The dull thuds of a hammer being filled within the great hall of Castle Artois was music to Duke Chilfroy's ears as he observed with great pleasure a mighty bestigor's head being mounted onto the walls along with the rest of his collection. It was one of the few rare times he would allow himself to smile openly as he marveled at the fruits of his most recent hunt. For any other fledgling knight, let alone a peasant, they may have found themselves, victim, to the nonexistent mercies of a bestigor, one of the most vile yet brutal of the tainted beastmen. For someone over 7 feet tall and with the prowess that could marvel even a grail knight, it was a good way to get some exercise for the current Duke of Artois.

What he marveled at even more was the fact that it was the only sound that filled the great hall, so barren and quiet was the space. Many courtiers and plaintiffs knew better than to waste his time with such frivolities as court cases and the like. Indeed, the sound of his most recent trophy was akin to harmony to his ears as he could lean back on his ornate chair, close his eyes and smile at the chorus of it all.

Or at least that was what he had intended had the doors not been swung open abruptly without warning.

Immediately frowning he, was getting ready to admonish whoever would dare disturb his peace, especially considering he had given specific instructions to not allow his peacetime to be disturbed at this moment.

Yet the one who had disturbed the peace had given him pause. Especially once he saw the muddied, and frankly battered-looking form of his vassal and brother-in-law knight of ruling Gisoreux in his stead: Lord Gerome De Gisoreux.

"I assume you have a good reason as to why you're not in Gisoreux lord Gerome?" Chilfroy asked in his booming and baritone voice. "As well as a reason as to why you haven't bothered to make yourself presentable in my court?...and did I tell you to stop?" He directed the last question towards the man who was hammering in the bestigor's head, who immediately went back to what he was doing at the admonishment.

Once had crossed halfway across the room, A the battered and exhausted looking Gerome, exhaled and then kneeled before his liege lord. "My lord Duke of Artois...I have failed you most egregiously."

"...in what way?"

"...The Barrow Legion from Blackstone Post...has defeated our garrison forces in Gisoreux and has taken both the settlement and most likely the neighboring villages that surrounded it...I ask for your mercy in this regard and allow me to repent for my actions through the coming battles ahead."

A pregnant pause had filled the room, and once again the blacksmith had halted his work once more at the earth-shatteringly shocking news. After a smoldering glare directed his way from the lord of the castle, however, his work continued with more frantic energy to it.

As the hammering resumed in the room, Gerome couldn't help but, look away at the pointed look he received from his liege lord. "Gisoreux...has fallen? To that wretch Kemmler?" Chilfroy said more to himself than his vassal. "That pox-ridden fiend has taken my land is now perverting it for whatever unholy sorceries he's been conjuring back in Blackstone Post?"

Taking a quick swallow, Gerome had a response. "Not Kemmler...Kemmler is...Kemmler is dead my lord."

That took Chilfory aback. "You...managed to slay the Lichemaster, yet his men still defeated you?"

"N-no! He had perished before the undead had arrived. Apparently, he died in his sleep and his forces are now under the leadership of some foreigner! An arrogant foreigner who made a concerted effort to insult us and the Lady! Calling her a Lake-hag amongst other obscenities!"

Once again, only the hammering of the wall filled the room, as Chilfroy took a deep breath before retorting. "You were defeated by some upstart foreigner with no sight of Kemmler?...even after he had insulted the lady."

"B-but my lord! W-we did not have any knights to call upon! W-

"And you believe that's good enough?" It was then that Chilfroy stood. His large, bulky 7ft frame casting a large shadow within the room. "It would appear as though I was wrong to place my trust in you. Though placing my trust in the husband of my sister was always going to rankle my nerves, I never knew it would trouble me so."

"Please my lord! Let me redeem myself in your eyes and that of the lady!" The knight begged, pressing his head down onto the ground. "Allow me to fight by your side when we bring a relief force back to Gisoreux! I beg you! Please!"

The scowl on Chilfroy's face remained, yet that did not stop him from continuing his line of questioning. "What forces did they bring to bear against you? What were their numbers?

"A-around two thousand mayhaps my lord. They had all manner of horrifying creatures at their beck and call that you would normally find from the red duke of Mousillon. Zombies and skeletons using anything and everything they could get their hands on...and phantoms...ghostly phantoms wielding sickles and removing the life of the peasantry like wheat in a field...said peasants didn't stand a chance my lord."

"Then their numbers will have grown." Chilfroy ground out, stepping forward until his shadow was darkening a now trembling Gerome's body. "You have not only allowed these decrepit men to take land that belonged to me...to our King! But, you have allowed their forces to grow and to spread untold horrors onto my land! The other lords will see weakness in me, and may take advantage of the fact thanks to your carelessness!"

"We can still snuff this force, my lord!" Gerome pleaded, now looking up at his lord and his black-bearded, fury-filled face. "W-we can still crush them! We still inflicted some losses on them! Should you rally your knights and the peasantry around your castle then crushing them should be of little concern!"

It was then that once more only hammering filled the room again, with Chilfroy going eerily silent a the pleading tone of Gerome. The Duke of Artois went silent for a beat before turning around stepping away from his vassal, staring at his ornate chair pointedly before speaking.

"...There are no Knightley regiments to call upon."

And then just like that, the hammering stopped once more. This time Chilfroy didn't bother correcting the now gaping Blacksmith who looked at the dismembered bestigor with horror on his face. Something that was almost matched by the look of utter disbelief on Gerome's tired face."

"...Surely you jest."

"I never jest. Least of all concerning this."

"...how?...why?"

"...As you may recall, our Great King Louen Leoncuer, recently just finished taking part of an errantry war against the Norscons that were launching raids against us for Albion, greatly weakening their position there."

"I...yes, of course, it was the gossip for all the realm. But, what does that have to-

"Our king required troops...many troops, especially knights. So naturally, he sent a request to all of the great dukes of the realm, requesting any knights that we get could spare, from the most junior of Errant Knights to the most elite Grail knights...A great deal of the plunder made from the Errantry war would be given to us as a result, so naturally I...gave a great lion's share of those knights to our King, hoping to not only have a large share of the plunder but also to get in our Royarch's good graces. It has worked in both regards, but as you can see…"

Gerome sputtered. "B-but can't you send a request to him? Recall the knights to defend your realm, less the lady's land, fall to a threat within rather than a threat without! Surely he would be understandin-

"That's not the issue!" Chilfroy roared, his deep voice reverberating through the room. "It will take too long you fool! King Louen's forces are deeply invested in the north, and a messenger bird will take time to reach him, never mind the time that it will take for my knights to return! By then, if this new master of the Barrow Legion is no fool he would have already surrounded the walls, turning me into a prisoner of my blasted holding! All because your incompetence was unable to prevent this issue from gaining momentum!"

"Wh-I!...How could I have known that things would be in-...I was lucky to get out of the battle alive! My fellow knights were not so lucky!" Gerome bit back, standing up to his feet and having to look up at his imposing form. "How was I to know that you would foolishly expend all of our great fighting force to kiss the arse of the king-Gurk!" Said lord found himself lifted by a very grisly and irate-looking Duke.

"You would do well to watch your tone boy. You should pray to the lady of the lake that I should be generous enough to let you continue in holding Gisoreux after I have finished cleaning up your mess. If you didn't share my dear wife's sheets you would be cleaning the pots and pans for the coming siege that will no doubt inevitably come to MY castle! Now if you can't be relied upon to defend my lands, I should at least rely upon you to gather my armies!" And with a mighty heave, he threw the lord of Gisoreux onto the floor who landed in a heap, coughing and sputtering at the sudden impact.

"Go send a message to the many lesser lords that live in the land!" Chilfroy boomed. "Tell them to gather their levies! As many as they can! Send every able-bodied peasant to my castle as swiftly as possible! I care not if you have to empty every single one of our farms, I want it done! And while you're at it, whip the blacksmiths to work! Peasants are fickle and useless enough as it is when they aren't toiling in the fields! They'll need all the help they can get to have a decent weapon in their hands as evidenced by your own folly!"

When Gerome blinked at the demand, Chilfroy's voice boomed through the room once more. "Go! Before I tell your wife the next time I see her that you at least died with some dignity at Gisoreux!"

After that, Gerome needed no more motivation to scamper out of the room swiftly, thoroughly brow-beaten, and now swiftly going out to accommodate the demands of his liege.

Scowling furiously at his stepbrother, Chilfroy turned his menacing gaze towards the blacksmith, who looked startled at the glare being directed at him. "How bloody long are you going to keep me waiting to finish with that damned head!?"

Loud banging filled the room once more as Chilfroy himself made to leave the Great hall, his good mood thoroughly ruined at the folly of some foppish knights.

And how quickly his mood was ruined indeed, as he left the great hall of his castle. Just earlier that morning he was clearing out some wretched beastmen with his personal retinue of knights, basking in the glory of it all, only to hear that his damnable cousin had made everything go so wrong.

Still. The situation wasn't hopeless. Far from it in fact, if his cousin was to be believed regarding Kemmler's death. That horrid necromancer had been a blight on the lands of Brettonia for far too long, but he was simply far too powerful to dislodge from Blackstone Post without it being too costly. Still...if he could break this foreign replacement upon the walls of castle Artois itself, then he should have little to fear in exacting vengeance against the Barrow legion. Mayhaps he could even convince other dukes of the realm to join in to snuff out the undead threat once and for all...at least where that region in the Northern Grey mountains is concerned. Mousillon...that was another matter entirely.

And though he knew it was a fruitless endeavor, he took care to pay a visit to his bird handler, swiftly orchestrating a message to be sent to his king in the north requesting that his knights be brought back immediately. He knew that they wouldn't arrive in time for the coming battle most likely, but it was worth a shot.

At the very least, they could be of great use to leading the savage counterblow to these undead hordes once the time was right.

…

Not far from the outskirts of Gisoreux, from a distance in a forest nearby, one could clearly see the undead horde which had butchered the garrison of Gisoreux not too long ago was mustering forward from within the town. Zombies were lumbering forward as fast as their rotted legs would carry them, skeletons armed with spears, swords, and ramshackle armor marched behind in unison, and clusters of phantoms with hollow yet snarling hounds surged past them, taking up the flanks for the undead horde as they moved forward in precision. If one looked even closer, they could see the gaunt, darkly dressed necromancers of varying shapes and sizes scattered about the horde holding their staffs beside them and urging this ball of undead monstrosity forward with mental commands and dark incantations.

In the center of it all stood Lyle Spoletta, his dark robe fitting his toned body as he smirked proudly and calmly utop his skeletal horse, slightly wincing for every move that it made with the dark-haired and gloomy Fredericka not far from his side, seemingly talking to him all the while whilst on her own skeletal mount.

"Should we end his petty little conquest in its cradle? Here and now?" A wood elf way watcher with blonde hair asked, peering at the wretched sight at Gisoreux with night sky-colored eyes. She and two other similarly dressed female elves continued watching to the point where a cart for equipment was following the group of undead along with other carts and baggage. A small supply train of sorts. Small and mobile enough since the undead forces only need to feed the necromantic humans that commanded them.

"But, why move so hastily?" A dark-haired elf asked with an amused tone in her voice. "Ever since we disrupted that doomed peace talk from earlier, that human clearly in charge has been nothing short of interesting. Why not watch him a little longer?"

"So that he doesn't prove to be a nuisance later on. Kemmler may be dead, but we should not stop at just him." Came the quick and sharp reply from the blonde elf.

"I don't recall us receiving orders to kill all of them."

"All of them are threats to the Athel Loren and her majesty. Kemmler proved that on the day he attacked us during the winter at our weakest."

"Melil, be honest, you see anything that isn't one of us a threat."

"As should y-

"Silence." Came the authoritative voice from the third elf with long willowy white hair, not taking her bright white eyes of the undead host. "So far it appears as though the necromancers are blissfully unaware of our connection to the attack that we launched during the peace talks, and your overly obnoxious speaking threatens that deception."

"Vumira, please. We're leagues away from them." The brunette tittered.

"And much like yourself, the forest has ears."

"Is the forest not our greatest ally?"

"Not all of them." Came the cool reply from Vumira. The brunette was about to speak up again when a whistling sound broke through the air, followed by a loud yet dull *thunk*. Calmly turning to their left the wood elves saw parchment wrapped around an arrow of elegant make lodged into a tree, not far from them.

Melil, being the closest to the arrow plucked it and unrolled the parchment, reading with a focused visage.

"Well? Are we to rejoin the others? I'm sure they must be bragging to the rest in the party about our collective failure to kill even a single necromancer." The brunette chuckled to herself.

"We are to continue shadowing them."

"For how long?" Vumira asked, clearly dreading the answer.

"Until the conclusion of whatever happens at castle Artois, unless the barrow legion deviates from this we are to follow them until the conclusion of the battle." Melil laughed sardonically. "More or less, until the backward brettonians get their act together and crush this paltry undead horde to bits."

"I wouldn't call it a horde." The brunette smiled. "In spite of that, I would wager that things might not go the way of these chivalric short lifers."

"A wager you would put your bow on, Arina?"

"Our lives are long. I can live with such a wager."

"Does it say anything about affecting the outcome of the battle? Or about killing this...Lyle Spoletta?"

"Only to observe." Melil answered, clearly not happy herself with the answer. "It is never our place to question the queen...but still...to allow this human to live is-

"To keep the brettonians on their toes." Vumira sighed, already deducing the reasoning. "To rouse them from languishing about in their short lifer frivolity of playing knight and feasting in their castle, to prepare them for what is to come. They are the first shield between the northerners and Athel Loren after all. Without a suitable wake-up call far too many of them will die before the dark gods' worshippers are at the forests' entry."

"But, to rely on the undead…" Melil groused, holding a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "I will pray to the gods that those necromancers perish soon enough. It will be entertaining at least watch their anguished cries in the face of their own hubris."

"That's the spirit sister." Arina smiled beneath her mask. "One should enjoy the frivolties our blessed lives bring us! Also, what will I win should this Spoletta survive?"

"Would my daggers suffice?"

Vumira tuned her fellow way watchers out, focusing on the necromancer in particular with critical eyes. Gaining his name was easy enough when listening to the right conversations. Where the forest touched, their ears extended after all, friendly or not. Yet Vumira couldn't help but share Melil's concern. Though she trusted Queen Ariel's reasoning above all else, concern still found a way to worm itself into her mind. She was personally hoping the backwatered brettonians would crush what was left of this necromantic host after Kemmler's demise. She'd been hoping such would be the case after they had inserted the false rumors and messages to both Gisoreux and Blackstone Post to start the confrontation in the first place.

Ever since she was a child running through the forest with childlike amazement, she'd developed a talent at noticing when something was amiss or unnatural...or as unnatural one could be in the sacred forest of Athel Loren. She could always tell if something was amiss with a certain animal, or if a certain forest spirit wasn't feeling particularly friendly towards her and elven kind in general. Seeing this human even from afar unsettled Vumira particularly because of how much of a stark contrast he was to other necromancers.

Where his counterparts seemed gaunt, gloomy, and bordering on death itself, his skin seemed tan yet lively, his facial features strong, cocky, yet bordering on arrogance. It wasn't the type of arrogant disdain that other necromancers had over anything living, but an arrogance that seemed more tied in with general over-confidence than anything else. Much like a brettonian noble, but...different. The conversations listened to by the other necromancers on this campaign expressed as much leading with many of said sorcerers feeling perplexed and confused themselves.

Yes...she would hope that such a man perished at Artois. Maybe it was that she was getting paranoid along with her age, but she couldn't help but feel unsettled when looking at such a man.

She wondered if that was why the lady Ariel was having them closely monitor the situation in the first place.