"In war, half measures and indecisiveness

mean failure."

(Napoleon Bonaparte)



Since the times of the Holy Wars, Erthea had never seen such a long conflict as the one between the imperial forces and the separatist groups led by the Barons.

For ten years the eastern territories of the Empire had been a powder keg, an immense battlefield in which an interminable civil war was taking place.

It all started with the coronation of the current emperor, who had had the great idea of resolving the frightening economic crisis that had brought the Empire to the brink of bankruptcy by promulgating a series of heavy tax reforms.

As if that wasn't enough, the Emperor had demonstrated that he wanted to radically change the way in which the State managed public affairs, bringing power back into the hands of the Senate to the detriment of governors and administrators of the most distant and remote provinces, who over the last two hundred years had been granted ever greater privileges.

And the people were very happy about all this, also because a specific law had prevented the nobles for whom the measure was intended from making up for their losses by in turn increasing local taxation on their fiefdoms.

Unfortunately, in politics things rarely go as one would like, and a greedy nobleman accustomed to fully enjoying his riches and power can become a dangerous enemy, even for a sovereign.

Perhaps His Majesty had overestimated the admiration that the people had begun to feel for him, or perhaps he had persuaded himself to believe that his reforms would protect him from criticism for what circumstances had forced him to do.

Because an inhabitant of Saedonia can tolerate taxes, poverty and hunger, but he will never be willing to give up the most important thing he possesses: his pride as a citizen of the greatest empire ever seen.

The cession of a part of the western territories to Connelly with the end of the Flor War and the end of the Cold War with the Union at the price of several million goldies were humiliations that few were willing to accept.

And the nobles of the east, the most distant, isolated and remote lands of the great Empire, had been able to disguise their ambitions in a sort of holy war against a sovereign whom they accused of being an incompetent who had sold out his empire and its people to the enemy.

After all, it was there that, according to legends, the Dark Lord had made his appearance, and according to the inhabitants of those lands it was only thanks to the sacrifice of their ancestors that the Empire had survived.

It didn't take long for what began as a simple fight between the local feudal lords and the central government to turn into a real revolt that had been bloodied in the forests, mountains and valleys of the east for ten years.

And the mastermind behind all the defeats suffered up to that point by the legions was Julius Severus, twelfth Baron of Glasnet.

As a very rich man with an illustrious lineage, he belonged to the most noble and respected military aristocracy of the Empire, one of those families whose exploits children read about in schoolbooks.

He was not only a cultured and very powerful feudal lord, but also a brilliant strategist, and was perhaps the only one among the rebel Barons to sincerely believe in the lies that his associates told themselves to mask their true intentions.

Seven generals had succeeded one another in command of the five legions that had been trying to crush the rebellion for a decade, but despite this the situation had not improved in the slightest over time.

Cities and regions were continually lost and reconquered, sometimes in the space of a few weeks, but the capital of the revolt Glasnet and its castle remained distant, like an unattainable mirage.

For a few months the command had passed to General Flavius Tibullus. He was a veteran military man, esteemed by his Majesty, who had made a reputation as admiral of the imperial fleet fighting pirates.

But he was essentially a man of the sea, the very embodiment of a warrior aristocracy tied to antiquated ideas, and who followed to the letter the typical imperial approach to battles: overwhelming numbers, steamroller and brutal advance, regardless of losses.

Something like this could be good for prevailing over foreign armies or when dealing with pirate fleets, but it did not fit well with a situation like that of the East. Each time a region fell, the barons and their armies simply retreated to the nearest ones, forming new defensive barriers that had to be breached again, resulting in a huge waste of troops and resources.

And meanwhile the supply lines got longer, unlike those of the enemy, it was not possible to contain the losses, the third or fourth assault got bogged down, winter arrived, they were forced to retreat, the enemy reoccupied part or all of the lost territories, and everything started all over again the following spring.

Aria was aware of where she was going and the many problems she would have to face, but she certainly didn't expect such a dramatic situation.

After ten years the imperial legions had reconquered less than half of the rebel territories, and for at least two years the offensive had effectively stalled on the edge of the Falderad region.

The old strategy of attacking head-on had now stopped bringing even the most limited successes; the troops were tired, the officers unmotivated, and the belief that there was no hope of advancing any further was gaining ground even among the most optimistic.

The second in command was called Oreste Flaminio, and for some years he had become a stranger in his homeland, since his hometown Tagrea had been ceded to Connelly.

Luckily his family, unlike other nobles in the same region, had preferred exile over submitting to the Principality, otherwise, in addition to a beautiful city, the Empire would also have lost one of the most brilliant military minds that Aria had ever known.

But he was only the head of a minor noble family, and a provincial one at that, so despite the many years spent on the battlefields he was perfectly aware that his current position was the best he could hope for.

When she spoke with him or met his gaze Aria was almost ashamed at the thought that one day she could rise to the role of General, while Oreste could never be more than a simple Commander, perpetually subjected to someone with more titles but far less qualities than him.

"How many skilled talents like yours have been lost to the classism of the Empire?"

And Oreste wasn't the only one; in the few months spent at the front, Aria had met no fewer than five equally capable young officers, forced by their lineage to take on the role of simple subordinates, often employed by superiors as competent in war as she was in embroidery.

Aria belonged to a world in which even the lowest-ranking nobles could aspire to reach the top of the pyramid, provided they had the necessary qualities to do so, and for a long time she couldn't understand why even in the Empire it could not be the same.

She still remembered how she felt the moment when, during the military academy, she understood that the respect everyone gave her did not come from her merits, but only from the surname she bore, and that even if she had been the last in the class things would not have been different.

So she set the goal for herself to be the best at everything she did, so she could at least tell herself that she deserved the compliments that were directed at her.

Also for this reason she did not understand why being a prestigious nobleman or belonging to some royal family was the only requirement to be able to aspire to a promising career; why couldn't a person be rewarded based on his efforts?

But even if the Emperor seemed to be doing his best to allow small nobles and even wealthy bourgeois to have a place in political circles, the army with all its traditions was still an unscratchable monolith.

That's why she had chosen that path once finished high school, rather than returning home and taking command of the army as her father would have wanted.

From the acceptance of slavery to corruption among the nobles, over the years her homeland had adopted too many things from the Empire that she didn't like; and since Saedonia and Eirinn were now inextricably linked, things would only have gotten worse if the Empire hadn't changed.

Like the Emperor, she too was convinced that it was necessary to proceed gradually, especially in a place as allergic to change as the army, so at the beginning she promised herself not to do anything rash.

But now things were different.

Now it wasn't just about trying to change things; now the fate of her homeland was at stake.

Suddenly all those intentions had lost importance; all that mattered to her was to resolve the issue with the barons as soon as possible and immediately turn all her attention to the south, before her brother, ill-advised by their uncle, did something irreparable.

But how to do it?

What could she do to undermine a five-hundred-year-old way of thinking and conducting war that no one wanted to question?

In the end she understood that there was only one thing to do.

However, before committing an act of this kind, whose consequences could easily be imagined, she wanted to try all other options; not so much because she feared for herself, but rather so as not to shame her family, not to mention the Emperor, who would not be to blame if he decided to go back on his promise.

But up until that moment it had all been in vain. And when she then revealed her intentions to the right people, she was amazed by how most of them, starting with Oreste, not only had not dissuaded her, but had proved to agree with her, admiring her for having found the courage to do what they had only dared to imagine.

So, in the end, she had made her own decision.

But before getting down to business, she wanted to give it one last try.

Once a week General Tibullus convened the war council in which his advisors and the commanders of the five legions under his command with their respective subordinates took part.

"General, please. This strategy isn't getting us anywhere, it's just wasting our time and sacrificing our soldiers for nothing."

"I'm really starting to get tired of your complaints, Captain Montgomery. You've only been here a few months and you already claim to know everything?"

"The enemy controls the territory. They know it and exploit it much better than we do. Every time we advance they abandon the most exposed positions to reposition themselves on the most favorable ones, the offensive stalls, we are forced to retreat, and even when fate favors us we gain a few miles at most. If we want to have any hope, we must dictate the conditions, not them."

"General, perhaps you should listen to her." said Oreste. "Her strategy may seem bizarre, but it makes sense."

With the support of her superior, Aria pressed on.

"The Barons say they are united, but ultimately they are just a group of selfish individualists who prioritize their own interests above anything else. When we don't advance, they each keep their soldiers close to them in their respective fiefdoms. From here, we can launch offensives against all the regions between us and Glasnet. A coordinated attack along several lines, and we will not give our enemies time and opportunity to organize a common defense. At that point Baron Severus would be left with only the troops of the eastern fiefdoms at his disposal, which even put together would be equal to ours."

"Divide my legions? I hope you are joking! No one ever heard of anything like this! Should I put my forces in the hands of some two-bit nobleman, the son of a banker or some rich merchant? We will do as we have always done. We will join forces, advance and defeat anyone who stands in our way. Only in this way can true glory be achieved."

"Only in this way can a certain defeat be achieved, you mean! The summer is now ending, and this will be our last offensive! If we fail we will have to wait until next year, and these legions are needed elsewhere!"

"Enough now, Captain! I don't care if the Emperor sent you here! One more word and I will have you relieved of your duties immediately!"

Then, the girl said to herself, there was really nothing else to do.

"I was hoping it wouldn't have to go that far, but apparently you leave me no choice."

As she nodded one of the officers made a signal, and immediately after a dozen soldiers entered the tent with weapons drawn, surrounding the General and his loyalists.

"What's the meaning of this!?"

"General Tibullus, commander of the army. Generals Darius and Glaber, commanders of the Fourth and Sixth Legions. From this moment, I hereby declare you relieved of your duties, and with the consent of General Oreste I assume command of this operation. You will be placed under arrest in your quarters until the end of the operations, and then His Majesty will decide on you."

"Damn you! This is high treason! Arrest her immediately!"

But no one obeyed him. After all, apart from the aforementioned Glaber and Darius, all the other Generals already had very clear ideas about who was most deserving of their loyalty.

"Take them away."

"You can't do that! You will all end up on the hangman's block! Leave me!"

All the Generals hurried to leave the tent to confront their men and calm things down, leaving the new commander and his second alone.

"I hope you are aware of what the consequences will be for all of us."

"Do you have the list I asked for?"

"We are already taking action. By this evening we will have arrested all the officers who supported them."

"What about the troops?"

"Don't worry, they will follow us. By now they have learned to know you. And in any case they know they don't risk anything as long as they obey orders." then the elderly general winked "Obviously provided that this operation brings the desired results."

"Call a new war council for tomorrow morning. And give the order to begin dismantling the camp."

"At your orders, Commander."



Baron Severus was so fond of his thick red beard that he spent hours taking care of it every morning.

His soldiers always joked about it, and said that if one day the General showed himself in public with an unkempt beard then it meant that defeat was imminent.

Directing and making a bunch of nobles more interested in themselves than in the cause get along was not an easy task, but it was also for this reason that the Council of Barons had chosen him as supreme commander: who better to defend the interests of the separatists and lead their forces into battle than a veteran of the war with Connelly who had seen his successes stripped away with that shameful peace?

Severus knew better than anyone that this was not a war like any other. It was a war of attrition, in which the only way to win was to push the Empire to consider continuing its actions costly enough to not want to proceed further.

And then?

The Council had had so many fantasies over the years that having a clear idea of what they would actually ask for when the Emperor agreed to negotiate was nearly impossible.

Someone spoke openly of secession, someone else proposed a semi-independent vassalage; for now Severus just wanted to end the war as soon as possible, and something inside him told him it wouldn't take long.

By now that conflict had dragged on wearily from one year to the next for a decade, and from the voices coming from the capital it was clear that the Senate was no longer willing to lose millions of goldies in that futureless enterprise.

The Emperor's desire to take away power from the governors and give it back to the nobles of Maligrad rather than to himself was backfiring.

They just had to hold on a little longer, maybe just one more winter.

Then, all of a sudden, the decisive moment seemed to have finally arrived.

A few days earlier a messenger had brought the news that the imperial army had begun to dismantle the camp, a sign that its commander was determined with that last offensive to complete the advance, or at least to carry it as far as possible, with no intention of going back in case of failure.

Every morning before breakfast, and in the afternoon during the tea break, the General held a war council with his two subordinates, Colonels Ophelia and Primus, to take stock of the campaigns and plan the next moves.

"Good morning gentlemen." he said in his usual ringing and resolute voice

"Good morning, fath... I meant, good morning General Sir." Primus said respectfully "And allow me to be the first to wish you a happy birthday."

"I appreciate the thought, but it would have been better if you avoided it. It just reminds me that I'm getting old."

"Good news, General." Ophelia said as her father put on his glasses to take a look at some reports. "The new shipment of weapons arrived last night. Distribution to the soldiers is already underway, and will be completed by today."

"Excellent. They love us in Volkova."

"The Great King is always happy when someone gives the Emperor trouble."

The general then noticed that the markers on the large map of operations had been moved compared to the afternoon of the previous day, and asked his two sons to explain it.

"A report arrived last night informing us that the enemy has begun to advance along the Via Franchigia." Ophelia said

"How many?"

"Two legions. Probably the others remained behind to complete the dismantling of the camp. We're keeping an eye on them, we will have a new report by this evening."

"What news from Barons Melk and Ortis?"

"They have left their respective domains with their armies and are moving as ordered." replied Primus «If the weather doesn't slow them down they will arrive at Falken Valley within four days."

It was not the first time that the valley became the battlefield of yet another clash between the Barons' troops and the imperial army, and Severus found it almost reprehensible that even after all those defeats the enemy persisted in wanting to pass through there. All because it was the quickest route to the heart of the rebel domain.

"Looks like it will be another easy victory."

"Don't be too sure of yourself, son. Every battle is unique, and things don't always go the same way. Also send dispatches to Barons Heraclius and Udrecht. They must gather their forces and prepare for a possible advance."

"Do you expect greater resistance?" Ophelia asked

"I don't want to take useless risks."



As a good soldier, Baron Severus hated formal occasions, but he certainly couldn't refuse to attend his birthday reception.

That evening almost all the best rebel nobility had gathered in the palace of Glasnet, or at least those who did not have to worry about defending their fiefdoms from yet another advance of the imperial army.

For the first time in a long time, optimism reigned, and many were sure that if they managed to resist for one more, maximum two years, then their demands would finally be heard.

In the ballroom, each of the guests spent their time as they pleased, some dancing, some conversing, some devouring the dishes.

The guest of honor tried to slip away at every possible opportunity, spending time talking only with other officers and leaders; Ophelia, in uniform and with a sword at her belt, was captivating and threatening at the same time; Primus put his skills as an incurable womanizer to good use by courting one young woman after another.

All the conditions seemed to be there for an enchanting and peaceful evening, enlivened by music, food and light-heartedness.

And instead, for many of them that would have been the last happy moment of their lives.

The first to notice the arrival of the chief explorer, exhausted, covered in mud and rain and with a shocked expression, was Severus himself, who was just waiting for the right opportunity to escape.

A few minutes later Ophelia interrupted her brother in the heart of a dance.

"Our father called the emergency council. We have to go now."