It took a week to march his army though the sludge and snows to the aptly named Snowmire. The town had become swollen into a city as refugees flooded towards it, the nexus point for trade now being a beacon for those who were now destitute and homeless after the storms that had ravaged Atlas so devastatingly. If Alexander didn't know better he would have thought Weiss to be a servant for the Goddess, that malignant being who sought to destroy everything and everyone. For all of her faults, Weiss was not someone who would pursue the destruction of the end of the world, her morals and adherence to duty held her back in that regard, as it held her back in many regards and allowed him to topple her from her high throne.
The slowness of his travel was due to both the size of his mighty army and the shocking and rapidly deteriorating state of Atlas' infrastructure. The Solitas Road had been a feat of spectacular will and engineering that even Alexander could admire. Through his desire to ease commerce and boost the efficiency of its trade, King Jacques had created something long thought impossible due to Atlas' inherently harsh nature, he had created a paved road that connected every major settlement in Atlas and even petered off into less well-kept paths to the littler villages and towns less strategically important to Atlas' trade network. His dream had made trade faster and smoother, as merchants did not have to rely on beaten shepherds path prone to being destroyed by avalanches in the winter and so they weren't held hostage to the whims of guides who'd driven up the cost of trade with their hefty fees.
The Solitas Road had lost much of its glory after the storms. Avalanches, ice and too much snow had overwhelmed much of the road, and combined with a lack of maintenance it was starting to fall apart, slowing the speed with which his army could advance across the land. Weeks earlier his travel to Nördliche Burg after the storms had hit had been smoother, though not without bumps. Much of the land had been covered in ice, and although slippery it was at least firm, so that his horse and the wagons they pulled could at least move on firmer ground.
Much of the ice and the snows had melted now, leaving behind an increasingly boggy mire of mud, mud and mud that kept trying to drown his horses and the heavy wagons that carried his supplies. Even his more elite troops, those with full plate armour and weapons were slow and sluggish, prone to sinking in the mud and needing rescue from their less armoured comrades. Many had shed their equipment and added it the spare wagons, though that had only created an even greater logistical nightmare as more and more wagons kept sinking in the slippery mud that seemed to have a mind of his own.
The effect this had was both annoying and worrying. The annoying part stemmed from the slow progress he and his army made at a time where speed was key. The seas had already been frozen over and the golden time to sail before winter was rapidly nearing its end. If he did not reach the coast soon there was a high chance he would be stuck in Atlas as heavy winds and violent waves set in during the winter months, time his sister could use to prepare an army and rebuild the shambles of her current reign.
The worrying part stemmed from the plummeting morale in his men. He had to keep them on a tight reign for as long as they stayed in Atlas, and as many of the men served Acteon that meant they had the same bloodthirsty and sadistic tendencies as their liege. Most soldiers expected a share of the loot and oftentimes a blind eye to them to the times they may seek to sate their frustrations on the women of those they conquered, their own wives and lovers far away and unable to care for them in that respect. But Acteon's men were a different breed of soldier, just like Acteon was a different breed of evil. Acteon had only instilled the most basic idea of discipline in them, in the respect that they obey his orders and stand firm against their enemies, and apart from that he had let them loose. No, he'd encouraged them to be as evil and depraved as he was. The long march through Atlas before Alexander had put his foot down showed just what exactly those men were capable of and what it was they expected to be allowed to do, something Alexander and a minority of his army found utterly disgusting.
So not only was morale already suffering due to Alexander's stringent orders, it was now rapidly free falling as they plodded through endless, slippery mud and had to wait around or help dig out the supply wagons as they got stuck in the endless, ever slippery mud for the hundredth time in a day. Alexander made sure to guard his tent with the few men he felt he could trust to not cut his throat in his sleep and who also didn't share a loyalty or taste towards Acteon or Acteon's tendencies, fearing he could be killed by his own men after the disgruntlement of his troop became louder and louder.
"You need to let them loose." Acteon shrugged, when Alexander finally caved to his own warring mind and brought his concerns to the only other man of seniority in his army. "They are wolves, and ever since we've treated with the Atlesians you have asked them to behave like dogs. Let them run free again and get rid of there pent up energy and things will be right as rain."
"And if the Atlesians decide they don't like a rogue, foreign army murdering and raping and doing Goddess knows what else to their own people?" Alexander replied, raising an eyebrow sceptically.
"If they send an army we'll kill that army." Acteon shrugged carelessly. "Besides, who'd give them the order to come get us? They have no leader, and if any force does march against us it will likely be a motley crew of ragtag nobles, not the full strength of Atlas, though the full strength of Atlas isn't much these days."
That had been on the fifth day since they departed from Nördliche Burg, and Alexander had been torn over whether to follow the words of the bloodthirsty maniac or not. On the night of the sixth day his guards killed a soldier trying to break into Alexander's tent at night. They hadn't had the time to discern his motive, but the drawn sword he carried, naked steel gleaming in the moonlight, had sent a clear message about his intention.
Shaken but unwilling to admit it, Alexander gave the decree that once the army had restocked their supply in Snowmire and made for Vulcan then they could enjoy their waltz through the Atlesian countryside a little more. Any reports of the inevitable pillaging that would follow would take time to reach Nördliche Burg and it would take even longer for the Atlesians to muster a suitable host to track them down and destroy them, by which point Alexander intended to be sailing towards Mistral. The news spread quickly and was met with gleeful jubilation from Acteon's men and quiet acceptance from those who had been more in line with Alexander's views, though from then on his core of loyal troops declined as those who opposed the utter savagery of Acteon and his men merely gave Alexander disdainful looks at best and looks of betrayal at worst.
The morale boost, for much of the army at least, gave them the strength they needed to put up with the wagons getting stuck once again and by the end of the week they had reached Snowmire, though the town struggled to accommodate the army when it was already filled with refugees. Rather than risk staying long Alexander bought as much food as he could and marched through the town, the local guards forming a wall separating his men from the locals who watched curiously. Alexander wondered if they would be so willing to turn their backs to his troops if they realised just how monstrous many of them truly were.
The incredibly brief stay at Snowmire was a minor change to his plan he was willing to accept. He could bolster his supplies through the plunder his troops would soon commit and he would not have to worry about his men running rampant in Snowmire. Considering just how many refugees there were he did not want think about how many of said refugees would likely disappear overnight if he had indeed stayed there as planned.
Two days after travelling from Snowmire his army started to shrink. Many of the more moderate troops who had been loaned from Atlas deserted as soon as they could, and many of Acteon's troops were sent out in raiding parties to target any hamlet or village they passed with the strict orders to take everything not bolted down. They would get a cut of what was taken, as well as the right to do as they wished to the inhabitants of the villages they looted, and the results were worryingly spectacular. His treasury, greatly depleted after buying what overpriced food supplies that could be spared and were on sale at Snowmire, was swollen and quickly laden with stolen goods. After three days of unrestricted raiding the wagons assigned to the purpose of keeping his gold and loot secure were entirely full, and as a result he let his men take a greater cut of the spoils of war.
Although the slopes of the mountain Snowmire rested on gradually gave way to rolling, muddy hills the journey became easier the further they travelled. The colours of burning villages could be seen raging in the night, and often Acteon would slip away with his men to take part in the killing, pillaging and inevitable torturing that would come with the latter two under his guidance, leaving Alexander behind to make sure the wagons kept moving and they remained true to their course of Vulcan. Alexander had already hired a number of ships that should be gathering at Vulcan, but he worried the Atlesians may destroy his makeshift fleet if word of his army's lessened discipline spread quicker than he hoped. He sent a contingent of cavalry ahead to secure Vulcan and the fleet, weakening his main army further so that only a few hundred remained during the day to help drag the wagons out of the mud when they inevitably became trapped in the mire that was Atlas.
Two weeks after passing through Snowmire and with Vulcan only two more days of marching away, Acteon returned with his men, a satisfied smile on his face and a bringing with him a number of wagons laden with a range of booty.
"Where did you find those?" Alexander asked, wide-eyed and shocked at the sight. They would certainly be useful or when they campaigned through Mistral, which was much larger than Atlas and whose population was unevenly spread, meaning they may go weeks without passing by a town with enough supplies to feed the army.
"Some town to the west." Acteon answered blasely. "Don't worry about the Atlesians finding out. I'm pretty sure we killed everyone inside the place, which is a new record even for me."
The fact he said the words as if they were something to be proud of sickened Alexander to his core, but because he needed Acteon so desperately he forced a smile onto his face and made himself seem impressed by Acteon's deeds.
"If that is the case then good work." Alexander said. "Either way I don't think we need to worry about the Atlesians for much longer Vulcan is near and from there we're headed home."
"Indeed we are." Acteon smiled, giving Alexander a look he didn't much appreciate. "We'll have to fight your sister. Likely kill her too. Are you certain you're capable of doing that?"
"I'll do what I have to in order to take what is rightfully mine." Alexander replied. "Even if that means removing my sister out of the way of the throne."
"I believe you." Acteon shrugged. "The men don't. They rarely see you, and they think I'm insane for backing what seems like a lost cause. Your sister could have all of Mistral at her back, whereas you only have me."
"Do we face a significant threat of mutiny?" Alexander asked worriedly, and Acteon smiled in reply, though it showed more teeth and seemed more like the smile a wolf might give a sheep to make it lower its guard.
"Do you face a significant threat of mutiny?" Acteon retorted, before shaking his head. "Not yet. But the men are uneasy."
"And what would ease them Acteon?" Alexander asked, frustration bleeding into his tone. "I've let them do as they wish for the past week and still they take issue with me. What else can I do?"
"Make it clear you're a king of the people." Acteon smirked. "Join in on the festitivites, show you're like them and they'll fight for you."
"What do you want me to do Acteon?" Alexander asked warily, and Acteon turned and beckoned for Alexander to follow.
"We brought some...other spoils of war back with us." Acteon said as they walked through the camp, the hairs on the back of Alexander's neck rising when he heard the piercing shrieks of scared women going through Goddess only knew what. "We'll be done with them by the time we set sail, but its a good opportunity for you to show your true colours to the men, to show you're like them. They'll like that, like that you're like them, so they'll be more willing to fight for you when the time comes."
"What do you want me to do Acteon?" Alexander asked again, fighting a rising tide of fear as Acteon slung an arm over Alexander's shoulder and tugged him closer so that he whispered into his ear.
"I made sure to bring one back just for you, Your Imperial Majesty." Acteon said giddily, the formality seeming like a joke coming from the man. "No-one's touched her, no-one's used her. She's all yours. Show the men what you're capable of. That'll get them talking, but in all the right ways rather than all the wrong ones."
Acteon pushed him forward and Alexander found himself stood in front of a crowd of curious soldiers, all of them adorned in Acteon's colours and eyeing him with suspicion and curiosity. Two burly men pushed through the ring of soldiers and tossed a girl before him, and she looked at him with with hope shining through red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
"You're their leader aren't you?" The girl gasped. "The one they don't like. Spare me milord! Please! I won't tell anyone what happened, I'll do anything you want just don't hurt me please!"
Her words tore through him like a dozen blades, and Alexander looked around the ring of men to see them watching, enraptured by the sight of their king-to-be debasing himself to their level. Many of them had their hands on the hilt of their blades, the message of what may happen clear should he spare the girl and push them too far. He caught sight of Acteon in the crowd, and the Duke nodded encouragingly.
The sickness of the situation settled around him like a lead weight, and he felt utterly trapped. He was surrounded by Acteon's men, many of whom disliked him, and he was expected to something vile in order to earn their respect.
He was arrogant. He could concede that. He was a prick, he could concede that too. But...this? This wasn't who he was. This wasn't what he wanted. He despised Acteon and the depravities he sought. He despised himself for bringing him to this situation and he hated the world for being so stupid and cruel.
"Looks like his majesty can't get it up." One of the men jested, earning laughter that made Alexander's flush with anger and humiliation.
"Or perhaps he's getting cold feet." One of the other soldiers muttered darkly, thumbing the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Acteon should show him what we do to deserters."
"Let me at 'im." Said another, licking his lips in a way that made Alexander shudder as the soldier stared at him. "I reckon he'd squeal like a stuck pig."
"If I trust his Imperial Majesty, so can you louts." Acteon said, earning laughs and mumbles of agreement. His dark eyes were fixated on Alexander's, and Alexander knew that was his last chance to make a decision before he was met with a grisly end.
"I'm so sorry." He thought, though that did nothing to ease the utter hatred he felt swell within himself towards his own being and it certainly did nothing to calm the girl once she realised Alexander wasn't there to help her. "Pyrrha, sister, kill me and my men and make it slow."
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Mistral, her kingdom, was in a state of dissarray.
Her return from defeat was muted and quiet at first. The Duke of Argus had recieved her warmly and had joined her on the march south to Haven, where word arrived from Lord Hector of another army marshalling. The news of the storms that had led to their defeat had been spun into rumour of the Atlesians using magic to beat her armies, to what they couldn't do in the battlefield. The fact she had been winning battle after battle before the storms paid credence to the propaganda masterstroke Lord Hector managed to pull, and many of Mistral's lords rallied behind her war banner, knowing that with much of the old guard dead in Atlas they could know advance their careers and maybe expand their domains when Atlas was conquered and under Mistral's heel.
Many were silent however, sending excuses when asked for reasons why they did not send support to the gathering army. Then the word spread of Alexander making his own claim to the throne, and with that word came rumour of her own incomptence being the reason behind her defeat in Atlas.
Much of her army in Atlas had been her own personal forces, whether that be levies from Haven and her Imperial estates or the slave guard who were raised from birth to serve Mistral's Regina Maxima or its Summus Rex. Much of that force was gone, and she had to rely on the force brought by her vassals to assemble an army.
The bulk of Pyrrha's army was concentrated at Haven, though warbands loyal to her were scattered across Mistral's great landmass. The Inquisition had sided with Alexander, claiming the men were favoured by the Goddess and so more worthy to rule than a woman. The new rhetoric was insulting but not surprising. Alexander had always had contacts in the Inquisition, and Pyrrha had made sure to keep the instiution at arms length throughout her reign to prevent it form becoming more powerful than it already was.
The number of lords who supported Alexander had been minimal at first, but after the Inquisition defected so did another dozen or so Dukes. Funnily enough the Church itself backed Pyrrha, and with the Inquisition supporting Alexander many were starting to believe the coming conflict was not just a dynastic civil war but also a religious to determine whether a more moderate or extreme form of religion would take root in Mistral. Her support waned as the most fervent zealots defected but also grew as thsoe disaffected with the Inquisition joined her cause. By the time she reached Haven the small bodyguard of one hundred surviving slaves, including Richard, who had remained by her side since she had returned to Mistral and who recovered easily from his wound against the sea monster, had swollen to an army of four thousand. Lord Hector reported double that number at Haven and at least another twenty thousand scattered across Mistral. The size of Alexander's force was not known, but Pyrrha knew it could not be larger than her own.
She spent a week recovering in Haven, which had managed to be partially rebuilt using the spoils of war sent back from Atlas. She was glad the war wasn't entirely in vain, and reports of Vale being attacked by Vacuo assured her that her ploy to sway the Vacuoan shamans into inciting another incursion into Vale had worked.
One week turned into two and before she knew it a month had passed. Her army now numbered sixteen thousand men, and she found herself glad to be working with Lord Hector again. The man was loyal to a fault and above all he was confident, a far cry from some of those who had accompanied her to Atlas. She enjoyed her time home, finding herself able to relax and not worry about an impending battle or supplies or war. She spent most of her time governing and in her free time she trained to ensure she remained in peak fighting condition. Richard joined her, as did her warriors who survived her expedition to Atlas. She had grown close to them in their travels, the wilderness breaking down the formality that had defined much of her life and the relationship she enjoyed with her personal bodyguard and more elite warriors. She found them smiling more often, capable of making jokes and light-hearted conversation. They mourned those they had lost, but they did not blame her for the death of so many and she was grateful that they didn't.
The only major negative thing to occur during that golden month was the rumours that spread about her supposed relationship with Richard. He was a foreigner, one of the enemy in fact, something that already brought him harassment from her countrymen, but the high position he held in her court due to their friendship caused word of mouth to spread that he was more than a mere friend.
If he had been her slave it would have been frowned upon but acceptable for her to have such a relationship with him. He was not, something she had made clear, thus making it a scandal, but the news that Alexander had landed in Mistral stifled the rumours of her supposed love life and replaced it with the tense air of a kingdom at war with itself.
Alexander had landed at Argus and took the city for himself, creating a rallying point for his supporters. Many of the traitors had gathered in the colder northern region during the past month or so, making it easy for his forces to rally. Scouts suggested he could have a force of eighteen thousand. Rumours suggested he had a host of one hundred thousand, half of which were barbarian Atlesians supporting him to kill Mistrali to avenge Pyrrha's invasion of their kingdom.
Pyrrha chose to believe her scouts, and she marched north with the full might of her available forces, sixteen thousand strong. Her ranks swelled on the road when Duke Meleager and his four thousand troops stumbled across her force, and the march north from that moment on became lighter. Victory seemed assured for some reason, whether that be confidence or a feeling of destiny, and that infectious mood spread like wildfire until it afflicted Pyrrha herself. She felt more at ease on the march than she had when in Atlas, though that might have to do with her being in her home country rather than a foreign, cold land. When she was a week away from Argus she sent messengers to entreat with Alexander, and his reply came in the form of their tongues, just their tongues, and in that moment she knew her brother was dead to her.
They had never been close. Her position had firstborn had always made Alexander jealous, and he had coveted Mistral's throne ever since he knew he couldn't have. She hoped sending him away to marry Queen Weiss and making him Atlas' problem may mellow him in time, but fate had colluded against her and now she found herself resolved to defeat her brother.
The day of the battle was warm, unusually so for autumn. That should have been the first sign. Alexander had spread his forces out in front of Argus' walls and she could see men, likely archers, still atop the battlements overlooking them. She split her army into three wings, with Lord Hector commanding her right flank and Duke Meleager the left. She herself took command of the centre, and she stood in front of her men with Richard behind her and her surviving warriors forming the core of her army.
They cheered, they roared, they taunted. She gave the command and they advanced across the open ground slowly, keeping a tight formation with shields raised to protect from the arrows that would soon be fired on them.
It was magic that was flung at them from Argus' battlements, not arrows. Fire that burned through steel and flesh, lightning that scorched plate armour and sent men flying back as if they were ragdolls, grey spells that turned men to stone and green lightning that turned the grass alive and into vines that entangled her men. Alexander charged then, even as the magic continued to reign down on her men, turning her army into a disorganised men.
"The Inquisition." Pyrrha realised belatedly. "They sought to hoard magic and not destroy! They took the belongings of slain wizards and witches and kept it for themselves!"
Pyrrha could have come with an army one hundred thousand strong and still she would have lost. Instead she had twenty thousand men and they were massacred.
She let herself be dragged away through the throng of dead and dying, her army melting away as Alexander's troops charged ever closer. She found herself being heaved onto a horse by Richard and it was Lord Hector who took her away from the site of the massacre, leaving behind Richard and all those who survived to face Alexander's force and buy her time to escape.
But it didn't matter. Even if she lived she wouldn't win. Neither would Alexander. The Inquisiton had played her and her family for fools and now they were the kingmakers. They would keep Alexander around to make it seem legitimate, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was the Inquisition that would be governing Mistral from now on.
She had lost The war before she even knew it had begun.