Chapter 1202: A Thunderous War

The campsite of the Redstone Gate and Tusk families occupied a stretch of road originally designed for caravans and mercenaries — a transit ground, low wooden fences, no permanence intended. It sat across the bay from the Sedimentation Bay proper, well removed from obvious danger. Neither delegation had bothered posting sentries. They had simply pushed spears and shields into the earth along the center of the camp to mark their boundary, a line that meant nothing to anyone but the two families themselves.

Everyone understood the unspoken logic: as long as the lord of the Sedimentation Bay withheld his decision, the two delegations would maintain their civil contempt for each other and their shared contempt for the weather. No one fought in rain this heavy.

So when a hundred soldiers of the First Army halted two hundred meters from the campsite, neither family noticed.

They did not notice until the voice came through — carried by some peculiar cylinder, loud and flat and utterly without ceremony:

“This is the First Army of Graycastle, now officially assuming control of the Sedimentation Bay. Under Neverwinter law, your presence here constitutes illegal intrusion and illegal use of arms. Surrender immediately, or we will resort to force. All consequences will be yours.”

Preposterous.

The commander of the Tusk Family delegation pulled back his curtain and looked out at the man standing beyond the fence in the grey downpour, speaking into his strange tube with its rippling unfamiliar coat of arms beside him. The commander tried to associate these wet, cloaked figures with the country called Graycastle — a distant rumor of a place, barely real. The effort failed. These men looked cold and ridiculous, water sheeting off their shoulders, and the demand that armed knights disarm themselves gave the entire scene an air of farce.

He went downstairs. The floor was already packed with mercenaries, their language sour, their gestures coarser. They would have spat through the fence in better weather.

The commander was a noble. Spitting was not strategy.

What were the right moves if these were genuinely Graycastle men? Wait for the Redstone Gate delegation to act first. Not submit — that would signal weakness. Not parley — that would suggest fear. Certainly not alarm, since these soldiers had not even brought horses, and the mercenaries already had their weapons in hand.

He had entirely forgotten the First Army’s warning.

In Wolfheart, war had its grammar: you studied the enemy, you gave the order, you advanced. That grammar had governed every conflict anyone here had ever seen, including the wars against the Church of Hermes. The commanders of both families understood it in their bones.

The First Army had spent the last year fighting demons. They understood something else entirely.

Nobody was certain what had happened when the battle started.

Fifteen minutes. Four mortars fired.

The mortars were nothing like the Longsong Cannons — smaller, more portable, traded range and spectacle for the ability to move fast. They were enough. The wooden watchtowers came apart at the first impact. The campsite’s neat fence lines, its careful territorial geometry, the wooden buildings with their doors and pillars — all of it collapsed under shockwaves that drowned out every voice in the camp. Fragments of timber spun in every direction. The outraged shouting of the delegation members lasted perhaps four seconds before the roar of the shells buried it completely.

The First Army moved in.

They besieged the campsite quickly. A handful of mercenaries ran out through the dust, fearless or desperate — the difference, at that range, was irrelevant. They were shot down. The First Army waited for the rain to wash the dust clear before they advanced the final distance. Not mercy. Efficiency: His Majesty needed laborers for the mines.

Then they asked the knights to yield.

This time, most of them did.

Thirty minutes from the first mortar round to the last surrendered sword.

The threat of both families — the threat that had pressed on Jean Bate for years — was gone.

Jean Bate returned to his mansion and stood there for a time, not quite himself.

He had known Graycastle was powerful. Every rumor, every piece of secondhand intelligence had told him that. But knowing something secondhand and watching it happen in front of you were different experiences entirely. What had unfolded outside his window had not resembled a war. It had resembled something more methodical than that — a problem identified, a solution applied, the problem removed.

Now he understood what Iron Axe had meant by seeing is believing. As a witness, Jean found himself oddly composed, almost satisfied. What struck him most was not the weapons. It was the contrast: the absolute silence of those cloaked men in the minutes before they fired, then the deafening obliteration, then silence again. They had not changed expression once.

What had these people been through?

“Do you believe now that we can manage the Sedimentation Bay?” Iron Axe’s voice broke into his thoughts.

Jean Bate opened his mouth and found nothing to say. He nodded.

“Relax,” Iron Axe said, and something in his voice eased, almost imperceptibly. “Don’t fear the First Army. You’ve chosen to serve King Roland. We won’t allow anything to harm the Sedimentation Bay or anyone to challenge His Majesty’s authority here. You’re one of us now.”

One of us. Jean turned the phrase over. In all his years in Wolfheart, he had never thought of himself as belonging to a country — only to a bay, a barony, a position in a set of local calculations. The commander spoke it as though it were obvious, natural, the only reasonable outcome of events.

Jean found, to his surprise, that he did not object.

He let out a long breath. “I’ll take care of the relocation campaign,” he said.

Chapter 1202 - A Thunderous War

Translator: Transn Editor: Transn The campsite of the Redstone Gate and the Tusk Families were located near the driveway leading to the city, a place originally designed for caravans and mercenaries for temporary use. Now it served as an abode for delegations. Since the campsite, which was boarded with low wooden fences, was on the opposite side of the Sedimentation Bay and was relatively safe, no particular security measures were taken. Neither of the delegations had put out sentries. They simply drew a line at the center of the campsite with spears and shields to mark out their territories. Most people understood that the line did not represent anything. As long as the lord of the Sedimentation Bay did not make his decision, the two delegations would keep a civil tongue, and certainly they would not bother putting out sentries on such a wet day. Therefore, when the 100 soldiers of the First Army stopped at around 200 meters from the campsite, neither of the two families noticed that they had visitors. The knights did not realize the change in the situation until they heard the First Army demand their surrender. “This is the First Army of Graycastle, who is now officially taking over the Sedimentation Bay. Under Neverwinter law, your conduct constitutes an illegal intrusion and illegal use of firearms. I demand your immediate surrender, otherwise we’ll resort to force and you’ll bear all the consequences of your action!” This was preposterous! The commander of the delegation of the Tusk Family pulled back the curtains and saw a man stand outside the campsite, speaking to him with a peculiar cylinder. A flag was rippling not far away, on which was an unfamiliar coat of arms. However, he had a hard time associating these uninvited soldiers with Graycastle. For him, Graycastle was a distant and foreign country only existing in various rumors circulated in the neighborhood. These people were all cloaked and soaked in the rain, looking amusingly pathetic and ridiculous. The fact that they demanded them to be disarmed further accorded him an unrealistic feeling. The commander went downstairs and found that the floor had been packed with mercenaries, who were now speaking foul language and making obscene gestures. They would have probably spat on that man’s face had it not been raining outside. That was what low people typically did. As a noble, the commander had to come up with some useful strategies. What should he do if these people were really Graycastle men? Perhaps, he should wait for the Redstone Gate Family to take action. He could not really ask his knights to disarm as those people had commanded, nor could he send an embassador to negotiate with them, as he did not want to give them an impression of weakness. The commander did not think the “alleged” Graycastle soldiers would suddenly attack them. They were, after all, so far away from the campsite, and the mercenaries had already reached their weapons, whereas the cloaked soldiers did not even possess a single horse. At this moment, he had completely forgotten the warning previously given by the First Army. For the nobles in the Kingdom of Wolfheart, wars were always time- consuming. They needed to first observe their enemy, issue commands, and then fight. These rules also applied to the battle with the Church of Hermes. However, the First Army who had fought the demons viewed battles as a completely different matter. Therefore, nobody realized what had happened when the battle broke out. 15 minutes later, four mortars fired. Although not as powerful as the Longsong Cannons, the mortars were more than enough to destroy wooden watchtowers. Since these mortars were much more portable than the field artilleries, soldiers liked to use them to start a war. The campsite was instantly razed to the ground. The furious execration of the delegation members was drowned out by the roaring shells. The wooden houses soon collapsed under the impact of the shockwaves, fragments of pillars, doors and windows flying in all directions. The unit commander of the First Army immediately ordered the soldiers to charge. They soon besieged the campsite. Neither of the two families managed to launch an effective counterattack. Some fearless mercenaries dashed out against the dust but were soon shot down. To avoid incidental casualties, the First Army did not advance until the dust was washed away by the rain. They did this not out of kindness but because His Majesty needed more mine laborers. Meanwhile, the First Army asked the knights to yield again. This time, most of them obeyed. Within 30 minutes, the threat of the two families that vexed the baron was eliminated. … Jean Bate was still in a shock after he returned to his mansion. He knew Graycastle was powerful but had never expected them to be so invincible. The battle that had just taken place a moment ago did not look like a typical war to him. Jean finally understood why Iron Axe said “Seeing is believing”. As a witness of the battle, he had to admit what he had seen was effable. He enjoyed the unfolding of the event with almost an air of contentment. He liked the reticence and steeliness of those Graycastle soldiers. The glaring contrast between their silence and the deafening explosion impressed him even more than the queer weapons themselves. What had those people experienced? “Now, do you believe that we could manage the Sedimentation Bay?” Iron Axe’s voice interrupted his thought. Jean Bate was rendered speechless for a moment. He simply nodded submissively. “Relax,” Iron Axe said with a faint smile. “Don’t be afraid of the First Army. You’ve decided to serve King Roland. We won’t allow anything to happen to the Sedimentation Bay or anyone to challenge His Majesty’s authority. You’re now one of us.” “One of them? That sounds so strange…” the baron thought to himself. Over the past few years in the Kingdom of Wolfheart, he had never expected to be associated with a country. However, the commander of the First Army seemed to think this was natural. Jean found, surprisingly, that he did not repel this idea. After a moment of silence, he heaved a deep sigh and said, “I’ll take care of the relocation campaign.”