Chapter 19: The Efficiency of the Wolf
The march didn't feel like a grand crusade; it felt like a business foreclosure. Julian sat atop his horse, staring at the winding road leading into the House of Castell's territory. He wasn't looking for glory or a songs-of-ice-and-fire moment. He was looking at a timer.
[System Notification: Siege Clock Active.]
[Time Remaining until Diet Reconvenes: 78 Hours.]
[Status: Logistics are holding by a thread. Mercenary hunger: Rising.]
"Don't kill the taxpayers," Julian ordered his captains as they crossed the border. "If we burn the villages, we're just kings of a graveyard. Seize the granaries, leave the peasants enough to survive the week, and move. Speed is our only weapon."
The first three villages fell before the Count even finished his breakfast. Julian didn't bother with formal declarations. He sent 50 mercenaries into each hamlet to kick out the two-man garrisons. No blood was spilled—just a few bruised egos and a lot of confused farmers watching their grain being weighed and "requisitioned" for the war effort.
The Domino Effect
Julian's "Gamer Mind" viewed the county like a circuit board. If he cut the power lines, the fortress would go dark.
By noon of the second day, the House troops had seized the main communication towers and the central dam. The water supply to the Count's lower valley was throttled, and the road to the market town was blocked.
"We've seized the small iron pit, My Lord," Sir Berengar reported, wiping soot from his brow. "It's a pathetic hole in the ground, but it's the only place the Count gets his raw ore. He's officially broke."
"Good," Julian muttered. "Now let's see if he's brave."
They reached the first Border Fort—a pathetic mix of rotting wood and loose stone. The 40 men inside looked down at Julian's 550-strong force and saw the 100 archers Julian had placed in a wide arc.
"One volley!" Julian shouted.
A hundred arrows hissed through the air, thudding into the wooden palisades. He didn't even have to order a second. Thirty of the garrison troops saw the overwhelming numbers and decided that dying for a "Paper Count" wasn't worth the two copper coins they were owed. They slipped out the back gate and vanished into the woods.
[System Commentary: Intimidation Check: Critical Success.]
[Note: You just 'conquered' a fort with zero casualties. Somewhere, a real General is crying at your lack of drama. But hey, it saves on bandages.]
The River Toll: Blood on the Water
The comedy ended at the River Fortress.
This was the Count's crown jewel—the toll gate that funded his entire existence. Built of solid stone and guarding the only bridge for ten miles, it was the only fortification that didn't look like it was falling apart.
The Count had stuffed 50 of his best veterans here. When Julian's archers opened fire, the defenders didn't run. They ducked behind crenelations and fired back, pinning Julian's mercenaries behind the bridge's stone balustrades.
"They're actually fighting," Julian groaned, ducking as a bolt hissed over his head. "System, I thought this was a 'Paper County'!"
[System Notification: Reality Check.]
[Analysis: Even a Paper Count has a few loyal dogs. These are his 'House Guards.' They get fed better than the others. They aren't going to run for a few arrows.]
"Fine. We do it the hard way," Julian said, his eyes narrowing. "Captains! Get the shields up! We're using the Tortoise Shell."
He assigned 100 mercenaries to the front, their heavy heaters held high and locked. Behind them, the rest of the troops bent low, creating a solid roof of steel and wood. The regiment began a slow, rhythmic march across the bridge.
Clang. Thud. Clang.
The defenders poured arrows and stones onto the shield-wall, but the formation held. As they reached the gate, Julian signaled the split.
"Now! Break the hinge!"
The formation burst open like a blossoming flower. 100 swordsmen, fueled by the promise of the Duke's gold, charged the heavy timber doors. With a sickening crack of splintering oak, the gate gave way.
The skirmish inside was brief but brutal. Fifty men cannot hold against three hundred pouring through a single breach. Julian watched from the bridge, his stomach churning as the sounds of steel on steel echoed.
"Yield! Lay down your arms and you live!" Julian's voice boomed, reinforced by his mana core.
Twenty of the Count's men lay dead or dying in the dirt. The remaining thirty, including the Commander, were disarmed and forced to their knees. The toll-gate—the economic heart of House Castell—was now under the Merania banner.
The Desperate Count
News reached the "Old Stone Hold" (the main keep) within the hour. The Count of Castell sat in his high chair, listening to the report of a frantic scout.
"My Lord... the villages are gone. The iron pit is seized. The River Fortress has fallen. It's the Merania boy. He's bypassed our border and cut us off from every copper we own."
"A Baron?" the Count whispered, his face turning a sickly grey. "A boy from a broken branch has overrun my county in forty-eight hours?"
He looked at his remaining 200 troops. They were terrified. They had heard about the 550 mercenaries and the Duke's backing.
[System Notification: Strategic Shift.]
[Count of Castell Status: Near-Bankrupt / Panic State.]
[Your Supplies: 40% Remaining. If you don't take the Main Keep in 24 hours, the mercenaries will start 'confiscating' from your own baggage train.]
Julian stood at the foot of the hill leading to the Old Stone Hold. He could see the Count's banners fluttering weakly in the wind.
"One more push," Julian whispered. "System, if I mess this up, does the Duke get a refund on the wedding?"
[System Commentary: No, but Emilia might come down here herself to finish what you started. And trust me, you'd rather face the Count's spear than her disappointment.]
"Right. Tomorrow morning, we take the hill," Julian said, turning to Sir Berengar. "Send a messenger. Give the Count one chance to surrender. Tell him if he opens the gates now, he keeps his head. If I have to climb that hill, he keeps nothing."
To be continued...