While Sora led seven thousand Grunt troops and five thousand Toristine soldiers to crush the ten thousand at the logging camp, Verus stayed busy. The Grunt family still had ten thousand "exchanged" soldiers hidden among civilians. He commanded them. On the day civil war ignited, Verus appeared at Albion's easternmost edge and issued a proclamation.
Its gist: I, Verus, live. I have returned. Loyal subjects, the Grunt family aids me against the traitors who rebelled and seized the throne. All welcoming Albion royal rule, open your gates to me and Grunt soldiers. Lesser nobles coerced into rebellion — surrender swiftly, and I forgive the past. Four families I must eradicate: Houses, Megans, Manis, and Paces. Long great houses, now unforgivable.
Such posters plastered bulletin boards across cities and towns.
Commoners cheered; nobles fretted.
When Verus and Grunt soldiers arrived outside lesser nobles' manors or city lords' halls, those dozens-to-hundreds-strong garrisons faced thousands behind Verus. Outmatched, they surrendered. Cities, villages, towns declared independence from the Albion Continental Republic, reverting to the Kingdom of Albion.
If Republic lands showed blue and kingdom red, red patches bloomed on the all-blue map — linking into lines, swelling into swaths, ever-growing.
Less than a year since the kingdom's fall, the people still revered Verus. His restoration bid won joyous support. Had republican rule endured ten or twenty years with contentment, his sway might have waned.
Regardless, backed by Grunt arms, the Kingdom of Albion revived piecemeal. Save the five great families' domains, lesser nobles' lands mostly seceded from republic to kingdom.
Word of Verus's restoration raced nationwide to the four great houses.
Manis and Paces grew uneasy.
Megans raged. Generations of Grunt friendship — now stabbed in the back without warning. Betrayal.
Houses stood firm as stone, dispatching letters to the other three for a summit to crush Verus and Grunts. On paper, four greats retained thirty thousand, twenty thousand, ten thousand, and ten thousand homeland troops — totaling seventy thousand; Verus's Grunts fielded but fifteen thousand.
Yet replies lagged. Now came the lumberyard's distress call.
Ten thousand Grunts assault the mill? Locked in stalemate.
Grunts totaled thirty thousand: twenty thousand in the expedition, ten thousand hit the camp. So whence came Verus's forces reclaiming lesser domains?
The lumberyard shipyard formed Houses' foundation — irreplaceable. Yet the capital lay undefended sans troops. Send ten thousand to relieve, Houses decided.
In deliberation, he figured ten thousand defenders versus ten thousand foes in deadlock; ten thousand more tips victory. Post-relief, consolidate at capital, rally other three houses' might, march on Verus, extirpate Albion's last royal blood.
Reading Houses' missive, Manis and Paces found spine. They led armies to the capital, aligning with Houses.
Megan, however, shunned the trio. Instead, ten thousand Megans struck Grunt mines. Chaos erupted; mines fell piecemeal, pleas flooding Grunt's patriarch.
Grunt itched to rescue his holdings, but mobilizable forces served Sora and Verus. Sora, hearing the cries, smiled — unperturbed, even pleased. Megan's ten thousand scattered across mines — let them rampage. Once others fell, Megans die next.
Post-battle, Sora's six thousand held the yard. Over eight thousand surrendered, weapons seized; Gandalf's eight thousand Toristines left two thousand guarding prisoners and yard; the rest — over six thousand — ambushed the capital-lumber route, awaiting relief.
Houses' five thousand relief force hurried from capital. Roughly fifty miles out, foes swarmed from flanking mountain paths. Enemy war cries shook skies — but before charging down, fireballs and wind blades hammered Houses' ranks, slaying hundreds.
Toristine swordsmen followed, clashing fiercely.
Fifty Academy mages and six thousand Grunt archers lurked roadside woods, pounding Houses' rear with spells and shafts.
Long-range fire pinned Houses forward desperately, yet Toristine swordsmen's grit stalled them at the clash line — immobile.
Rear ranks bled ceaselessly to magic and arrows. Heavy losses broke morale; no forward surge possible. Relief shattered, fleeing helter-skelter.
Archers ignored runners, picking dense clusters. Lone Houses soldiers spied archers fronted by dozens of swordsmen — bolted for distant woods.
Deserters sparked full rout. Frontline grappled Toristines one-on-one, both losing a thousand; mid-rear three thousand fled, a thousand felled by arrows and blasts; another thousand froze amid the melee, unresisting.
"We're Crown Prince Verus's allies. He restores the kingdom — surrender, past forgiven," Sora called.
The thousand Houses eyed mages and archers lining ridges. Hesitant, they dropped arms, hands raised.
Sora nodded. Left a thousand swordsmen on the captives; Gandalf marched the rest — some six thousand — to plains five miles from capital, camping.
Civil war's second afternoon: cookfires dotted plains beyond walls; sunset blazed overhead.
House sentries spotted them, reporting to the patriarch.
Seeing the foe, Houses feared his relief doomed — rage blacked him out. Aides bore him to the ex-king's bedchamber. He stirred at nightfall.
Wives and sons brightened.
"Have Manis, Paces, Megans arrived?" Houses fixed on his second son.
"Mani and Pace's ten thousand each entered via rear gate. Megan delays. Grunts outside hold."
"Is that so?" Houses tallied: fifteen thousand his, six-to-seven thousand foes. Defending capital — impregnable sans threefold odds. Secure for now.
"Grunt betrays — what did Verus promise? Dares spurn us, the Republic. Scum. No Toristine push now — letter the expedition back. Strike from without, annihilate Grunts on capital plains." Houses decreed.
Mani, Pace, Megan, lesser houses thought alike. Civil war — more might better. Letters already winged to expeditionary forces.