Horizon of War Series

Bloodvine

Lansius

The meeting with Belgutei concluded after Lansius entrusted him with a sealed wooden box and a letter to be delivered to Calub in Korelia. The delivery was of such high priority that Belgutei assigned no fewer than two hundred riders to guard it, and they rode out immediately without delay.

Inside the box were three muskets, meant to be disassembled and studied. A separate rider carried a gunpowder horn for safety, and another had the maintenance kit. Even if the items fell into enemy hands, they would be of little use without instructions, and the gunpowder might be mistaken for worthless black sand.

His instruction to Calub was to study the items and prepare for initial production. Now that firearms had entered the fray, he couldn’t afford to stay idle and had to join the race. Lansius hoped he would never need to use such weapons and would be content to let them gather dust in a sealed vault.

Additionally, Lansius had instructed Belgutei to take his entire army home. He didn’t want the Midlandian population to grow resentful toward the nomads. An army of one thousand horsemen, each bringing four or five horses, required constant grazing and hunting, which could strain the region’s resources.

The last thing Lansius wanted was to stoke further antipathy during his nascent rule over Midlandia. Thus, he declared the campaign a success and ordered the nomads to return home triumphant. Upon Uncle Belgu’s suggestion, Lansius chose to retain a hundred horse archers as his honor guard.

The only remaining task for Belgutei and his nomadic brethren was to lend their support as a portion of Lansius’ main army began the slow process of moving the captured people south while ensuring the loyalty of towns and cities along the way.

As a preventive measure, Lansius directed that only agreeable captives could make the march south. They were to be provided with provisions, spare footwear gathered from the dead, and support throughout the journey.

Two thousand in total would march south, moving from town to town before resting in Ornietia. From there, they would continue to Korelia under escort. Lansius held no illusions—tens or even hundreds might die during the march. But he reminded himself that these were fanatics who had abandoned their homes and livelihoods to answer the Living Saint’s call.

As much as Lansius wanted to let them remain in Midlandia, the risk was too great. He lacked the resources to keep them from escaping, and if released, he might one day face them again on the battlefield. Their vulnerability to manipulation made them dangerous.

Meanwhile, Lansius and his main army would retain the other two thousand captives—the disagreeable ones who might cause trouble if forced to march south. These captives would be tasked with digging ditches and building fortifications under the watchful eyes of his troops. If any of them later proved cooperative, he planned to send them to Ornietia by fall to start new lives there, as Sir Stan was preparing to transfer the barony to the Shogunate.

Although they were essentially a captured army, Lansius was determined not to impose undue hardship on them. As much as possible, he wanted this ordeal to be carried out humanely without compromising military objectives or security.

With those arrangements complete, preparations for breaking camp were finished. Lansius planned to meet with Sir Harold, Sir Michael, Sir Omin, and also Dietrich to discuss their next movement and destination. However, he first needed to address Valerie’s condition.

...

How long does a blood transfusion take?

Lansius pondered the question, unsure. He had to rely on scripture and Francisca’s practical knowledge to guide him.

He and Audrey sat observing as Francisca removed the bloodvine from its warm water soak, making it flexible. After drying it, she carefully coated it with honey, likely to prevent air leakage.

Margo, the young and gorgeous-looking squire, lay on a canvas bed next to Valerie. His upper body was propped up so the blood could flow more easily, as Francisca had explained. Despite the unfamiliar procedure involving his blood, there was no fear in his expression.

"The snake fangs have been cleaned thoroughly and boiled. There’s no residue of toxin, so you shouldn’t worry," Francisca assured him.

Margo nodded calmly as the physician, wearing clean linen gloves and with a steady hand, took the hollowed fang and carefully attached it to the bloodvine. He then cleaned the squire’s inner wrist and, following Francisca’s instructions, located the blood vessel.

"You know, it’d be much easier if I could just use my claw," Francisca quipped.

"Can’t do that—unless we boil the tip of your claw first," the physician replied with a half-jest.

The half-breed giggled softly before turning her attention back to the patient. "Foreigners... so fragile, like a garden flower," she said, almost mesmerized.

"Margo, flex your hand and ball it into a fist several times," Lansius instructed. Margo obeyed without hesitation.

The physician pinpointed the vein. He then turned to Lansius, silently seeking permission.

"Proceed," Lansius said. Sir Stan had visited briefly to check on Valerie and grant his approval, but he couldn’t stay long. Trouble had been brewing north of Cascasonne, and he was needed to lead a cavalry detachment in case it was a large remnant force or unknown reinforcements.

With permission granted, the physician glanced around the room, confirming readiness. One by one, the others nodded, their faces tense.

Finally, meeting Margo’s eyes, the physician asked, "Are you ready?"

"Ready," the squire replied confidently.

The physician offered a brief smile before focusing intently on the task. Margo blinked and winced as the physician, following Francisca’s guidance, inserted the fang with a slow, steady motion into the vein.

"Excellent, blood is flowing," Francisca observed calmly.

They allowed Margo’s blood to flow, pushing out any air from the bloodvine. Blood dripped steadily from the other fang before they gently clamped the bloodvine. Next, they repeated the process on Valerie’s wrist.

While they worked, Ingrid tied a cloth around Margo’s wrist to secure the fang and bloodvine.

Lansius watched from behind his desk, his concern evident, racking his brain for any clue about what might happen if the blood types were mismatched.

Audrey seemed to sense his worry and gently caressed his hand. "She’s strong. She’ll recover."

Lansius nodded, though his thoughts remained troubled. Moments passed, and nothing seemed to go wrong.

Francisca kept a close watch on Margo, looking for signs of exhaustion or strain. He appeared a little pale but otherwise fine.

"It seems to be working," the physician commented, drawing everyone’s attention.

Valerie’s complexion seemed healthier, a faint redness returning to her cheeks.

"Margo, you’ll need to eat plenty after this," Audrey said as she and Lansius approached him.

The squire nodded happily.

Lansius observed there was no yellowing of the skin around Valerie’s wrist, a sign that no severe reaction had occurred. "I think this much is enough," he said to Francisca, who nodded in agreement.

"Yes, when it comes to humans, especially foreigners, it is prudent to exercise caution," Francisca said.

The physician nodded and carefully withdrew the fang from both Margo and Valerie, while Ingrid dabbed a small amount of honey on the puncture wounds and applied a bandage to stop the bleeding. "Are you okay?" Ingrid asked Margo.

"I’m fine. I could do more," Margo replied confidently.

"We know, but now it’s up to Valerie’s reaction," Lansius reassured him.

"Ingrid," Audrey called, her voice suddenly urgent. Lansius turned to her, alarmed.

Ingrid, already sweating, nodded toward Audrey. "Something is wrong," she announced.

The physician scrambled to check Valerie’s vitals.

"What is it? I don’t see anything wrong," Lansius asked, his eyes scanning Valerie’s wrist and the surrounding area the physician had yet to bandage.

"Her breathing is faster," the physician noted, preparing a damp cloth to place on her forehead.

"It’s not a physical issue—it’s her magic," Ingrid explained, shock evident on her face.

Valerie’s chest heaved as she convulsed suddenly, her face flushed and beads of sweat forming on her brow. Lansius rushed to hold her steady. "Prop her head with more pillows," he instructed, his mind racing, unsure why the blood transfusion was causing this.

Could it be the Ancient's mutated blood causing this?

Margo quickly grabbed his pillow and propped it behind Valerie’s head. The physician pressed the cloth against her mouth to prevent her from biting her tongue. Meanwhile, Lansius glanced at Ingrid, who ironically turned to Audrey for guidance. Ingrid lacked the clarity to see magic and could only sense its presence, which offered little help in this situation.

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"Audrey!" Lansius called, still holding Valerie steady against the bed.

"That’s it, I’m going in," she said, striding toward Valerie. Audrey tore open Valerie’s tunic near the collar and pressed her hand firmly against her upper chest.

"My Lady, what are you doing?" Ingrid asked, then blurted out, "That’s dangerous!"

"Francisca, hold her away," Audrey commanded.

The half breed grabbed Ingrid, holding her back, and whispered reassuringly, "Give the Lady a chance."

Lansius tapped his wife’s wrist. "What are you trying to do?"

"Saving our friend," Audrey replied, her voice resolute as she tapped into her source. A sudden shift filled the air, a force so tangible that even Lansius, a non-mage, could feel it.

"Stop it! A mage’s source isn’t a physical vessel. Linking them risks merging the two into one!" Ingrid exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear.

Lansius instinctively grasped what Audrey was attempting. She was trying to use her source to fuel Valerie’s body. But if his understanding was correct, it was a volatile process, one that could trigger a dangerous reaction. While mages used this method to awaken a student’s source, they did it slowly and in small, controlled amounts. What Ingrid had done yesterday was essentially that. But what Audrey attempted now seemed far greater.

"Your sources will collide! One of you will die!" Ingrid shouted, her alarm spreading to Francisca, Margo, and Lansius.

"Audrey!" Lansius demanded.

"I know that. I have a different idea."

Fixing his gaze on her, he pressed further, "Explain."

"I’m trying to focus here. Give me a moment," she snapped, her eyes glowing a bright, golden hue.

Then disaster struck. Ingrid let out a sharp gasp, her mouth falling open in shock.

"Ingrid? Ingrid!" Francisca called, raising her voice in alarm.

What’s happening…?

Lansius couldn’t see anything unusual, but the entire space felt different—lighter, somehow. It wasn’t warm or cold, but felt like a fine drizzle, one that the skin of his body and limbs rejected. It was the complete opposite of the gemstone of strength, which flowed with warm energy through his body.

"Audrey," he called slowly, his tone full of disapproval.

"It’s working. I’ll be—"

"My Lord, what is happening?" Sir Harold asked as he arrived, but his attention quickly shifted to the woman beside him. She fell to her knees, staring in awe toward Audrey's direction.

A monastic robe?

Lansius instinctively glanced at Ingrid, her mouth agape. He compared her expression to the woman on the floor and saw the same unsettling reaction. "Harold, Francisca, get them out! They have magic—they’re seeing things!"

Without hesitation, the two obeyed, rushing the woman and Ingrid outside, leaving Lansius, Margo, and the physician exchanging tense glances.

"Talk to us," Lansius said to Audrey desperately. "And remember, you’re pregnant."

"I'm fine. Just a little more," she replied, her voice strained. "I’m drawing her source out. The flow is now stable. She should be all right," she said, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"You’re taxing yourself, My Lady," the physician warned, while Margo continued watching Valerie for any signs of change. Then, the youth's eyes widened in shock.

"She’s awake!" Margo exclaimed, nearly shouting.

All eyes turned to Valerie as Audrey finally released her hand, gasping for breath as she collapsed into Lansius’ arms. He held her close, guiding her a few steps away. "Don’t do that again," he said, his anger barely concealed.

The physician quickly draped a blanket over Valerie's chest, gently removed the cloth from her mouth, and asked, "How are you feeling? Any headache? Any pain?"

Valerie looked troubled but managed to reply in a weak voice, "W-water."

***

Sir Morton

The sky churned with heavy, ominous clouds as two airships sailed through the turbulent expanse, their strong yet delicate frames groaning faintly against the relentless gusts of wind. By now, the sun had risen higher, its pale light streaking through breaks in the clouds, casting sharp contrasts of brightness and shadow across the ships. The wind blew cold across the decks, carrying with it the faint tang of burned, volatile oil.

Sir Morton sat at the bow of the leading airship, his hands steady on the controls and his gaze fixed on the endless horizon. Behind him, the crew—three SAR, two Black Knights, and squires Sterling and Claire—kept a vigilant watch, scanning the vessel for any signs of trouble.

With plenty of time onboard during each journey, Sterling had learned the intricacies of the airship burner. With so few crew members and the long travel ahead, everyone felt the need to learn a thing or two about maintaining the vessel.

"Sir," Sterling called over the whipping wind, "we’re close to using the reserve tank."

"It doesn’t matter," Morton said, recalling how the ship would dangerously lose speed and buoyancy whenever he eased off the fuel throttle, having lost the favorable tailwind after sunrise. "Give her everything," he instructed, his tone as cold and steady as ever.

"My apologies, Sir," Claire said, leaning in closer, her tone hesitant. "But if we use the reserve, we won’t have enough to return. The ships will be stranded in Midlandia."

Sterling, meanwhile, moved toward the burner fuel switch, gripping the metal lever freshly installed during their last stop at Dawn Barony.

"It’s of no issue," Morton explained. "Our Orange Skald contact reported on the situation in Cascasonne. I believe Lord Lansius has won the battle by now."

"Really?" Claire replied, surprised, exchanging a quick glance with Sterling.

"Have faith in Lord Lansius," Morton said flatly without any emotion, his eyes still fixed ahead, but a thin grin tugging at his lips.

"The main army has supplies of volatile oil. Win or lose, as long as we rendezvous with them, we’ll be fine," Sterling reassured her. Claire gave a slow nod, accepting the logic, and quietly returned to her seat as the faint roar of the burner deepened, flaring briefly as fresh fuel was fed into its hungry flames.

To their left, the second airship, borrowed from Lord Avery, flew alongside. Having caught up, it now sailed side by side. At the railing, the male half-breed, Big Ben, stood tall, one hand gripping it firmly as he leaned out over the edge. He shouted across the wind, "Oi, we’re low on that burning oil! Since we’re near Casca city, we thought we might drop our ringmail and weapons to lighten the load."

"Better not, yours are costly," Sir Morton shouted back from his ship.

"But not as costly as gold," Big Ben retorted, nodding toward the captured chests. Without waiting for a reply, he added with a big jolly grin, "Why don’t we drop this man instead? We think he’ll fly!" He held Reginald by the foot and hoisted him high, the poor man’s doublet torn to shreds—likely the work of his captors' boredom. Now both the garment and its wearer resembled a plucked duck ready for roasting.

Big Ben’s antics and Reginald’s panicked wailing sent waves of laughter through the crews of both airships. It was clearly a well-timed, carefully planned jest.

"He understands jest better than I do," Morton commented with a rare grin.

"Can we take his leg or an arm? I need a snack, and it’ll also lighten our ship," Big Ben teased, clearly in an uncommonly good mood.

"Removing a leg only to stuff it into your stomach doesn’t lighten anything," Claire quipped in response.

"But sweetie, even beastmen don’t swallow the bones," Big Ben shot back, his voice ringing with joy.

A gust of wind swept across the deck, flapping cloaks and rattling the rigging. Morton squinted into the distance finding something at the end of road the they used to navigate.

"Strap yourselves in. Cascasonne is ahead," Morton suddenly announced. At his words, everyone turned their eyes westward, where a castle loomed in the distance, its towering spires and battlements rivaling those of Lubina’s Eclipse Castle.

"I see it, I see it," Big Ben called out dramatically, though Morton knew the half-breed was just jesting. The creature had no far-sight like a mage.

"Tell me, what did you see?" Morton challenged.

"A humongous cauldron for our duck!" Big Ben bellowed, raising Reginald high by his feet once again. By now, the poor old man appeared to have fainted from sheer embarrassment, drawing another roar of laughter from both crews. Even the Dawn’s crew were delighted, watching as the three half-breeds and three SAR members laughed and danced across the deck. Only the trainee mage pilot looked pale, and Morton couldn’t help but pity him.

"Who would've thought that the most frightening looking half breed is a jester at heart," the SAR lieutenant muttered in jest behind Sterling, shaking his head with amusement. Sterling and Claire joined the laughter. Even the Black Knights chuckled at the antics.

However, the abundance of joy was understandable. From the start, their plan to capture Reginald had been overly bold, if not an outright gamble. There were too many unpredictable variables; news of Lord Lansius’ movements or his arrival at Cascasonne, for example, could have forced Reginald to relocate to a more secure place, jeopardizing their only chance. Even the mighty airships had limited range without adequate logistical support.

Thus, Lord Lansius had only expected them to sow chaos in Lubina and then rendezvous in Cascasonne, deeming the plan to capture Reginald too speculative. Yet here they were, with Reginald safely in their hands.

The lighthearted mood broke when Claire suddenly stood, her face puzzled. "Captain," she called sharply. "I see it—blue and bronze banners on the castle tower!"

The crew turned to their captain expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

"Yes, I’ve seen it too," Morton confirmed, his gaze lingering on the castle spires before turning his head toward the crew. "It looks like the Shogunate has won."

His voice was almost flat, but the crew from both ships erupted into cheers. Men pounded their fists on the railings, shouted to one another, and clasped their hands in triumph.

"Cascasonne and Lubina in one night!" an SAR called out, his voice carrying over the wind and lifting their spirits even further.

From the other ship, the Dawn mage trainee called out, "Sir Morton, permission to land first?"

"Granted. Good luck!" Morton replied as the two majestic airships began to prepare for their long descent.

***

Lansius

The inside of the tent was still in chaos, but Valerie waking up felt nothing short of a miracle. At the physician's nod, Margo carefully brought a small cup of water to her lips, letting her take a sip.

Lansius and Audrey stood close by, their eyes fixed on Valerie, who lay weak but alert. Her eyes were now sharp and focused, no longer hazy, though sweat glistened on her pale skin.

"We need Tia," Audrey said, turning as if to leave, but Lansius caught her arm and held her still.

"No. You're not going anywhere after that," he said. Instead, Lansius turned to Margo. "Can I trouble you?"

"On it, My Lord," Margo replied, his tone sharp despite having just donated blood to Valerie.

"Don’t forget to get something to drink or eat. That’s an order," Lansius added. "Also, check on Ingrid and whoever Harold brought to us. We might have another medical emergency after this."

"If anyone’s in danger, bring them to the infirmary," the physician interjected, still checking Valerie’s pulse. "My assistant can handle them. I’ll head there as soon as I’m done here."

"It should be just a shock," Audrey said, a little nervous, as Margo left the tent. "And how is she now?" she asked about Valerie, still concerned.

"Her pulse is stronger than before. No yellowing around the wound. And her eyes—no sign of discoloration." Relief washed over him as he exchanged a glance with Lansius and Audrey, offering a measured but satisfied smile.

Despite still being worried about what Audrey had done and why Ingrid and the other woman were behaving that way, Lansius nodded in quiet relief as Audrey stepped closer to Valerie, who looked up at her with a faint smile.

"It's you, isn't it?" the patient said, her voice faint but certain.

"You feel it?"

"I felt like being pulled by a thousand horses, dragging me out of darkness and into a world of light." Valerie found her voice, though it trembled slightly. "But... how? You're not a mage."

Audrey wiped her tears, her expression softening. "It's a long story. For now, welcome back, Hannei... or Valerie, if that's truly your name."

Valerie smiled faintly, her eyes moist. "You can call me anything."

The two shared an emotional glance, their connection stronger than before. Meanwhile, Lansius tapped the physician’s shoulder. "Good work. You can expect a bonus."

"Gratitude, My Lord," the physician replied, wiping the bloodvine and fangs clean. "Then, I’ll be—"

Suddenly, a guard entered the tent, his voice urgent. "My apologies, but we spotted two airships approaching from the east. Fast!"

"Fast?" Audrey repeated, puzzled.

"They might be out of fuel or losing buoyancy," Lansius remarked, rising to his feet. "Audrey, stay here. Margo and Tia should arrive soon. I’ll head out to check."

"Be careful," Audrey said softly. Valerie looked on, seemingly at peace.

"Don’t sleep yet. Try to eat something," Lansius told Valerie softly. She smiled faintly and blinked her acknowledgment.

As he stepped outside, his guards readily formed an escort. The camp buzzed with frantic energy, his men pointed and shouted, their voices tinged with both excitement and hope. Lansius followed their gestures to the eastern sky, where two black airships loomed large, their massive forms descending steadily like dark omens on the horizon.

Whatever news they carried, one thing was certain: they had completed another stage of his plan, and now a new phase of Midlandia’s conquest or integration was about to begin. Lansius inhaled deeply, the weight of realization settling over him. He might have just added ten million souls to the Shogunate’s fold, a scale that utterly dwarfed the entire population of Lowlandia.

If Lowlandia, politically, felt like the Aegean city-states separated by steppes instead of sea, Midlandia to him was nothing less than a dormant Holy Roman Empire.

***