Steel and Mana

Chapter 272 – Avalon’s Retribution (1)

Chapter 272 – Avalon’s Retribution (1)

The snowfall was still relentless, and the icy winds blew across the rugged surface of the northern region every day, yet Avalon's forces pressed on undeterred by the weather. Under Pion's command, their march was even, trudging through dozens of kilometers thanks to their organization and disciplined execution. Being an army of two thousand strong carving a path through the wilderness, it wasn't as big as Otto's army was, yet its presence was just as frightening. Mainly thanks to their mechanized troops. Before them, six tractors were rolling in the snow, pushing it to the sides like an arrowhead, clearing the way before the army. They were fitted with massive wedge-shaped blades, sweeping aside the piled snow and clearing a wide, flat road for the foot soldiers and the rest of their howitzers that trailed behind them, pulling their supplies. Yet, the most deterring factor for anyone to get in their way was the Rook in the middle of the army, its every step sending flutters of snow flying into the air, leaving behind massive footprints, frightening anyone finding it after they were gone.

Pion rode near the front, standing on one of the howitzers, while Polo with the Rook constantly reported its sightings, acting as the army's scout with its much more enhanced senses. The Rook's fixed and now reinforced armor shone faintly in the pale light, every movement being smooth and fluent, with no signs of damage from Lothlia's siege. Pion's gaze swept across his forces whenever they stopped, visible pride mixed with anticipation flashing in his eyes. He knew that this journey was not only about survival or conquest—it was about retribution, and most of his soldiers were ready to show the Westland what happens to those who attack Avalon.

As they pressed on, whenever they set up camps, he sent out a few warriors to scout their surroundings, and there was always some news filtering in through the night. No matter where they stopped, his men somehow always managed to sight survivors from Otto's army. These straggler, foreign mercenary groups, who had managed to escape their fate, moved in pitiful clusters, robbing and terrorizing the small, clueless villages and towns dotting these poor middle regions of the North. Still, many they found were in no shape to fight back. Starvation and frostbite had reduced them to ghostly figures, barely recognizable as warriors, lost in the snow-covered lands they were unfamiliar with. Whenever they found such a group, neither Pion nor his men felt any pity toward them. He just raised a hand, and a small detachment broke away from the main force, moving swiftly to intercept.

The snowy lands concealed much, but Avalon's soldiers had trained for this. Moving with tactical precision, they always surrounded the group of stragglers they found. There were sometimes cries for mercy, sometimes only their silent surrender as the defeated men dropped their weapons, recognizing their enemies. The former was ordered to be put to the sword on the spot, while the latter got themselves bound and sent to the rear, dragged along the army's relentless march. Many of them perished from exposure to the cold, their bodies simply buried in unmarked graves, left to be forgotten on the roadside.

Even with these 'exercises,' the army kept up their march. As Avalon's forces advanced into territories under the influence of Otto's previous rule, they came across more mercenary bands trying to flee back to the west, wanting to leave Ishillia. These more goal-oriented rogue groups had turned their frustration and failure into violence against the local populace much more bloody than those who gave up at once when crossing paths with Pion. Word of their massacres had spread quickly amongst the local civilians. Villages lay half-burned, looted of everything valuable, including the families; men were slaughtered, and women and children were taken to be sold as slaves after returning to their home country. Anything to recuperate their losses and their missing profit.

Pion's jaw clenched as he received each new report, coming across burned-down settlements. These animals had to be made an example of. He dispatched skirmisher units in rapid succession, each given an order to leave no survivors, not even if they surrendered. Whenever they found an encampment of their enemy, tractors were uncoupled from their snow-clearing duty, instead plowing through hastily erected defenses. At the same time, Avalonians jumped on them like death-scepters, cutting them down like the animals they were.

The Rook personally joined one of these skirmishes when they came across a group that was almost six hundred strong, holed up in a pitiful town, home to some minor nobles of Hospet. Polo happily drove his mech with a grim sense of justice, wielding a flamethrower attached to its left arm. Just by its presence, the enemy's fragile moral was broken, wanting to scatter, but there was nowhere to run. Their backlines were constantly bombarded by either the Rook's cannons on its shoulders or by the howitzers from far away enough to remain unseen. A flash of light was what they saw for last before the burning flames appeared, melting snow, humans and their armor alike. There was no need to make graves this time around, as nothing remained, only ash that would fertilize the ground when spring arrived.

Within only half an hour, the battlefield was silent again. The locals, hiding in cellars and barns, wherever they found refuge, emerged to find the mercenary threat extinguished. What they were surrounded by were massive, burning fields and fire pits while a black metal monster stood in the middle of the remains of their village. One old man, his face lined with so many wrinkles his eyes were nonexistent, approached the Rook, kneeling and praying to it all of a sudden. Soon, any other survivors appearing did the same, surrounding his mech, asking for forgiveness, and mistaking the Rook as an avatar of Ariana, Goddess of Death. It seemed that not even correcting them, saying he was a Knight of Avalon, servant of his Sovereign, helped; they simply thought the Rook was a herald of the Gods, and they continued to pray to it.

"My sons still think they will be nobles again." She shrugged while smiling, stepping next to him, "Without realizing we are going to be simply advisors until the city settles down."

"They can play the role." Pion chuckled, letting Matilda lean against his body. "My Sovereign wants this city to be a spot where our caravans can head out of Ishilla and make connections with our western neighbors later. If your sons want to play nobles, they can be ambassadors."

"Don't you fear that they will bring shame to Avalon?"

"Ahahaha, not for Avalon!" He chuckled, "But for Hospet. This city is Mirian Ishillia's property, no? We are in Ishillia here."

"On paper." She added, smiling, "I understand. If they do something stupid, it will reflect badly on Ishillia; if they do it well, Avalon will claim it. Smart."

"We understand that other countries wouldn't entertain regular people, even if they are rich. On the other hand, if they need to act with those who have a noble bloodline, more doors would open for us for diplomacy. Your sons need not do the latter; we will send people for that. They just need to stick a leg in their door and not let them slam it in our faces. Introduce our people to nobles, and we will take care of the rest."

"That... they are good at." Matilda sighed, shaking her head, "They will be delighted to do nothing but attend parties and make connections with other nobles."

"Still," Pion nodded, turning his eyes back towards the city before them, "First, we will need to bring Hospet to its knees. Conquering it will unify the North. By the time the snow melts, the old Emperor will have no influence on this land."