Breaking The Balance

The Duchy of Fjorland had, in just a few days, fallen into utter chaos.

It was the largest duchy in Nordenheim, and the one with the broadest borders.

Duke Vegard, ruler of Fjorland, had established the strongest military power and regional hegemony of his time, and then instituted a new governing system to effectively control his vast territory.

Unlike other duchies, he granted counts and barons titles in each province to secure their traditional rule, but abolished their private armies, instead dispatching knights and soldiers from the central stronghold to enforce obedience.

This created a system where the lords followed the central authority, communication with the capital was efficient, and permanent regular forces enabled swift diplomacy and military pressure—a truly advanced system befitting a great power.

But the massive invasion of the Norger people exposed the glaring weakness of this system.

The knights and soldiers scattered across the land provided excellent territorial control, but against a large-scale, unexpected invasion, they were vulnerable to being crushed piecemeal.

Not everyone acted wisely like at Kunslatten Castle.

Some small forces, like those of Arendal Castle, perished fighting bravely, while others retreated sluggishly and dissolved into nothing, unable to maintain their formations.

Thus, while border units fell back to Hedaal and Modor castles, the central stronghold failed utterly in its initial response.

“Recruit conscripts immediately from the capital and surrounding villages! Leave only the bare minimum to guard the borders north, east, and southwest, and summon all others to Hedaal and Modor Castles!”

Duke Vegard, clad in armor, shouted his orders.

They had thought the barbarians mere raiders, who spent more time fighting each other than invading. That underestimation had been a grave mistake.

“Duke, if you do that, the lands between the Duchy of Nastrand and the Duchy of Bjoern, up to the capital, will be left empty! Moving them all is dangerous. At least leave half and move only the other half.”

Seveldrun, the Commander of the Heavy Cavalry—hailed as the national hero of Fjorland—asked Duke Vegard to reconsider the order, as though he found it absurd.

But the reports of fortresses falling and armies being defeated made not only Vegard anxious, but even Olaf, Commander of the Lancer Corps renowned for their valor among the Guard regiments.

Naturally, for Seveldrun, who commanded more than 400 Heavy Cavalry, the loss of his men—scattered, missing, or annihilated—was enough to make his eyes nearly pop out in grief.

For him, the dispersal of forces or piecemeal deployment—which only invited defeat in detail—was something that had to be prevented at all costs.

“Sir Seveldrun, right now it’s best to follow the Duke’s command. The Norger are said to number in the thousands. With such a force, our only way to minimize casualties is to gather every available soldier, conscripts included, and crush them in one decisive encirclement!”

“Sir Olaf! Even so, do you not see that this will leave other areas far too poorly defended?”

Hearing Seveldrun’s objection, Vegard burst out in anger.

“The Duchy of Bjoern has had no war with us since they joined with Nastrand at Omsden and lost, long ago! And the Duchy of Nastrand is preparing for war against the Duchy of Grandelvald, so they have no time to turn their eyes toward us!”

Of course, Seveldrun also knew well that the Duchy of Nastrand had declared its intent to invade the Duchy of Grandelvald to reclaim lost lands.

The Duchy of Grandelvald lay to the east of Nastrand—on the opposite side from Fjorland—so there was little chance of trouble along Fjorland’s border.

Seveldrun sighed, as if in resignation.

“I will obey the order. Then we must act as swiftly as possible within it.”

As Vegard nodded, Olaf struck his chest in salute.

“Then, as the Lancer Corps is the most skilled in horsemanship in Fjorland, we will dispatch our fastest riders across the land to spread word of the muster at Hedaal and Modor.”

“Do so at once. The quicker, the better—we must drive them out in one stroke. We will accept heavy losses, but let this be the chance to utterly exterminate those heathen savages.”

Just then, an attendant rushed in to announce that High Priest Guiom from the Grand Cathedral of Fjorland had arrived.

“Oh, High Priest Guiom! Peace be upon you in the Lord.”

“Peace in the Lord, Duke Vegard. What is this upheaval…?”

“We always knew the barbarians might invade. But never did I imagine they would come in such overwhelming numbers so suddenly… Yet the Heavy Cavalry, the Guard regiments, and the Lancer Corps are being assembled, and conscripts recruited—the tide will soon turn.”

“To see you stand so steadfast even in this crisis, Duke Vegard, puts my heart at ease. The Cathedral too is putting aside all else, holding prayers and Masses for Fjorland’s victory. We are also dispatching devoted healer-priests to the castles to aid with treatment and relief.”

“This is most welcome. It will be a great help.”

Then High Priest Guiom fixed his gaze steadily on Duke Vegard.

“Do you have something to say, High Priest?”

“Duke Vegard, would you not wish to win this war against the heathens more easily, more certainly?”

“But of course. That is why we are making every preparation.”

“This is a war between the Lord’s realm and heathen savages. In truth, is it not a holy war?”

“A holy war…”

In that moment, a flash of realization struck the minds of Vegard, Seveldrun, and Olaf.

With a grave expression, Guiom spoke again.

“What if we send envoys to the Holy Empire and the Papacy in Midlenheim, to request the dispatch of the Holy Order of Protectors and the Holy Host? This is a holy war upon the land of Nordenheim. If we define it as such, then the Duchies of Bjoern, Nastrand, and even Grandelvald will have no choice but to unite.”

Vegard fell into silence.

Indeed, if that were done, all would march under the Papacy’s banner and send armies, uniting to drive out the heathens.

If the Papacy’s own 300 Holy Knights and 2,000 Holy Troops marched from the west, it would be a mortal blow to the Norger flank.

That alone might send the Norger fleeing back to their lairs.

While Fjorland’s regular army held the north, the combined forces of Bjoern, Grandelvald, and—though dubious—even Nastrand advancing from the east and southeast would complete a perfect three-pronged encirclement.

In this way, the root of the threat could be torn out while minimizing losses and preserving strength.

But afterward, it was certain the Duchy would suffer a financial blow so severe it might stagger for years in paying back such support.

Moreover, as the dominant power in Nordenheim, Fjorland’s hegemony would be marred.

Both Seveldrun and Olaf well knew what Vegard’s silence meant.

And besides, whether the conflict between Nastrand and Grandelvald could truly unite the three duchies was doubtful.

“Duke Vegard. The matters of our duchy should be solved by us.”

The moment Seveldrun spoke, Guiom snapped, “The High Priest is advising the Duke now!” silencing the hero of the realm.

With effort, Vegard finally spoke.

“Send a request to the Papacy for official reinforcements of the Holy Knights and Holy Host in this holy war. Choose an envoy at once and send him with the petition to the Cathedral. As for the other three duchies…”

All eyes fixed on Vegard’s lips.

“For now, let us leave the three duchies aside. With our strength alone we can hold the line and push them back. Once the Holy Host joins us, the advantage will clearly be ours.”

Indeed, even that would make their total forces twice the size of the Norger.

“Even so, we should at least notify the Cathedrals of the three duchies, and send letters through priests so that, if needed, they may join with us.”

“I entrust that to you, High Priest Guiom.”

Vegard knelt on one knee before High Priest Guiom.

The High Priest removed the crucifix from his neck, wrapped it in his hand, and touched the Duke’s shoulders and knees while reciting a prayer for God’s blessing.

Seveldrun sighed heavily and bowed his head.

Oden Andersson, who had risen as king of the Norger, was fiery in war, yet his eyes and heart were always as cold and chilling as snow and frost.

Even in this invasion, he relentlessly drove and rebuked his plundering tribesmen, seeking to push the front lines forward quickly.

“The land behind our footsteps shall be our land. In this war we must seize as much fertile soil as possible, where wheat, oats, and potatoes grow. Only then will our sons and daughters live in plenty!”

And so the Norger steadily began expanding their occupied territories.

Not mere plunder, but a grand vision—his ceaseless passion drew forth ever greater strength from his warriors.

Arriving at a village, he sat upon a chair draped with wolf pelts, and there he faced “valuable” captives.

“Bring them forth.”

At his single command, the gathered Norger parted, and Sketil, a knight, and a soldier—tightly bound and bloodied—were dragged forward.

“Are these the ones who fought bravely to the end before being captured?”

“This one was caught hiding in a house.”

The Norger warrior holding the rope struck the soldier’s head with his fist and spat.

“Aaaagh!”

The half-maddened soldier screamed and wailed.

“Well then… let us grant this coward the Blood Eagle.”

“As you command.”

At the sentence, the Norger warriors cheered, seizing the unlucky soldier and pinning him to the ground.

What followed was so horrific that Sketil and the knight could hardly bear to look.

The warriors cut open the soldier’s back, flayed his skin to either side, then raised a pole and hung the corpse upon it.

They threaded ropes through the flayed skin and stretched it across another pole—like the spread wings of an eagle, blood dripping from the torn back onto the earth.

“Good heavens… how could there be such a cruel execution…”

Sketil muttered blankly, while beside him the knight knelt, eyes closed, whispering a prayer.

Oden turned again to his warriors and asked.

“Did these two truly fight with valor? Warriors, swear before Olrun’s name and answer truthfully.”

“They slew many of our warriors and never let go of their swords and spears until the end!”

One shouted it, and all nodded.

Oden rose to his feet slowly.