316 days after capture
The camp was vibrant as men drank and cheered after successfully taking over a town, the air filled with music and hollering of men. Andrew and the rest of the slaves were treated very well by these rebels whom followed their charismatic leader Zeeman whom led a army of peasants against the Saderan empire. They along with the addition of the malnourished but determined freeman numbered twenty-seven thousand with many more villages that supported them in their march to Aureum.
After some looking around during the past fews weeks, he learned what exactly why they were fighting. These peasants or Rusticas as they called themselves followed the ideology of Turbism; the belief that the peasants as the majority of the population are the most important structure of the society and therefore should have a large, if not whole control over the decisions of a nation. They believed that a land without royalty and replaced by communities of autonomous settlements collectively working together would be the best option, similar to a federation or communist state. These band of rebels had fought alongside Volgolians in their war of independence but were brutally crushed with their original leader taking his life to prevent capture.
Though the snow had finally begun to melt, the air was still bitterly cold. Andrew was glad to have finally taken a warm bath as not even the dignity of self hygiene was given by their Saderan masters. Quickly after getting out of the wooden tub and drying off, the now freed man finally for the first time in a long time put on actual clothing. He wore shoes made of deer hide that resembled crocks, woolly tan pants, and a fur coat that was too big for his now skeleton body but it did it's job.
Suddenly there was a cry, "The Imperials are coming! They got calvary!" Andrew rushed out of the comfort of his tent and looked around to see hundreds of men race to get their pikes and shields as the faint sound of trumpets could be heard coming south. The men huddled into large square formations with pikes forming a wall of wood and iron like a porcupine, ready skewer anything foolish enough to face them. "Everyone in formation!" Yelled Zeeman, "Don't get caught out!" The wave of calvary appeared into view, sabers and lances at the ready.
Many lost their nerves and fled for their lives while any more stood their ground thanks to their albeit rather short training. "Hold!" He calls out while waving his sword in the air. "Hold!" Andrew who was in the middle of a formation without a weapon could hear his heart beating out of his chest. "Now!" Suddenly behind the wall of pikes men popped up and unleashed a terrible carnage upon the calvary that stopped an arm's length from the formations. Groups of slingers wiped rocks down range and hit men off their horses, the animals whining in fear as they quickly dashed away.
Those whom broke off weren't so lucky as they meet their ends at the end of a lance or a slash of a sword. The sounds of battle was deafening, unfiltered carnage was in full display and two completely opposite opponents duked it out for the fate of the northern plains. The minutes dragged onto hours and by the time the sun had began to set, the Imperials had retreated back south presumably to the nearest loyalist town. The men were too exhausted to cheer or celebrate their victory. Of the fifteen hundred men under Zeemans command, one hundred and thirty were killed with another ninety-seven wounded while the Imperials had about two hundred and fifty dead scattered across the field.
The Americans who had survived this long were battered and mentally drained, suffering near constant abuse for almost a year now, all not knowing about the conditions of their families whom also had been kidnapped. Even Andrew who's sole reason to survive was to get revenge felt the desperate ting of despair as fate mocked their attempt at reaching home. But still a battle won was a battle one, a chance to punish them for their cruelty against them.
Januses 21st 688 of the Imperial calendar
The doors to the throne room opened as a message silent entered with Zorzal sitting on his golden chair. "What message do you bring me?" His words cold and filled with malice. "My lord, it pains me to say I bring bad news from up north. The rebels have reached the town of Extituem which is just six leagues away from Aureum, they also have sent a letter for you my lord." The emperor was beyond furious and wanted it to be said quickly so he could sent the Imperial army to crush the peasant swine. "Go on man! What does that damned note speak of?" The messenger cleared his throat before speaking.
"To the Emperor of the Empire, the people have had enough of the treatment given to them by the upper class and shall break the shackles binding us together. As the majority we have the rights to the sway of the realm and will no longer be controlled politically by Sadera no longer, as the good people of the northern territories proclaim the United Peasants' districts of Aquilonia and a righteous battle to topple the Imperial crown. Soon the entire continent of Falmart shall be owned by the people and the people alone as equals." But unfortunately for him there was more.
"We inform that all slaves we encounter will be freed, all of nobility will be hung, all who defend the wicked Imperial system will be hunted down, and we'll be at your doorstep soon. We formally declare revolution and will not stop until our goals are met in absolute. We already have thousands who have pledged their lives for our noble cause and more will follow. The revolution shall dispose the Imperial family and replace it with a fairer system of governance. The United Peasants' districts of Aquilonia is the rightful ruler of the land and-" "HOW DARE THEY!!!!" He screeched, "Those Damned scum! I'll have every last one of them crucified and skinned alive!! I want you to give this message to Venator, he is to lead the thirty-fourth and thirty-seventh legions against those traitors." "Understood my lord!" The messenger quickly hurried out to escape his wrath.
Januses 23rd, 688 of the Imperial calendar
Governor Gulica was dripping sweet as he looked outside to see a massive mob outside his residence, shouting curses and waving red banners. Many men he had sent to suppress them had either joined them or had their heads placed on pikes for all to see, fearing he'd be next. All means of escape was cut off and he was now reliant on reinforcements to break the siege. "My lord, it's not wise your you to stay so close to the window." Said a maid but he didn't care. "Get out of my sight you elven hag!" She withdrew silently as the orange glow of fire lit up the night sky. He could hear the words they were chanting, slogans like 'down with the nobility!' or 'liberation or death!'
'Gods be damned...why of all places my city? What have I done to deserve this?' He thought as the crowd outside out bigger and bigger like a fungus. The there was a loud bang and shouts could be heard, he stormed out of his chambers before down the hallway to find a guard. His wish was granted as one came bolted from around the corner and almost bumped into him, the governor almost reprimanding him until he saw his condition.
The young man had wild eyes, a large cut on his temple, and his breast plate armor was covered in blood. "What's happening soldier?! Speak up!" The guard only muttered, "They're inside..." His blood went icy cold and skin turned pale. Without another word the guard showed Gulica aside and ran down the hallway, seeming trying to take off his armor. "Wait, come back you coward!" But his words fell on deaf ears shortly before he felt something hit in on the back of the head.
He was out for a little while before he came to and felt himself being dragged. Gulica barely had enough strength to lift his head up to see his hands bound and being dragged along by a mule surrounded by two walls of anger people. The man quickly realized his position and immediately began crying out to help, hoping someone would answer his pleas. Instead fruit, dung and curses were thrown at him as he was hauled to a forum where a group of about a dozen men stood by a tree. "Help! I beg of you! Please!" But he wailing wasn't heeded to, nor did anyone listen at all for that matter.
By the time the pack animal had stopped, he suffered a large abrasion wound on his back and legs while blood dripped from his head injury. The tunic meanwhile was covered by everything imaginable and wouldn't ever be able to be worn again, definitely not by it's owner who was surrounded by peasants fueled by revolution. "Bring him here!" Shouted a voice and one man with a knife walked up to him before cutting the rope that connected him to the mule though his hand were still tied. "Get up you greedy swine!" The man barked as he kicked the noble in the gut, then noble crawled onto his feet and was herded to the tree while the crowds' words were blended into a massive roar.
"The people of Aureum! Your days of living in squalor for this tyrant is over!" Boomed the man in front of him and the crowd cheered. He wore white clothing and had his black hair tied in a ponytail, thick sideburns reaching the near end of his cheeks. "Tonight the elites in Sadera will understand our pain, our suffering, our vengeance! Tonight, is the night the revolution will fully blossom and a new world reborn; where all men are equal as brothers under the owl's gaze. Long live the revolution! Long live Aquilonia!" The people were basically foaming at the mouth and Gulica, despite being a grown man began to weep. "Mercy! Mercy I beg of you!" "Quit your yapping you rat!" The man growled, "You weren't thinking of mercy when you sent those men to their doom." He said before slapping him, earning a laugh from the peasants.
"But we haven't come here to hear him cry have we?" This mysterious man says and the crowd response with a very predictable answer. "What do you want?" "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" They all collectively screech like demons while the torches give them the appearances of such. "Today Governor Gulica...for the crimes you have committed against the people of the northern territory of Aquilonia, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging!"
"N-n-no! No! Please! For whatever happened I'm sorry please, I-" His killers wasted no time tightening the noose around his neck and kicked the already down man as he grasped at the noose with his tied hands. He could only watch as they swung the rope over a branch and tied the end to the mule, a man with a incomplete smile smacked the animal on the rear end and up he went. The noblemen kicked and gasped while the mob was in an uproar, taking delight at his slow death. He saw he life flash before his eyes and thought of his wife and son, whom would now be without any wealth to survive on, without anyone to defend them. He thought of regret as his mind wondered to the short scandal he had with the daughter of the former emperor's brother, breaking his vows for just a few moments of lust. He thought of his six year old son who would ask how his father was like instead of seeing him for himself.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he first felt light head, and then begin to lose consciousness. The man struggled to fight it off and in his finally moments asked the gods for one simple wish, 'Dear gods, I pray to you, watch over my family for me...' He soon after that left the mortal realm and moved on to the afterlife. The rebels in celebration poured buckets full of urine and wyvern oil on him before settling the body alight. All across the city of gold the people of higher status and affiliation to the government were hunted down, entire families lynched in a feverish frenzy of bloodlust.
Palaces and villas were burned to the ground, riches were plunders and laid out across the ground for looters to snatch, red flags with a golden owl replaced the Imperial ones as the night lit up blood red. It was revolution and beginning of the end of the six hundred and eighty-eight years of Saderan role over Falmart; and the rise of the owl.