Horizon of War Series-Chapter 228: Black Tide

Black Tide

Ten days after Lansius proclaimed the start of Operation Iron Nails, three black objects moved silently through the night sky far to the south, over the Middle Sea. Clouds drifted lazily, revealing the three majestic airships as they glided among them, slipping through a sea of stars. Below, the Middle Sea stretched endlessly in every direction, its vast black expanse faintly illuminated by the distant starlight.

Angelo, the mage pilot, commanded the flagship of Dawn, the largest air vessel in their arsenal. Two other airships followed closely behind, laden with men, equipment, and provisions. Though the Middle Sea was famously less salty than other waters, the rich scent of the ocean lingered in the air, growing stronger as the airships began their slow, steady descent.

After confirming the island ahead with his Ekionia optics one final time, Angelo turned to Lord Avery and the nearly two dozen men behind him, declaring, "Gentlemen, we will soon arrive at your destination. Landing in just a short candle away."

Everyone chuckled. Despite being a general term, the short candle was more popularly used in brothels to measure short duration.

"So that's the island?" Avery muttered, his eyes fixed on a blot of black mass that didn't reflect the starlight, a clear sign of land.

"Yes, I can see faint embers from our men," Angelo replied, his eyes glowing faintly gold.

Unable to make out the island’s contours or size in the dark, Avery asked, "How big is this island again?"

"Big enough to house a sizeable village," Angelo answered, gently adjusting the controls to fight against the strong wind pressing from one side.

Avery nodded as Angelo shrouded in darkness, guided his airship toward the island’s northern shore, where wide, open sandy beaches awaited.

"No sign of trouble?" Avery asked again, clutching his woolen coat as the wind grew colder with their descent.

"Nothing. It seems we've managed to keep our infiltration quiet until the last day," Angelo said with relief.

Avery let out a wide, sinister grin. After secretly moving his fleet back to Dawn three weeks ago, he ordered Angelo to begin long-range patrols toward Corinthia in search of their missing boats and trade caravans. After a thorough search, Angelo had found traces of their missing vessels in Corinthia, further fueling Avery’s determination to send those responsible to the newly opened mines in Nicopola.

Once the target had been confirmed, without hesitation and without bothering to send an envoy, Avery had relocated his camp to his renowned training grounds on Dawn’s southern coast. This move had significantly shortened Angelo’s flight time to Corinthia. Soon, this advantage proved crucial when they discovered that, ironically, Corinthia was hard to assail from anywhere but the beach itself.

It was decided to seek an island as a staging ground. After days of flying, Angelo found a suitable island not far from Corinthia. It was deserted but offered wide, open beaches and some jungle for cover.

However, slipping a large force there by boat would have been nearly impossible. There was plenty of fishing activity at noon, while at night, the fast-moving currents and sharp coral reefs in the Middle Sea threatened to wreck any boat that dared come near.

Thus, the plan was to transport everything by air, a monumental effort in terms of scale. The odds were stacked against them as the first team to land discovered no fresh water on the island, forcing them to ferry everything, including drinking water. The two weeks-long ferrying from Dawn’s shore to the island had nearly broken down the airship fleet. The two older vessels suffered frequent burner failures and breakdowns in their delicate, aging skins, requiring constant patching and nerve-wracking return flights.

But Avery and his men's stubbornness had paid off. Slowly, they had managed to stockpile almost everything, including tents, provisions, and other supporting equipment, large or small, for the assault. And tonight, they carried the final element, the combatants.

Onboard the three airships that had taken off together were the last of the five groups of twenty men that Avery had personally selected. These one hundred warriors were the toughest, most disciplined, and most unyielding fighters in his entire army.

Avery was so proud of them that, despite the protests of his shocked court, he insisted on joining the attack team. His reasoning was simple. He needed to be there, ready to give orders at a moment’s notice in what would undoubtedly be a fluid and unpredictable battle.

The final hurdle was secrecy. Avery had grown increasingly suspicious of the Corinthians. Too many things did not add up. Their sudden knowledge of the Southern Trade and their ability to strike multiple trade ships in succession made him certain they had spies.

To counter this, he devised a plan.

He recruited a trusted confidant, a man of similar height and build, to don his clothes and move about the castle under heavy guard alongside Ella, his granddaughter, and Saint Candidate Petra. The increased security ensured that no one could get a clear look at the body double. Petra handled the rest, using a few magical tricks to maintain the illusion for as long as necessary.

With the deception in place, Avery was free to join the campaign.

Now, the sea winds howled as the three mighty airships touched down on the sandy beaches in the dead of night. The war on Corinthia was mere hours away.

***

A Quiet Town, Gray Skull Legion's Controlled Region

The narrow streets of the town lay cloaked in near darkness, the fading glow of sunset barely clinging to the horizon. A weary man with a wooden box slung over his back made his way toward a row of shops before stopping at an unmarked building with no sign. A wary doorman stepped forward, eyeing him suspiciously.

"There’s nothing for you here," the doorman said harshly, waving him away.

"I'm looking for this place," the man replied, holding out a sealed letter. "Is this the right place?"

The doorman’s eyes flicked to the wax seal, recognizing the sigil pressed into it. Without a word, he stepped aside and granted the man entry.

Inside, the lanterns were placed low, casting flickering light that illuminated bodies and feet but kept faces in shadow. The dim glow reflected off rough wooden tables where drinks sat untouched. At first glance, it might seem like any other tavern, but the unnatural stillness betrayed the truth. Despite the presence of drinks, everyone stood suspiciously straight and sober.

The newcomer removed his dusty wooden box, filled with dried herbs, roots, and a small earthen jar of medicinal salve, indicating he was a traveling medicine peddler. It was both his trade and his disguise. Next, he shrugged off his worn traveling cloak, still clinging with dust from the road from Dawn City, a journey that had left him sore and tired.

"You've come a long way," a deep voice addressed him.

"Eight days' travel from Dawn City," the man replied and carefully put the sealed letter on the table. "Hopefully, I came to the right place."

"Keep it somewhere safe, friend. Drink?" the burly man with an appropriately deep voice poured an exceptionally fragrant wine.

The newcomer gladly took a sip and found it strong, just as he liked, then gulped it down to quench his thirst. As if to repay the ridiculously expensive treat, he immediately reported proudly, "I have confirmed information that the old menace has left Dawn."

There were snorts from the crowd, causing the newcomer to be taken aback.

"Check your source," the man who poured him the wine said with the same deep voice.

"I did. I have confirmed information that the Lord of Dawn left with his airships, heading to the Middle S—"

A woman with long hair and a fine silken dress emerged from the crowd, placing her smooth, delicate finger on the man's lips. Her perfume enveloped him, an intoxicating presence that seized his attention.

"It's a bait," she said in an alluring tone.

He furrowed his brows. "A bait?"

"His hair and beard are white for a reason. He's as sly as an old fox. His absence is clearly a ploy."

The man’s expression darkened with confusion. "Why would he do that?"

"Most likely because his attack on Corinthia is drawing near, maybe within a month. He staged his disappearance to lure out potential troublemakers into revealing themselves and eliminate them," she explained effortlessly.

The man frowned, intrigued. "How can you be so sure?"

"You're not the only one dealing in whispers, sweetie," she teased playfully, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. "Our sources confirmed Avery is still inside Dawn City. As for his troops, some were spotted not far from the city, camped inside an old abandoned stronghold."

The man fell silent, deep in thought, his brows knitting together.

She leaned in slightly. "Moreover, his allies, those pesky Gray Skull Legion, were also seen camping near the border, likely in support."

Disturbed, the man took another gulp of his wine.

"We don’t know exactly what’s going on in his head, but old Avery is clearly taking his time, preparing instead of rushing to Corinthia. What a shame. We had a few surprises waiting for him there."

A man with a deep voice grabbed a wooden chair with ease, his astounding physique making the motion seem almost effortless, and gestured for the newcomer to sit. "Fear not. Our associates will ensure that Old Avery comes to Corinthia. Our plan is delayed but not changed."

The newcomer sat and nodded, satisfied.

"If capturing his trade boats doesn’t draw him out, we can always burn a town or two and plant some Corinthian banners to speed things up," the burly man added with a deep, ominous chuckle.

The woman smirked. "And when the old fox is distracted enough to march to his death in Corinthia, we can invite your master, the newly proclaimed Unifier King Nicodemus, to prove his worth. What did you say his strength was?"

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"Twenty thousand men," the man disguised as a medicine peddler replied proudly, emboldened by the wine. "Ready to strike Kapua—"

The woman snorted softly, interrupting his declaration. "Why stop at Kapua when you can take Dawn?"

The man hesitated. "But I thought you were the one who wanted to claim Dawn?"

"No, we had other plans," she revealed, and the dimly lit room quickly filled with dark, knowing laughter.

These were not mere mercenaries or common thugs. The men and women gathered here were far deadlier than average fighters. Several of them could see in the dark, either by an innate gift of magic or through possession of a lesser gemstone that granted night sight.

Outsiders saw this secret society as nothing more than petty smugglers. Nobles barely acknowledged them, even as they relied on them as the unseen hand that supplied the Lowlandian elites with goods they could not obtain elsewhere. Their only trade partner, the distant Midlandia, had sought to punish the Lowlandian nobility due to repeated raids into its provinces.

From fine Centurian silk and Nicopolan jewelry to white sugar, rock salt, olive oil, spices, and, most lucratively, Centurian women and children, these smugglers had it all. They exchanged them for Three Hills' fine wine, strong horses, exotic nomadic people, and stolen goods from raids.

Few acknowledged that these smugglers had existed for centuries.

In truth, their roots stretched back to an era before the rise of Three Hills as a major city. An era when the region had only just been reclaimed from the beastmen, and new lords, landlords, towns, and cities were beginning to take shape.

Had the nobles known the true extent of their power and influence, they would have called them the Mountain Kings or, more fittingly, Bandit Kings.

And powerful they were and far-reaching. They were secretly responsible for fanning the flames of Nicopolan civil war to its breaking point, ensuring that famine and turmoil were as devastating as possible to eliminate any semblance of authority in the region. These mountain people were outliers and outcasts, uniquely despising commoners as much as they hated nobles.

They were the victims of Nicopola's many conflicts after the province’s founding, a history that eventually bred the region's mercenary tendencies. Old sayings told of the defeated people and disgraced officials being cast into the mountains, and there was truth to them.

For centuries, the Capital sent aspiring officials to restore order, quell the fighting, and secure lasting peace after the province was freed from the beastmen incursion. Most failed. Swallowed by the anarchy, they took sides based on their own beliefs of right and wrong. The Imperium, still weary from the beastmen war, cared little for justice and readily approved the victors' terms, condemning the defeated factions to exile at the foot of the eastern mountains, believing it would ultimately reduce further conflict.

Ironically, the conflict only truly ended when every town and city had plenty of mercenaries to defend itself. The situation had grown so complex between factions that no one dared attack, knowing the enemy behind them would seize the opportunity.

This old Nicopolan conflict had ended centuries ago, but the defeated were never allowed to return. The victors had confiscated their land and estates and had no intention of relinquishing them. Through bribes and political maneuvering, they ensured that the exile punishment was never rescinded.

Thus, the exiles, now known as the mountain people, and their offspring remained condemned. They lived in humble villages, with some venturing deeper into the mountain range that separated Nicopola from Lowlandia. Unlike Umberland, which had an open path, eastern Nicopola had only a hidden route through a series of caverns. They kept it secret, fearing unwanted attention that could drive them from their last refuge.

For generations, they survived in the harshest lands; herding goats in the high mountains, foraging for edible roots, or cultivating rain-fed farmland to grow barley, rye, or hardy legumes suited to the rocky soil. They were raised to despise society, distrust the Imperium, and believe that only their own kind could be trusted. Collectively, they wished for the world around them to collapse.

With few options for work, some were recruited for dirty jobs such as spying, hired muscle, or working as assassins disguised as brigands. Their background ironically made them valuable, as outsiders saw their loyalty as unquestionable.

Their fortunes changed when one among them discovered they could profit by smuggling simple Nicopolan goods and trinkets into Lowlandia and bringing Lowlandian goods back in return. Later, they expanded into carrying mail and other services, slowly amassing wealth. Yet as their power and influence grew, so did their hatred.

They never forgot what the Nicopolans had done to them and longed for their destruction. But their resentment was not limited to Nicopola alone. They were also the ones who manipulated grain prices in Lowlandia for profit, triggering shortages that even reached Korelia during the Black Lord’s first year in power.

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They cared for no one but themselves. If not for Iron Skull Servius and his legion, they would have captured entire communities near the eastern mountains. If not for Avery’s capture of Kapua, they would have taken control of the entire province.

If not for Lansius and his string of victories, Three Hills and Korimor would have fallen to them as well, leaving the cities and their nobles at their mercy.

But now, they had new plans. Taking advantage of their obscurity, they conspired with Avery's enemies to crush his forces in Kapua and Dawn. But that was not enough. They also plotted to kill Avery himself, ensuring the collapse of Dawn Barony. If they succeeded, they would bury the Southern Trade idea along with him, securing their livelihood.

They had other targets as well, especially Servius and Lansius, whose very existence was an excruciating thorn in their side.

***

Corinthia

The salty wind swept across the shore as night slowly yielded to dawn. Three airships remained anchored on the sandy beach, prepped and ready to depart. Their role in the assault was paramount, so every detail was meticulously calculated, especially with their volatile oil fuel being so limited. Even after the mission, they had to reserve enough for the return flight to Dawn.

Since nightfall, Angelo and his mage apprentices served as pilots, working alongside their skeleton crew of two craftsmen and an artisan. They inspected each airship one by one, ensuring they were in the best possible condition. The flagship, still plagued by teething issues, required constant repairs to its rigging, burner, and fuel system.

The older variant, a smaller vessel named Fire of Kapua in tribute to the famed assault where its wooden gondola had burned, had its share of problems. Oil starvation caused by a leak that developed last week left her plagued with soot buildup. Ideally, the entire fuel lines needed to be stripped and cleaned, a task that could only be done at her berth in Dawn City for at least a week. They couldn't afford to lose an airship, so despite its poor performance and occasional flameouts, the ship continued to soldier on.

Surprisingly, the best-conditioned ship was also the oldest. She was the second hull to achieve controlled flight, informally known as the Second Pride of Dawn. Nearing a decade in service, she had undergone more refits than anyone could remember, from minor tweaks to major overhauls. While Avery often left her behind in pursuit of newer designs, her frame and gondola had received constant upgrades.

She was an older design; nothing about her was new, but that made her reliable. She was loved by many, and Avery took great care of her. And she didn't let them down.

After the Battle of Kapua, the Second Pride of Dawn became the ship that journeyed across the Great Plains, passing through Three Hills and South Hill before arriving in Korelia. As if fate had destined her for even greater heights, she was called to join the Black Lord's campaign to Midlandia.

The campaign led to another refit in Korelia, undertaken by the skilled and resourceful Hans and his crew. After a short overhaul, she raced against time and flew alongside her sister ship, the Spirit of Korimor, to her namesake city. There, they rested and resupplied in preparation for the great flight to Midlandia.

The Black Lord had entrusted the two airships with a mission of great importance. They were to fly deep into Midlandia, covering long distances with minimal communication, searching for resupply points hidden within enemy territory. It had never been done before.

With the Lord's army rampaging through Southern Midlandia in rapid succession, spreading distraction and confusion among the defenders, the two airships stealthily followed roads, rivers, and other landmarks. If they reached a resupply point, the Lord's men would be waiting with cartloads of provisions. The Orange Skald, serving as an informant, also acted as a guide, willingly leading them to villages or towns when specific goods or materials were needed.

When no resupply points were available, they were forced to take shelter in abandoned villages or clearings deep in the forest, where their crew and passengers desperately gathered food and water to conserve their limited supply. Most of their cargo space was dedicated to fuel, leaving little room for fresh provisions.

After several stops, they finally approached the last leg of their journey to Lubina. There, they found what they had come for. Sir Morton, the Black Knights, and SAR, assisted by three half-breeds, successfully attacked Lubina and took Sir Reginald hostage. By sheer luck, they also seized a hoard of gold and silver from the gatehouse, likely embezzled funds by unscrupulous new head of guards.

Returning home in great triumph, the Second Pride of Dawn had become legendary. She was now fondly known as the Bane of Lubina.

As the sky turned sunrise gold, Angelo climbed aboard the gondola and placed his hand on the airship's burner, the heart of the vessel. He smiled and patted its thin metal skin. "You're doing great," the fair-skinned mage said affectionately to the airship he had commandeered many times before.

Angelo turned to his young apprentice. "I want to say, take good care of her. But you already have. You did well on your journey to Korelia, Lubina, Cascasonne, and back. There’s nothing more I need to say."

"Please, master, I am still your student. I still need your guidance from time to time," the young but experienced mage pilot said respectfully.

"It will be my honor," Angelo said proudly. The sunrise spilled golden light through the treetops to the east. "It's time," he said to his student. "May fortune be with you."

"And you as well, master." The student bowed his head in respect.

Soon, the three airships lifted off, each carrying a special team for the assault. They would fly north before veering east, as ordered by Lord Avery. The wind was favorable, and with no cargo and only a few passengers, the airships flew fast and nimble. They handled beautifully, almost as if rejoicing after fulfilling their heavy burden in this campaign.

Like monstrous black omens, they ascended into the vast, cloud-brushed sky, eager to descend upon Corinthia's soil.

...

After nearly two hours of flight, Angelo had led the three airships on an eastern approach, passing over the badlands of cliffs and ridges that separated the Corinthia region from South Hill. Now, the Corinthian coastline stretched along their far right. Despite the sense of invulnerability that came with flying, every man onboard kept his eyes on the terrain below, scanning for threats.

But it seemed their effort had been for nothing. The sun had risen higher, and coming from the east, its glare at their backs gave them added cover. Though no faster than a galloping horse, the airships’ ability to maintain speed, travel in a straight line, and bypass terrain was unmatched. The three vessels rapidly approached the coastal city of Corinthia, which bore the barony’s namesake.

Each airship was loaded with clay amphorae filled with a volatile concoction of burning oil. The flagship carried all 42 loads, enough to raze a city. Lord Avery intended to capture Corinthia Castle intact, but he was also prepared to burn it down if necessary. The final decision rested in Angelo’s hands.

"The guards have noticed us," the lookout reported, keeping his eyes fixed on the powerful Ekionia optics.

His warning caught everyone’s attention.

"They are sounding the alarm," he added, marking the start of the battle.

Angelo added more fuel and began the descent. He wanted the three airships' massive, majestic form to dominate the sky, striking awe and fear into the defenders below. The added speed from the dive was equally important; he couldn’t afford for the airships to appear slow or lumbering.

"Look! Riders moving toward the castle," one of his men reported.

Angelo saw them, two horsemen galloping at full speed, rushing to warn the garrison. Fear gripped both guards and commoners as metal clanged against metal, ringing warning bells like those used for fires. The city erupted into a frantic chorus of alarms. People abandoned their morning work, rushing to lock themselves inside their homes. Some fled toward the nearby forests, seeking safety outside the city.

Not all ran. Some dedicated men scrambled onto the tallest buildings, crossbows in hand, determined to take a shot. But their bolts fell short; the airships were far beyond their range.

"Shall we return fire?" one of the troops onboard asked calmly, as if this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"Save it. We might need it later," Angelo responded.

With impunity, the three airships soared over Corinthia City like grim omens in the sky. The thriving coastal town quaked beneath their massive shadows, its people trembling as they watched three gigantic black serpents drifting silently above, with no wings in sight.

"How could they fly like that?" The question passed in hushed whispers.

The silence shattered as a flock of birds cawed in distress, scattering as if to escape the looming threat.

Steadily, the three serpents advanced toward the castle. Many below watched from their hiding places, squinting to make sense of the unnatural shapes overhead. Mothers hushed their sons, fearing the monsters would hear them.

Whispers spread through many houses. Some spoke of the Ancients' return, others muttered that this was a bad omen. They had just heard of the Ageless One’s likely death and how the Imperium had ended. Now, they had seen the evidence.

Aboard the airship, the crew and troops watched Corinthia Castle. Its walls were unimpressive in height, width, and construction. The gatehouse and fortifications were plain and unadorned. The courtyard was small, with only a keep or donjon rising as its largest structure and highest point. Yet, the battlements teemed with movement, defenders rushing into position.

"Meister, look!" a cry from the crew made every head turn.

Angelo turned in the direction his men were pointing and saw something silvery flying toward them. "A projectile?" he muttered in surprise.

At first, it seemed slow from a distance, but in reality, it was hurtling toward them at great speed. In the final moments, everyone saw it for what it was—a gleaming, arrow-like spear slicing through the air.

The modified ballista bolt streaked past the airship, missing by a wide margin, but its speed and force were enough to unnerve the crew. Their hearts raced as they exchanged uneasy glances. Against all the odds, the Corinthians had a weapon that could reach them.

A cold dread settled over them. For the first time, someone had the means to strike them down. The first might have missed; the next might not.

***