A Guide to Kingdom Building

Jovis, Year of Severus, 16, I.R., the 4th day of Winter, Great Dunes

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It was supposedly winter by now and yet all they had was the sweltering heat from the dessert winds. There wasn't a hint of the cold winter breeze in the Great Dunes. Only the warm air and roaring flames kept the land hot and ablaze.

The silver-haired commander had aged a lot during those missing years. With war constantly threatening the border, the silver-haired commander was assigned to lead the charge against the barbaric invaders. But the so-called honorable task felt like a punishment for his insubordination more than anything else.

The stress and sleepless nights made his skin withered. His previous old yet strong appearance was gone. Now, he had more lines in his face than he could ever count, and his thick, silver mane was thinning as the days went by. But this never stop him to perform his duty as a commander of the 5th Battalion! Far from it, he went nights on end devising plans and intercepting messages from the other side was his business. And now, it all came down to this.

Lord Prestonheim took a sip of water from his canteen as he rode on his horse, standing on top of an elevated sandstone. He was looking over at the battlefield were most of his cavalry fought. Even from that distance, it wasn't impossible for him to hear the sound of clanging metal swords and agonizing screams of the men fighting below.

He could hear his lieutenants screaming out orders while clashing swords with the foreign invaders. The old commander wanted to be down there with them. It was becoming too stressful for him seeing how tides of battle remained at a stale mate against their opponents. After sipping a few more of the water, he immediately tossed it to a squire who eagerly waited for his command beside him.

"The third and fourth regimen has advanced into the enemy lines!"  A panting messenger reported. "We are finally getting some great results.

The silver-haired commander gazed into the battlefield once more, looking at their Principalian banner advancing into enemy lines, destroying the enemy forces. The old commander massaged the bridge of his nose, as he set his eyes on the horizon.

"It's far too late for them to advance further." He clicked his tongue. "Messenger, I appreciate your dedication in reporting the scenario below. Unfortunately, your report was something I have already foreseen." He gestured his hand and dismissed the baffled messenger.

Lord Prestonheim looked at the horizon once again and saw how the sun setting below its sandy line. It would've been a good idea to commander the advancing regimen to move further into the enemies' ranks and capture their knights or kill a commander or two, but he couldn't risk his men, especially after hearing from a report that the Ardants had created a device said to extract your memories. The last thing he wanted was getting their information leaked from that hellish device.

"Call for a retreat." He commanded one of his lieutenants. "The sun is about to set. Make sure nobody gets left behind."

The lieutenant nodded and left with a salute before blowing the horn to signal the retreat. Lord Prestonheim saw his knights change course the moment they heard the sound of the bellowing horn. They immediately covered their rear and headed for retreat into their base just behind the protruding sandstone where he stood.

The sun had already set when all the knights and other commanders were back into their camp. Lord Prestonheim looked at the bloody crimson tinge smearing the horizon. It made him shuddered knowing how the color represented the carnage of the war brought.  He rode back to the camp where the rest of the knights and officers waited for his arrival.

As he entered the camp, he passed by some knights and the local militia. Some of them were sitting on the sandy ground while others were still walking, slumped on their backs as the fatigue from the battle became very obvious on their facades.

Upon seeing him, the knights immediately stood upright and gave him a salute despite the injuries and wounds the poor men had. Lord Prestonheim proudly saluted back to them. Their courage and actions had gained them his respect.

Continuing his way into his camp, he also met the massive pyres burning on each side of the road. Bodies of their men laid on the sandy ground covered in cheap cloth stained with blood and dirt, awaiting their time in the flames.

Lord Prestonheim was finally able to see his tent from the distance.  The massive red structure stuck out in the middle of the camp like a sore thumb. It was clear from the number of horses placed outside, that the rest of the commanding officials have arrived safely and was possibly demanding an explanation for his early retreat.

As he entered the tent, he was met with angry glares from the furious officials because of his premature withdrawal from the battlefield. He passed by the officers one by one until he reached his chair at the tip of the long table.

Before he could sit on his chair, Commander Mauritious from the Lucresian legion stood up and confronted him.

"Lord Prestonheim!" The young commander stood up from his chair and punched his hand on the table. "What kind of cowardice was that? Why have you called us before sundown?! Have you gone senile already?!"

Lord Prestonheim sat down calmly and glanced through the commanders frustratingly waiting for his reply.

"Commander Mauritious, I presume?" Lord Prestonheim asked.

Before the young commander could confirm his identity, the silver-haired commander immediately began speaking towards the commanders.

"I understand how you felt about getting prematurely called back from the battlefield was frustrating." He took a deep breath. "But I have reason to believe that my decision was for the best interest of everyone."

"B-best…interest of everyone?!" Commander Varatella of the Ordian legion interjected. "We were prepared to die for honor and glory! We do not run like a beaten dog, especially during that victorious endeavor! Let me remind you Lord Prestonheim, we are winning this—"

"This war? Or just this battle?" The silver-haired commander raised his eyebrow on the hot-blooded commander. "Let me remind you that wars aren't won by just small victories. Especially not that one!"

His comment created a buzz with the other commanders who were now eager to know what he was trying to say. Lord Prestonheim noticed the difference in experience with the commanders at the table. The older and battle-hardened ones remained silent with only their eyes piercing through him with every moment. The younger ones were louder and were more vocal about their thoughts, not knowing how their actions were breaking the hierarchy and order of the commanding officer.

"Tell me, Lord Prestonheim, what made you think of retreating as our best option? Because in our eyes, we have them beat in position already." Commander Mauritious asked sarcastically.

"To be clear, I am sure you've heard about the Ardants' technology." He glanced at the crowd. "I am sure you were aware of the mind extracting machinations they had."

"That's rubbish!" The younger commander spat. "I am sure you jest! Why are we afraid of a rumor?! Surely, we have some same tactics like theirs…spreading misinformation to illicit fear towards our knights and the masses." He raised his eyebrow.

"You are correct. But are you going to risk our stratagems for their own gain?" Lord Prestonheim asked. "If such machine truly exists, we have to change our stratagem!"

"Ridiculous!" Commander Varatella spat. "We have no evidence of this thing! It's not there, fellow generals! I am disappointed at you Lord Prestonheim for believing such." He pointed a finger at him.

Lord Prestonheim massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I have seen all of these things already. Don't you find it strange that about a week ago, we were unable to break their defense? Then, just now we're able to and strangely enough our tactics weren't changed! Not one bit!"

Commander Varatella scoffed at his observation. "You are going senile, Lord Prestonheim! I believe that this—"

"He might be right." Commander Luxema from the 7th Battalion agreed with Lord Prestonheim. "Commander Prestonheim might be seeing something that we don't."

"And you trust him, Commander Luxema?!" Commander Varatella spurted in anger. "With all due respect—"

"I would rather trust a veteran's instinct than that of a greenhorn!" Commander Luxema rebutted.

"You're all preposterous!"  Commander Mauritious clicked his tongue and sat down fuming with rage.

The other commanders sat silently, listening to the younger ones' woes. It took them another moment for everyone to settle and listen to him.

"We are changing the course of our fight." Lord Prestonheim said. "Instead of battling them head on like what the stratagem intended us to do. I suggest moving a three-pronged—"

"I won't let you insult the great Senator Lucresia by changing his plans!" Commander Mauritious said. "Even you consider me as a greenhorn, I firmly believe that his stratagem has no holes and therefore, needed to be followed down to the tee!" He added.

The older commanders were about to explode by the younger's audacity, but before they could blurt out their sentiments, Lord Prestonheim, beat them to the punch.

"I understand your unwillingness to changing tactics." He sighed. "How about this. Show of hands those who want to use the previous tactics we have!"

The younger commanders raised their hands proudly and thumped their chests in answer to the question. Lord Prestonheim shook his head.

"Very well, that settles it." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "You'll make your own squad and follow that stratagem. Then we burn the candle tonight!"