Warhammer Divine Throne

Chapter 1236: Chapter 533: Actually, I Am You...

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Early March, in the Central Army Tent outside Richard Castle, Lorne was meeting here with several Dukes, discussing the latest military situation.

"Theodoric is on his way here. He set a rendezvous with us five days from now, near Buckling Castle, thirty kilometers from here. Looks like that old bastard isn’t willing to just sit on the sidelines." Holding a letter sealed with Theodoric’s Ring Seal, Duke Hagen of Jisoleox said with a grin, "Only he says in the letter that he’s short on manpower and hopes we can send people to escort him."

"Theodoric wants to fight as well?" Duke Fulcard of Montfort nodded repeatedly after hearing this. "I think that’s fine. Even if he doesn’t bring many men, having him personally join us would still mean a powerful addition to our strength. That old pervert is probably looking to double down on his penance, hoping to use this to convince Her Highness Mogiana to let him out, huh?"

"Whatever else one says about him, Theodoric is an excellent Warrior. Of course we welcome him coming to help us." Duke Aldred nodded again and again. "Though we may have to advise the Knights to hide their Maids."

"Hahahahaha!" A wave of cheerful laughter rolled through the tent. Even the stern-faced Kaled couldn’t help but smile. Theodoric’s reputation was notoriously bad—this was an acknowledged fact throughout the Kingdom. Wherever this Duke passed, all nobles would receive him with the utmost respect, and then promptly hide their wives and Maids. In the Kingdom it was jokingly said that even mares and she-donkeys must not be let near Theodoric, or they’d be in danger.

As for Theodoric’s support, none of them were actually expecting much. There was precedent for this sort of thing: Knights often embarked on penance expeditions, and Theodoric himself had once taken the field in the Battle of La-Mesnil Abbey.

After a few laughs, the tent fell silent again. Aldred, somewhat anxious, said, "We still don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here grinding away against the Undead, or... perhaps I should take some men and go meet with Theodoric?"

This Duke of Leonais was, after all, still too young. Without meaning to, he let a trace of impatience slip into his expression.

The change in his expression was easily caught by Lorne. In the Kingdom Regent’s heart, a faint, restless agitation rose. He drew in a deep breath and shook his head.

Just like Viper Matthew Bard, Lorne himself was now caught in a dilemma with no easy way out. He thought it over and felt that keeping Duke Aldred here wasn’t of much use. "Then, Aldred, Fulcard, the two of you take some men and go meet with Theodoric."

"Let’s do that, then." Fulcard nodded in agreement as well.

The two Dukes, after the brief council, departed with a force of two hundred men. They were heading to the agreed location to rendezvous with Theodoric.

"Next, we must begin the next phase of our plan." Seeing Aldred and Fulcard depart, Lorne continued, "This war has been raging for over half a month. For now we’ll take a short rest. Once Duke Theodoric arrives, we must join hands, rely on the strength of our Imperial brothers, and at all costs swiftly eradicate Musillon’s Viper Matthew Bard and the Undead Army under his command!"

"What’s the current state of the refugees?" Lorne then asked his Deputy General, Rionnes.

"Not very good, my Duke." Rionnes sounded pained. "The refugees of Leonais are growing sick of being away from home for so long. They’re... discontent with this kind of life. They want to go back. Because of this, the army has already clashed with the refugees several times, my Duke. I suspect there are certain forces among the refugees, perhaps even Undead infiltrators, but we can’t just arrest them one by one."

Hearing this, Kaled’s brows furrowed tightly as well.

After the Battle of Richard Plains, the seventeen thousand–plus refugees had fallen to just over thirteen thousand. Those that remained were already showing signs that they could no longer endure such long campaigns away from home or such prolonged minimal rations. Disturbances of all kinds had never ceased—and the Knights were powerless to stop them.

To make the refugees stop rioting, they could either disband them and send them back to farm in their Duchies, or increase their food rations—but Lorne could do neither. Their supply of grain was already terribly strained; increasing rations for over ten thousand people was simply impossible, and disbanding them was even more out of the question.

Given the current state of the war, there was only one option: endure. Endure until Matthew Bard was utterly defeated.

Ten days later, deep into the night, in the Central Army Tent of Brittania’s forces.

Early spring nights were bone-chillingly cold. The wind howled. The land of Musillon was still, as it had been for centuries, forever corrupt and fallen.

Lorne lay in his own tent. Though it was already late into the night, he still had not slept. The Holy Grail Knight’s stamina was astonishing; he only needed four hours of sleep a day.

Lorne was turning over in his mind the oddities he had encountered recently.

Yesterday, Duke Aldred and Duke Fulcard had returned. Unexpectedly, they had not brought Duke Theodoric back. According to them, Duke Theodoric had run into a Green Skin Tribe on the road. In the hurried battle that followed, he and his men had been beaten back by the Green Skins, and so he’d abandoned his plan to come support them.

But Lorne could not shake the feeling that something was off—especially because Aldred and Fulcard had kept their helmets on the entire time, simply gave a brief account of what had happened, then went straight back to their own tents, and their voices were unusually hoarse.

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