After losing the recruited NPC in my first battle, I temporarily halted plans to recruit another, as I still lacked a thorough understanding of the various NPC skills—unless they possessed particularly notable abilities. For example, doctors and servants are essential for upcoming battles.
After two more days of travel, we finally arrived at the southern border fortress of the Southern Empire, Torios Castle. I intended to enter the castle to check if any lords were stationed there. If so, we would directly offer our services as mercenaries, sparing us the trouble of venturing deeper into the empire's heartland to find employment. Instead, we could patrol the border and ambush weaker enemy lords.
Unfortunately, luck was not on our side—no lords were present in the castle. It seemed the war had kept them occupied elsewhere.
So, I led my troops onward, pressing deeper into the Southern Empire's territory in hopes of finding a lord. As midnight approached, exhaustion weighed heavily on my soldiers—and myself. I ordered the company to set up camp and rest. Suddenly, a scout rushed in with a report:
"Master, we've spotted a force ahead."
"Bandits? How many?"
"No, not bandits. Judging by the banners, it's a Southern Empire lord. It's too dark to make out which family."
"Fortune favors us when we least expect it. Have the men rest here. I'll go take a look."
With that, I took a few subordinates and approached the enemy camp. The guards spotted us and barked,
"Who goes there? Halt, or we'll attack!"
"Greetings. We're mercenaries seeking to serve the empire. We'd like an audience with your lord."
"Mercenaries? Fine. Follow me."
The lord eyed me skeptically.
"What's your name? Which mercenary company do you belong to?"
"Greetings, my lord. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gattar, of the Great Tang clan, a Vlandian. Hearing of your empire's war, my thirty men and I wish to pledge our swords—perhaps one day even serving Empress Rhagaea herself."
"The Great Tang clan? Never heard of it. Doesn't sound like a traditional Vlandian name. And given that Vlandia once betrayed our empire, I'd hope you're not of the same ilk."
"Indeed, my lord. But those were the nobles' decisions—common folk like us had no part in it. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?"
"I am Thouriados of Onglos, of a family that has served the empire for generations. I am also the lord of Vostrum. But you've come too late—the war is already over."
"What? Over? Isn't the empire still fighting the Western Empire?"
"We were. But the Senate voted to end the war, claiming it drained our strength. There's nothing I can do."
Disappointed, I pressed further: "Have you heard of any other empires at war?"
"Not among the three imperial factions. We're all at peace now. Try the barbarian kingdoms. But be warned—if you join a future enemy, I won't hold back on the battlefield."
His words left a bitter taste in my mouth. After a few more hollow pleasantries, I left his camp and returned to my men.
"Threaten me, will you? If we meet in battle, I'll capture that bastard and let him rot in a dungeon," I fumed inwardly.
This long journey had been a miscalculation. With the Southern Empire at peace, my plans crumbled. So much for becoming the emperor's son-in-law—I needed to find a war elsewhere.
After weighing my options between Khuzait and Aserai, I ultimately chose Swadia. The Khuzaits had the formidable Khan's Guards, but their culture felt too barbaric for my tastes. As for the Aserai—I still remembered how their Palace Guards had hunted me relentlessly in past campaigns. Those axe-wielding brutes were terrifyingly fast.
Joining Vlandia might mean war with Battania, but desperate times called for desperate measures. My men were baffled by the decision, but we set off back to Swadia.
This time, we ignored the scattered bandits—most had been cleared on our way south, and the remaining stragglers weren't worth the effort. But as we neared Lota Castle, we spotted another force. I ordered a scout:
"Find out whose troops those are."
"Yes, master!"
He returned minutes later.
"Master, they're mercenaries—the Forest Brotherhood. Like us, they're searching for employment."
"The Forest Brotherhood? Small-time outlaws. Prepare for battle. We'll replenish our funds here."
The round trip had drained our coffers—weeks of wages and supplies had eaten into our denars. Before signing on as mercenaries, I needed to expand my forces, and funds were running low. This was an opportunity.
We advanced swiftly. Though we sought conflict, we had no real quarrel with them—they weren't bandits. I decided to negotiate first. If they surrendered, all the better—though unlikely, given they outnumbered us nearly two-to-one.
"I don't believe we've met. State your business, stranger," their leader growled.
"I am Gattar. Remember that name—you'll hear it often."
"Gattar? Never heard of you. What do you want?"
"The clan doesn't matter. I'm here for one thing: times are hard, and my men need supplies. Hand over your denars and gear, and you may leave."
"Are you mad? We've no quarrel. Cross me, and you declare war on the entire Forest Brotherhood."
"Final warning: surrender or die."
"You'll regret this, you arrogant fool!"
Enraged, he ordered the attack. I deployed my archers in a staggered "loose formation," while infantry readied for the charge.
Unlike mindless bandits, these mercenaries fought in disciplined ranks—shield walls up front, spears behind, archers in the rear. They advanced methodically, their bows firing once in range.
Our archers loosed first, but most arrows clattered harmlessly against shields. Their return volleys took a toll—without shields, my men had no protection. The exchange lasted minutes before casualties mounted. At close quarters, I ordered the charge.
Twenty brutal minutes later, we stood victorious—their leader had fled. The field was littered with bodies. I called for a tally.
"Master, we lost ten, with seven wounded. Nearly all of them are dead—five captured."
The numbers gave me pause. This was just a semi-organized mercenary band, and we'd suffered heavy losses despite our elite troops. Against a real army, we'd be annihilated.
The casualty rate was unacceptable. Poor tactics played a part—I shouldn't have let archers engage in melee. But the real lesson was the weakness of a single troop type. I needed combined arms—and a larger force. Quality alone couldn't overcome numbers.
It reminded me of the Eastern Front in the Second World War—Germany's elite forces and superior weapons had still fallen to the Soviet tide of steel and sheer manpower.
I'd underestimated the challenge. Unifying the continent would be no simple task.