A lavish carriage, escorted by a squad of elite guards, rolled over the rough gravel of the Disputed Lands and came to a stop at the main gate of the White Company's rear camp.
It was Lysandro Rogare himself. He had come to inspect the front lines in person. Dressed in a fine velvet traveling robe with a light silver-trimmed leather breastplate over it, he looked travel-worn but still managed a warm smile for Jules and Tiberius who had come out to meet him.
"Lord Lysandro, it's been too long. You still look as impressive as ever," Tiberius said, bowing his head with perfect respect. "I hope the wind and sand of the front haven't been too harsh on you."
Yes, even if your decision-making is dogshit, I still have to play the loyal little subordinate.
Lysandro gave a slight nod, his gaze sweeping over Tiberius and the silent, mountain-like Jules behind him. A polite, practiced smile curved his lips. "Tiberius, Captain Jules — seeing you and the company safe and sound puts my mind at ease."
He paused, then added in a tone that felt completely out of place in the desolate war zone, "It looks like you've been resting quite comfortably here in the Flank Corridor. I just received the latest frontline dispatch — General Mitridas has led Myr's elite forces in a lightning advance and captured both Pebble Slope and Stridar!"
He tried to sound encouraging.
"But don't worry," Lysandro said, clapping Tiberius on the shoulder with a laugh, "once I return, I'll speak to Triarch Bambarro and get you moved to the front! I'm counting on you and your uncle to bring glory to Lys! The names 'the Honorable' and 'Lightning Kid' should echo across all of Essos!"
"Jules, I won't let you men go unrewarded. My people should claim the biggest share of the honors! Your names will appear in the victory reports!"
"Thank you for your kindness, my lord," Jules replied in his usual flat, soldierly tone.
"Excellent news, my lord — victory after victory!" Tiberius forced a bright smile onto his face.
[Victory my ass. I just want to lie low in the rear — why is that so fucking difficult?!]
Tiberius studied every twitch of Lysandro's expression, trying to figure out whether the cunning governor had genuinely been swept up in the victory fever or was simply going through the motions.
To his disappointment, it looked like Lysandro really believed it.
But there was nothing to be done. Tiberius kept the smile plastered on and helped Lysandro back into his carriage for the short ride to Swordbreak Fort.
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Swordbreak Fort was a riot of noise, a stark contrast to the quiet of the rear camp. Soldiers from different city-states, mercenaries, and camp followers mixed together, their voices and accents blending into a chaotic symphony. The optimistic mood of victory hung in the air like a contagious fever. Everyone was drunk on the fantasy that Volantis was already finished.
Tiberius escorted Lysandro on a tour of the fort. All around them, excited conversations drifted past:
"I heard General Mitridas led Myr's finest and crushed Pebble Slope and Stridar in one go! Gods, this is the deepest we've ever pushed into Volantene territory!"
"Yeah! The Volantenes basically ran away and abandoned Stridar without a fight? Looks like our Tyroshi martial spirit is recognized across Essos. Otherwise they wouldn't have fled the city the second they saw us coming! This war is way too easy — the Volantenes are nothing but cowards! And their generals are the biggest idiots of all!"
"Did you hear? The main Lysene mercenary force has reached Swordbreak Fort. Next they're heading south along the river to clear out the lower reaches. They're going to turn everything from Swordbreak Fort to the Volantene estuary into our territory! All those Volantene outposts are just waiting to be plucked!"
"This war is too damn easy! The Volantenes are spineless eunuchs! Their generals are the stupidest of the stupid! At this rate, we'll be bathing in the harbor of New Volantis Port before the Festival of Light!"
The rumors varied, but they all painted the same picture of three grand advances.
Tiberius stared at the map in his tent later that night, his finger slowly tracing the lines.
First, the Tyroshi — they've split up to garrison the newly captured cities like Swordbreak Fort and Stridar. Occupying territory means dividing forces to hold it, so they've already lost mobility and turned themselves into isolated strongpoints.
His finger moved inland, drawing a deep arrow toward Volantis proper. The Myr forces, under Mitridas, are charging forward in triumph, capturing Pebble Slope, Stridar, and pushing even deeper toward the Volantene heartland and estates… but they're advancing too fast, too smoothly! Look at their supply line — it's stretched thin as a spider's silk from the rear all the way to the tip of the spear.
Finally, his finger returned to the critical crossing at Swordbreak Fort, then followed the river south toward the estuary: And our Lysene main force plans to push south from Swordbreak Fort, clearing the lower river strongholds, with the goal of seizing the entire lower Disputed River down to the two key port cities in the estuary delta — New Volantis Port and the Tax Collector's Isle.
Three armies, three different directions, all singing songs of victory. From the outside, it looked perfect: Tyrosh holding the rear, Myr pressing the attack, Lys sweeping the flank.
But the more Tiberius looked at it, the heavier the dread settled in his chest.
Something is very, very wrong.
The Tyroshi scattered to hold cities, the Myr forces driving deep alone, the Lysene forces stretching their line along the river… Three armies, three separate ambitions, with almost no coordination or mutual support.
Tyrosh wanted to preserve strength and stay far from Volantis proper. Myr wanted victories to cement its political position within the alliance. Lys wanted more Volantene territory to create a bigger buffer for its precious Lysland region.
Lysland — that narrow but incredibly fertile strip along the western bank of the Disputed River — was a prize. The mountains behind it were rich in timber and minerals, and the valleys and basins inside the Broken Range had barely been touched. The Lysene merchants and slave-lords had been eyeing it hungrily for years.
The only reason it hadn't been heavily developed before was because it lay completely exposed to Volantene spears. Who would pour money into land that could be raided at any moment?
That was why the Three Daughters' armies were operating with such selfish independence.
And the High Command bulletins were full of the same nonsense: "The enemy is crumbling… the enemy flees at the sight of us… is Volantis already weakened? Has Volantis been cursed…?"
Tiberius read those reports and could only give a cold snort.
They're drugging their own soldiers and decision-makers with lies.
But in the end, he was just a junior officer. He had no access to real intelligence and no power to change the High Command's plans.
All he could do was order the Lightning Company to double their vigilance, keep their ears open for any scrap of real news, and wait.
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