with the commander on the other side.

He could not talk with anyone at all.

The thing he saw, through a half-mile distance of open field, was two flags planted about thirty footsteps away from each other. One flag embroidered the ray-radiating sun of the Church. The remaining flag had a dark blue background, right in the middle was the crown-wearing lion that the Valcourt family clan had used throughout four hundred years, the flag that since childhood he had seen every morning when opening his bedchamber window.

Ferris stood beside, softly called: "Second Highness..."

Lucien did not answer.

He just stood there watching his family’s flag fluttering beside the Church’s flag, watching endlessly until the sun went low, then finally turned asking Godfrey one sentence with a hoarse voice.

"Sir, from here returning to the Royal Capital, the fastest express letter travels how many days?"

"Ten days." Godfrey answered.

"Then if my royal father knows this matter and issues a recall order right today, then how long does the order take to arrive?"

Godfrey looked at him for a moment, then answered truthfully.

"Longer than that, Your Highness. The person delivering the order still has to find where the army is currently stationed."

Lucien nodded, turning his body stepping down the slope, walking a few steps then staggered, having to hold his hand onto the watchtower wall to be able to stand firmly.

He left the Royal Capital carrying along a peace proposal letter and a velvet box holding a few hair strands, traveling throughout more than ten days’ journey, sitting crying before the Divine Envoy to ask for one month.

And that one-month deadline had only passed exactly more than one-third, his very own family’s troops had already pitched camp right before that red and white barrier pole.

Could it be, the throne that the Valcourt Royal Family preserved through generations would be overthrown right here?