blogombal Chapter 188 Anxiety
Chapter 188 Anxiety
Chapter 119 Anxiety
"What were those idiots in Broken Spear City doing? Four thousand men! Even four thousand pigs would take seven days and seven nights to capture them, right? And what happened? On the first day, Cliff Fortress fell; on the second day, a decisive battle in the open field, and they lost! On the third day, Broken Spear City fell—by Rahlo, those idiots were strangled to death by that brat Tiberius. They deserved to be killed! Keeping them around was just lowering our overall IQ!"
Inside the city lord's mansion in Broken Spear City, Marcus angrily waved the battle report.
"General, please calm down. After all, they were loyal and devoted to their country, sacrificing their lives on the battlefield—" A commander, an "uncrowned prince," forced himself to defend his noble colleagues.
After all, they were all from the same class, and besides, they really did die on the battlefield, fulfilling their promise as nobles.
"Sacrifice? You call this a sacrifice?" Marcus, his eyes red, shoved the battle report right under the officer's nose.
"Look! Could anything be more stupid? Grain was sold off, and his own selfish desires forced him into a hasty decisive battle! A cavalry charge in the mud! Knowing there wasn't enough food, he still brought war elephants—driving elephants to charge in the mud? What did his mentor teach him?"
"Your Excellency, discussing these matters now is pointless—"
"Of course I know this won't help, but I'm furious!" Marcus paced angrily around the room like a trapped lion.
"My officers, look at our current situation: according to the original plan, we can obtain a huge amount of supplies in the disputed territory, forcing the enemy to fight us on land. Their manpower and financial resources cannot be inexhaustible; there must be a limit!" Marcus frantically pointed at the map, almost poking a hole in the disputed territory.
"As long as we fight one decisive battle, a decisive battle that can determine the fate of all of us, a battle where we stake the destiny of our nation, we can turn the Kingdom of Three Daughters into just a name in history!"
"The reason I rushed back is for Broken Spear City and the Broken Spear River crossing!"
"This is the only crossing we still hold, symbolizing our connection with the homeland. At the same time, theoretically, we can launch a pincer attack: we will advance from the southern flank, while they will advance south from upstream, leaving the enemy unable to defend both ends! We will wage the decisive battle I desire, the battle that will determine the fate of our nation!"
"Now?" He let out a sneer.
"When I heard that Broken Spear City had been attacked, I immediately headed north, thinking it was the enemy's main force. Especially since they actually captured Broken Spear City!"
"That's normal. A political victory on a secondary battlefield will reassure the governors and councilors, making them feel that everything is under control, and it also serves as training ground for our troops. Moreover, taking Broken Spear City will block our last route back to Valantis, forcing us into a decisive battle!"
"When I saw this, I had to applaud: what could be a better opponent for us than an army that has just won a victory and on whom the merchants and governors placed their last hopes? As long as they are crushed on the battlefield, the enemy will bow down to us!"
"And then—you tell me, it was nothing but a damned mercenary legion!" Marcus angrily threw the battle report into the fireplace. "Outnumbered, without supplies, they defeated us through our stupidity and their cunning!"
"And instead of staying here, they let a bunch of damn scum take over the city—" Marcus pointed out the window.
Outside, most of Broken Spear City was reduced to ruins, with countless refugees huddled in the corners of the ruins—bankrupt merchants, landless nobles, and lost wanderers.
Without a doubt, this was the work of the scum left behind by Tiberius.
These guys started running rampant within days, turning Broken Spear City into their own playground—until Marcus's army arrived.
Crushing them would be effortless, but the problem is!
"They left us with ruins and a bunch of starving refugees. I was hoping to get some food from here, but now I have to give it to those weeping refugees in the city!"
Just as Marcus was getting angry.
"Commander! A letter from the Black Wall!" A messenger burst through the door, clutching an urgent letter from the Senate.
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, cutting through the air thick with the scent of incense and anxiety. Around the long council table, elders in white robes or robes embroidered with family crests sat with solemn expressions, their whispers like a swarm of wasps trapped in a glass jar.
Suddenly, a loud "bang" rang out!
Marco Fravos, a veteran of the Elephant Party known for his volatile temper and outspokenness, suddenly stood up and slammed a thick stack of parchment letters onto the shiny obsidian table.
The scroll of paper unfolded, covered with numerous urgent stamps from towns, manors, and tax offices across the country, some even bearing what appeared to be mud stains or scorch marks.
"Quiet! All of you, quiet!" Marco's voice was loud and shrill, drowning out all the whispers. His pale face was flushed with anger, and his sparse white hair almost stood on end. He grabbed several letters and waved them violently in the air like battle flags, the pages rustling.
"My esteemed lords! I ask you—and I ask the gods to tell me—" he almost roared, his gaze sharp as he swept over his colleagues of varying expressions in the seats, especially several Tiger Party members who also served as military commissioners.
"Our great Valantis, the eldest daughter of ancient Valyria, when did she become a stage for wandering entertainers?! Huh?!"
He pulled out a letter and read it aloud, every syllable filled with irony.
"A suspected Dothraki cavalry has appeared in the northern hills, but they are shouting Westeros battle cries while looting!" — When did the Dothraki learn to shout "For Winterfell and Highgarden" in Common?
Um?!"
"Westero? That backwater, separated by the Narrow Sea, where lords tear each other apart like dogs in heat? They've formed an alliance? Crossing oceans, traversing the entire disputed lands, just to come to our inland towns of Volantis? For a meager amount of food? Or for the gold coins in the hands of the tenant farmers?"
"You can't possibly come here to collect the Seven Gods' protection fee, can you? Ha!" He let out a short, sharp laugh.
He grabbed another letter: "And this one! Iron People! Those sea hyenas who can't live without saltwater, whose heads are filled only with seaweed and plunder, have abandoned their longships and are demanding iron money from our people on the inland plains!"
"Gentlemen, can you imagine? A bunch of guys who're used to the rocking of decks, robbing and pillaging on horseback on land? Why don't they just row their longships down the irrigation canals? Hmm? — Or did the Ironborn switch careers and become cavalrymen inland? Do their horses have gills and swim all the way from the Summer Sea?!"
Another letter arrived, his voice trembling with absurdity: "The eastern grain-producing region has encountered an army claiming to be of 'ancient dragon king bloodline,' demanding that our garrison 'submit to the orthodox lineage.' Their flag is—a three-headed yellow creature resembling a lizard or a sick bird!"—Yellow! Lizard! Hahahaha!" He let out a short, shrill laugh devoid of any real humor.
"Those silver-haired, purple-eyed Targaryen relatives, aren't their banners supposed to be noble black with a red dragon? When did their banners degenerate into those mutated lizards that don't even resemble dragons?! Or have our local scribes and garrison captains collectively had their eyes and brains ruined by soaking in cheap wine?!"
He tossed the letters onto the center of the table like snowflakes, braced himself with both hands, leaned forward, and stared intently.
"Every day! Every single day, urgent letters like these are raining down on the Senate like crow droppings! The Kingsguard of Westeros, the wildlings of the North, the pirates of the Iron Islands, the Howlers of the Dothraki, even the Valyrian ghosts crawling out of their graves—they're all having a carnival in our heartland! And what about us?!"
He sat bolt upright, pointing out the window at the city faintly visible and the distant lands: "What are our esteemed local nobles doing?"
"Are they busy counting how many barrels of wine are missing from their cellars, or busy marrying off their daughters even further away to prevent them from being abducted by the 'ghosts'? And what are our garrisons stationed in various places doing? Are they busy writing these fantastical travelogues, or simply drinking and exchanging raiding tips with the 'Northern Wolves' wearing Dothraki-painted vests?!"
"And this one, this is the best!" He pulled out a particularly crumpled piece of paper.
"We hope the Senate will confirm whether several high-ranking enemy prisoners are about to arrive at the Black Wall, demanding money and provisions along the way for these distinguished guests." — Oh, gods! Why didn't our beloved, ever-healthy Warmaster Marcus mention the impending arrival of such distinguished guests?
"Such letters must be stopped immediately! Because I suspect that next, even famine-stricken peasant uprisings will be portrayed as the White Walkers' vanguard invading Essos!"
The council chamber was completely silent, save for Elder Marco's heavy breathing and the echoing sounds. Some elders looked ashamed or uneasy, while others frowned, deep in thought.
Several Tiger Party generals looked ashen-faced, but none of them immediately refuted them.
Marco took a deep breath, lowering his voice slightly but making it more penetrating, filled with deep weariness and questioning.
"This is not an invasion by a foreign enemy, gentlemen. It's more like an absurd plague spreading within our bodies! Is someone deliberately spreading panic? Is the local government so incompetent that they can't even distinguish between bandits and stragglers, or are they even afraid to fight? Or is it—"
He paused meaningfully, his gaze sweeping across the room: "Our massive state apparatus has rusted to such a ridiculous degree in some respects that any group of audacious rats, daring to raise bizarre banners, can freely burrow into our granaries, while we only argue endlessly about the outlandish excrement left behind by these rats?!"
He slammed his fist on the table one last time: "We need answers! Not from these fantasy reports, but from the ground! From the army! From those who draw their salaries and wield swords!"
"Valantis must act immediately, dispel this ridiculous fog, and see clearly who is truly gnawing at Valantis's heart!"
He glanced around at the solemnly seated elders and told a joke in a low voice that even he himself didn't find funny.
"Otherwise, the next urgent letter will probably tell us that an army of Forest Children riding unicorns is on its way to take over the Senate!"
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