Chapter 11: A Plan of Attack

Fourth Day, Fourth Month of Year 1737, Impius Divisux

At the northwestern borders of Ascal Kingdom, an outskirt village lay burning with the corpses of the villagers spread all over. Some of them were half-eaten by the Darkbloods while others looked fearful, their expressions of horror frozen in their last living moments.

“[Zombie Creation],” a necromancer said, using a focus word and pressing a palm onto the head of the human corpse. The corpse was still fully intact if one ignored the few cuts on its face and the sword that stuck out from its heart.

Still pressing his left palm onto the head of the human corpse, the necromancer channeled a flood of magic from his Darkness and Death Surge, forcing the black magic into the corpse. For ten long seconds, the necromancer kept up the flow of magic until finally the corpse smoldered with a black smoke and stood up convulsing.

[Zombie Creation], it was a Second Rank Necromancer Spell. The requirements to become a necromancer was that a Magus needed a Darkness and Death Surge.

Zombies were simply soulless corpses animated by magic. They could only last a few days, a far cry from thralls that could last a few months.

This scene was but one of the many similar scenes that was occurring in the village. At the other areas of the village, many other necromancers were raising their own zombies at the behest of Prince Gladius Zane Noxus.

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~Tutor Beldin

Inside a hastily set-up pavilion, just outside of the burning village, Beldin watched as Zane met with the five chief captains of his army. Accompanying the sixteen year old prince was Lina, who sat yawning in a chair.

One familiar face, however, was missing from the prince’s side. It was the grim face of Commander Thorion Solus.

Beldin wondered where the man had went. He knew that Thorion Solus was a man whose personality consisted entirely of the words: “duty above all else.”

Beldin chuckled to himself softly. Perhaps Thorion was simply undergoing his duty to nature. A man had to shit at least once a day, after all. And Beldin was a man who took his privy duties seriously.

Calmly sitting on a wooden chair stolen from one of the village’s home, Beldin watched as Prince Zane peered over a large map set on top of a table. The table was simply another furniture “borrowed” from the village homes. It was a crude table, hardly large enough, but was enough for their purposes.

“So what shall be the plan, Prince Zane?” Tutor Beldin asked, a smile plain as day on his face. Beldin was hoping that the prince would be able to make a good plan, or else he would have to take over for a little while. And Beldin certainly did not wanted to do that. He didn’t like wars, or fighting for that matter.

In his travels, he had seen the ongoing skirmishes and small wars in the Great Steppes where the five great orc tribes ruled. And wherever the orcs went, bloodshed would inevitably follow. And far beyond the Great Steppes, Beldin had witnessed wars between more kingdoms. For some years too, he had made his living as a mercenary around the Altus Spiral River.

“It is simple, Tutor Beldin,” Zane replied, pointing at one of the fortresses on the map of Ascal Kingdom.

Beldin stood up from his chair to take a closer look. “Ah, Fortress Northstorm, one of Ascal Kingdom’s greatest fortress. I hear the High Commander there is known as the Lady of the North Wind.”

Zane nodded. “Indeed. But before we go anywhere near the fortress, we shall spend a week or two razing the border villages first, creating as much zombies from the population as possible.”

“Once done, we will conquer Fortress Northstorm. After establishing the bases, we can start to chokehold two of the trade routes and proceed to invade the three nearby major cities. The timing is important. At the very least, we will have to conquer the fortress before the second and third army arrive.”

Zane formed a smile full of practiced grace. “That is, if I am still in command of the army by then. I am quite certain Father would not entrust such an army to a sixteen year old boy fresh out of his coming of age.”

A small silence. None of the chief captains knew how to reply to such a statement made by their prince.

The silence was soon broken as the entrance flaps were pushed aside, and Commander Thorion Solus entered the pavilion tent. “Prince Zane, the task has been finished,” he said.

“Thank you for informing me, Commander Thorion,” Zane said, following Thorion outside.

Likewise, Beldin and the rest of the chief captains followed along behind Zane and witnessed the scene outside. There, on the grass covered ground, were multiple scouts lying as still as the dead. Beldin could tell that they were the enemy scouts because all of them were wearing the Ascallion colours.

“You see, Tutor Beldin,” Zane said slowly. “Father was kind enough to send Commander Thorion Solus to guard me. Thus, I must simply make use of his skills. As a Ninth Rank Wind Magus, he is an effective countermeasures against enemy surveillances.”

Thorion made no move to agree with the prince. He simply stood still and had returned to Prince Zane’s side, calmly watching his surroundings. The creed of House Solus, a loyalty that surpassed death, seemed to have been branded onto his grim face.

“These scouts Thorion and a few of the Wind Magus captured shall be my declaration of war against Fortress Northstorm and against the Lady of the North Wind.”

“Ah, so that was what Commander Thorion has been doing? And here I thought he was simply answering the call of nature. Quite a long call too, might I add.”

From the very moment Prince Zane had suggested what to do with the enemy scouts, Beldin had already formulated many strategies. After discarding most of them, three likely strategies with the most success had come to his mind. Judging from the extent of the prince’s knowledge, however, Beldin had already reduced the possibilities to one single strategy.

And Beldin was correct in his judgement. He watched as Prince Zane drew the dagger strapped to his left leg. The black blade with its white bone hilt did not glint even in the morning light. It was a dull, dull dagger. Only its handle glinted, and it was a poor glint.

It was a dagger with runes carved onto the blade—runes made to contain a soul.

“You are quite ruthless and cunning, Prince Zane,” Beldin said. He meant it too. Like father, like son…Beldin dryly thought to himself.

“What can I say? I suppose I have half of my father’s blood in me,” Zane replied.

Beldin formed a feigned smile at that. It was as if Zane had read his very thoughts. He suppressed the cold shiver that came over him. Only King Balan, his adopted older brother, had ever managed to scare Beldin.