Around 11am that same day. The sound of marching and the noise of hooves hitting the ground shook the road as troops poured from every vein. Bandits who saw such a sight could only shit themselves and retreat deeper into the forest. Like worker bees, the soldiers moved swiftly and with unison as if they had marched together many times before. 

Six extravagant carriages were stationed at the heart of the road. The elite of the elites stood guard around them. Maids and butlers moved around the makeshift camp giving refreshments and delivering meals. Commanding knights yelled nonstop as they either hurried their men along the road or hurried their men in eating. Tents were being destroyed by those who arrived the night before.  

A mock command center was created there the highest-ranking knights from each force began conversing and planning the small details for battle.

In the center of the six carriages, a majestic tent sat. A strong magical barrier hummed periodically, blocking all noise from the outside and all noise from within. The gathered men were all trained to follow the orders of their respective lords. So the real magic should be happening inside that tent. 

Inside the tent, six individuals bickered without an end in sight. The leading officers sent by Clarence could only watch in silence, as they were not of noble descent. Under ordinary circumstances, they wouldn’t even be allowed to stand inside the tent, let alone sit.

The six within were viscounts who answered Clarence’s call. They were as follows.

The sole viscountess Annabelle Barclay was 30 years old and single with no heir to speak of. She was rather beautiful and well versed with the proceedings of the male-dominated world. She had long brown hair that reached her tight-fitted bottom. Her eyes were light brown, borderline hazel that charmed many admirers. She stood at 5'9, which for men conscious of their height was a good stature. 

Her territory was known for its brothels. Prostitution was legal in Wessex but was frowned upon by the current king. In his opinion, the human body should be sacred, as a creation of Zeyana. Luckily for Annabelle, the king understood outright banning it would not only cripple the economy but raise discontent with the masses. Unfortunately for her, the king instead taxed the living hell out of it and made her pay for regular health checkups. She hoped by coming here, the rising star Boris would owe her a favor and whisper to the king to perhaps give her a break.

Gerome Graham was age 21. Gerome's personality could be categorized as young, brash, and arrogant. He had a punchable face with a smug smile. His pearly white teeth were always on full display. His naturally brown hair was dyed black to the dismay of his parents. If not for his father's failing health, he would not be a viscount. Of those assembled, he had the least merit and was usually ignored by the others. No one knew why he came. But from the proceedings so far, it seemed he was bored and came to argue.

Michael Hume was age 49. He was a long-standing human supremacist who owned the largest stock of demihuman slaves in Wessex. Hume traded demihumans by the hundreds. Last night he was in the middle of a big deal of buying up captured demihumans from an insurrection. But when he heard a rare snake demihuman had popped up in Rye, he dropped all his work and hurried over. Just thinking of the filth's worth made Hume's mouth water with expectation. Everyone wanted the body, but only he was adamant about capturing the specimen alive.

Erik Bell was age 26. He was a moderate. His family had a long history and pride of serving as royal knights. His loyalty was to the crown, and whatever position the king fell under. In the current climate, he was a dying breed. A dynastic noble that actually supported reforms that harmed him would be considered an idiot and stubborn. Bell's family instead considered themselves loyal and unyielding. Bell came here to get a taste of battle. He was the oldest son. His father already treated him as viscount. This battle was his right of passage. Thus he did not care about the details, only the results.

William Dubois was age 48. A former city-state noble who defected to Wessex after his city-state ousted his family. Out of all the nobles gathered, he was the sole one with naturally blond hair. Though he dyed it brown to fit in, specks of blond were still visible. He was quite conniving and had been in a constant struggle to build himself a substantial base in Wessex. Now a perfect opportunity had arisen for him to throw away a few lives and bank in some free merit. Of the people gathered, two of them were practically children, one was a dressed-up wench, and the other was an old man. All William had to do was join the more influential side and reap the benefits.

Finally, there was Grey Hawks, age 67. He was an old fox who jumped between sides more than Italy during a world war. Rumors said he secretly supported the conservative nobles who rebelled. But, when they were captured, some nobles petitioned him for help. He did not even reply. Instead, he sent the king a list of names of those who contacted him. Here in the tent, his ability to play the fence was on full display. As everyone argued, he observed. He waited patiently for one person to get the upper hand in the argument, then joined the underdog’s side only to bash them back down when they began to win.

What could some of the most influential nobles who held the lives of many be arguing? Of course, it was figuring out who would be leading this army.

Erik was the first to stand as if doing so would show his resolve. He was padded in a full metal magically enhanced armor that was so black it drew in the very light around him. He spoke plainly and reeked of confidence, “There is no need for discussion. It only makes sense for the only knight amongst the group to lead the forces.” Though everyone here knew he had never once been on a battlefield.

Michael ridiculed, “Quiet child. This is not some ceremonial event. What we need is a strong leader who can be as ruthless if not more ruthless than the demihuman scourge we are to face.”

William chimed in agreement, “The fanatic is right. If leading the army solely relied upon expensive armor. I’m sure we all could lay claim to the position. In truth, the most qualified of the group is me. Only I have real experience in battle.”

Gerome laughed derisively at William, “If by experience. You mean being ousted by your own people. Then yes, you are quite experienced. The time has come for you old people to stand aside. You have caused enough trouble. Your rules prove your inability to lead.”

Annabelle placed a hand to cover her mouth as she giggled, “And pray tell who shall lead when they have stepped aside. Do you believe yourself to be the correct candidate? I hope even you are not so dense. We need a leader, not a playboy.”

Before Annabell could enjoy her laughing, Gerome sneered, “Shut up, you husband killing wench.”

Their eyes shot daggers at each other.

Grey seeing everyone had provoked each other, finally took to the stage, “Alright. Alright. Good, we got everything out. I, for one. Am happy to see nobles taking such an active role in defending not just the kingdom but humanity. We have gathered here not to squabble but to band together against a common foe.”

Everyone looked at him with suspicion, but as they had already offended each other, it would be reckless to offend him as well. 

William caught on the fastest to Grey's superior position, “And what do you have in mind?” 

Grey smiled towards him as if expecting the question. “We shall have three leaders in total. One for the main force. A second for the relief force. Finally, a third for logistics. The three leaders shall be chosen based on troop count and quality.”

Everyone knew Grey had brought the most troops at 800 men. Of those 800, most were veterans who often repelled city-state invasions. Grey was basically saying, "I pity you fools, so here have this title to save your pride, but we all know who the real leader is." Still, it's not like they could argue until next week. So now it was only a battle to see who filled the other two positions.

Erik almost broke his neck, shaking it in agreement, “Agreed. Then I shall be second in command.”

“Nonsense.” Michael knew the reasoning behind Erik’s claim but dared not say it out loud.

Surprisingly it was Annabelle who defended, “And why is that? Though Grey said those with the most troops, he also said quality. Of all our troops. Your fanatics are the least qualified to run relief and don’t even imagine logistics. If we need Zeyana propaganda, we can just call up a priest.”

Michael could only wallow in anger. His organized men were not the elites. He left those back home to maintain order as the large population of demihumans always spelled risk. Instead, he put together a rag band team of religious fanatics who were jumping at the chance to crucify some nonhumans. “Fine. But I want it to be noted that my forces made up a good portion of the army, and we answered humanity’s call.”

Grey nodded then confirmed, “Then we can assume that Erik is our second in command, that only leaves one position open.”

Everyone raised their hand in agreement. Even Michael, albeit begrudgingly.

Seeing their agreement, Grey continued, “However, I hope you all will allow this old man to offer his opinion.”

Before anyone could reply, William interjected, “Go right ahead, sir. We all respect your seniority.” 

Annabelle and Gerome could only mutter profanities under their breath at the kiss ass.

Michael, who was already out of the running, shot a refreshed smile to Annabelle. She had no chance to be a leader if the old man and the city-state hillbilly joined forces.

A wry smile appeared on Grey’s aged face, “Thank you, William. I nominate Annabelle due to her knowledge of the area and her expertise in trade for the logistics role.”

William’s jaw dropped. He only agreed because he thought he and Grey had an unspoken agreement. 

The smile on Michael’s face turned into a frown. Old pervert. 

Gerome, however, burst out laughing seeing their faces, “Look at you, old people. Playing in the shadows only to be ridiculed in the light.”

Annabelle also giggled but threw a shot at Gerome as well, “Is this how one who also was not chosen should talk?”

Gerome sneered, completely unperturbed. “Better to lose fairly than to play underhanded and still lose. Besides, you are a woman. No matter how far you soar, the only place for you is beneath a man. HA.”

Again they both stared at each other with pure hate, yet an underlying second emotion had appeared.

Grey smiled, having not only taken control of the main force but also rendering the wild cards out of power.

A loud shout resounded from outside the tent, meaning the shield had been temporarily shut down, “His lordship. Count Dante has arrived with 1000 men.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped. But for Grey, this was beyond devastating. All his work and all his prodding just for it to be stolen with one sentence. No one said it. But they knew that with a Count's arrival, the leadership position already had been filled. And there will be no room for co-leaders or dissent.

Everyone headed out to welcome him and his entourage, only to find a young man in emerald armor leading the way. A sharp glint danced about the young man's eyes. Completely stealing focus from Count Dante, who appeared to be sick.

Clarence’s eyes roamed over the viscounts as he addressed them, “I’m glad to see everyone was able to make it. You are truly the most noble of humanity’s nobility.”

Annabelle curtsied to the dashing Clarence, “Thank you, young man. You must be a knight of Count Dante. Where on Titan has he been hiding you?”

Dante snorted and headed towards the tent, “He is the commander of our coalition. Now someone bring me a meal.”

The viscounts looked in shock at the heroic-looking Clarence.

“This is outrageous.” William was the first to express his dissent. “Who are you to be leading my men? Ha, I’ll have no such thing happen.”

Erik looked Clarence up and down. He couldn’t help but admire Clarence, who appeared to be the perfect example of a noble knight in his eyes. In front of everyone, he kneeled to the ground. “It is an honor to serve under you. I am the knight Erik house of Bell. I see you are an upstanding knight. From the talks of your men and their fervent gaze. I hope you will bring honor to the kingdom in the coming battle.”

Clarence was surprised to see him kneel, expecting all the viscounts to be self-centered egotists. He helped Erik to his feet. “I thank you for your confidence. Stand. Though I may lead the troops, we are all equal in the face of death.” He glanced at all the gathered nobles. His eyes radiated with resolve as he stood erect, his back straight like a sword, “I am Clarence of Scottsburg. Senior Knight of his lord Boris. I have gathered you all here for one simple reason. To rid humanity of these monsters. Will you join in my crusade?”

Michael laughed in joy when he heard crusade. “Excuse my ignorance. You had me at crusade. As long as our objective is the complete and utter annihilation of the demi filth and undead scum. My men will follow you to the gates of hell, and if they fall. They shall act as our welcoming party to Zeyana’s eternal kingdom.”

Annabelle, still blushing, attempted to flirt, “Scottsburg. So, you are a city-state noble, how interesting. A strong knight and a dashing noble. You are a rare find. If you would have a woman in your ranks, I will give my all to your cause.”

Clarence turned towards her, his wyvern aura rolling off subtly, giving him an extra sense of danger. This caused Annabelle’s heart to throb. Grabbing her hand out of nowhere, he kissed it. “My lady. I am gender blind when it comes to warriors. I only ask you to hold yourself to the same standards as the other soldiers.”

Annabelle slowly retracted her hand. A heat emanated from where Clarence kissed, “Then it shall be my pleasure. I am Annabelle house of Barclay. But you may call me Belle.”

Gerome arrogantly extended his hand for a shake, “As long as it’s not these old farts leading, I’m willing to give you a chance. I am viscount Gerome, house of Graham.”

Clarence shook his hand firmly. “Only by building our own achievements can we climb off the shoulders of our seniors.”

Grey stepped forward, subtly scrutinizing Clarence. He extended his hand as an equal, “But only by learning from them can you climb higher. I am Viscount Grey, house of the Hawk. I hope you are open to our wisdom.”

Instead of shaking hands, Clarence half bowed in respect, “I am open. As long as you are willing to share. I shall listen, elder.”

Hearing the response, Grey nodded his head in satisfaction, “It is decided then, commander.”

With the leadership position figured out, everyone packed up their stuff, and the force set out. The soldiers once more began their march. Clarence sat elegantly on a pure white horse decked in emerald armor, leading the men and rallying them to speed. The horse moved with precision, and when Clarence talked, its hooves became so silent one would think it had stopped moving.

To his side, Dante awkwardly rode on a chestnut horse that was armorless.

The other nobles were in the back, enjoying the comfort of their carriages without a care in the world.

After some time, Clarence spoke up, “Count Dante, you don’t appear to be a horse rider. Why not travel in a carriage like the viscounts? I will inform you of our arrival.”

“No, it’s imperative that we square everything away out of the earshot of those starved vultures. Who’d sell their own mothers for power.” Dante, though having a rough time, attempted to keep his dignity about him.

Clarence slowed his horse to the pace of Dante's, “They seemed reasonable enough. Except for William, all have wholeheartedly agreed. I believe they would not renege once we arrive.”

Dante let out a breath of disbelief, “Dear Zeyana. You have been spoiled in that pig’s house and have grown soft. To your face, these nobles agreed only because I had already given my opinion. Yes, they may whine. But at the end of the day, I outrank them. The issue is not the battle, but what comes after it.”

Clarence understood but was not worried, “I rather not think of the future when the present looks so bleak. But if we win, I don’t mind sharing some of the glory with them. They have earned it.”

Dante looked at Clarence in a new light, “I thought you were an arrogant sly fox or a strong wolf in the making, but it appears you are only arrogant. These vultures don’t just want merit. No, they want land as well.”

“Land? From whom? There is no disputed land for them to want” Clarence listened to the talkings with more focus.

Dante sighed again. They are raising children in Boris's territory. “So much talent, but you are nevertheless still green. So I will make two guesses. One, you did not write the sent letters. Two in your letters, I suspect you didn’t mention the status of your lord piggy.”

Clarence conceded, “Correct. The old man, I mean the butler Alfred, wrote the letters. Even before the battle began, Lord Boris was already gravely injured. He said saying anything on the matter would bring undue issues.”

Dante smirked, hearing Boris was sick but continued his explanation, “That was a good choice. In reality, however, it doesn’t matter if you mentioned it or not. His absence and whatever they got out of your men is more than enough evidence to believe he is out of the equation.”

Clarence ground his teeth in anger, “Are you saying my men openly gave information to our enemies?”

Dante was almost glad he didn’t have a son, were all young men this dense or only the likes of Clarence and Gerome. Who cares how they got it? What matters is they got it. “No. I’m saying people like Grey and William are extremely good at getting information without alerting the unsuspecting individual. Like when you first met everyone, I’m sure that old fox read you like an open book. I agree we shouldn’t be counting our chickens before they hatch. But best to get rid of the foxes beforehand.”

Clarence caught a sliver of understanding, “So you want to handle them before they get a chance to act, so it won’t be too late when the time comes.”

Dante cursed, “There is nothing we can do now. They have already begun to act. What we need to do is figure out how best to split the spoils and how best to concentrate the reward.”

“And why are you discussing this with me? I thought you hated me,” Clarence mused.

Dante chuckled, “I know how to separate my personal matters from business. I can tell from interacting with you that Boris wouldn’t hold you for long. So, I must ask. Do you plan on becoming a viscount if he is truly dead?”

Clarence replied without hesitation, “No. I shall return to Scottsburg after gaining enough strength here. To retake my birthright.”

“Then, how about this? At the end of any campaigns taken within Wessex, an official report is needed. They will take it from the highest-ranking noble and the military commander. We will give a story that is enough to wet the vulture’s beak, such as medals and titles. The rest shall be split between us. As for the old territory of Boris. I shall petition to hold it until a replacement is found, and you shall support it and write in your report how valiantly my men battled for the citizens. In return, I shall send the spartan mercenary and 400 men back to Scottsburg with you.” Dante offered this efficiently as if he had long planned it out.

Clarence hesitated for some time over the offer.

Dante raised both his hands, “Hey, think it over. The battle has yet to begin. You have until we launch the first wave to make your decision. No rush.”

The army comprised 1000 of Dante’s men, 800 of Grey’s, 750 of Michael’s, 600 of Eriks, 450 of Gerome’s, 400 of Annabelle’s, and oddly only 200 of William’s. 4300 in total marched towards Rye. (Clarence originally brought 100 men from Rye)