The upper reaches of the Disputed River, Cliff Fort.
A bored Volantene mercenary yawned, breastplate hanging crooked on his shoulders, helmet tucked under one arm. He tossed a small wooden token to the man he was relieving.
"Shift's over. I'm on watch now." He grumbled. "Gods-damned luck. The Tiger Cloaks are living like kings in Rhaesh—wine, women, roasted lamb, silk sheets—while we're stuck in this shithole fortress staring at rocks, waiting for an enemy that might never show."
"Isn't that a good thing?" his comrade handed over a blunt-headed poleaxe. "We get to sit pretty while the Myr crossbows and Tyroshi blades stay far away."
"Pfft, you don't get it. Those bastards are actually having fun. Real fun. We're just… existing."
The soldier curled his lip, ignored his unambitious partner, and took up his post with the poleaxe.
"Wait… what the hell is that on the ridge…" Half-dazed by the sun, he suddenly spotted a small cluster of black dots moving along the distant slope like ants.
Deer? Wild boar? He squinted.
If it was game, the captain would probably take the fortress riders out for a hunt tonight. Fresh meat was always welcome.
In this age, hunting doubled as drill, and bagging something dangerous—tiger, lion, bear, boar—gave a man stories to brag about for years.
The common soldiers wouldn't get to kill the beasts themselves, but at least they'd eat well afterward.
He cupped his hands over his eyes to block the glare, and his pupils shrank to pinpricks.
White banner with a single gray stripe running down the middle…
That wasn't Tiger Cloak colors. Not any friendly mercenary band either.
Coming from the Myr road, not from the rear fords…
"Enemy! Enemy sighted!"
A heavy bell began clanging from the watchtower. Soldiers inside the fort scrambled for armor and weapons.
"Tch. Nice spot for a fort," Tiberius muttered, lowering his spyglass as he studied the distant stronghold. "Would've been even nicer if it wasn't sitting right on our only road."
Cliff Fort was a nightmare to attack. West and south were guarded by swift tributary rivers. North was an impassable swamp. Behind the fort rose sheer cliffs. Only the east offered relatively open ground—but it was sparse woodland with a single wide road cutting through it.
Because of numbers and supply wagons, Tiberius and Jules couldn't afford to leave a detachment behind to besiege the place. Taking Cliff Fort was the only option.
"They're coming out!" Tiberius narrowed his eyes as the fort's gates swung wide. Dozens of cavalry and roughly three blocks of infantry—about a hundred and twenty foot—poured through.
"They're actually willing to fight in the open?" Vito sounded genuinely surprised.
In Vito's experience, anyone holding a rock like Cliff Fort would sit tight, force the attackers to bleed against the walls, and wait for reinforcements. Simple: hold the walls and win.
This feels wrong, Tiberius thought, ordering his Dothraki scouts to pull back. Volantenes this careless?
"Captain! The Volantenes are chasing your light horse," Galvin called from another rise. "About two hundred of them. If we hit them now we can swallow the lot!"
"No." Jules shook his head, rejecting the idea at once.
"We're too many. If we move openly they'll realize we're not just the dozen Dothraki Tiberius used as bait. They'll scurry back inside and we'll have to storm the walls. That costs lives."
"Tell Tiberius to let the Lightning Company handle them."
Of course the order was for Tiberius to finish the overconfident force, but Jules wasn't leaving anything to chance. He detached the light-cavalry captain "Stableboy" Leon and the second-in-command of the shock riders, "Redmane" Galvin, to keep an eye on Tiberius and Vito. Make sure the kid and the old crossbowman didn't get sloppy and let the enemy slip away.
"Vito, have your crossbowmen ready." Tiberius watched his Dothraki scouts drawing the Volantenes closer and gave the order. "Stay hidden in the trees. Not a sound until they commit to attacking our line—then loose!"
"Got it, Tiberius!" Vito grinned, levering his crossbow and sliding a heavy armor-piercing bolt into the groove. "Until I say fire, my boys won't loose a single quarrel."
"Habro!" Tiberius turned to the veteran captain. "Your men are blooded. They know how to charge and how to finish. Stay hidden in the woods. The moment the enemy breaks, your old blades go in their backs—hard."
"What about their cavalry, kid?" Habro asked. "You know two legs don't outrun four."
"Then ignore the horsemen!" Tiberius's voice was ice-cold. "Focus on the infantry. Spears, shortswords, daggers—pin them to the mud and kill them there!"
"All right, kid, but I'm gonna say it straight…" Vito helped Tiberius buckle on his armor, face serious. "You should stay back in the ambush line with us, not stand on open ground with the Lightning Company facing their charge. It's too dangerous. You've only got three hundred men and not a single heavy cavalryman."
"It's fine." Tiberius settled his helmet and rode his small horse out of the trees.
Soldiers need to see their commander standing with them. Otherwise how do you ask them to fight?
There was another reason, of course.
Ruthless (Fame: 67%) – Title bonus: Command (Advanced).
Truth be told, Tiberius was still puzzled why the "Lightning" title was so hard to raise while "Ruthless" grew almost daily.
He'd earned "Ruthless" after the blood combat. Barely two months later it was already at 67%, and the Command aura had reached Advanced level.
From his experiments, the aura now covered nearly ten thousand men.
That was terrifying. It meant Tiberius could inject the poison of fear into an army of ten thousand, and they would obey him because they were afraid.
Tch… am I really that cruel, heartless, immoral, and bloodthirsty? he wondered to himself.
Yes, stepping into the front line personally was about fame.
After long observation he finally understood the system's core logic.
First: titles could not be self-proclaimed. They required recognition from others.
Second: bonuses could level up, but only if the title itself became famous. And you couldn't force it—you had to let it grow naturally.
Of course that didn't mean Tiberius was powerless.
Simple: do big things. The bigger the deeds, the more titles, the higher the fame, the stronger the bonuses…
But he pushed those thoughts aside for now. He raised his spear and lowered his visor.
"Lightning Company—form ranks!" Tiberius's voice cracked with youthful rasp but carried clear across the field.
At his command Demetrius waved the banners. The Lightning Company raised spears, cocked crossbows, and waited for the enemy.
Because the Volantenes were coming.