Our orders were to advance and secure the Grayfangs’ flank. Snoutlings marched slowly across the ravines ahead, eyes wide open. I stood back on the highest ground I could find, watching the broken terrain around them for threats.
This time, the Grayfangs waited for us so they could start the counteroffensive against their foes. I had a bad feeling.
Is he trying to fight the entire Werewolf Country at once?
They’d warned me of the coalition when I arrived at the Pass. Insanity, I thought. But Rurik seemed to have a card up his sleeve. I couldn’t find out what it was.
“Southwest, Kat,” Predslava said.
Shadows shifted behind a snowy bank.
“Aye.” I grabbed my staff with both hands and waited.
Werewolves dashed toward our unaware soldiers.
“Jötunn Surge!!!”
The Snoutlings jumped back as the ice hill erupted to their left, scattering the werewolves in the air like flies.
But it was just a small group. More charged in from the southeast before I could spot them. The Snoutlings braced.
There was still time. I swung my staff over the saddle, switching it to the other side, and prepared another spell when heavy panting swelled behind me—
Predslava wheeled us around. “Kat, watch out!”
A third group, furs covered in warpaint, steel claws growing toward us.
I gritted my teeth and unleashed the spell. “Worldeater’s—”
Battered Snoutlings used each other for support, dragging themselves across the snow as we made our way home. We survived, somehow, forty days of never-ending ambushes. Though not everyone did.
I sighed as the palace came into view in the distance, then glanced over my shoulder. “Good job, everyone...”
The veterans raised their spears in response, some immediately falling into a coughing fit.
We set out with nearly a thousand spearmen, and returned with less than six hundred. I couldn’t babysit the levy midbattle anymore, not in that chaos and against those numbers.
We needed a proper army, capable of standing on its own; otherwise, the men would keep dying in droves.
Farmers dropped their tools and came rushing toward us. The first ones to reach the formation tried to tend to me.
“I’m unharmed. Please, look after them.” I nodded back to the levy, then cried, “Grommo!”
He came running to my side with a bundle of fishing harpoons on his shoulder. “Yes?”
“I know everyone’s in dire need of a break, but I need you to do something for me.” I lowered my voice. “If we don’t pull it off this year… I’m not sure if we’ll survive the next campaign.”
“Yeah… this time was rough. What do you have in mind?”
“A military reform. I want to replace our levy with a professional standing force.”
He scratched his nose. “Sorry, Chieftain, but I have not a clue how to give you that. The poems didn’t cover organized warfare, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll figure it out together, don’t worry.”
“I can start with the veterans, if you want. They might know a thing or two at this point.”
I nodded. “Set aside a training field in the city and let’s start as soon as possible.”
“Understood.” He trotted ahead, but I grabbed his vest. “What—”
“I’d like you to lead this force,” I said. “So you'd better start lifting some weights yourself.”
He choked. “M-me?!”
“Who else? Unless you want me to call Umma to do it…”
His eyes widened.
“N-no, not Umma! I’ll give you the best army in the whole North, you’ll see, Chieftain!”
I chuckled. Their rivalry dated back to our Nordic classes. I felt kind of mean for doing this, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Get moving, then, soldier.”
Grommo rushed to work.
We turned the old quarry into a training field; it had already been stripped of snow. Veterans sparred with spears and wrestled in the open, while the captain himself zoomed past them with heavy snow bricks on his back. I watched them from my balcony.
“I-I’m lifting weights!” he cried between gasps. “Can you see me, Chieftain?!”
I raised a thumbs-up. “Keep it up!”
“On it—”
Splat!
I flinched as he fell face-first on the snow.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to lead this army?” Predslava sat down beside me in her polar bear form. “I kinda wanted to…”
I scratched between her ears. “Who would take care of me if you did?”
They perked up. “Now that you mention it, Kat, you’d be hopeless without me.”
I pursed my lips.
That works, I suppose…
But it seemed I’d have to go more hands-on if we wanted this army to work.
The veterans formed up on the training grounds for inspection. Stone-tipped spears as tall as themselves, makeshift hide vests, the usual.
I stopped and yanked one of them by the vest. “It’s too loose, not hard enough. These clothes can barely protect you against scrapes—”
“Hey, watch yourself, soldier!” Grommo said out of the blue.
I jumped, my head spinning as I looked back and forth between them. “W-what?” Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
For some reason, the veteran’s face was red as he snickered.
Grommo glared at him. “You little—”
“What’s wrong with you two…? I’m trying to gauge the quality of our equipment.”
“Sorry, Chieftain…” Grommo’s head dropped, but he kept his eyes on that soldier.
I shook my head and kept walking, thinking out loud. “Leather hardens if we boil it, so we should get decent armor out of it.”
Mercenaries used scale armor in Vesmeria, but that was complex to craft, since it was made of individual lamellas carefully shaped and laced together.
“Maybe a two-piece breastplate…?”
Naturally, a leather breastplate wasn’t a match for its steel counterpart, but we weren’t knights. This could be a real alternative for us if it worked.
“Grommo, I’d like to hire a few more workers into our direct service. You can raise the turnip tax proportionately, if necessary.”
“For the household?” he asked.
“No, as dedicated craftsmen. Look for people experienced in leather-working.”
He nodded. “We’ll probably find them in the trapper villages. I know some in my own family, now that you mention it.”
“Alright.” I glanced at their heads. “But hardened leather might not be enough to protect their skulls.”
“I think they're thick enough, Chieftain.”
“Silly.” I held my chin pensively. “Where do the Grayfangs buy steel weapons?”
“Maybe Umma could ask around in Bjornhavn…?”
“Yes, that works. Send a message to her, please.”
The veterans dispersed to grab a snack while Grommo went to find a household messenger.
After the break, they split into two groups to show me what they could do.
They opened the fight by unleashing a blunt-stick volley at each other, simulating their classic harpoon skirmishing tactics.
“Ouch!” Grommo cried as a stick struck his nose.
Predslava rolled on the snow, cackling.
They grabbed staves and charged.
I grimaced—it was a mess.
The groups quickly broke into a series of individual duels across the training grounds.
Here, Snoutling versus Snoutling, the most skilled veteran won, but werewolves were a different category when it came to sheer physical prowess: stronger, faster, taller.
“Hehe, I know what you're thinking, Kat,” Predslava said.
“Huh?”
“Check this.” She turned into a donkey and stampeded toward the veterans.
They ran away with shouts—
“Bang!” Predslava laughed as she smashed into the Snoutling blob, sending the veterans flying.
“More mass…” I sighed. “Stop that, please. I see your point.”
“Yeah. These guys are screwed.”
“Shhh! Don't say that.”
Predslava was right, though. We needed a way to compensate for the physical difference between a Snoutling and a werewolf. These short, crooked spears weren’t enough to stop a cavalry-like charge.
I scratched my head. “Shields, maybe…?”
The veterans ran to the market, then came back with borrowed boards.
“Don’t bite your tongues off.” Predslava charged. “Hya!”
I covered my eyes, save for a small gap. I had to watch, unfortunately.
They closed ranks, ‘shields’ locked and facing her—
Slam!!!
The formation folded, Snoutlings rolling over each other, boards and all.
I smacked my lips. “Not shields, then…”
Predslava chased the scattered veterans, kicking their butts as they ran in panic when one of them spun around and planted his staff into the ground. “AH HA HA—”
It jabbed Predslava’s throat, stopping her in her tracks. “Ugh!”
“That was good!” I said.
“Hey—cough, cough.” She glared at me. “That hurt!”
“Sorry. I have a stupid idea, though. What if we try… longer staves?”
“It might be too unwieldy for us, Chieftain,” Grommo said.
“I know, but you’re not supposed to duel with them.” I pointed at the clever warrior. “But use it as he did in formation.”
The veterans exchanged glances. “We can try.”
We didn’t have perfect poles lying around, of course, so preparations took a while. I fidgeted anxiously as I waited.
They returned with long, trimmed branches and fell into formation. These new ones were roughly twice as big as their regular spears.
I nodded approvingly. “Start—” You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
“Prepare to die!” Predslava stampeded madly toward them.
The Snoutlings lowered their staves—
Thump.
She bounced back from the wooden tips, confused. “Huh?”
The veterans glared at her and lifted their staves.
“Oi, wait—”
They smacked and poked Predslava mercilessly.
“Stop—” She squirmed under the barrage. “STOP!”
They didn’t stop.
I covered my mouth. “That works… too well. Grommo.”
He didn’t hear me, busy bashing Predslava like a maniac.
“Grommo!”
He came over, breathless and grinning. “How may I help?”
“Start recruiting. This is the start of our professional army—”
A commotion broke out at the end of the city. The veterans stopped.
I rushed to the main street to see what happened.
The northeast road darkened with Snoutlings—trappers, women carrying their cubs.
“That’s the road to Fjallsleidis...” I muttered as the veterans gathered around me.
A janitor sprinted ahead of the incoming crowd and cried out at the top of his lungs—
“Fjallsleidis has been raided!!!”
What…?
Grommo’s jaw dropped. “Werewolves?”
The Grayfangs had many rivals, but how would they cross the river unnoticed with an army?
Yet I knew of no other enemy.
“Shouldn’t we send word to Rurik?” he asked. “It's his duty to defend us as our overlord.”
“If werewolves did this, then I'm afraid the Grayfangs are already fighting in this war. It's not reasonable to expect him to be everywhere at once.”
The failure was mine, and only mine, though I disliked our current unilateral arrangement. Defending the plains became my personal responsibility once I claimed them as my demesne. I believed I did it to cover the Snoutlings under my wings, but my wings… Well, they weren't as broad as I thought.
We met with the terrified refugees midway as workers rushed to aid them. Many were wounded.
A young woman, who sobbed louder than the rest, came running toward me.
I knelt and opened my arms. “Are you hurt—”
She lifted a feather in front of my eyes, too shocked to speak, cutting me off.
“Since when do werewolves have feathers?” Predslava asked.
“Crap,” Grommo muttered. “The harpies done bloody revenge on us.”
Blood drained out of my head.
“Leif told me that it was just a gang…”
He tricked me into doing his dirty work.
We apprehended nearly all the thugs, so retaliation didn’t cross my mind.
There was a tribe behind this.
“Cowards.” He spat on the ground. “Going after civilians.”
I didn’t see the village chief anywhere. I turned to the girl, realizing she might’ve been his partner. “Mogg…?”
She shook her head.
We gathered in the great hall for an emergency meeting: household staff, veterans, concerned citizens.
“Send a second messenger to Umma,” I said. “Tell her to interrogate the captives and find out where the harpies are coming from—if the Burgomaster tries to interfere, tell him I know what he did.”
A Snoutling nodded and ran out of the palace.
“What do you wanna do, Kat?” Predslava asked.
The harpies controlled the very sky above our heads. I couldn’t allow it. Not after a raid with casualties.
I squeezed the arms of my chair. “War. There’s nothing else to be done.”
“Shouldn't we wait until the professional army is ready?” Grommo asked.
I shook my head. “They might strike anywhere next. We can’t split our levy between all the villages, and we can’t afford to evacuate them for months either—we need those pelts—I’ll bring the fight to the harpies immediately and force a decisive battle.”
The Snoutlings exchanged glances.
“But the levy…” Grommo scratched his head. “I’m afraid they are not in shape for another campaign so soon.”
I knew, and I didn’t plan on doing this alone.
An overlord couldn’t be called to the same fight twice.
But this was a new threat.
“Call Rurik,” I said. “Now it’s his duty.”