Hadjar had to give the man credit — the plan was amazing. Simple, crafty, and efficient. It was no wonder that a wave of approving whispers had followed in the wake of Bermengton’s explanation.
“General Traves,” Primus’ eyes flashed and the hall immediately fell silent once again. “What do you think?”
Hadjar rose and approached Bermengton. He calmly extended his hand toward him. For a few moments, Bermengton wrestled with his desire to insult him and his unwillingness to incur the King’s wrath. He gave the pointer to Hadjar, snorted, and sat back down.
Turning to the map, the General removed almost all the figurines that the previous speaker had managed to move to the Forest.
“Give me thirty cavalry, a hundred infantry, and three cannons,” Hadjar said, “and in three weeks, I’ll return with their leader’s head.”
The room was deathly silent as everyone tried to process this. The silence was eventually broken by Nero, who slapped himself and let out a slow, agonized “Agaaaaiiiin!” The Prince massaged his temples and rose abruptly. “My King, don’t listen to him, his crazy plans are sometimes really just that, crazy. Let’s instead go with the safe, sane plan of General Berm-”
Nero stopped talking when his father raised his palm. Primus took the floor.
“How are you, with so few soldiers, going to bring me the head of someone who hasn’t been found for fifteen years in a mere three weeks?”
“It’s simple, my King,” Hadjar bowed slightly. “I’ll just join them. Everyone knows that the Mad General and King Primus don’t get along. Convincing the rebels that I’ve betrayed you won’t be very difficult to pull off.”
Nero was about to say something again, but before he could open his mouth, Primus started laughing. He laughed long and hard.
Hadjar tried not to plunge into his memories again — his uncle had laughed like this when he and his nephew had used to prank others together.
“You really are mad, General Traves... Well, so be it! You set off tomorrow. Gods as my witnesses, if you don’t return with the head of the leader of these rats in five weeks, I’ll give the order for Bermengton to execute his plan. And I won’t care about who ends up sent to the forefathers by his cannons.”
Chapter 232
Hadjar stood in front of a small squad: thirty horsemen in steel armor and red cloaks, a hundred infantrymen with round shields, helmets, standards, and spears; three cannons and the cannoneers to man them. Judging by their auras, there was no one in the squad below the level of the Formation Stage. Hadjar was still the strongest cultivator among them, of course. Still, a 130 people at the Formation Stage were a significant force by the standards of the surrounding kingdoms. They could’ve stormed a city or a barony.
“General Traves,” a middle-aged man rode forward. Around his chest, slowly thudding against his armor, hung a silver medallion. “May I introduce myself?”
“Yes, please,” Hadjar nodded.
The reinstated General wore a white cloak made from the skin of a White Ape. Underneath, he was wearing the same kind of simple clothes and bast shoes that he always did. Only his general’s medallion and Moon Beam were worth any money.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Azrea immediately nipped at his chest. She still had the habit of sleeping in the clothes of her ‘transport’, and woke up only to resent him and eat. Nero often joked that this was typical behavior for a woman.
“Lieutenant O’Shekl,” the Officer punched his breastplate. “I’m the Commander of the Royal special guard. Actually, most of us are right in front of you.”
Hadjar had no doubt that Primus would’ve never let him go without proper supervision. But the King had assigned him his own guards, trained to ‘fetch’, ‘sit’, and ‘shake’, thus he was being kind of paranoid. However, this hadn’t derailed Hadjar’s plans at all. Perhaps it was even better this way.
“You are at my disposal for the next month, Officer,” Hadjar said unemotionally, almost ironically.
The Lieutenant nodded and struck his chest again. The other soldiers repeated the gesture. Well, guards was probably a better term for them. The General didn’t know what to call the King’s ‘pet dogs’ exactly. While they hadn’t chosen such a fate for themselves, they were nevertheless his minions.
Some of them were young and had had nothing to do with his parents’ death. However, among those present, Hadjar also spotted some familiar faces that he had often seen in his nightmares. They had aged, and some were now gray-haired and scarred, but Hadjar could’ve singled them out in a crowd of millions.
“Let’s dot the i’s and cross the t’s, then,” Hadjar continued in the same, cold tone. “I can’t stand two things from my warriors — cowardice and disobedience. My orders aren’t negotiable and are to be executed immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, General!” The soldiers responded in chorus.
“In battle, I’ll kill you with my own two hands if you try to run away. Is that clear?”
Again, the cry of “Yes, General!” came loud and clear.
Hadjar nodded and looked at the capital. It was spread out at the foot of the hill they’d chosen to gather on, right at the top. Even from their position, the sound of people having fun in the city could easily be heard. The people were celebrating the wedding of their beloved Prince. Thanks to the bards’ songs about Eren/Nero, the common folk liked him very much. He seemed dearer to them than the distant and aloof usurper King.
Hadjar, patting the neck of his horse, turned toward the north.
“Where are you going, buddy?” A familiar voice asked him.
Hadjar turned around.
Nero was riding up to the hill, swaying slightly in his saddle. He was dressed in full armor, wearing a woolen, thick cloak over his shoulders. The hilt of his heavy blade poked out from behind his shoulder. His black horse shook its head, which caused the metal plates on
