(Leo's POV)
The sight of 22,000 men marching out of the Barony was one to behold.
Columns of soldiers, disciplined and dressed in uniform, snaked through the town streets and out toward the horizon.
The rhythmic thud of boots hitting the cobblestones echoed through the town like the heartbeat of a great beast, which sounded steady and unyielding.
The townspeople, commoners who knew many of these brave warriors marching today, gathered along the streets to bid them farewell.
Some stood in awe, eyes wide as they took in the spectacle of such a vast force, while others whispered among themselves, no doubt wondering what battles lay ahead for their lord's army?
The direction that the army marched in today was not the Eastern Boundary where the Demon War was currently ongoing, but rather the opposite direction towards the West, which confused the commoners as to what was going on?
Some tried to ask where the army was headed, however, none of the disciplined soldiers revealed any information about their operation.
The front of the army was led by the cavalry, which consisted of mounted soldiers who sat tall atop their armored beasts.
Their horses, adorned in steel and leather, snorted and pawed at the ground as they moved with a regal gait.
The afternoon sunlight glinted off their lances and shields in what was an undeniable display of power and authority.
Behind them came the infantry, rows upon rows of soldiers in chainmail and plate, their spears and swords held firmly at their sides.
Their faces were hardened, eyes set forward, but even the most stoic among them couldn't hide the energy in the air—anticipation, fear, excitement.
The army was a mixture of seasoned veterans and fresh recruits.
The veterans walked with a calm, confident step, their movements fluid and measured, while the recruits, though nervous, tried to mirror their discipline.
Supply wagons rumbled at the rear, heavy with provisions and equipment, their wooden wheels creaking under the weight as they were pulled by sturdy oxen, slow but unwavering in their pace.
Amid the ranks, near the very end of the column, walked Leo, his steps in sync with the infantry soldiers beside him, as just like them, he marched on foot too, refusing the privilege of riding.
By his side was Dumpy, who hopped along with a determined rhythm, his large eyes surveying the soldiers around him with keen interest.
In terms of pure excitement, he was probably the most excited amongst the bunch to head to war, however, his excitement stemmed from his naivety rather than bloodlust.
Having only listened to Leo's tales of valor all his life, he was excited for an adventure of his own and did not understand what the true horrors of a battlefield were.
However, his cheery mood was a big relief for Leo, as the last thing he wanted was for his pet frog to lash out at his men, for absolutely no valid reason.
**********
Two hours passed by quickly, and the army covered an impressive distance of 45 kilometers in those two hours.
It was almost 4pm now and the sun had begun its descent from the high skies.
The army was still a good two hours' march away from Briarhelm, however, enroute they now found themselves merging with the forces of Viscount George, who was also responding to the emergency distress call.
Viscount George, a man of striking stature with a grizzled beard spotted Leo among the marching ranks and wasted no time in approaching him as with a nod of acknowledgment, the Viscount gestured for Leo to walk with him.
"Lord Boss," George began, his voice deep and commanding, yet laced with respect.
"I've heard much of your exploits—the winner of the Grand Tournament, and the man who turned a forgotten barony into a place of strength. I'd value your opinion on what we're walking into at Briarhelm." He said, as he seeked Leo's opinion on what the situation seemed like to him.
Leo, ever conniving, nodded slightly as he said. "I'm honored that the Viscount has heard about me. What concerns you most about Briarhelm?"
The Viscount let out a low grunt, clearly displeased with the situation.
"To me it seems like the Duke has allowed chaos to fester.
I can't understand how he's lost control of Briarhelm while being within the city?
To be unable to distinguish friends from foe? How did he even let the situation get so bad that there are rats planted within his ranks?" The viscount complained, as Leo almost stifled a chuckle.
If he was not wrong, according to ChaosBringer's report to him, there were roughly 100-200 Uprising agents planted within every major Bannerman's army in the Eastern Duchy, with the Viscount's army being no exception to the rule.
When the backstabbing would begin, his army would face the same fate as the forces in Briarhelm, however, the foolish viscount just didn't know it yet.
"What's worse is that a massive fire seems to have spread citywide, which is causing panic amongst the commoners.
The messenger said that the army is trying to impose a curfew, but how can they impose a curfew if the city is burning? Of-course they can't expect the citizens to stay within their houses as they burn!" George complained, as Leo listened to his complaints intently, nodding in agreement.
"From what I've gathered," Leo began cautiously, "Briarhelm has become a battlefield of ideologies, not just swords. The rebels have mastered deception and have embedded themselves deeply. The Duke's inability to root them out is a sign that they've infiltrated every level of his administration."
Viscount George spat on the ground in frustration. "Rebels," he growled. "Scum. Traitors to the Empire. They've infested our lands, turning good men against their lords. They're a plague, poisoning the minds of the weak.
Their cause is nothing but folly. These rats hide in the shadows, claiming to fight for justice, but all they bring is ruin."
Leo nodded thoughtfully. "They've certainly mastered the art of subversion. In Briarhelm, they've twisted the loyalty of the people. The Duke faces an invisible war, and that's why he can't distinguish his allies from his enemies."
Viscount George scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the Duke's handling of the matter.
"The Duke's weak. In my father's time, such vermin would be rooted out and dealt with swiftly. But these days? Too much softness. Too much diplomacy." He said, as Leo kept nodding trying to fan the flames.
"I agree, it's a disgrace that we have to serve such a weak Duke. Once all this is over, us bannermen should all gather and discuss if Victory even deserves our loyalty or not" Leo said, testing the waters with George, whose eyes beamed up at the mention of this idea.
"We should surely do it. Victor needs to understand that he is too weak to lead us in these troubled times and that we need more powerful leadership.
Alas, it's unlikely that he gives up power" George said, shaking his head, as although he called rebels vermin just moments ago, he had no qualms about planning a rebellion of his own when presented with an opportunity.
Such was the world of nobles, they spoke of loyalty, honor, and justice, yet schemed for power the moment an opportunity presented itself.
Leo found their hypocrisy amusing, if not predictable. They condemned the rebels as traitors, yet when the topic shifted to the Duke's supposed weakness, Viscount George didn't hesitate to entertain the notion of rebellion himself.
The nobles prided themselves on their integrity, yet Leo knew better.
Every one of them was an opportunist, seeking to advance their position, regardless of the cost.
They chastised the rebels for undermining the Empire, yet had no qualms about betraying their own liege lord if it meant gaining an inch of power.
It was almost comical for Leo as to how—George, so quick to speak of loyalty to the Empire, was already thinking of ways to fracture it further once the crisis surrounding the rebels had been subdued.
Nonetheless, Leo kept his amusement to himself, his face an unreadable mask.
He'd learned long ago that to survive in this world, one had to play the same game, and hence let George continue his tirade, already thinking of how to manipulate this new avenue to his advantage.
In the end, Leo knew, it was not loyalty that would win the day, but cunning. And in that, he had no equal.
Sooner, rather than later, George and his army of 25,000 was going to be dead, and it would be the same men beside whom they were marching shoulder to shoulder today that would do it.
In a world filled with opportunists, the true puppeteers were those who could turn hypocrisy into advantage, and Leo intended to play his hand flawlessly.
Fate, it seemed, had a dark sense of humor, and Leo couldn't help but find it amusing, as the same man who hated rebels to his core was now unknowingly marching shoulder to shoulder with an army of them.