It was three days after the official announcement of Londonium's fall that the first reports of anomalies reached STAVKA.
The contents of the reports themselves were bone-dry, devoid of any emotive flair.
They spoke of military trains on the western Leithanien railway lines appearing at twice their usual frequency, an unusual flow of refugees detected in border-adjacent cities, and observations by Union border guards of personnel entering Leithanien frontier fortresses clad in what appeared to be Gaulish Imperial uniforms.
Frank picked up the documents, flipping through the pages as he muttered under his breath.
"I doubted my eyes at first... but this is real."
He pointed to the timestamps recorded in the margins of the report.
"It hasn't even been a week since their victory parade, and they're already crawling around like this? It's preposterous."
Ivanov crossed his arms and snatched the file from him.
"Is the report from the Leithanien side definitive?"
"The pieces are still scattered; it would be premature to call it definitive," Feliksa replied.
"What the border guards saw was certainly a uniform similar to the Gaulish Imperial Army, but we haven't clearly identified their heraldry. They could be escorts for a Gaulish diplomat. However…"
Amfielice took over the explanation.
"…However, the direction of travel is the problem."
Every gaze in the room converged on her.
Amfielice walked toward the map pinned to the wall, her finger tracing the juncture where the Union and Leithanien borders met.
"The movement is entirely toward this area. The western Leithanien frontier—specifically the plains closest to our eastern border. There are several Leithanien fortresses there, interspersed with small towns and agricultural districts."
Wrangel narrowed his eyes.
"Couldn't it simply be Leithanien reinforcing its own borders?"
"There are two things wrong with that theory," Amfielice said calmly.
"First, they aren't Leithanien troops. The soldiers in the report aren't wearing the gray coats of the Leithanien Imperial Army; they're wearing the distinct blue coats with gold trimmings of the Gaulish Empire. Second, the direction of the refugee flow. Contrary to the norm, we aren't seeing people moving inward from Victoria's eastern frontier; we're observing people scattering from the inner cities toward the eastern border."
Frank tilted his head in confusion.
"Are they flocking to the border to avoid war with us?"
"No."
Feliksa pulled a single sheet from the report.
"It means the enemy's main force is massing in the east under the guise of refugees."
A heavy silence fell over the operations room.
Ivanov let out a sharp, cynical grunt.
"…They've been clever."
Frank spoke in a low voice, dripping with venom.
"Those Gaulish bastards…."
Amfielice scanned the map once more.
She visualized the lines: the southern fortress belt, the Victorian occupied zones, and now a new arc curving from the north toward the east.
"If Gaul is passing through Leithanien to strike our eastern flank, then this is the beginning."
Wrangel frowned deeply.
"We cannot be certain yet. It could be internal Leithanien instability, or a Gaulish deception."
Ivanov asked, "What does the Eastern Army Group Command have to say?"
"They've acknowledged the anomalies," Frank answered. "However, they believe it is too early to classify this as an 'invasion.' They're plagued by the same dilemma we are. Construction on the southern fortress line is still in full swing; if we issue a total emergency mobilization for the east as well…"
Amfielice cut him off.
"It will cost an exorbitant amount. I know."
She grit her teeth.
"But if we keep watching and waiting like this, eventually there will be nothing left to watch. Everything will be too late."
Feliksa asked softly, "What is your opinion, Comrade Lieutenant General?"
Amfielice closed her eyes briefly before opening them with renewed focus.
"We must, at the very least, activate contingency plans for the regions bordering the eastern frontier. We need to calculate railway bottlenecks in advance and establish evacuation plans for rear-line cities. And…"
She lowered her voice a fraction.
"…We must ascertain exactly what is happening within Leithanien right this moment."
Ivanov spoke with a tone of finality. "Very well. We proceed as follows. Issue a limited alert for the Eastern Army Group and intensify reconnaissance along the Leithanien border. Troop movements on roads and railways will remain within peacetime parameters for now. We cannot afford to delay the completion of the southern fortress line."
Frank nodded. "And the intelligence front?"
Feliksa folded the documents in her hand.
"I will gather rumors spreading among the peasants and merchants of the western Leithanien frontier as quickly as possible. For now… we must confirm what exactly is occurring at that border."
**************************
Western Leithanien Frontier, near Stallenkrug.
Johann was already out in the fields before the mist had a chance to lift.
The soil was still damp with the dew that had fallen overnight, and the newly sprouted barley barely reached below his waist.
Fog drifted through the low hills in the distance, and through the haze, a single road stretched out like a thin thread.
"Father, do we just need to tie the rows today?"
His son, who had followed him with a small shovel, asked. Eleven years old. He was barely taller than the shovel Johann used.
Johann smiled and stroked his son's head. "That's right. Today we only need to do this side. We should finish before the day gets any hotter."
The boy thrust his shovel into the earth without a single word of complaint. Every time he turned the soil, a small puff of breath escaped his lips.
It was then that a faint vibration began to travel through the ground.
At first, he thought it was a wagon. Perhaps the charcoal merchant from the neighboring village was arriving early today.
But the vibration was heavy, rhythmic, and growing thicker. It didn't sound like the rattle of wooden wheels; it was more akin to the sound of dozens of iron masses striking the earth simultaneously.
"Father." The boy stopped shoveling and looked up. "Something... is coming."
Johann also looked toward the road. A cloud of dust was rising within the mist.
Initially, he thought the fog was breaking, but he soon realized it was dust kicked up by hooves and iron wheels. Shortly after, blue coats emerged from the haze.
Cavalry rode in formation at the front, followed by an endless stream of infantry and baggage wagons. Spears, bows, and Originium cannons gleamed under the breaking sun.
By Johann's side, his son whispered, "…Is it our Imperial Army?"
"No," Johann replied almost reflexively.
The Leithanien military did not use such flags. There, fluttering at the head of the column, was a golden eagle on a blue field.
It was a heraldry he had seen once in an old war painting hanging on the town hall wall. It was the crest of a nation that the old tavern owner would spit and curse at while telling war stories in his cups.
Gaul.
Johann gripped his shovel a little tighter. Several horsemen broke away from the road, riding up the embankment path through the fields. One of them pulled his reins and looked down at them.
"Hey, you there!"
The rider spoke Leithanien with an unfamiliar, heavy accent.
"Is this the road to Stallenkrug?"
Johann unconsciously straightened his back. "Y-yes, Your Excellency. If you keep following this road... you will see the river. Stallenkrug is near there."
The cavalryman nodded. His young son tugged at Johann's side. When Johann glanced down, the boy was biting his lip and whispering, "Father, are we... going to be okay?"
Instead of answering, Johann looked back at the horseman. The man's eyes were devoid of any particular emotion. They were the eyes of a man simply carrying out a mission.
The rider surveyed the surroundings for a moment, then turned his horse's head. As he departed, he threw back a playful, yet chilling warning.
"Stay in your houses. Don't stand by the roadside. Soon... this whole land will become quite noisy."
Johann soon came to understand the meaning of those words. Several hours later, plumes of smoke began to rise from the direction of Stallenkrug.
His son asked, "…What is going to happen to us?"
Johann could not find the words to answer.
***********************
[Troops appearing to be the Gaulish Imperial Army are passing through the western frontier. Stallenkrug has been engulfed in flames following what is assumed to be a battle.]
A heavy silence settled over the chamber of the Leithanien Imperial Diet when the third report of combat arrived from the western border. The Chairman held the document with a trembling hand.
"Stallenkrug, Mattenheim, Rottenburg…"
He read the names one by one. "These are all ancient villages and castles of our western frontier. Places that held firm through at least the last two great wars. And now... they are burning, one after another, along the path carved by the Gaulish Imperial Legions."
Count Altenmark surged to his feet, his white beard quivering like that of an enraged beast.
"Is this their idea of a 'right of passage'? They bring an army through a road we never permitted, and now they burn our villages to the ground?"
Marquis Lienz of the south avoided his gaze. "The word from the Gaulish Embassy is somewhat different." He held up a file. "They claim they are establishing a 'bulwark against the Red Menace of the Union.' They claim they dispatched troops to purge Union spies and Red agitators infiltrating the western frontier…."
"And in the process, our peasants and merchants are dying!" Count Altenmark slammed his hand on the desk. "Under the pretext of catching Red agitators, why are they raining artillery shells on Leithanien towns? Who will explain why the ancient bell tower of Stallenkrug has collapsed?"
The Mayor of Visseheim, an eastern Free City, spoke up. "In any case, this is no time for squabbling. We must make a decision." He picked up a page from the report. "The Gaulish Imperial Army isn't just passing through. They clashed with our border guards near Stallenkrug. There are reports that a border guard company was nearly annihilated in the process."
Elector Hochberg ground his teeth. "It seems we can no longer pretend this isn't happening."
Marquis Lienz muttered one last hesitation. "Even so... if we declare total war on Gaul immediately, what happens to our merchant fleets and trade networks? The supply lines to Bolivar will be impacted—"
"Marquis!" Count Altenmark's voice was deep and heavy with tremor. "Blood is already flowing on our soil. How much more do you intend to earn from trade built upon corpses? Who do you think the peasants of the western frontier will hate more: the Union or Gaul? They will hate the Empire most for failing to protect them. And since they are already bordering the Union, imagine what will happen then?!"
Heavy breathing echoed throughout the chamber. The Chairman closed his eyes, then reopened them. "His Majesty the Witch King has not made an appearance this time either." He spoke plainly. "But His Majesty's will is clear. If we allow the Gaulish legions to trample our soil with impunity, not just the west, but our entire Empire will be imperiled. We must halt the atrocities of these brigands."
The Grand Master of the Eastern Knights stood. "Among the lords near the western border, there are those who have already summoned their levies. Count Altenmark, Count Nordheim, Duke Seilen... they are gathering their knights, infantry, and mercenaries. If you give the order in the name of the Imperial Diet, we can merge a portion of the Imperial Army with them."
The Mayor of Visseheim asked cautiously, "Then we must officially issue a 'declaration of war' against Gaul?"
The Chairman nodded solemnly. "If we remain silent, the fires of the western frontier will soon spread to the heart of the Empire. The later the decision is made, the higher the price we shall pay." He took up his gavel. "Record this."
The scribe held his pen with a hand taut with tension.
"The Leithanien Imperial Diet, in response to the Gaulish Empire's unauthorized invasion of our territory and the slaughter of our residents in the western frontier, hereby declares a state of war as of this day. Our forces shall take up arms to guard the boundaries of the Empire, and all lords and free cities of the western frontier shall cooperate with the Imperial Army to drive out the invaders."
The Chairman added one final clause. "Deliver this declaration to the Gaulish Imperial Court as an official document, but ensure our army is firing the first cannon on the western plains before they even have a chance to read it."
Someone on one side of the room laughed softly. "At least this time, we've managed to stay one move ahead."
But there was one thing they did not know that day: the Emperor of Gaul had calculated that very move a long time ago.
*********************************
Two days' march north of Stallenkrug, the Western Leithanien Plains.
The standard-bearer of Count Nordheim's army held his banner high from atop his steed. The flag was emblazoned with the crest of a black lion and a silver tower. Beneath it, a line of feudal infantry, knights, and mercenaries stretched out. Ancient plate, newly purchased chainmail, and a hodgepodge of diverse heraldry were mixed together.
"Align!" the commander of the Count's forces bellowed. "Front row, shields up! Pikemen to the rear! Knights, pivot to the left flank and stand ready!"
Beyond a rising cloud of dust, another army was approaching. Blue coats, golden eagles, a rhythmic march of infantry, and the heavy Orignium artillery batteries positioned behind them. Count Nordheim watched the spectacle from atop a hill, biting his lip.
"Is that the Gaulish Empire's Grand Armée?"
Duke Seilen, standing beside him, gave a bitter chuckle. "I've only seen the name in old tactical manuals. To think I'd see them in the flesh."
Behind the two men, elements of the Leithanien Imperial Army's artillery and cavalry had joined the fray. "Your Grace." An officer from the Imperial Army rode up. "The Imperial Diet has decided to name this engagement the 'Great Victory of Stallenkrug.' Failure is officially not an option."
Count Nordheim rubbed the bridge of his nose. "…Not even contemplating failure? That makes me slightly uneasy."
He looked down at the plains once more. The Gaulish army was terrifyingly orderly. The intervals between regiments were precise, and the flags and drums moved as if the entire host were a single, gargantuan organism.
At the very rear of their line, in a field command post set up beside the artillery, a figure held a telescope. It was Corsica I. He surveyed the Leithanien noble host with an air of relaxed detachment.
"So many heraldries," he noted.
The Chief of Staff answered from his side. "Yes, Sire. It is a hodgepodge of forces from Nordheim, Seilen, Hofmark, and various other counts and free city mercenaries. It is a western coalition hurriedly assembled by their Imperial Diet."
Corsica chuckled. "Quite a sight for something assembled in haste. However…" He lowered his telescope slightly to observe the placement of the Leithanien artillery. "Their guns are too far back, and the gap between their cavalry and infantry is awkward. It's a formation where each lord is fighting to put their own men 'at the front.' In trying to share the glory, they will end up sharing only their deaths."
The Chief of Staff asked, "Shall we proceed as planned, Sire?"
Corsica I nodded. "Originium Artillery, prepare."
As the command filtered down, the mechanisms of the Gaulish artillery began to hum. Muzzles were elevated, and barrels were adjusted to the calculated angles.
"First shot, there." Corsica pointed to a slightly recessed point between the Leithanien center-left and right wings. "That is where Nordheim and Seilen failed to coordinate their spacing. Tear it open."
The roar of the cannons shook the plains. The first barrage was like a grim warning. In the awkward gap in the Leithanien formation between the hills and the plains, massive explosions erupted. Dust billowed, and shields, spears, and human bodies were tossed into the air in a mangled heap.
Count Nordheim's face twisted in a grimace. "Artillery! Counter-battery fire!"
The Leithanien artillery officers scrambled to issue orders. "Adjust coordinates! Target the Gaulish center, rear line! Fire!"
But their cannons were not the new-model Originium guns. Most were outdated models left over from the previous war. The guns fired too late, and the shells fell on empty ground ahead of the Gaulish lines or on positions they had already vacated.
Corsica I smiled at the sight. "Time." He spoke dispassionately. "Victory or defeat in war is usually decided by that difference."
A second volley flew from the Gaulish side. This time, it struck the Leithanien right flank, where the knightly orders had massed. White cloaks and ornate lances were scattered into the sky amidst the explosions. Horses screamed, and several knights were thrown and crushed beneath their mounts.
Duke Seilen, his face pale, shouted, "Knights, advance! Charge the Gaulish artillery! Stop them from firing!"
The knights charged as ordered. Gleaming spears and shields, brilliant heraldry, honor passed down through generations. But before they could even reach the effective range of the artillery, the Gaulish infantry moved first. They stepped forward behind their shields, shifting their formation with seamless fluidity.
"Prepare to fire!" the Gaulish infantry commander bellowed.
As the Leithanien knights descended to the base of the hill, the first volley was unleashed simultaneously. A rain of bolts and arrows from countless crossbows and bows crossed the plain in a single wave. Several leading knights were knocked clean off their horses. The momentum of the knights behind them was already too great to stop; they collided with the fallen and tripped over one another.
Count Nordheim ground his teeth. "We cannot continue fighting separately like this. All forces! Advance!" He ordered his own infantry to move. The Leithanien infantry marched forward behind their shields, shouting the name of the Empire. Among them were peasant levies, city mercenaries, and noble house guards.
Yet, while their line advanced, the Gaulish army did not rush in the slightest. Their artillery continued to pour fire into the gaps in the Leithanien ranks, and the infantry waited behind their shields, timing their move perfectly.
When the decisive moment arrived, Corsica I raised his hand. "Now."
It was an order to the Old Guard. "Right flank cavalry, sweep in a semi-circle and envelop the Leithanien left. Left flank infantry, advance and crush the center of Nordheim's army. Artillery, keep pounding the seams between them. We will fold them in half."
The command was relayed, and the Gaulish cavalry moved. Horsemen in blue cloaks and gold trimmings swerved right in unison. The Leithanien left-wing infantry realized the move too late and tried to pivot their formation, but it was already over. Shells fell from one side while cavalry dug into their ribs from the other.
The banner of Count Nordheim's army wavered. In the center, the infantry of Nordheim and Seilen, still failing to coordinate their spacing, were hit by the full force of the Gaulish infantry's charge. The clatter of shields, screams, and the roar of Arts became a tangled mess of noise.
"Hold your ground!" Nordheim shouted. "Just a little longer! The Imperial reserves are coming up from behind—"
Before he could finish, another roar of artillery sounded from the rear where the reserves were supposed to be. Elements of the Gaulish artillery had already repositioned and begun firing into the Leithanien rear. The reserve infantry fell into chaos. It became impossible to tell who was at the front and who was at the rear.
Duke Seilen, his face bloodied, screamed toward Nordheim, "Count! We must retreat—" At that moment, a piece of shrapnel from an unknown source cut him short. Nearby cavalrymen rushed to support him and dragged him away.
Count Nordheim looked up at the sky briefly. Blue banners and black smoke were inextricably mixed. "…We have lost," he whispered softly.
The Gaulish cannon fire and drumbeats did not weaken in the slightest. Hours later, not a single Leithanien flag could be seen standing on the plain. Surviving soldiers scattered in all directions; some fled toward the eastern cities, while others disappeared into the mountains.
Long after the battle ended, Corsica I remained atop the hill, looking down over the plain. "Report."
The Chief of Staff spoke. "The armies of Count Nordheim and Duke Seilen have been effectively annihilated. The Imperial support units have lost more than half their strength. Based on the testimony of captured officers, there are no large-scale forces left to oppose us on the western frontier for the time being."
Corsica I nodded. "The door is open," he said quietly. "Leithanien's western door."
He unfolded a map and lightly tapped the plain where the battle had just occurred. "If we go a bit deeper from here, we will face a fork in the road. One leads north, toward the Union's eastern border. The other leads to the heart of Leithanien."
The Chief of Staff asked, "Which will you choose, Sire?"
Corsica I curled his lips into a smirk. "Both." He pointed to the map. "Marshal Emanuel will lead the 3rd and 4th Armies to strike the Leithanien capital, Bedunien. Ignore all other targets. Marshal François will assist Marshal Emanuel with the 11th Independent Artillery. Marshal Mulan will take the 5th and 10th Armies to pin down the enemy within the Union's southern fortresses and support my offensive. I shall personally command the rest of the forces."
"And the Victorian resistance fighters?"
"Leave them to our local collaborators." He gazed toward the Union. "I wonder just how surprised the Reds will be when they hear this news."
The wind swept across the plains. Over the scorched earth, the banners of the Gaulish Empire were slowly and purposefully planted.
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