Horizon of War Series

Feminae Mundi

Brigandia

After two lengthy sessions of war simulations that finally met his satisfaction, the Second Prince retreated to his hideout. The morning air was cool and soothing as he rode in an inconspicuous carriage to an opulent estate not far from the market district. Behind its tall walls, Centurian-style gardens flourished, meticulously arranged with white sands, bonsai trees, and serene ponds, showcasing wealth and elegance.

As he passed through the gate, the bright morning sunlight reflected off the white sands and ponds, piercing his weary, reddened eyes. Hurriedly, he walked into the main building, startling a woman in flowing red silken robes.

Upon seeing him, she knelt on the wooden floor, bowing deeply. "My Prince."

"Don't be like that. You'll hurt your knees." He stopped in front of her and extended his hand.

She took his hand and rose, revealing a face of striking beauty framed by light-brown hair. Her clever, soft eyes and shapely lips exuded a graceful charm, both disarming and magnetic.

The Second Prince paused to take her in as she softly asked, "My Prince, why are you here so early in the morning? Shouldn’t you be at home with Her Highness?"

He smiled. "I follow where my heart leads, and my belly."

She returned a radiant smile and said warmly, "Come inside. I'll have the cook prepare something spicy for you."

"Do I look that bad?" he asked, rubbing his chin and feeling the unfamiliar roughness of the coarse facial hair that had grown in.

"More than usual, yes. People will worry about your health," she replied gently, her tone free of reproach.

He nodded readily and they walked toward the small but lavish waiting room, designed in the Centurian style. Even nobles would sit humbly on straw mats here. The Prince, weary from his duties, stretched his body, lay down on the mat, and settled his head on a pillow with relief. Soon he closed his eyes, exhaustion and hunger tugging at him. The battle simulations were relentless, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. To him, oversimplifying war games was an invitation to defeat.

The woman returned after notifying the kitchen and, seeing him asleep, quietly let him rest. This had happened often, and she gladly embraced the role of his quiet guardian, ensuring he found moments of peace.

Their meeting just several seasons ago had been far from ordinary. After the Second Prince's wife became pregnant and secured the line of succession, he jokingly declared to his followers that he would prove his moral superiority to offset his reputation as a fervent womanizer. He boasted that he could resist the temptation of the most beautiful woman in Brigandia if they could find her.

And they did. Eager to curry favor, the nobles paraded Brigandia’s most stunning women before him until he saw the neighboring province's most renowned courtesan. It was love at first sight, though he would never admit it.

He openly purchased her as a concubine, causing a lukewarm stir in the city, but it did no real harm to his already colorful reputation.

At first, she was nothing more to him than a distraction from work and a tool to train his self-discipline. He had vowed to control his desires, determined not to sink to the level of common men. But fate had other plans. The woman he chose, celebrated as the youngest and most beautiful courtesan in one of the four Northern provinces, also turned out to be the smartest.

That came as a surprise, especially when she willingly indulged his so-called moral experiment. She wasn’t offended by their sexless marriage. Instead, she embraced a different role as his informal advisor, providing him with petitions and observations on the realm’s affairs.

She once said, “I grow useless doing nothing but serving as a symbol of My Prince's moral superiority."

That very thought lingered in his mind as the Second Prince opened his eyes.

"Urgh," he groaned, rubbing his neck to ease the stiffness. As expected, days of sleep deprivation left him feeling only slightly refreshed.

He slowly looked around and noticed that, despite it likely being almost midday, the chamber was shrouded in comfortable darkness. As usual, his concubine had drawn the thick curtains to block out the sunlight. The cool air hinted at the work of the little mage he had gifted her as a helper.

Yawning, stretching, and sitting up, he was greeted by her familiar voice. "My Prince, you're awake."

"How long have I slept?"

"Not too long. There's still an hour before midday," she replied. Then, with a hint of apology, she added, "Your breakfast has gone cold, so I returned it. Would you like another breakfast meal or go straight to lunch?"

"Decide for me," he said tenderly, and she nodded before heading to the kitchen.

His eyes drifted to the table, where a clean set of ceramic cups, a small earthen jug of water, and a silver spoon for detecting poison sat neatly arranged. In other places, even in the castle, his cupbearer would taste-test everything. But here, being akin to a love nest, they dared not interfere. At most, they only gathered around in the kitchen. Thus, he truly felt free.

He poured himself a drink and, since it was only water, set the silver spoon aside. He rarely used it, as he always carried his own silver spoon in his pouch.

She returned with light snacks, eating a piece first to show it was safe. They ate together, their conversation naturally turned to recent news.

"I still haven’t figured out what my brother is doing in Riverstead," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "Even if he faced the Arvenian rebellion last winter, he should have crushed it by spring or asked for reinforcements—not dragged it into summer. I know he’s careful, but this is unlike him."

"The threat might be larger than it seems, so he must tread more cautiously," she suggested.

The Prince sighed deeply.

"You mustn't underestimate the Arvenians. They're hardy and resourceful."

"I'm not. Nobody is," he reassured her, though the depth of his tone was lost on her.

"Speaking of Arvena," she said, maintaining her soft, cheerful tone, "you should relieve the famine there. The situation could become dire and spark a greater rebellion. The whole province could—"

"I agree," he interjected.

She blinked, clearly surprised, her lips parting as if to counter him, but she quickly composed herself. "Huh? I mean, of course." Her sudden, unrestrained smile lit up the chamber.

The Second Prince returned a faint smile, but his features remained firm. "I agree that alleviating hunger will make the people more content. Satisfied subjects don’t rebel."

"I’m glad we’re on the same—"

He raised a hand, cutting her off. "You misjudged my intent. While preventing rebellion is logical, it would be naive to think that’s the only concern we’ve considered."

Her smile faded. "What do you mean?"

"A well-fed society naturally produces more offspring. That would not be an issue if they were loyal. However, the loyalty of the Arvenians remains questionable. Until a more loyal generation is born, the kingdom will withhold its help."

Her voice dropped, almost pleading. "B-but they are Imperium people too."

He shook his head. "They are not the King’s subjects. They’re not even Northerners."

She slumped, clearly devastated. Well-educated and unlike others in her position, she genuinely cared about people and was vocal enough to defend their rights. Her willingness to risk her position for nothing more than a clear conscience made her truly unique in his eyes.

The Second Prince exhaled and explained calmly, as if discussing something mundane, "What’s happening in Arvena is controlled starvation."

"Controlled starvation..." Her voice was weak, laced with bitter acceptance.

He held her gaze, his steady eyes affirming the truth of his words. "The situation remains precarious. We want the populace to only maintain their numbers, starving them of growth. Otherwise, they could become a threat to the kingdom."

"Isn't that contradictory?" she argued. "If you let famine befall them, they’ll rebel."

"The kingdom has accounted for that. That’s why the Riverstead rebellion and the Crown Prince’s response didn’t trigger a panicked reaction," he explained dryly.

Only then did she realize and muttered in disbelief, "The kingdom already expected the Arvenians to rebel."

"To rebel, and to be crushed," he confirmed.

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The air grew heavy, so the Second Prince decided to ease the tension with a playful gesture. Shifting closer to her on the tatami, a mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.

"My Prince, what are you doing?" she asked nervously as he gently pinned her down on the soft straw mats.

"Frustration has taken me," he replied with mock seriousness.

Her face turned bright red. "Aren't I your proof of moral superiority?"

"Is my reputation truly a beacon of morality?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

She looked at him, her nervousness clear. "But you said I’m rather plump and built like a duck."

He hid a grin and whispered grimly, "Who says I’m afraid of putting myself in a duck? Perhaps you need a demonstration."

She shuddered. "B-but we’re not even in the bedchamber."

The Prince finally laughed and released her, settling back beside her. "A courtesan who's afraid of sex," he teased, shaking his head.

She pouted as she straightened herself. "I’m not. It’s just that I need time to prepare myself."

He chuckled, reflecting on the absurdities of life. His wife, who he had believed to be innocent and cloistered, had turned out to be the lustiest woman he’d ever met, eager to bear him more children than a horse breeder; all to secure her clan’s influence in the nascent kingdom. Meanwhile, this courtesan, whose profession was synonymous with using her body as currency, proved to be more innocent than most noblewomen.

The soft echo of sandals on the wooden floor interrupted his thoughts. Moments later, two maids and a squire appeared at the door, carrying their lunch. They quietly prepared the table and left, allowing the Prince and his concubine to eat in private.

This was not the dining area, but the Prince didn’t care. To him, this small chamber was more comfortable, allowing him to relax and behave informally. Thick curtains dimmed the sunlight, and a mage in a distant room, connected by ventilation, kept the air cool and pleasant.

Though simple in ingredients, the meal was a feast for the eyes. It was made with health in mind. He wanted to look strong and fit, not fat like most noblemen.

As they neared the end of their meal, the Prince suddenly said, "Come with me."

His tone carried weight, and she heard it clearly. "To where?" she asked.

"To Rhomelia," he replied flatly.

The lady concubine gasped, immediately grasping his intent. She had kept herself informed through daily news from the harbor and market, often supplied by his informal network of workers, wives, and peddlers; people whose jobs granted them access to information hidden from public eyes.

"You must have noticed the growing armies, the stockpiling of supplies, and the ferry armada."

"So, it’s not a reinforcement for the King to secure the Capital, but an invasion force," she ventured cautiously.

"The Capital?" he scoffed. "It holds no value unless Father decides to revive the Imperium. I’ll support him if he does, but I doubt it’s in his interest."

There was no immediate reaction from her, so he continued, "Riverstead belongs to my brother. Now, I shall take Rhomelia."

She struggled to understand. "But the people in Rhomelia are impoverished."

"Then I’ll be their savior," the Prince answered firmly.

The claim did not convince her. Naturally, after everything he had told her about Arvena and the kingdom's policy of controlled starvation, doubt lingered.

Noticing her hesitation, he said, "Even if I agree with you on the matter of Arvena, your idealism cannot be tested there. It is not mine to change, but Rhomelia will be different."

His words piqued her interest. Her eyes met his, those charming eyes that could disarm most men and make scholars blush. "B-but asking a concubine to follow you to war? People, and the army, will laugh at you."

He let out a faint smirk. "You said it yourself. You’re built like a plump duck. As long as I keep you in cages without human clothes, nobody will suspect a thing."

Her horrified reaction to his jest only made him laugh hard at her expense. In truth, she was finely shaped, and she usually deflected such mockery with ease. But she was smitten with him, so even the slightest teasing from him made her react with a pout and reddened cheeks. "I never knew my own words could be turned against me so often," she lamented.

After his laughter subsided, he reassured her, "Your coming isn’t an issue. It’s easily rectified."

"How?" she asked, feigning irritation.

"I’ll allow the others to do the same. I don’t mind a few distractions. It might even encourage the lower officers to try harder for promotion."

Her expression was skeptical, her lips pressing into a thin line, but after a moment, she nodded reluctantly, her gaze dropping to avoid his eyes.

Seeing no further objections, he added, "I shall govern Rhomelia as the King has promised me. A province to call my own."

***

Valerie

Today, Lansius sent Sterling, his most trusted squire, to invite her to a private meeting in the castle's garden. She couldn't refuse as she used to. The dynamic between her and him had changed dramatically. Before, in Toruna, she had been his superior. Now, she was nothing but a damsel in distress that he had saved.

Moreover, he had somehow become the most powerful person in the region, a fact she still found hard to believe. That someone from such a poor background could achieve so much was beyond anyone's understanding. Meanwhile, she, even with the gift of magic from her mentor, had accomplished little more than being a henchwoman, despite having been here for over ten years.

Valerie felt worthless in comparison. But then again, who wouldn’t? It wasn’t normal to know how to win wars. It was a skill few studied and even fewer could claim to have mastered.

This feeling of insignificance had weighed on her ever since she received the invitation that morning. To make matters worse, Audrey had teased her relentlessly, hinting that she was open to welcoming her into the family. And now, as noon approached, her heart was racing.

Valerie let out a long sigh, wondering how to reject him if he asked for her hand. Even as Margo escorted her to the garden and into the small stone gazebo, she was still trying to decide what to do. The main issue was simple: she didn’t want to die.

Unlike the people of this world, who seemed to possess good vitality and remarkable endurance, hers was far weaker. She knew she would likely die in childbirth. She had seen it happen before in Progentia, and the memory had left a scar that would never fade.

A cool breeze stirred her back to reality. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her mind. Only then was she able to enjoy the scenery. The stone gazebo was clean, though several leaves were scattered across the gray stone floor, with thin moss growing in its recesses. The space felt cool, shaded by two tall trees that stood guard around it. She had seen this spot many times during her daily walks but had never visited it until now.

The sound of footsteps and the sight of figures approaching caught her attention, pulling her focus sharply toward the group.

Valerie saw the black-haired man approaching and stood, waiting for him. A strong breeze swept past her, sending her short platinum blond hair waving gently.

Lansius noticed her and motioned for his squire and entourage to wait farther away. They gladly took shelter under the shade of another tree, leaving the two of them alone.

Isn't this like a scene from a romance movie?

Her heart fluttered shamefully against her will. She hated to admit it, but she had already taken the first blow. Only now did she realize that power truly had its charm.

"Ah, you've been waiting," Lansius said calmly. His gentle, straightforward tone of appreciation made her feel a little faint. Nobody else in this world treated her as an equal; it was something that could only come from modern education and years of schooling.

To counter her feelings, she quickly sharpened her tongue. "I've been waiting for you," Valerie replied, feigning irritation to mask her nervousness.

"You might want to sit down first," he said.

She obeyed, lowering herself onto the stone bench in the gazebo. He continued, standing in front of her, "Val, I've been meaning to ask this since I saw you again."

This is it. He's going to confess, and I won't be able to say no. Not after everything he's done...

He went on, "What can you tell me about Bengrieve's musket?"

She frowned, caught off guard. "Musket?"

"Erhm... fusil?" he tried, switching to the French term.

She raised her hand to stop him, needing a moment to steady her emotions. Half of her had laughed, scorned, and her own foolish thoughts.

He has Audrey. What am I even thinking?

"Should I come back another day?" Lansius offered, concerned.

Valerie inhaled sharply before saying weakly, "No, no. I'll explain. What do you need to know?" She forced a smile despite her wounded pride, knowing the fault wasn’t his but hers.

...

Lansius

Standing beneath the stone-domed gazebo, Lansius listened intently to what Valerie had just shared about muskets in Progentia. As it turned out, muskets had been known there for generations, although they never truly caught on.

"Interesting," Lansius remarked. "So they’re not as powerful as you expected."

"Oui," Valerie confirmed. "During my years as an explorer, I met someone who used one in Progentia. I’ve seen one in action. It wasn’t all that useful, except in specific scenarios like an ambush. We’re better off relying on Felis’ crossbow cover than a musket."

The notion piqued Lansius’ interest. "Is it really that underwhelming?"

"Don’t get me wrong; it can kill a goblin. But, at least in the catacombs, you’d be mistaken to rely on them," she warned.

Lansius chose not to argue. He understood that, to those unfamiliar with history, early muskets might seem unimpressive, especially compared to crossbows, which excelled even against armored opponents. It was only natural that few appreciated the technology.

"That person told me that, dozens of generations ago, muskets were more common. But over time, replacement parts and, especially, gunpowder became harder and harder to find," Valerie added.

"But Bengrieve was able to make gunpowder," he pointed out.

"Haven’t you noticed?" Valerie asked. "The gunpowder Cascasonne uses is gray, not black."

"Now that you mention it, it didn’t look black to me," Lansius recalled, thinking back to the demonstration he had witnessed.

"Meanwhile, what we had in Progentia was white."

"White gunpowder?" Lansius asked, his interest intensifying as he gazed at her.

She nodded. "From what I’ve seen, the dwarves’ powder creates almost no smoke and isn’t as loud. It didn’t have that thunderous cracking sound."

"That makes a lot of sense," Lansius said, his thoughts clearing as the pieces came together. "For the dwarves fighting underground, normal guns would shatter their eardrums. And with limited ceiling height and ventilation, the smoke would make it impossible to see anything afterward."

"Likely so," Valerie agreed. "Also, because it’s so old, only things stored in rune-sealed containers can still be used. And even then, sometimes they’ve aged so much that there’s no guarantee they’ll still be useful."

Lansius stood silently, his emotions mixed. On one hand, he was relieved that the impact of muskets had been minimal, largely due to the dwarves’ limitations. On the other hand, he felt saddened that even this technology had been lost to time. "So the dwarven muskets and the white powder have largely gone extinct," he lamented.

"It seems so," she confirmed.

He exhaled deeply, his mind racing. "What do you think about Bengrieve’s musket? I’ve fired one, but not in the heat of battle."

"From what I can tell, theirs is cruder. Despite the loud noise, it struggles to penetrate newer ringmail," she said.

Lansius turned toward the garden and remarked, "It must be because he wants to keep it hidden that he can’t openly conduct experiments or involve others in its development."

Valerie followed his gaze and noticed an adorable bumblebee perched atop a yellow flower.

"Still, I’m curious. Why did he use it in the first place? It’s as if he already knew the potential of muskets," he wondered aloud.

"Like you, I’m also surprised that House Bengrieve was able to reproduce them, along with the gray powder," she said. A gentle breeze sent the bumblebee tumbling from the flower, but the resilient creature rolled and flew again. Charmed by its determination, she admitted, "Perhaps half of it is my fault."

"Your fault?" Lansius asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

Valerie kept her gaze on the stone floor. "When I met Bengrieve several years ago, he became suspicious of me. To prove my loyalty, he told me to drink the nectar of truth. It’s a drug. And because of it, I told him everything he wanted to know."

Lansius froze, his eyes widening before narrowing into a heated glare. His jaw tightened, and before he realized it, his right hand had already balled into a fist. "He did what to you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Valerie, now seemingly unburdened, revealed with a grateful gaze, "He knows everything, including our world’s history. He’s using that knowledge to shape the future. His future."

Lansius exhaled sharply and slammed his fist into the stone column, the dull thud reverberating through the gazebo. "Incomplete knowledge of history is fatal. I need to meet him before it’s too late."

"But how will you react if it quickly turns into an arms conflict? Even if you’re a good general, your men fight with swords. He has muskets."

"That’s exactly what I said. Incomplete knowledge is fatal." Lansius scoffed, then met her gaze with iron determination. "A general who sees victory only through muskets is a simple one. I am not one of them."

***