Whenever Pacha advanced, Corco retreated. Whenever Pacha retreated, Corco advanced. Back and forth, left and right, he had been playing this game with his uncle for weeks now. With their disadvantages in scouting and speed, Pacha's massive army was just too clunky to catch them, while the central king's warriors kept looting their own countryside to feed themselves. After all this time, it almost seemed as if Corco could keep Pacha at bay with his tricks for an eternity. Yet they didn't need nearly that much. Half an eternity would be plenty.

If everything had gone just remotely to plan, Fadelio should be on his way out of Nasica's territory this very moment. It would be another week or so until him and the craftsmen would safely make it back across the southern border. Maybe ten days, to give them even more leeway. Everything was going to plan.

If only the constant running wasn't such a colossal pain. As he realized that him and his warrior guards had gotten ahead of the pack again, Corco breathed out a heavy puff of steam and looked down to his snow shoes, then back to the long trek of people that followed his every step.

“Considering the circumstances, the men are remarkably calm.” Even through Tamaya's out-of-breath voice, Corco could still hear her worry.

“Why wouldn't they be?” he asked as he turned to his current attendant. Even though she was wrapped head to tow in furs and banners of cloth, she somehow still managed to appear elegant. “So long as we don't screw up along the way, our position is pretty much unassailable.”

“However, we have done nothing but run from the enemy so far. I would expect our avoidance to be considered dishonorable by the men, and thus bad for morale.”

“Those are the old rules. They only apply to a classic Medalan army. Don't forget, we don't have that many proper warriors here. Of course the brave warrior armies would want an honorable fight and make up stories about me upsetting the heavens with my cowardice or whatever, but half the people behind us are just commoners or foreign mercenaries. So long as they get paid and feel safe, they really don't care about honor or tradition.”

“Yet the other half are still warriors under the southern lords, all of whom could make a lot of trouble for us.” Tama still sounded unconvinced.

“Sure they could, but only if they were to unite. About half or so... well, more like sixty percent of our army are classic warriors. But you forget that they're not unified, and likely won't be throughout the war. Unlike the people from Saniya, they are from all over the place, private troops collected from almost twenty different lords. Not one of my vassals brought more than a thousand warriors with them. Divided as they are, they're not really much of a threat to the stability of our army. Plus, their lords aren't here either after that half our fleet was blocked out in the Narrow Sea. These leaderless soldiers might not like my 'cowardice', but so long as we don't overdo it, no ordinary warrior would dare criticize a king. They're far too used to our social order for that and will put up with a lot before they show any negative reaction. How much time we have before this constant march really starts to hurt our morale, that's a question for you to answer.”

In response to Corco's wink and playful tone, his spymaster lowered her head.

“I will do my best. As soon as there is any discontent within the troops, the king's men will be the first to know.”

“I don't expect us to be on the run for much longer anyways. It can't be long now.”

As he spoke his cryptic words, Corco looked over to the rest of his troops, where one of their scouts forced his way through the loose marching formation.

“King Corco! Big movements in the east,” he shouted before he had even reached the king's front. Only once he stood still and saw Corco's raised eyebrow did the young man realize that he was not in a secure location, and spoke about issues that were better discussed in private. With shrunk shoulders, he looked around Corco's guard made up of ghost warriors and wolf mercenaries.

“You may speak freely,” the king said magnanimously. Although the runner had made a mistake, Corco could tell from Tama's look that he would suffer more than enough for his mistake later on. Since he was still unaware of his miserable fate, he nodded in relief and took a deep breath.

“King Corco, the enemy has begun to move. King Pacha has split his troops into three equal parts and moves to encircle us.”

“Perfect!”

“Perfect?”

When everyone started to look a bit worried, Corco clapped his hands and grinned at the opportunity.

“Tell the people in front of the formation to rest up for a bit until everyone has caught up,” he said as he turned to Tama. “Once we're organized, we'll march straight east. Don't look at me like that. You've never heard of 'divide and conquer'? This is our chance to go on the offensive and clean up a third of my uncle's army.”

As soon as the order was given, the king's army moved like a singe body. They had turned east without a question, even though it would lead them closer towards their enemies. Although some of his officers, mostly the mercenaries, voiced their concerns, Corco wasn't overly worried about a trap. If Pacha had attempted to lay one, it was far too obvious.

The army around his uncle would fake a split-up and pull back together as soon as Corco's troops had changed course towards them. That way, they would encircle them, which would prevent them from running away again and would also give them a crucial tactical advantage before the first engagement.

While the idea was nice in theory, it wouldn't be possible to implement for Pacha's troops. For one, they had inferior mobility with their giant army and their lack of proper winter equipment. Moreover, the enemy also had an inferior intelligence network compared to Corco's ghost warriors and their new spyglasses and ski. With their lack of information, their reaction time would be far too slow, so a complex move like a fake split-up would be discovered soon, and would only waste their time in the end.

A few hours after the change in course, more and more information about the enemy troops entered Corco's ear. It appeared as if Pacha had taken over the central of the three new armies, while Herak had bee put in charge of the northern troops. This was a surprise to Corco, and not a welcome one. Why would his xenophobic brother put scary looking foreign man in charge of anything, let alone his army?

To Corco, this was close to a worst case. He had already seen Herak's prowess as a commander back in Arcavia. Even though the king had won that day atop Etra's walls, it had only been due to his superior position, technology and information. Even then, it had been a close enough fight that he didn't want to face the northern troops led by Herak, troops which should contain the largest portion of musketeers out of all three armies. Moreover, they were also far too close to Huaylas. If at any point Lord Ichilia decided to change his mind support his nephew Pacha, Corco might truly end up surrounded.

The center of their three-pronged attack was not an option either. Not only would the central army have the highest risk of the enemy outflanking them and collapsing on them from both sides, Pacha himself had also shown a lot more restraint in recent months. After all the setbacks, the peacock king seemed to have learned from his previous idiocy and was no longer one to underestimate. Even more, he had also taken over the core lands of House Pluritac when he became the King of the Center. With them, he had gained the loyalty of many high-quality commanders, as well as the family's elite warriors. Even with antiquated weapons and tactics, those elite cultivators still weren't a match Corco was willing face with his inexperienced commoners if he could avoid it.

For a moment, he wondered if they would have to pull back again and play for time, but then he heard about the third, southern army that marched along the coastline. To his surprise, the third commander was another old acquaintance of his, and not one known for his prowess in battle. Unless the banner over the command tent was a fake, it seemed like Lord Rupilo had somehow ended up in charge of a third of Pacha's invasion force. Corco still remembered how the lord had tried to weasel out of their alliance over the bleeding body of his uncle Sonco. While Sonco himself had saved the moment back then with his dying breath, the king had never forgiven the lord for his cowardice.

A coward in charge of a disjointed army, wasn't this the perfect storm for failure? Right away, Corco commanded his troops to correct their course further south. They would smash apart Lord Rupilo's men before Pacha could even react and end this war before Pacha could do any more damage to his own people.

The next morning, the the southern king's army rested atop a hill, the Narrow Sea that separated them from their homes right before their eyes. The previous evening, Corco had picked a position with cliffs to his south for their rest, to make any possible involvement from the starving fleet of the ridiculous Captain Arnao impossible. Up above, a handful of clouds interrupted the beaming blue sky, a sign that today might not be quite as ice-cold as yesterday.

“Good weather for a war, I think,” he mumbled. Although his warriors were southerners, most were also commoners. When it came to cold-resistance, the cultivators were much better off, and operating the muskets required a level of dexterity far beyond a traditional combat style, so the cold was doubly bad. The clouds were a welcome sight, as was the warm western wind which would blow into their backs to support their charge. It felt as if everything had come together to guarantee his victory. And as if on cue, the troops from the central kingdom could already be seen taking position on a hill across from them.

“King Corco, according to estimates from our scouts, they number roughly fifteen thousand. Around two thirds are heavily armored warriors, split about half and half between more mobile shock troops and slower core infantry. There are also a good number of skirmishers positioned in front of the formation. At the back, we have seen a small contingent of muskets, detached from the main force.”

As he was introduced to their enemies by Tama, Corco looked through his spyglass to observe them for himself. Fifteen thousand was a pretty large number, and not all of them could fit on the small hill to their east. As a result, the formation which had already filled up the elevation was spilling down into the plains to the hill's north. In fact, their entire right flank was positioned on lower ground. Although the enemy troops weren't that far away, with their disorganized movements, it would take them at least an hour until they would be in any state to lead a charge, so Corco wasn't worried for now.

“Tell our men to get in formation as well. For now, we're putting the pike and shot infantry into the center, and the warriors from the various lords on the flanks. Double them up on our left. If they're dumb enough to try and flank us from the sea, it won't end well for them no matter how many people they have.”

“Understood.”

While Corco's orders were relayed, the king observed the enemy in more detail. Just as Tama had said, he could see their sturdy core infantry move into position in the center. The core infantry wore heavy metal armor covered in black lacquer, carried large shields painted with their family banners and long weapons, either polearms or spears. They had cultivated to possess incredible strength and endurance, which they would use to withstand enemy charges and hold the front lines. Meanwhile, the skirmishers took position in front of the line, and slightly to the sides.

These Medalan skirmisher troops largely consisted of highly mobile archers with a cultivating background, grouped in smaller units than the infantry. Usually, they were meant to operate semi-independently of the main formation. Their harassment was meant to force the enemy into action, and they would also try to flank and attack key points all throughout the battle. Without any cavalry present in Medala, they were the fastest troops on the field and almost unassailable.

Behind them stood the second portion of skirmishers, the only troops within Rupilo's army which were no cultivators. An army of commoners, armed with nets and bolas, stood ready to welcome the inevitable warrior charge from their foes. Their only job was to trade their lives as they tried to tie up as many warriors as possible to break their charge and tire them out. The counter charge of the core infantry could then make easy work of the disjointed enemy formation.

Finally, on both wings, Corco could see the shock troops of the central army, the last portion of a traditional Medalan army. These were once more warriors with heavy armor. Though their shields and armor pieces were not quite as long or thick as those of the core infantry, the luxurious decorations on their fancy helmets and shining lamellar armor proved their elevated status. They were armed with short axes, rather than spears. While the core infantry was the meat of the army, these guys were the true elite, proper warriors ready to take down any foe. On the battlefield, they operated like heavy cavalry would have otherwise. They would initiate the first charge, or be used to flank and encircle the enemy in a kind of hammer-and-anvil-style tactic.

Almost invisible behind all the enemy troops, Corco could finally spot a thousand or so muskets. They looked as out of place as they were within Medala, almost beyond the crest of the hill, positioned like long-ranged archers. It was obvious that Rupilo had no idea where to stick these new troops and had opted to go with the tried and proven instead.

As Corco observed them, his grin grew wider and wider. Before him, he found the most conventional of conventional Medalan formations. This was about as standard as an army here could get. Larger numbers, more cultivators, none of this would matter. In the end, Corco was convinced he would win without trouble.

“King Corco, the enemy commander is coming towards us.”

When he readjusted his telescope, he saw that both formations had been set, and the enemy commander's banner had begun to move down the hill, into the basin between both armies. As was tradition in Medala, both leaders would meet on the field of battle right before combat began. This was supposed to be a final attempt at reconciliation, though usually it was just a chance to show off or intimidate the enemy. Corco intended to do just that.

“Get the ten best scouts among the ghost warriors to serve as my guard. We're meeting an old ally.”