Portsmouth, Albion, 1733 hours
A cloaked figure made his way through the crowd as the sun started to set on the horizon. Scanning his surroundings warily as he made a beeline for a tavern situated next to the city's harbor, he took note of two squads of Reconquista pikemen from Cromwell's New Model Army as they patrolled the streets. Upon entering, he casted a quick glance before his eyes settled on a table, where another cloaked figure sat, drinking a cup of wine. He walked quickly and took a seat across the table.
"Good afternoon, Hugh," the first figure greeted as he removed his hood, revealing a brunette, blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties.
The second figure, a black-haired teen with brown eyes, nodded. "Arthur, glad you could make it," the second figure returned. "We have recent developments."
Arthur leaned forward and stared at the man in front of him. "Alright, I'm listening."
Hugh took his time before he responded, staring back at Arthur as he finished the last of his wine. "Reports indicate that an invasion of Tristain is scheduled to take place after the royalists are overthrown," he murmured.
He then got up on his feet. "Our ship is about to leave. We should go, I'll tell you more," he muttered as he strode out of the tavern.
Arthur followed Hugh as the pair made their way to the harbor, where their ship will take them to La Rochelle in Gallia.
"Any news from Newcastle?" Arthur whispered as they strode across the gangplank and towards the ship. Newcastle had been besieged by sixty Reconquista battalions (24,000 men) for nearly two weeks after the separatists had failed to take the city in a frontal assault. With thirty-two (13,000 men) royalist battalions pinned down behind the city's fortifications, the forces loyal to the crown were nearing their breaking point.
Hugh turned towards his companion with a grim expression on his face. "It's still under siege, and we barely escaped in time. That 21,000-man army has forced us to fall back into the city, but not before we inflicted heavy losses. The rebels have been reinforced by an additional 6,000 men, which brings us to where we are now."
He took a deep breath. "Newcastle is heavily fortified, though, and it would take an army twice the size of the forces in the city a week to capture it, maybe less if the enemy is skillful enough. Even if Newcastle falls, the enemy would be so depleted that it could take a month and a half or more to bring it back up to full strength. Still, this doesn't make the situation any better."
The brunette exhaled sharply as he pondered over what he had just heard.
"Do we have any forces available that can relieve the city?" he asked.
Hugh nodded. "The Duke of Marlborough is currently heading east to Newcastle with an army of 7,000; it will take him five days to arrive, three and a half if he conducts a forced march. The Duke of Leeds is on his way south to Doncaster with another 8,000 men to cut off Reconquista's supply lines. The Duke of Norfolk's army is all but destroyed at the Battle of Coventry; the 18th, 33rd, 56th, 85th, and 61st Regiments of Foot are still replenishing their ranks. It could take them two months before they could fight again. The 67th, 71st, 83rd Regiments, and 1st Foot Guards are no better; they had to rebuild from scratch after getting shattered at the aforementioned battle. I heard that the Duke of Norfolk plans to reinforce the Duke of Marlborough once they have recovered, but given the situation in Newcastle right now, I don't think they'll make it in time," he reported.
Arthur sighed, rubbing his temple. "Do you have the casualty figures for the Duke of Norfolk's army?" he asked.
Hugh reached into his cloak and produced a scroll, which he handed to his companion. Arthur took the scroll and unrolled it, his eyes poring over the written figures.
18th Regiment of Foot (Moore), initial strength of 800, suffered 257 casualties (93 dead, 122 wounded, 42 missing).
33rd Regiment of Foot (Lincoln), initial strength of 800, suffered 231 casualties (70 dead, 113 wounded, 48 missing).
56th Regiment of Foot (Adams), initial strength of 860, suffered 273 casualties (72 dead, 121 wounded, 80 missing).
61st Regiment of Foot (Alexander), initial strength of 850, suffered 402 casualties (144 dead, 196 wounded, 62 missing).
67th Regiment of Foot (Ingersoll), initial strength of 800, suffered 591 casualties (180 dead, 387 wounded, 24 missing).
71st Regiment of Foot (Salisbury), initial strength of 850, suffered 653 casualties (172 dead, 441 wounded, 40 missing).
83rd Regiment of Foot (Clinton), initial strength of 800, suffered 438 casualties (97 dead, 283 wounded, 58 missing).
85th Regiment of Foot (Hamilton), initial strength of 800, suffered 441 casualties (103 dead, 275 wounded, 63 missing).
1st Foot Guards (Collingwood), initial strength of 800, suffered 593 casualties (207 dead, 374 wounded, 12 missing).
For a short moment, Arthur felt sick as he stared at the numbers, and with trembling hands, he rolled the scroll and returned it to Hugh.
"What should we do now? There has to be a solution for this," he lamented.
Hugh shifted his eyes down to the ship's deck as he contemplated his answer.
"We move to Tristain and warn the princess. Albion is lost as it already is, but if we hurry, we can prevent Tristain from falling into Reconquista's hands."
'I would willingly die before I let those heretics gain a foothold in mainland Halkeginia,' he said to himself.
Outskirts of Virton, 1325 hours
Three days had passed, and the planned trip to Virton started off without any issue, with four Challengers following closely behind Louise, Guiche, and Montmorency. 3rd Platoon, Chindit Company took in the scenery around them from their positions onboard the tanks. The town, which was six hours away on horseback, was situated in the middle of a valley next to the border with Gallia, with Lake Lagdorian's shores located to the south.
Upon cresting a hill that would give them a panoramic view of the town, the mages halted, with Martin disembarking from the lead tank. What lay before them surprised the mages and put the lieutenant on alert.
"What the… what happened to Virton?" Montmorency breathed.
The entire town of Virton was flooded, with the water levels reaching as high as nine meters in depth, and it took nearly no time at all for everyone to conclude that the town had been abandoned for some time.
Unable to believe what he was seeing, Martin gingerly made his way down the slope until he was knee-deep in the water. Taking a cursory glance around him, he waded back ashore and up the slope, where Julius had disembarked, along with the troops from the lead tank.
"Well, shit. I wouldn't want to be one of the poor bastards that lived here," he mumbled to himself.
"Do you have any idea what happened here?" Martin heard Julius ask Montmorency.
The blonde mage shook her head. "I think the water spirit must be upset for some reason," she replied.
Julius's eyes narrowed at her words. "There's a water spirit?" he queried.
Montmorency nodded. "Yes. The water level is unusually high, as you can see."
"No shit, Sherlock," a private snarked, before his platoon sergeant cuffed him upside the head.
"While I do enjoy hearing your wise inputs, this isn't the time to be a smartass, so I suggest that you shut it before I give the entire platoon a beasting session right now," he growled.
The private rubbed the back of his helmet. "Got it, sarge."
Montmorency turned to Julius after witnessing the exchange. "The lake's water levels were normal the last time I went here. I'll try to contact the water spirit tonight, she only appears after the sun had set."
Julius removed his helmet and scratched his blond hair. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked.
The mage turned to the town and nodded. "I have made a pact with her since I was a child. Just let me talk to her and we'll see why this has happened."
With a nod, Julius and the rest of the men got back on the tanks, save for one private who had volunteered to guide the tanks to an alternate route that would take them to Lake Lagdorian's shores. Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, the platoon and the tank crewmen dismounted and searched for any foliage they could use to camouflage the tanks.
As they waited for the sun to set, boredom quickly set in among the men. Some of the troops passed the time away with random chatter and small talk, some took part in a poker game, and some attempted to catch what sleep they could.
"Three hours of waiting. Might as well catch forty winks," Julius muttered as he removed his rucksack, sat down beside one of the tanks, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
Virton, 1755 hours
"…jor, Major, wake up."
Julius groaned, opening his eyes to find Martin standing over him. Yawning tiredly, he stretched and got up on his feet, putting his rucksack on.
"They're about to try summoning the water spirit now," the lieutenant informed him, turning his glance to Montmorency. The blonde mage was standing at the shores of the lake, having just pricked her finger and letting a drop of blood fall on her familiar, which then proceeded to jump into the lake's cooling waters.
The major donned his helmet as the two officers made their way to Montmorency, who was flanked by Guiche and Louise. Half of 3rd Platoon was standing by behind them, their rifles loaded but with their safeties on. The remainder of the platoon was spread out in a semicircle behind them in order to hold off any potential attackers from behind. "Are you sure this'll work?" he asked.
Montmorency turned to Julius. "Robin will be able to bring the water spirit to us if he can find her," she confidently declared.
Julius was about to ask who Robin was before he remembered that it was Montmorency's familiar.
"Well, we can only hope that the spirit will show up," Louise stated.
Montmorency turned to her fellow mage. "Years ago, when I was younger, I made a treaty with the spirit when my father brought me here. She will definitely come if she recognizes me."
'And that's a big 'if' we're talking about,' Martin mused.
"Now, you have to know, the last thing we want is to antagonize the water spirit, because she can kill us all very easily, so we have to be very careful," Montmorency continued.
The mages and the troops that were near enough murmured their agreements.
Suddenly, the lake began to shoot a huge spout of water ten meters tall.
"The spirit has answered!" Montmorency called.
Immediately, the soldiers facing the lake turned off their rifles' safeties and aimed at the lake.
"Stand down! Stand down, lower your weapons! Who do you think you are, Caligula?!" Julius barked to his men.
The Lancastrians reluctantly lowered their rifles and watched for any signs of aggression.
"I can't believe it's been so long," Derflinger spoke up.
Julius looked over his shoulder. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
Montmorency raised her arms as she addressed the spirit.
"I am Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency, a water mage from the family that had made a treaty with you. Please, if you can recognize my blood, appear before us and answer me in a form that we can identify," she declared.
The waterspout eventually transformed into the shape of a woman.
"I remember you now, lone one, and the fluid that flows through your veins," the spirit answered.
Whispers of disbelief flowed through the troops as they stared at the sight before them.
"As you can see, I have been busy increasing the lake's depths day after day, leaving me no time to deal with those who were attacking me," the spirit went on. "Some of your kind are attacking me for one reason or another, and my request is that you put an end to these attacks."
Guiche narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Who would be so brash and reckless as to go against the water spirit, of all beings?" he asked.
"How am I supposed to know?" Montmorency asked the blond fop.
Julius keyed his mic. "Dagger Actual to all elements, stay sharp, find some concealment and watch for anyone suspicious. All tanks, power down, machine guns only. 3rd Platoon, prepare to engage imminent hostiles using every nonlethal method possible. Flashbangs, smoke grenades, I don't care. We'll need to know who these wankers are working for."
"Claymore 1-1 copies."
"Claymore 2-1, Lima Charlie."
"Titan One, roger that."
"Major, permission to speak," a private said.
Julius nodded. "Go on."
The private cleared his throat. "Sir, with all due respect, you do realize that there's a high chance that we might be going up against mages, right?"
Julius loaded his rifle and pulled back the charging handle. "Try to aim for nonlethal shots. Go for the arm or the leg, if possible."
"Understood, sir," the private nodded.
Louise, Montmorency, and Guiche all looked at Julius in disbelief.
"You're seriously going against these attackers?!" Guiche exclaimed as the Hussars powered down their tanks.
The major just narrowed his eyes and glared at the young mage. "Do I have to remind you who won the duel between you and Cpl. Holstein? Or who managed to capture Fouquet?" he snapped.
Guiche shrank at the major's rebuke. "M-my apologies, sir," he stammered.
Virton, 2209 hours
All was quiet as the Lancastrians and the Hussars scanned their surroundings from their concealed positions in the many bushes scattered around with the aid of their night vision goggles. As Julius scanned the shoreline for the would-be attackers, he caught sight of two cloaked figures facing the lake, with one of them in the midst of casting a spell.
The rest of the platoon also saw what was happening, and four Lancastrians, with Martin among them, crept up to them silently. They stopped eight meters from the two mages, and Martin made a hand signal. He turned away, as did two others, and the last soldier brought out an M84 flashbang. He quietly pulled the pin and threw it, shutting his eyes as soon as the grenade left his hand.
The mages, which were too focused on the lake, were too slow to react by the time the grenade landed at their feet, producing a deafening crash and a blinding light. They staggered, unsure of what had just happened, before they were tackled to the ground.
"Hostiles down! Move! Move!" Julius barked as he emerged from his cover, with the entire platoon converging on Martin's position. Louise, Guiche, and Montmorency followed close behind.
3rd Platoon then proceeded to disarm the two cloaked figures, and Julius removed their hoods to see who they were dealing with.
His face hardened as soon as he saw the faces.
"Kirche and Tabitha," Martin hissed. "Start talking. Now. What are you doing here? Why were you attacking the spirit?"
By then, every Lancastrian had their rifles aimed at the two mages, who looked around them in confusion until their eyes settled on Julius and the trio of mages behind him.
"S-s-s-sir Julius?" Kirche stammered. "What's going on? Why is – "
"I'm the one you're talking to, you fucking whore! Answer the question now before I blow your brain off!" Martin yelled.
Kirche flinched at the lieutenant's anger. "W-well, with the water levels rising, Tabitha's family's estate is being damaged due to the flood, so she was sent here to put an end to it," she replied.
Julius hummed in thought as he processed that information.
"Stand down, Lieutenant Mallory," he said. "I know that you're dedicated to your job, but please, take it easy."
Martin exhaled sharply. "Yes, sir."
The major glared at the two mages in front of him. "Just when I thought that we'd catch a break," he muttered.
He turned to Montmorency. "See if you can summon the water spirit again. I want to know why she keeps flooding the lake," he ordered.
Montmorency, who had just witnessed how efficiently these men operated, could only nod.
A few minutes later, the water spirit reappeared before them.
Julius stepped forward. "With all due respect, why are you flooding the area?" he asked.
The water spirit turned to the major. "I am doing so because one of your kind has stolen a treasure that was under my watch. Since I can only exist in water, I am overflowing the lake in the hopes that someday, I shall be able to retrieve the treasure," she replied.
Julius turned to Martin, who only gave him a clueless shrug.
"Wouldn't that take a long time? Years, decades, even centuries?" he asked.
"There's no helping it. You do know that us humans are mortal, the concept of time is much more different for the spirits, who are immortal," Montmorency explained.
The other mages and the Lancastrians could only murmur in agreement.
"I'll see if can do something to get it back," Julius said. "This treasure. Tell me about it."
"It is a ring that I have spent much of my time with. It is called Andvari's ring," the spirit replied.
Montmorency gasped as she heard the name.
"I've heard of it from somewhere. It's a ring that grants artificial life," she clarified.
"But who could have taken the ring?" Kirche inquired.
The spirit looked at Julius before she answered. "It was an individual. He is named Cromwell, that's all I know."
The Lancastrians immediately bristled in anger or disgust at the name. Julius narrowed his eyes, a feeling of rage welling up inside him.
"Son of a bitch," one of the privates muttered. "Cromwell? As in Oliver Cromwell, the mass-murdering bastard?"
The spirit turned to the private. "You know this person?" she asked.
"Oh, we know him, alright," Julius seethed. "In our world, in our nation, there was once a man who bore that exact same name. He sought to overthrow our monarchy, plunging our nation into three civil wars. He killed many who opposed him."
He clenched his fist. "My ancestor was one of them."
Martin walked up to him. "Major, are we going to get the ring?"
Julius stared at the water spirit, his face wrought with wrath.
"It won't be easy, but I'll be damned if I don't do it," he answered.
He then addressed the spirit. "You don't have to ask, because I plan on getting that ring back if it means eliminating that bastard," he glowered.
Guiche only stared in disbelief. "How could anyone earn her trust so easily? She just doesn't believe in anyone right away."
"I believe in him," the spirit interjected. "Gandálfr made a pact with me in the distant past, and he has honored that pact. If Gandálfr swears an oath, he will fulfill it."
Julius turned on his rifle's safety. "Return the lake's water level back to normal, and we'll put Cromwell on top of our hit list," he said.
The spirit's form began to deteriorate. "I shall do so," she said, before disappearing back into the water with a huge splash.
He turned to his men as he made his way to the tanks. "I want a two-hour watch. We'll leave at 0600 hours tomorrow. Get some shuteye."
Reconquista Command Center, Londinium, 2241 hours
The conference room was empty, save for three individuals. Wardes and Fouquet, who had just arrived from Tristain, stood before Cromwell.
"The time has come to proceed with the next part of our plan. Do not fail me," Cromwell said.
"As you command, Your Highness," Fouquet acknowledged, a smirk on her lips.