Chapter 947

Chapter 947: Strike

“Kindly take the oaf away,” motioned Igna, “-Viscount Olian, let’s have a little chat,” said an outwardly ominous side-grin, “-take the demi girl and treat her with care,” he faced the guards, “-goes for the other captive.”

“Yes sir,” they saluted and stormed in tandem, steps crashed in thunderous roars, castle Gris was located behind a valley of dunes and overreaching nothingness, following said dunes one would arrive at Dorchester’s less than amiable forestry that gave onto the Kreston’s Aina forest. A resolution was reached in mere minutes. Prisoners and slaves were unshackled and pushed towards a make-shift military camp. Guards once in power had their hands tied and thrown into the dungeon. Goes without saying, captured nobles and high-ranking officials fetched quite the price – a responsibility Thempa graciously accepted.

Suffocating silence, the likes where one’s own conscience and guilt rages, defiling a moment’s rest and peace. Doubt and fear, the thought of what was to become of the future. ‘-How did we lose...’ he wondered, facing the cold ground where once laid the bishop’s body, ‘-my plan, my foresight, our advantage... how could we have lost?’ Similar to a hunter prowling its prey, Igna made subtle yet impactive eye contact. The way in which he walked and observed the room showed deeply on Olian’s sweaty forehead.

“Now,” the silence cracked, a notification blinked, “-you must be wondering how we won?”

“Yeah,” gulped the viscount, “-how could a weak Kreston fight, even with Oxshield’s help, our forces far outnumber yours.”

“Where should I start?” a vacant desk proved adequate. Igna weighed against the ledge, lit a cigarette, and puffed, following the smoke rise into nothingness, “-I admit, stratagems used to push and harass Kreston’s borders were well formulated. Never once did thee allow for the truth to escape – crossing the lagoon under the darkness, stacking soldiers at the north in preparation for an invasion of Port Smith. It’s all well and good, however, you lost the moment Brigadier General Erano entered the battlefield. Yes, most of his men have perished, Kreston’s suffered and we were basically on the verge of collapse. Fortunately, when news of the monster plague reached our ears I understood. For the months a massive game of cat and mouse played, Erano against Dorchester’s advanced force, all seemed pointless and trivial until the appearance of a physician at Port Smith. The populous was happy to have someone trained in the medical field, illness and injuries are rampant. Missiles, constant attack on Rotherham. The intent of using biological warfare. It was like attacking a person’s eyes, latter reflectively block, allowing the attacker to plan their next move. Chronologically speaking, the tale’s all over the place, however, it shouldn’t matter, ay, viscount. Infiltrating our lab, staging a terrorist attack – too bad I was present. Should really keep the mouth of the employed shut. Never mind intrigue within Oxshield, let us return to Port Smith and Aina forest, more specifically, your ace in the whole – occupation of Sibling range. During the non-aggression period, Dorchester had a field day plotting the next move, a direct line into the enemy line, otherwise, our back. When battle erupted for the second time – Erano was fooled and forced into retreat, albeit fighting to keep a level ground. It would be a tumultuous month for Kreston – Central ordered a restriction on reinforcement and limited the supplies. And let me guess, the intel was leaked,” he checked Olian’s flushed visage, “-so much so you knew exactly as to the happenings of our forces. Preparations ought to be made,” he puffed, “-didn’t realize winter would be upon us so soon, did you?”

Olian’s averted crossing gaze, opting to stare behind the king, “-moving silently meant relinquishing supply – inadequately equipped fighters are but needless weight. There’s a reason why Sibling high is feared. No matter, Dorchester’s persistence led to great strides. For that, I’m ever so grateful – it lit a fire underneath my comrades. Siege of Port Smith, another decoy. By the time forces could invade, you gathered most of thy army and rushed Kreston’s capital, thinking Arda’s naval army would easily conquer the port. Too bad for it all culminated into nigh – Arda’s fleet has been sunk. Port Smith’s under our control, General Minerva’s probably cutting her way up the mountain, thrusting your men’s lifeless bodies.”

.....

“Capital,” he interjected, “-there’s at least thirty thousand men stationed, I doubt an equal or greater force could have returned the favor.”

“Oh, the capital was bound for capture,” he said nonchalantly, “-why, did you think Kreston’s towns and villages hold value?” cold eyes settled amidst cigarette smoke, “-no they don’t, Kreston fought for their lives, I simply watched and waited for the appropriate time to strike. I don’t care about the lives lost, they fought valiantly.”

“Still,” Olian insisted, “-how could we lose?”

“Townsfolk and stationed guards are trained assassins and rogues, masters of the killing arts. We had agreed on sacrificing the capital for a quick victory, never imagined it working so effectively. Staged a coup, freed the captured soldiers who willingly surrendered, and had them attack from inside. Once the battle restarted, twenty-five thousand infantry surrounded the capital and attacked from the outside, trapping your men in a crossfire. The leader surrendered the moment the battle began. As for us, well, we used paratroopers and voila, the conquest of castle Aien. Tis, dear o’ traitor, is how one wins against overwhelming odds.”

“ARE YOU MAD? Proclaiming victory is an insult in the face of the lives lost. Do you have no shame, king?” He vanished from the desk and seamlessly reappeared before Olian,

“No matter the path I take, no matter the lives lost, I will win the damned war. Believe me when I say this, viscount – the devil has yet to take the battlefield. On the day I’m forced to march for the sake of my kingdom, I swear, I will lay ruin everything thy master holds dear,” he pressed the cigarette against Olian’s forehead, forcing squirms, cries, and beg for mercy.

“Majesty,” arrived a soldier, “-is something the matter?”

“No,” he casually rose from the defeated viscount, “-take him away.”

Blood dripped. Minerva’s rigid expression turned, ‘-I’ve done it,’ a path of lifeless corpses littered the pathway: petrified, impaled, or beheaded, the goddess of war and wisdom shook her sword, making a curve of red along the rocky ground. Intimidating growls of fighting metal beasts circled and hovered, “-lady Minerva,” said soldiers, “-the town’s cleared. We’ve begun treating the wounded and healing the afflicted, what are your orders?”

“Take half of the men and march toward the capital.”

June’s colder regard washed over Hidros, from the pretty beaches of Plaustan to the higher peaks of Winterpar, the cold was upon the continent. Ambassador from the revolutionist faction of Dorchester arrived for peace talks, Queen Eia made the visit personally. Rosespire’s castle cordially welcomed the guests as for the populous, radio, television, and newspapers voiced much of their discontent. A deadlock was reached, neither faction could oppose the other, and the further battle would only be detrimental.

Piers Riverty waited patiently for a blimp in the dull somber sky. Igna threw glances outside the castle towards vague directions of the private airfield, “-majesty,” hailed éclair, “-am I late?” he asked, entering Queen Gallienne’s once prized study, a library that but increased over the years.

“No,” he closed the curtains and made for a cozy wooden staircase, “-I see the prime minister’s in a great mood.”

“You bet I am,” he laughed, “-We got one over those bastards.”

“Language,” fired from a distance, two silhouettes sidestepped from the corridor’s overwhelming shadow.

“Ela and Minerva, I’m pleasantly surprised,” back on firm ground, “-the outfits do shave away years”

“Majesty, is it that hard to give a compliment,” said strained smiles.

“I jest,” he rose a hand in surrender, “-please don’t take my head, ladies,” casualness slowed to a stop on receiving a notification, éclair firmed his expression.

“Ambassadors landed,” he said, “-éclair, Minerva, Ela, today’s talk will either set the pace for a non-aggression pact of forge ahead into full-blow war, the latter we must prevent.”

“Pope Carrigan’s legitimized his claim as the puritan church of Kreston.”

“All the better,” added Igna, “-it’s time for a party,” the castle shone a thousand flames, corridors adorned with luxury, halls proudly carried Hidros’s heritage – armors, weapons, and grimoires of fabled heroes, including Staxius Haggard, Tempest Haggard, Riverty royal family, sword saint of Oxshield, Raulf Serlo, now a retired man, just to name a few. For the occasion, Igna brought his private art collection painted by the likes of Athena, Jean Frank, Calious Bagard, and Julia Dahli, a simple piece by either three could fetch in the range of a hundred thousand and million. The Grimoire of Youth and the Necrolaon by Kieoa, rare books sought by scholars the world over also hosted in the King’s inventory. Not to forget the wealth of jewelry and rare gems. Arrival of said collection sent ripples through the community, and art lovers from the world over rushed to catch glimpses.

‘This,’ he moved about the collection, a massive hall filled with trinkets and objects of worth, ‘-Aceline’s microphone and the enchanted guitar,’ stored in a glass cage, ‘-the world had to set us apart,’ he sighed, ‘-I wonder what if we stuck together and grew as a couple. What if Gallienne never pushed the throne on me, what if the divine kept to themselves. What would my life have been if I were still Igna Lyoko, a boy ridden with amnesia, the path of cooking, without it I’d have never known my true identity. I’d have remained a side character watching as the world built and crumbled.’

“Very decadent,” silky black hair reflected against a gemstone, “-the Haggard’s are very wealthy,” heels clopped against the marble floor, a beautiful dame came to a stop at his side, “-my microphone and guitar.”

“Aceline?”

“Hey,” she set her gaze firmly on his lips, nose, then pupils, “-been a while.”

“My, I’m speechless, quite the aura, Aceline.”

“I was blessed by the Goddess of Arcana,” her gaze shifted to the microphone, “-I admit, seeing my items locked in a glass box is weird.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed heavily, “-I’m glad to see you, Aceline.”

She reached and grabbed his collar, “-Igna, look at me when you say it.”

“I can’t,” he tapped her wrist, “-I feel guilty. Selfishly brought thee to life, and selfishly abandoned our relationship to honor a promise of another woman. Can’t stand to look you straight. Funny how I don’t feel anything for atrocity I’ve caused to others, when it comes to you, well, I don’t know, I’m just me.”

She wrapped around his arm and pulled, “-I know,” she smiled, leaning her head against his arms, “-I know you’re just you, Igna, a whimsical person by nature, a wanderer.”

“There you are,” interjected another, “-Aceline, we need to go,” panted Scott, “-Igna, you’re here too?”

“It is my castle,” he said in jest, “-it was great seeing you, Aceline, until we meet again.”

*Thud,* Scott’s chatter faded, the sound of her heartbeat overwhelmed the inside, ‘-Igna, you haven’t changed a bit. Hidros praises the accomplishment, the sacrifice, and leadership – no one understands what’s inside, they don’t know the real Igna, someone genuine and caring.’

“Aceline,” Scott snapped above her nose, “-wake up, we have work to do.”

Physically inferior airplanes braced the airstrip, Piers Riverty waited at the forefront of a row of suited guards, “-staring won’t make her come faster,” added Saniata lounging over the car bonnet. “-Old man Piers, sure about this?”

“Yeah,” said the gray-haired prince-consort, “-Eia’s my daughter, I know she’s done the worst possible thing for the kingdom, still, as a father, I can’t refute my own blood.”

“Be like pops more,” she sprung to a stand.

“What does that mean?” he inquired skeptically.

“Be affirmative,” she stretched, “-pops not afraid to say when he’s wrong. I mean, he barely visits us and has a way of forgetting people’s affection – still, he’ll never abandon someone without repaying their kindness. What I’m saying is don’t be afraid, face her head on, that’s your right as her father.”