Chapter 46: The Lorraine People Arrive!

Watching Enrique, who led the vanguard, set out, Leo sat on a bench, his legs crossed, gazing at the distant mountains, lost in thought over his plans for the coming war.

Although he had gathered a fair amount of information, he still felt as though a fog of war hung over everything—an unsettling sense that something remained hidden.

“Sir Leo.”

Matilda approached gracefully, and as she drew near, a sweet fragrance wafted naturally in her wake, making Leo’s nose twitch involuntarily.

“Do you have confidence that you can defeat the Duke of Lorraine?” There was a trace of worry in Matilda’s voice.

For her, this war carried a different weight. She vividly remembered the day her father died before her eyes. In an instant, the entire Duchy of Tuscany was thrown into utter peril, and everyone coveted the vast inheritance left behind.

To secure a brief period of autonomy for the duchy, Matilda’s mother chose to marry Duke Godfrey the Bearded of Lorraine. She had thought Godfrey would protect Tuscany, but no one anticipated he would treat it merely as a decorative title to lengthen his own list of honors.

Godfrey the Bearded, intent on ensuring the duchy fell firmly into his hands, tried to arrange a marriage between his son, Godfrey the Hunchback, and Matilda. That way, Tuscany would become the exclusive property of their family.

Historically, had it not been for Leo, events would have unfolded just so.

Godfrey the Bearded’s final wish would have been fulfilled, and Matilda would have been forced to marry his son. If not for the early death of Godfrey the Hunchback, everything might have gone according to the old duke’s design.

It was precisely this fate that Matilda now feared. She knew that if Leo failed, destiny would show her no mercy—even if she was a duchess.

But Leo himself felt nothing of the sort; he was almost relaxed, perhaps because the instincts of a warrior coursed through his veins.

“I can’t promise victory,” Leo shrugged, “but I believe my plan is sound. If everything goes as expected, Godfrey is finished.”

“Alright,” Matilda replied, uncharacteristically refraining from pressing further.

Under normal circumstances, Leo would have shot back with a question of his own. But now, he had no time for idle talk; all his thoughts were bent on the coming war.

If the Duke of Lorraine had set out several days earlier, where might he be now? Leo couldn’t say for certain. Nevertheless, he had already dispatched his scouts—not only Corsican light infantry, but also the squire-knights of Tuscany.

These young knights shouldered the most grueling tasks, enduring long periods of training before they could hope to become true knights. Assigning them to reconnaissance was ideal. In terms of combat prowess, they were not far behind full knights. With just a little encouragement—or a bit of pressure—they would enthusiastically dash off to see the orders carried out.

At that thought, Leo closed his eyes.

[New Mission Activated: Fire of Lorraine]

[Objective: Defeat Godfrey the Bearded]
[Reward: 1000 Renown]

The system quietly issued Leo a new mission. The objective was simple, the reward purely numerical, and yet Leo found it daunting. It was like a game quest titled “Rescue the Princess”—the goal sounded simple, but the journey promised to be anything but.

“Leo, my soldiers are ready,” Giovanni arrived at Leo’s side. He, too, was now armored, the metallic scrape of steel ringing sharp in the air.

“I’ll leave around three hundred men to guard the camp. The remaining four hundred and sixty will march out with the main force.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Leo extended his hand to Giovanni, and the two gripped each other’s hands firmly.

As Leo’s ally, Giovanni had fulfilled his duty—and then some. Of course, his motives included avoiding the tithe owed to the Holy See. Perhaps he would not consider handing his wealth over to the Church until the last drop of Pisan blood had been spilled.

“Rossina’s contingent numbers more than twelve hundred. That should suffice, don’t you think?” Leo asked.

Giovanni shook his head. “No one can say for sure. It all depends on which side God favors.”

“Well, surely that will be me,” Leo replied, rising to his feet and dusting off his clerical robe.

He walked over to Corrado, took the reins of his horse, Grape, and beckoned to the others.

“Time waits for no one. Let’s move.”

...

In the Apennine Mountains, the Corsican light infantry scattered like snowflakes. They fanned out across the rugged landscape, pushing deeper into the mountains in search of any trace of the Lorraine army.

Marco had ventured the farthest.

He picked his way along the mountainside, one step deep, one step shallow, constantly scanning the valley below. The winding river looked gentle, but in truth, like a sharp blade, it cut through the Apennines.

Most routes connecting northern and central Italy wound through these valleys.

“Marco, what’s for supper tonight?” called a boy trailing behind him—a question he posed daily.

“All you ever think about is eating,” Marco snapped over his shoulder. “How did my sister end up with a bottomless pit like you?”

“Who’s a bottomless pit? Marco, I’ll tell on you when we get back!”

The boy’s noisy complaints made Marco turn. He pointed a stern finger at the lad, who shrank back a few steps as Marco approached. With an awkward stumble, the boy tipped backward, and Marco’s eyes widened in alarm.

A fall here could be fatal.

Marco lunged forward, catching the boy just in time.

The youth, still breathless with fear after being pulled back from the brink, barely had time to recover before Marco suddenly slapped him hard across the face.

The crisp sound echoed through the quiet forest.

The boy clutched his cheek and lowered his head, saying nothing. Marco was not his father, but as his uncle, this sort of scolding was nothing new.

“Listen well, you little rascal,” Marco said, shaking out his hand and speaking sternly. “This isn’t Corsica, and it’s not your home. You’d better be careful. I can save you once, but not every time.”

With that, Marco resumed his path up the mountain. The other soldiers patted the boy on the shoulder before moving on.

Left alone, the boy hugged his bundle to his chest, seemingly lost in reflection. Even after everyone had passed, he lingered, sniffling and wiping away tears.

But before long, a disturbance erupted in the woods ahead.

He looked up, distracted by the sudden agitation among the trees and undergrowth. Such commotion...

He drew the short sword at his waist, falling into a guarded stance. Though young, as a Corsican man, he was already well-schooled in combat. At the very least, he would never die a coward’s death.

Yet the moment the figures burst from the brush, he stood frozen.

Marco and his men, looking utterly disheveled, tumbled out of the forest in a panic, all pretense forgotten. Spotting the boy, Marco shouted at once:

“The Lorrainers are coming! Back! We have to warn the others!”

The Lorrainers?

The boy had heard the name before, but when confronted with the reality, he found himself paralyzed.

But Marco, seasoned by a hundred battles, would not let him freeze. He grabbed the boy by the collar and hauled him up the slope at a breakneck pace.

They had to bring this news back.