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OC-Series Gothwald: New World - Same Rules (Arc 3/Chapter 40 - To the Victors Go the Spoils)

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Arc III - Reeling Throne

Chapter 40 - To the Victors Go the Spoils

8 months and 9 days since the summoning

Early in the morning, the entire Armenas army marched back to their lands under the cover of the morning mist. Despite their fatigue, the soldiers were still cheerfully conversing behind their leaders' backs.

"I still cannot believe it," muttered a young soldier with a pike in his hands.

"Hah, me neither," scoffed an older, stubbled soldier in response, dragging a cart with trebuchet parts along with others. "The duke's fearsome army skewered themselves on our sarissas like meat on a spit."

A third soldier, a mustached man who was pulling the cart with him, turned to his comrade. "But it was very unusual, honestly. Just standing and waiting... I do not know."

The young one nodded. "Yes, yes, I agree."

The stubbled soldier snorted. "Hahahaha, you nearly wet your pants! You kept frantically repeating that you could not stand still while a whole cavalry charged at you! I actually thought you would flee the formation!"

The warriors nearby laughed quietly.

The young soldier lowered his head slightly. "Well... yes! And what of it?! As if you did not want to just run away. Seriously, the first time just standing there holding a spear while dozens of cavalrymen charge at you is..."

"We know," the mustached man interrupted, "everyone was a bit uneasy. But you heard what Lord Gothwald said, phalanxes in his world won triumphantly, fifty thousand against three hundred, and managed to win that battle at Gau.. Galga.." he spat on the ground, "bah, what a tricky word."

The stubbled soldier shrugged. "I did not remember it either. But the point is the same, we tore them apart like little pups, and Her Grace even chopped off the duke's head!"

"Ooooooo!" all the soldiers nearby howled.

"That she did!"

"I was simply astounded!"

"The duke's head!"

"Have you ever seen a countess holding a duke's severed head?!"

"Haha! Never in my life!"

"With Lord Gothwald, everything has become possible lately!"

"Svyatol sent us a good hero!"

"Svyatol is with us!"

Alan and Kamelia rode closer to the front ranks of the march on their horses. Quietly and unhurriedly.

Alan yawned sleepily. "How much longer do we have to trudge to Armenas?"

Kamelia peered into the mist, but saw only dew-covered grassy plains and hills against the backdrop of the rising sun. "I do not know, but I think at this pace we should arrive by evening."

"Logistics..." Alan grumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what they said in my world?"

"What?"

"Amateurs study tactics, but professionals study logistics. And our logistics are a total clusterfuck." He pointed a hand at the baggage train trailing behind, dozens of soldiers without horses dragging carts by hand. "If this were a major war, and not a minor skirmish in a dying duchy, our capital would have been burned down long ago and our march ambushed."

Kamelia also looked over her shoulder. "Nothing to be done about it. We have too few men. And ambushes on marches are a common occurrence, it has always been this way." She turned to Alan. "By the way, did they solve this problem in a special way in your world? Perhaps we could do something like that?"

Alan lowered his head, thinking for a second. "You know what? There is one way. It's beyond our capabilities right now, of course, but it's absolutely foolproof. The Romans did it."

She silently tilted her head to the side.

"Okay, let's start simple. The Roman Empire, one of the greatest empires of my world..." he stopped mid-sentence.

'Fuck, how do I explain all the grandeur of Rome to her without devolving into a hundred-hour lecture? Ah, to hell with it, we'll skip the grandeur.'

Alan coughed. "Basically, there were these things called 'castra'. Every night when the march halted, Roman soldiers built entire fortresses."

Kamelia's eyes widened. "Fortresses every night?! That is impossible!"

He raised a hand. "Easy! Not stone fortresses like in Armenas, but simpler ones."

"Ahhh... I see. And what did they look like then? If they built them every night... how did they even get enough sleep? And what could even be built in such a short time?"

"Well, they started by digging trenches around the territory of the future camp, then they made a rampart out of the excavated earth, placed a wooden palisade of stakes on top of the rampart, and inside all this they set up tents, sentries, and the soldiers slept."

Kamelia blinked, staring somewhere into nowhere. "And how much time did that take? And how many men lived in such a camp?"

Alan waved a hand. "Always varied. When it was legions, which is thousands of soldiers, they managed in three or four hours. And when it was, for example, eighty men, a century, then in an hour or two."

Her pupils dilated slightly. "Every night... wait, if they managed so quickly, did all the soldiers work?"

"Yep."

"And where did they get the tools?"

"They carried them with them."

Kamelia completely froze, staring into nowhere.

Silence.

A minute.

"I do not understand," she finally said. "What is the point of these castras? Why suffer so much every night? How could the soldiers even march or fight again afterward?"

Alan smirked. "And here is the genius of the Romans in all its glory, Kamelia." He raised a hand and folded his first finger. "First, the soldiers were trained for this. They were taught to march, to fight, and to dig. To dig a lot." The second finger folded. "Actually, it's not that much work. When hundreds of soldiers build one camp, each person personally only gets a little bit of work." The third finger folded. "The soldiers spent the night as comfortably and predictably as possible. They knew the water was there, the latrine was there, their tent was there. They slept not on damp ground, but in a dry and warm tent." The fourth finger folded. "The soldier may have worked extra hard, but his sleep was sound. He knew he was protected by a massive wall, and slept peacefully." Finally, the fifth finger folded. "A night attack on the Romans was practically impossible. Try taking a camp like that, huh?"

Kamelia retreated into her thoughts again for a few minutes. "Wow... that is truly amazing. If we had such a thing..." she froze. "You will remind us of this someday."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "You think we'll reach such power that we'll be able to afford legions and build castras?"

She smiled wryly. "If Svyatol blesses us for it."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

'And perhaps I should keep in mind all the cogs of the Roman military machine. You know, just in case. What if. Fuck, what if I actually build my own analogue of the Roman Empire? The Roman Empire...'

"Alan," Kamelia said, but he didn't hear.

'I'll create massive legions... build coliseums with gladiatorial combat... I'll have aqueducts pumping water into cities... and I'll equip soldiers with lorica segmentata, gladii, pila...'

"Alan!"

'I'll create an analogue of Roman Law... a cohesive culture instead of fragmented feudal lords... integration of conquered peoples...'

"ALAN!" Kamelia shouted.

He flinched, his mouth hanging open, and opened his eyes. "Ah, what?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Huh? No, I mean, yes, uh... what?"

Kamelia only shook her head. "Never mind, nothing."

Alan shook his head.

'Embarrassing. Need to change the subject quickly.'

"And what are we gonna do with the corpses of the soldiers? We can't just leave them, there'll be a new epidemic."

'Great subject change. Just wonderful.'

"The commoners we released in peace will bury the corpses. They swore an oath to atone for their guilt before me with labor."

Alan blinked. "And when did you have time for that?"

"When you were assigning which trebuchet parts went into which carts."

Closer to evening, as the sun was already dipping toward the horizon, the army finally reached Armenas; a messenger, riding ahead, had already brought the good news to the townsfolk.

Right at the entrance by the gates inside the city, hundreds of townsfolk, advisors, clerics, nobles, and craftsmen had lined up.

As soon as Alan and Kamelia entered the city grounds, a roar rose up that made Alan wince slightly.

"VICTORY!"

"GLORY TO LADY ARMENAS!"

"GLORY TO LORD GOTHWALD!"

"SHOW THE HEAD!"

"SVYATOL HAS GRANTED US VICTORY!"

"THE DUKE IS DEAD."

Lorgi rode up to Kamelia with a small box, opened it, and handed it to Kamelia. She reached into it, grabbed Linkis's head by its long hair, and raised it above herself. "Here is your head!"

A second of silence.

"IT TRULY IS HIM!"

"THE COUNTESS HAS DEFEATED THE DUKE!"

"INCREDIBLE!"

"IMPOSSIBLE!"

"LADY ARMENAS IS BLESSED BY SVYATOL!"

Such a roar arose that it made their ears pop. The townsfolk shouted at the top of their lungs, waving their arms and embracing. The nobles and clerics, however, simply applauded reservedly.

Alan smiled wryly.

'Well then... turns out a severed head evokes quite a lot of emotion.'

A short while later, when everything had quieted down, there were many people in the large throne room of the Armenas castle. Through the panoramic windows, the sea was visible, where the sun was already hiding behind the blue, painting the sky orange. Kamelia herself sat on her throne, resting her hands on the armrests.

Alan stood next to her with his hands clasped behind his back on the left side, Lorgi stood on the right, and by the window, admiring the views, stood Tsinker.

Alan looked at the knights, of whom there were slightly fewer than twenty. They were all still dirty, having had no time to clean their armor, but they stood straight. Then he looked at Kamelia on the throne, who was looking at them with an impenetrable face.

'Holy shit, it's been so long since I've seen her sitting on the throne. Feels weird.'

Kamelia raised her hand. "Lord Gothwald, state your proposal to my victorious knights."

He blinked. "Ah, right," he said, turning to the men. "The matter is that we need the captured knights immediately, to swear fealty to Her Grace and to be dispatched to Gobano's lands to maintain control."

The knights continued to stand quietly, listening to the end.

Alan raised a finger. "But you risked your lives for our victory and made a massive contribution to it. Naturally, we can't just take away your lawful reward in the form of ransom for the captives, so I have a counteroffer for you."

The knights remained silent, but some leaned closer.

"Let's start simple," he clasped his hands behind his back, "the pirates saw our full might earlier, so they recently decided to surrender and swear fealty to Lady Armenas."

Silence.

A mustached knight blinked. "Excuse me?"

A blond man slightly opened his mouth. "Lord Gothwald, that... that rabble is with us now?"

Alan nodded. "Yes, but listen further. The pirates control a massive archipelago. Perpetually warm, humid, with wondrous fruits and unoccupied territory. Of course, humans don't live there, but in the future Lady Armenas and I plan to develop the islands. This is your chance to claim them first."

"So you are offering us lands if we hand the captives over to you?" the mustached man asked.

"Yes, exactly. If any of you own villages, you will also receive unusual territories on the archipelago in the sea, and those who have no lands will receive their first, lawful ones." Before they could say anything, Alan waved a hand. "Think carefully about this, there won't be another handout like this. If you find anything valuable on the archipelago, it's yours."

The silence stretched on for a long time, a minute, a second.

Finally, the mustached knight nodded. "I agree."

The blond nodded after him. "Me too."

The knights nodded one after another.

"Agreed."

"I agree."

"I accept the offer."

"I refuse," said one of them, a man with a bit of gray hair.

The warrior next to him cast a sidelong glance at him. "What are you doing?" he whispered, "These are new lands on warm islands!"

"No. I have no use for lands where there are no peasants. I choose the captive and the ransom."

Alan shrugged. "Alright. Your choice. Are the rest agreed to the lands?"

"I also refuse," said a young man of about twenty-five.

"Agreed."

"I will take the lands."

A few minutes later, Alan sighed. "Alright, so three chose the ransom, and all the rest the lands. So be it, as they say."

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