Chapter 116: The Lure
We assembled 30,000 troops in Bellgorod and waited for the envoys from the northern barbarians. If they cooperated, we could launch this war.
Luckily, the soldiers' morale is high.
I felt a surge of reassurance seeing the men's eyes—they showed no complaints despite the sudden expedition. The emperor had given me headaches, but as always, my troops instilled unwavering trust.
Of course, the main reason they weren't grumbling about war was likely the massive spoils from our last battle.
I approached the soldiers huddled around scattered campfires, trading jokes and confirming they held little fear of the barbarians. That was enough.
I ordered Rubiot to open the legion's stores and distribute enough ale to loosen tongues without drunkenness. Giving alcohol before battle was taboo, but I could afford this comfort for men suffering the bitter cold.
The troops received my command with great joy.
As I patrolled the camp and returned, a shout rang from the watchtower: "Someone's coming!" I bolted toward the city gates.
I arrived just as a lone horseman approached. But something was off about him. Looking closer, rage boiled in me—I clenched my fists.
"Those damn bastards."
I ground my teeth.
The horse slowed at the gates. My Praetorian Guards rushed forward, seizing the reins while others pulled down the headless corpse. Tucked into the soldier's chest was a bloodstained parchment.
I snatched it up.
"To the great Imperator of the Empire—from the lord of Sartia, protected by the gods of forest and river. We received your letter to our neighbors urging them to become imperial allies, but we have already forged a pact of brotherhood. Your words about sharing land? We need no paltry imperial mercy; we take what we want. You threaten subjugation? Try it, if you can. We await you."
I crumpled the parchment.
I thought this too lightly.
I realized we'd missed our chance. When we killed the kings of Sartia and Goti and shattered their main forces, the northern barbarians watched us warily. But instead of pressing north, plague stalled us—and that changed their minds.
The empire could block Sartia and Goti raids but lacked strength to cross borders and punish them!
Ironically, we'd sent that very message.
The result: an alliance of northern barbarians with Goti and Sartia. They chose the nearby fist over an empire too weak to strike.
This has only made things worse. Or would have anyway. If we'd ignored their unity around Sartia and Goti, they'd have raided imperial soil again.
At least seeing our host gather, they're preparing defenses instead of attacking. Now what?
I bit my lip.
The easy war was twisting harder. With northern neighbors siding with them, surprise attacks lost edge. Our basic strategy exposed, cornering them grew tough. The situation was dire.
But withdrawing now makes us a joke. We assembled this army, summoned His Majesty. Retreat tarnishes the empire and throne—not to mention risking my fall.
I'm no position-clinger, but if I step down, who props up the empire with its boy-emperor? We see this through.
I bit my lip harder, ordering Guards to bury our soldier's body properly. As they carried it off, Rubiot glanced over and asked.
"My lord, whose corpse is that?"
"The envoy you sent."
"Pardon?"
Rubiot rushed to the body in shock, inspecting hands and forearms before grinding his teeth. He tore at his hair, then knelt before me.
"These insolent barbarians dare insult an imperial envoy. My lord, just give the order—I'll cross the border and slaughter them now!"
"Rubiot, keep calm. I want to devour them too."
Rubiot balled his fists.
"But charging across without a plan is too risky. Our original strategy crumbled with the northerners joining them. The premise—enemy and allied forces—changed. We need a cold reassessment from square one."
"My lord, abandon Sartia and Goti. Hit the nearby northerners first, save face, await the next chance. Better, no?"
"No."
I cut him off flatly.
"Isn't punishing those who beheaded our envoy priority?"
"You're right, but recall why we gathered this host. To eliminate the northern threat with the empire's remaining strength. Failure here means no second chance. Think Shapur—or barbarians seeing our weakness—will give us recovery time?"
Rubiot closed his eyes.
"Wait. I'll devise a plan to punish them all, Sartia, Goti, and the insolent ones. Hold until orders."
"Understood."
Rubiot squeezed out the words.
I gripped his shoulder tight.
I had no intention of letting barbarians mock the empire slide. Their heads would adorn pikes.
I swallowed my rage.
Planning retribution against Sartia, Goti, and northerners—all of them—was no simple task.
I pored over maps, but no sharp idea emerged.
Heigirt, tactical genius, might've devised a bold flank. But I'm no genius.
I fight with battlefield experience and lessons from foes. Leaping common sense for brilliance? Not easy.
Sure, trust troops' grit and gamble—but that's last resort.
Staking strategy on luck? Barbarian folly.
Deep in maps, Rikius knocked.
"What is it?"
"Brikin the prince requests audience, my lord."
"Brikin?"
A strange feeling washed over me—my old rival come calling.
I'd taken him under wing, but it was chains on his ankles. I didn't yet see him as true subordinate.
"Send him in."
"Yes."
Soon, Brikin opened the wooden door. The prince looked deeper-eyed than yesterday.
Father's death, tribe's burden, anguish under empire—his near-enemy—it had matured him.
I greeted calmly.
"Long time. Brikin prince—or king now?"
"What king without kingdom? Call as you please, my lord."
Brikin saluted, arm to chest.
I offered a seat.
As he sat, I leaned back casually.
"So, why seek me?"
"Questions on this war."
"This war?"
"Yes. My tribe scraped every warrior for imperial auxiliary. We need to know how it turns."
"I see."
I interlaced fingers.
"Frankly, it's snarled from the start."
I laid out facts unvarnished, watching his eyes. Any ulterior motive? Nothing readable.
"Snarled from start? Northern tribes' outreach failed?"
Brikin hit the mark instantly.
Son of a lion indeed. I nodded, impressed.
"Yes."
"As I thought. That headless rider on the highway felt ominous."
"You saw our envoy?"
"By chance."
Chance.
Most dismiss chance sights. Few grasp import.
"Anyway, outreach failed—we're strategically cornered. Planned northern neighbors to surprise Sartia and Goti for expedition start, but it tangled. They joined the enemy instead."
"Strategy's premise shaken?"
"Exactly."
Brikin studied the map thoughtfully.
"Then expedition's doomed."
"Doomed outright? Your view?"
"They're horse nomads. No surprise? Victory impossible in reality."
That was my worry. Even field wins couldn't exterminate them. Survivors meant failure.
I eyed Brikin.
"Any good way to face them?"
"A way."
He smiled lightly, half-joking.
"My lord, know why butterflies chase flowers?"
"For nectar."
"Simple then. Show barbarians honey. Can't smash with expedition? Make them come."
Brikin clasped hands.
"Lure the barbarians?"
Chewing it, a path glimmered. Lure them.
Absurdly simple shift.
Our 30,000 didn't force us attackers.
We could bait with numbers.
Barbarians know we can't linger at border forever. They'll spot weakness when we disperse around Bellgorod.
Make them think expedition failed, we disband—why resist coming?
I swallowed dryly.
Emperor and Praetorian Prefect—me—here. Disperse army, leave with small Guard host? Irresistible. Capture us, ransom huge from empire. Plus, I'm their kings' killer—blood feud.
A terrifying plan formed.
"Seems feasible?"
Brikin noted my expression, guessing I'd sketched it.
Dangerous man.
Like father Heigirt, free wings—he'd nightmare the empire.
A twinge of fear, but I nodded.
"Very feasible. Big aid to empire."
"Glad to help, my lord."
"One question first."
"Ask."
"I killed your father. Massacred countless Thunder Tribe. Yet you aid me and empire. Why?"
Brikin rose, knelt.
"Simple. You spared my tribe and me, let us live under empire. Generous. Enough mercy for foes.
I remember your words that day: become my man. From then, my loyalty's yours and empire's. Don't you trust me?"
His green eyes gleamed dangerously.
I met them steadily, then stood.
Approaching, I knelt too.
"I've been unmanly. My rudeness—forgive."
Brikin saluted, arm to chest, silent answer.
I laughed, gripping his shoulder.
Maybe madness, but this moment, I'd trust the barbarian once.
(To be continued)