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If Tiberius had to rate the fight, his verdict would have been simple:
Boring.
Very, very boring.
Because no clever tactics were even required.
Once the Lightning Company formed its wagon laager, the dozen Volantene knights and the fewer than two hundred mercenaries behind them had zero chance of cracking the defensive line.
They tried softening the edges with arrow fire first. Big mistake. Tiberius's crossbowmen gave them a quick lesson: a proper military crossbow outranged their light hunting bows and hand crossbows by a country mile.
"Spears level! Crossbowmen, fire at will! Shield-bearers, cover the gaps between wagons!" Tiberius roared, and the Lightning Company executed like a well-oiled machine.
Under the Ruthless aura the entire formation moved like a single war engine, ready to keep the enemy at arm's length.
After several failed probes the cavalry tried one heavy charge to break the infantry line. The moment they closed in, arrows hissed from both sides of the woods.
"Give these Volantene bastards something to remember us by!" Vito spat out the quarrel he'd been holding between his teeth, slammed it into his cocked crossbow, and put it straight through the back of a knight's helmet, knocking the man sideways in the saddle.
"Fuck, that lucky prick didn't even die?"
Vito cursed and shouted to his men, "Target the fancy high-horse knights! Their armor's thick—keep pouring it on until something gets through!"
On the other side of the treeline waited Habro and his old blades.
Habro was running a thumb along the single-edged sword in his hand, muttering.
"Damn, that Lightning Kid runs a fight like he wrote the book. Lures them out with a handful of scouts, then springs the trap once they're committed…"
"But the idiots inside Cliff Fort are even dumber. How did they fall for such an obvious trick?"
Then he heard the iron whistle.
Habro snapped alert, shouldered his blade, and roared, "Brothers—charge! Let's show these Volantene pricks what real steel feels like!"
The moment Habro's veterans slammed into the enemy, the Volantenes shattered. Especially the ones at the back—they turned and ran for their lives, desperate to escape the kill-box they had walked straight into.
Tiberius's face tightened.
Even thirty men getting back inside would turn Cliff Fort into a nightmare. Thirty terrified survivors screaming about the ambush would make the rest of the garrison fight like cornered rats.
If they had to storm the walls after that, the cost would be brutal.
But it was already too late.
A long, ancient-sounding horn blast rolled out from the only road the fugitives could take.
"Fuck, we almost missed it!" "Stableboy" Leon cursed, spurring forward with his light cavalry to cut them off.
Jules's light horsemen had clearly learned from the Dothraki: they didn't charge with lances lowered. They used bows and speed to herd the enemy exactly where they wanted them.
Once the Volantenes were funneled into the killing zone…
"Charge! Charge!" Redmane Galvin slammed his visor down and took the lance from his squire.
His shock riders did the same. Visors down, lances leveled, they touched spurs to flanks and thundered forward.
Twenty paces out they went from canter to full gallop. The brutal impact tore the fleeing Volantenes apart.
---
"All right, my dear Volantene friends." Tiberius sat his horse, looking down at the handful of surrendered knights and officers while Demetrius and Habro marched them forward.
"Now, draw lots. One of you gets to walk back into Cliff Fort and tell your men that Captain Jules the Trustworthy of the White Company and Captain Tiberius the Lightning of the Lightning Company are at your gates. Surrender immediately."
He saw the resentment on their faces and didn't care.
Sure, getting beaten by a twelve-year-old and taken prisoner stung. But war only cared about the final score. Win was win. Lose was lose.
"Otherwise we won't hesitate to use overwhelming force to make you submit. But at that point things will get very ugly…" Tiberius finished in a cold, flat tone, then flicked his riding crop and turned away, ignoring the fear that flashed across their eyes.
Fuck, acting this arrogant is exhausting, he thought once they couldn't see him.
Overwhelming force? Immediate surrender? All bullshit.
They were traveling light. A real siege would mean building ladders and siege engines from scratch.
And because of Cliff Fort's size and position, a hundred determined men could hold every wall and tower. Storming it would cost blood—lots of it—especially with their current lack of proper siege gear.
---
"Think they'll surrender, Tiberius?" Vito elbowed him lightly, watching the lone knight carrying the white flag walk up the path to Cliff Fort.
"They will," Tiberius said with absolute confidence. "I bet there aren't even a hundred men left inside. Worst case, we keep fighting. They can't stop one solid push!"
"Fine, kid. Hope you're right and they're as soft as you say…" Vito still sounded doubtful. Giving up a fortress like that without a fight? With enough grain to last a month? All they had to do was sit tight and wait for the main Volantene army.
---
Tiberius stood inside the main hall of Cliff Fort—the former Volantene command post. The black-wall banners had already been torn down and replaced with the white-and-gray of the White Company and the blue lightning bolt of the Lightning Company.
He stared at the captured knights with open disbelief while Vito finished tallying the ledgers.
"So that's how it is…" Tiberius muttered after hearing the full report. He finally understood why the enemy had charged out so eagerly and why his obvious bait had worked so perfectly.
"Officially, Cliff Fort—as a vital stronghold—should hold enough grain for five hundred infantry and a hundred cavalry plus their horses. The marching supply depot should contain rations for a thousand infantry and three hundred cavalry. But according to these books…" Tiberius narrowed his eyes and tossed the parchment at the prisoners' feet. He stood up and leveled his sword at their noses.
"Every number is short. Not just below excellent—below the legal minimum! You're telling me you sold off almost everything?"
Tiberius almost laughed at how absurd it was.
"I bet the real reason you rushed out to fight was because your grain was almost gone. You couldn't risk a siege, so you gambled on a field battle before you starved. And if we really were just a small scouting party… jackpot."
He picked up another parchment, voice dripping with mock astonishment.
"As for your troops, my dear knightly gentlemen… according to your own records you disbanded the crossbow companies because you were too cheap to pay their wages. The spearmen's captain has been in bed with his mistress for three days and only woke up when my uncle shook him. The auxiliary and conscripted levies inside the fort haven't been fed in three days and several have already caught camp fever—because they're not 'proper' soldiers?"
"And a quarter of your fellow officers are in bed with the pox while the rest—" he drew a deep breath "—are either drawing pay for men who don't exist or selling the grain you were supposed to guard?"
He glanced at the half-eaten roast piglet, the expensive wine, and the gilded silver tableware on the sideboard.
"With just your official pay and family lands I doubt you could afford this lifestyle. So… you've been skimming from your own men. Tell me, did you ever imagine this day would come?"
The captured knights lowered their heads. Candlelight glinted off jeweled swords and tasseled breastplates.
Tiberius found the whole thing darkly hilarious.
All that careful baiting, the ambush, the perfect timing…
And now you're telling me the enemy was already so rotten that one push was enough to topple them?
"Vito, finished counting?" Tiberius asked over his shoulder. "How much did these fine gentlemen have on hand?"
"Tch, kid, you're giving me the hard jobs today." Vito grinned, but quickly rattled off the total.
"Jewelry, silks, plate, and furnishings included—roughly eight thousand gold. Weapons are mostly garbage; chief says take the arrows and leave the rest. Grain is exactly as you guessed—sold off, but enough for one good meal."
"Perfect!" Tiberius clapped his hands and turned back to the ashen-faced prisoners.
"You worked so hard just to hand us a dowry!"
---
"What's going on, Vito?" Tiberius frowned at the sudden commotion between two groups of men farther down the hall.
"Tch—those ragtag mercenary bands that tagged along with us are arguing with Habro's boys!" Vito reported quickly. "They're claiming Habro stole their share of the loot!"
Yes, the march north wasn't only the Lightning Company and the White Company. A handful of lesser mercenary bands and unattached free-lances had been drawn by the movement and joined the "northern expedition."
Tiberius privately despised them. They lacked loyalty, were greedy, and had zero discipline. He thought his uncle was wasting grain feeding them. Worse, they might break and run at the first serious fight, dragging everyone down.
But Jules had explained it with one blunt metaphor:
"Tiberius, the mercenary world is a flowing swamp. We all want elites, but when you're licking blood off the blade you can't be too picky. Every pair of hands can hold a weapon. Every body can stop an arrow. Keep them in the chain of command, even if they're just filling space. Because if a hole opens in the line, those same worthless bastards might be the only ones left to plug it."
"You think the White Company has always been thousands strong? Wrong. In the off-season we might shrink to a few hundred. In campaign season or when a big contract comes in, we swell fast."
"I can't afford to feed thousands year-round with no contract and no tail money. The daily grain bill alone would bankrupt me!"
"So I keep these men around as a ready, controllable, known pool of replacements. That way, if the White Company's front line takes heavy losses, I've got bodies I can slot in without starting from scratch."
"Tch, these bastards won't lift a finger during the fight but suddenly come alive when it's time to divide the spoils!" Tiberius spat on the stone floor and strode over to the arguing groups.
"Shut your mouths! No private brawls in camp!" The moment he stepped close he released the Ruthless aura, flooding them with fear until both sides fell quiet.
"Look at you! What the hell are you doing?!" Tiberius swept a cold stare across the crowd, then fixed his ice-mountain eyes on the leader of the smaller band and delivered his verdict.
"Habro's men entered the fort first. They defeated the garrison that came out to fight. They get first pick of the loot! You lot stayed back with my uncle, didn't sweat, didn't bleed, and now you're barking like dogs? Get out!"
Tiberius didn't bother asking who started it or who was right.
He had no time to play judge. He only needed Habro's loyalty. As for the rest…
Make these scum shut up. I only need my own men to obey and fear me.
When the smaller band's leader slunk away cursing, Habro's eyes shone with open admiration and respect.
"Jules the Trustworthy" was fine, but sometimes too strict and fair. A captain who would back his own men? That earned real loyalty.
The joy of victory didn't last long.
The Volantenes reacted fast. A powerful relief force was already marching on Cliff Fort.