"So how are things going on the battlefield?" asked Evelyn, taking a breather from her enthusiastic chess match with Percy, who'd come to visit them in the Mansell's household, only to get brutally demolished by each resident multiple rounds of the game.
"Fine, just fine," returned Sigerson, throwing away the letter containing the newest update from Grock. "I've managed to find the killer of Annabelle Paulos, connect him to Arestor who is then connected to Blight, but I still have no idea how Mr Paulos was assassinated! How can this be?"
"Maybe it's unnecessary to know?" suggest Percy timidly, seeing Sigerson flare up in an instant.
"No… If I can figure this part out, I'll finally get an understanding of Blight's influence. Something's wrong with these rebels; I can feel it."
Before anyone could say otherwise, the detective jumped to his feet.
"I'm heading back to the crime scene where the assassination took place."
Percy, after hearing this declaration, also leapt to his feet somewhat ruefully. The core of Blight's bizarre actions lay in that room so there was absolutely no reason for Sigerson to falter, not when he was so painstakingly close to the answer…
—
Meanwhile on the battlefield, or more accurately, the abandoned battlefield, hundreds of soldiers clad in navy blue marched into the fortified city of Piscow uncertainly, unsure if the whole setup was really a trap. Once no immediate danger was found, Grock ordered for the necessities to be prepared and the troops to maintain vigilance.
"Hasn't Revalty surrendered this city to us, sir?" asked a dashing youthful captain confidently. "Is there anything we even need to be looking out for?"
Grock glared at him as if he were a slug.
"You are… Captain Sanders, am I correct?"
"Yessir."
"Well then, Captain, don't you think there's something afoot after seeing the Revaltian army use the scorched earth tactic?"
"Not at all, sir. I believe they must be buying time out of sheer panic."
Grock shook his head sadly.
"That cannot be true. Blight is a cautious man; Arden employed him for the same reason. When he ordered for the villages to be burned and the people move out, Blight intended to keep them safe for two reasons: first, to keep the people in believing their president's benevolence and secondly, to maintain what little morale they still have. With these two reasons in mind, the residents were relocated here, a supposed safe stronghold. Why would they give up the city so easily? If their purpose for fortifying this city is to protect the newcomers, would they retreat without careful preparation? They cannot hide this news either, for the people will question Arden's honesty if they refuse it—no, something is going on."
While the captain comprehended this with apparent difficulty, Lieutenant Morad stomped up to Grock and said, "We have found a couple of corpses lying around in the storehouses; I suspect they've been left there for some time, infesting the entire building with flies."
"The discrepancy has been partially solved," smiled Grock, his mood instantly changing. The lieutenant scratched his head in confusion.
"I don't understand, sir."
"Never mind, never mind," chuckled Grock, rubbing his frozen hands. "We'll be marching onwards to the River tonight for a little… demonstration of our power."
After only a couple of minutes of preparation, a smaller separate force was singled out from the main army, while the remaining soldiers left behind in the city were set to work, checking every nook and cranny for further unwanted surprises. Consequently, another report came in; this time, the water from the filtering pumps were found to be poisoned.
"Hmph! The Revaltians sure are cruder than I'd heard," smirked Captain Sanders, sitting atop his scuttled horse next to Grock's automobile. He coughed contemptuously, while watching his men scurrying around like ants, tending to the poisoned. Grock remained silent but paid the captain no attention, perhaps reserving his rebuking remarks for later.
Just as I thought; their retreat merely covers their true intent. Infesting the storehouses limits our provision options, which reduces the efficiency of using this city as a supply station, as it cannot hold enough resources to hold itself out in case of sieges or shortages. Other than that, those corpses must be diseased to make the soldiers feel so unwell, cutting off a small portion of our power. Water poisoning is also another way for them to try and limit our strength in this city… Their residents will already have some sort of water to themselves, so they must be kept alive…
Two options remain for Blight: either they have more hidden traps in here to further weaken us, or they'll immediately ambush us to attack when they think they have a chance.
The automobile reduced speed noticeably, the whirring noises falling away gently. They were here. Stretching across the wide expanse of white snow were specks of russet, taking the form of jagged rocks. Light furrows along the water's edge showed that the malicious spikes had not let the Revaltian army go without biting their boats first. Grock hopped out of his ride as the rest of the small army spread out to secure the vicinity, although it hardly seemed necessary, for the danger was well visible and a fair distance away. Dozens of orange vault-like devices lay a few metres away from the enemy's shore, which Grock easily identified as mines. Beyond the shore, tents had been set up hastily on every available speck of land, looking very much like a dishevelled clothesline from their point of view, a good mile away from the nearest tent. With the full force assembled, Grock called out the miniature boats they'd carried out from the city and ordered for their immediate departure.
"The tanks," he said, pointing at two hulking machines ploughing their way to the front through the snow, "will cross the river first, along with the 1st Squad led by Captain Sanders. The rest shall remain here."
Instantaneously, the great lumps of metal, its polished turret pointing directly at the enemy camp menacingly, were brought back to life. When they were loaded onto the boats, which sunk down considerably deeper into the crystal clear water from the sheer weight of the iron, around a hundred men spread out evenly among the empty boats with Captain Sanders up in the front, barking instructions. Gusts of wind howled eerily among the sea of shimmering rifle barrels while the darkening clouds from afar threatened to approach them.
"The temperature dropped by a few degrees in the last half hour," muttered Grock, holding out his arm as if feeling the air like a thermometer. "Let's move on quickly."
Signalling for the ships holding the tanks to set out at once, Grock personally delivered a message to Sanders, telling him to hold on to it until they were within shooting range of the mines. He gave a brief salute, tugged on his thick coat, then stabbed the butt of his rifle towards the enemy camp, prompting the engine to begin spluttering to life.
When the boats disappeared further than the soldiers could see, Grock inhaled deeply, capturing the fresh air in his lungs, chilling him to the bone.
"The air is shifting," he mused aloud, confusing the other troops in his presence. "These weather patterns—"
He closed his eyes and felt the shifting environment around him mystifyingly.
"I believe rain and fog will arrive here in a week's time—no, five days at most."
The soldiers all shot glances at each other as if wordlessly asking if their peers understood.
"Are we to await the 1st Squadron's distress signal, sir?" asked another captain eagerly. Grock simply held up a wizened hand.
"Wait, and we'll see," he smiled.
—
Rocking back and forth gently, the groaning boats lurched onwards towards the opposite shore, not even fully comprehending the danger there. Captain Sanders, in contrast to his frightened squad of men, grinned widely with every metre they travelled. Today, he could finally fight on the battlefield and teach those dogs a lesson; something he'd been itching to do since his youth. All of a sudden, the boats were filled with shouts as the soldiers hurried to notify their captain of the impending danger. Not too far ahead lay a row of the same strange orange devices, bobbing up and down innocently.
"Fire at them," responded Sanders when given the question of what to do. His mind rapidly raced back to the instructions Grock had placed in his hands.
Instantly, five mines exploded violently from the moment the soldiers fired at them from their safe platforms. The ferocious force of the explosion threw water all over their boats and tanks, sending massive shockwaves rippling through the no longer still river. Of course, there was now the issue of the noise; surely the enemy would've heard them? Just as Sanders began to wonder about this, glimmers shone from the shore like fish scales, except these 'fish scales' didn't look too friendly.
About two hundred shimmering rifle barrels shifted around coordinatedly, flashing bright red, firing a barrage of bullets right at the advancing boats. However, the two tanks in front absorbed the incoming projectiles like a sponge soaking in water. Their massive turrets clanked while they turned their barrels in the enemy line's direction before letting out booming roars, returning the enemy's shower with two massive cannonballs. Upon impact, two clean craters formed within the once organised Revaltian forces; at least twenty men fell from the explosiveness of these latest shots.
Seeing that they were obviously fighting a losing battle, the Revaltian captain called for a swift retreat back to their half-set camp, prompting Sanders to press the attack confidently. After only a couple of minutes, crunch went the boats, their hulls grinding the cinnabar gravel on the shore. The tanks' treads rolled onwards mercilessly, caring nothing about the things they flattened, including the bloody corpses strewn all over the ground—the direct results of their tanks. The first scene of blood etched itself in the fresh soldiers' minds, but now was not the time to feel disgusted.
They had an army to overtake.