Chapter 758: Military plan
Alpheo looked down at the long, heavy table of on the centre of the room , its surface entirely hidden beneath a wide campaign map.
Inked rivers snaked across faded parchment, mountains were sketched in sharp strokes of black, and three small banners were planted like miniature conquests on three cities: Shom, Artalerita, and Freusen.
The last of the three was not yet entirely in his grasp, but Alpheo considered its fall inevitable. A matter of time. The inaccuracy didn’t bother him; in his mind, it was already counted among his victories.
He turned from the table, his gaze sweeping over those assembled. Around the table, the lords shared a certain ease in their posture.
They were in a good mood.
And why not? The campaign was going well. Three...well, two for now, cities had been taken. The path forward split into multiple promising directions. Morale was high, the supply lines secure, and the plunder already outweighed the campaign’s cost.
Still, this was no time to sit around playing with butterflies. Alpheo decided to cut straight through the pleasant air.
"I’m not going to circle around our victories since we came here," he began, his voice calm though it had a smiling edge to it. "That’s nothing more than vanity. Instead, we start with what we know."
He reached across the map, the black iron of his gauntlet catching the light from outside, and tapped a finger against the capital of the princedom.
"Our most recent reports tell us that the Oizenian prince has yet to complete his military preparations. More importantly, nothing suggests he even knows we’re here, thanks mostly to the effort of Egil’s riders and Lucius’ agents. That means we have, for now, a small window to operate while still unseen. It won’t last long. So we make it count."
"How fast can you confirm when he will start marching?" Lord Shahab asked, leaning forward. His sharp eyes flicked between their current position and the enemy’s seat of power, his hand absently tracing a river on the map.
"Likely a day or two from when it actually happens," Alpheo replied. "Our network here is made up of agents I left behind three years ago. I had originally thought of them as little more than a nuisance to keep the new prince uncomfortable. Turns out they’ve been far more useful than I expected."
Shahab gave the faintest snort but didn’t dwell on the personal admission. "Then, by the time we hear from them, we’ll have perhaps two or three days’ advantage before their army reaches us."
"Which means," Jarza rumbled from the far side of the table, his great shoulders leaning forward as he pressed both massive hands to the wood, "we need to speed up whatever we decide to do next." The thick knuckles of his index finger cracked as he pushed it against the table’s edge for emphasis.
’’Where are we going, then?" asked Torghan.
His eyes lingered on the map spread across the table, tracing its lines and symbols with almost childlike fascination. It was, after all, the first proper campaign in which he had taken a true seat at the council.
During the previous war, the language had still been pretty foreign to him; he’d fought well enough in the field, but had not been part of the higher councils. Now, however, he spoke fluently, commanded a sizable portion of the army, and had earned his place at the table.
"Here," Alpheo replied, leaning over and pointing a gauntleted finger toward the northeast of Freusen, where a small inked fortress stood, Malshut.
Jarza frowned, rubbing the back of his head as though the gesture might help the strategy make more sense. "Why are we aiming for that? Doesn’t seem to bring us any advantage. Surely you can’t hope to drive the campaign toward the enemy capital from that angle. We’d have to besiege half the princedom before we even came close."
Alpheo’s lips curved faintly, though his tone remained even. "I’ve never cared to aim for the capital or even to lay the groundwork for such a push for the future. Not now. There’s little benefit to it.
If this were a matter as simple as seizing more land, we already have more than enough from Herculia. Our farmable land has nearly doubled since then.
"It would be foolish, ghastly, even, for us to hunger for more when we haven’t yet swallowed what we’ve already taken."
He let the words hang for a moment before continuing, his finger tapping the small drawn walls of Malshut.
"No, the reason we’ve come here is not for a city’s spires or the gilded halls of a prince. What I want is not the castle itself, but what lies around it. Malshut stands over some sweet iron mines.
Yarzat and Herculia are both starved of such resources, and right now we’re slaves to the treacherous whims of importers. That," he said, tapping the spot once more, "is what I mean to change today."
This was the true reason for the war and why Alpheo had rejected Sorza’s earlier offers of peace.
Every step he took, every maneuver he made, was aimed toward a single goal: securing the best possible conditions under which he could turn his attention fully to his internal affairs.
Herculia had been the first step. By conquering it, he had nearly doubled his available farmland, some already under cultivation, some lying fallow but ripe for use.
The latter he leased to merchant families under long-term contracts, drawing steady income while building more industries to feed the market’s demands for more specialised product.
Now came the second step. If this campaign succeeded and Malshut’s rich iron veins fell into his hands, the cost of iron, currently bloated by the constant demands of war, would fall sharply. With that drop in price, Alpheo could finally expand military production to levels no rival could match, filling his armories with weapons and armor in abundance.
At present, his situation was far from sustainable. The bulk of his soldiers’ gear came from plundering defeated armies, a temporary windfall at best.
Much of that spoils, he had given away to the Chorsi, arming them for their own wars in exchange for settlers. That generosity, however, had left his own warehouses half-empty.
What he received from the Achean family’s forges could not keep pace with his needs, especially not if he intended to sustain his growing armies.
The only true solution lay before him: seize the nearest iron mines, the richest within reach, and secure them under his own banners. That was why they now stood in this forgotten corner of Oizen, far from the grand cities and pomp of the princely court.
Yet steel for weapons and armors was not his only concern. With an ample supply of it, he could also equip his farmers with better tools, plows, hoes, and spades strong enough to break deeper into the soil. Seed planted farther down would take root stronger, resist drought better, and yield far greater harvests.
"As soon as we get our hands on those mines," Alpheo began "and if we can shape the right circumstances for a lasting peace with Sorza, we’ll finally be able to set the sword down, at least for a while. Half a decade, perhaps. Time enough to focus entirely on our internal affairs, with the greatest demands and problems of the princedom already behind us."
Shahab leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the map as if weighing invisible scales, peace after all sounded distant to him after so many wars. "Are you certain the Oizen prince will agree to peace? From what I’ve gathered, those mines are not just valuable to him, they are the beating heart of his war machine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he continued the fight even after suffering defeats in the field."
The old lord’s voice took on a harder edge as memories stirred. "When Arkawatt and Shamleik fought their long wars, the reason he could keep such vast armies in the field year after year was because they never lacked weapons. They had steady, unbroken production feeding their ranks. If I were him, I would do everything in my power to keep that advantage."
Jarza snorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Well, I’m sure his opinion will change once he finds his army buried in the ground. Peace tends to look a lot more appealing when your soldiers are rotting in it."
"I agree with Jarza," Alpheo said, absently scratching his chin as his gaze drifted over the table. "Whether he wishes for peace or not won’t matter if he lacks the strength to wage war in the first place. And if what you say is true" his eyes shifted back to Shahab "and he will cling to the mines until his last breath, then we will simply do as we did with the Herculeians: give him far greater problems than us to contend with."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It worked well enough on Lechlian. One encounter with us and he never recovered. I don’t see why we couldn’t repeat the same strategy here."
"I suppose so," Shahab conceded with a small nod. "I only wanted you to be aware of the resolve we might face, if my suspicions prove correct."
Alpheo gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Noted. In any case, we’ll deal with his resolve, whatever form it takes, when the time comes. Until then, we focus on taking the mines. The rest will fall into place afterward."
After all, there was no use thinking about fish when there was no river in sight.