Chapter 160 - 107 : Year 11 - 19 War And Home

Chapter 160: Chapter 107 : Year 11 - 19 War And Home

The five Viscount houses beneath Veymont authority had their own obligations to fulfil. They were expected to provide troops and resources according to their respective means, with their forces joining the larger contingent assembled under House Veymont. Their men would bring their own officers and retainers, but once committed to the campaign, they would have to cooperate with the wider command structure established for the war.

For Count Veymont, the task was to fulfil his obligations to the crown without compromising the security of the territory entrusted to him. His family had the resources and military standing to make a meaningful contribution, but those advantages came with responsibilities on both sides of the war. The soldiers marching toward the front would serve the kingdom; those remaining behind would ensure that House Veymont’s lands continued to stand while they were away.

The long peace had allowed many younger nobles to grow accustomed to a world where martial strength settled most disputes. To them, a powerful martial artist could seem like an answer to almost any threat. The older nobles, particularly those who had lived through earlier conflicts, understood the limits of that thinking.

That while martial artists were powerful, they could not replace an army.

A Blood Tempering martial artist could move faster than ordinary soldiers, strike with far greater force, and endure wounds that would cripple another man. In a small engagement, such a warrior could turn the tide through sheer ability, breaking through an enemy formation, eliminating its officers, holding a narrow position against superior numbers, or leading a sudden assault where ordinary soldiers would struggle to advance. In the right circumstances, a single skilled martial artist could change the outcome of a battle.

Yet the battlefield was rarely so simple. Even the strongest warrior had to contend with threats that raw strength could not always overcome. An arrow loosed from a distance could strike before he noticed it, while a spear thrust from an unexpected direction could find an opening in his defence. Surrounded by enemies, he might be forced to fight until exhaustion dulled his movements. A trap could leave him with nowhere to retreat, and several weapons striking at once could overwhelm even his formidable body. Poison remained deadly, fire could still consume him, and numbers could turn an advantage into a disadvantage. A warrior capable of killing ten men might still fall to the eleventh if the circumstances were against him.

For this reason, martial artists were valued as elite military assets, not treated as armies in their own right. Their greatest worth came from placing them where their abilities could make the most difference. A martial retainer might lead an assault against a weak point in the enemy’s formation, protect a commander from attack, pursue fleeing officers, cover a retreat, or undertake a dangerous operation that would cost ordinary soldiers far more time and lives to accomplish. Used well, they could create openings for an entire force to exploit.

Their value, therefore, lay not simply in how many enemies they could kill, but in knowing where their strength could have the greatest effect.

Martial artists required years of training, physical refinement, discipline, and experience to reach their full potential. Talent could shorten the journey, but it could not replace the work itself. When an ordinary soldier fell, another man could be recruited from the villages and trained to take his place. Replacing a fallen martial artist was far more difficult. The years invested in that person’s growth could not be recovered, and another warrior of comparable strength might take decades to cultivate.

House Veymont understood the value of the martial artists who served it, but that did not mean keeping them safely behind its walls while others faced the dangers of war. The family’s tradition had never been one of asking others to bear risks its own members were unwilling to share. When duty called, those who held authority were expected to shoulder their share of its cost.

The Count would go to war, accompanied by his younger brother, the Viscount. The household’s strongest martial retainers would march alongside them, and Lucian would go as well. Each had a different role and responsibility, but all were bound by the same obligation to the kingdom and the house they served.

For House Veymont, nobility was not simply a position from which others could be ordered into danger. It was a responsibility its own lords were expected to carry.

As the family prepared to leave, Count Veymont knew what awaited them beyond the kingdom’s borders. He had served House Veymont for much of his life and understood the obligations that came with his position, but the years had given him more to fight for than the land and name entrusted to him. Lucian was no longer the boy he had raised, and now he had a wife and a young son of his own. The household that had once revolved around a father and his only child had grown into something larger, filled with people whose futures were tied to theirs.

The memory of Lucian’s ambush had already reminded the Count how quickly that future could be threatened. The war with Enwitra’s neighbour, Varell, was no longer a distant matter discussed in reports and noble gatherings. Whatever its outcome, the danger was real, and its consequences could reach the people waiting for them at home.

The first campaigns brought no swift victory. Many had hoped the kingdom could bring the conflict to an end through a few decisive battles, but war rarely followed the course people expected.

When the fighting began in earnest, Enwitra discovered that its understanding of Varell’s strength had been outdated. The two kingdoms had long regarded each other as near equals, but Varell’s armies proved better organized than expected, and its martial forces were stronger than Enwitra’s commanders had anticipated.

Several Varellian border lords possessed experienced retainers of their own, and their commanders knew how to use their strength. Varell had not entered the conflict without considering the retaliation it would invite. Its forces were prepared to meet Enwitra on the battlefield, and they proved capable of resisting the kingdom’s advance.

Neither side could secure a decisive advantage for long. Enwitra might capture a border fortress, only for Varell to hold the next against repeated assaults. A road secured after a hard-fought battle could come under threat again, while an advancing army might be forced to halt when its supply lines became vulnerable.

Martial artists on both sides adjusted their plans, attacking where they saw an opening and withdrawing when pressing forward would cost more than it could gain. Victories brought territory or temporary advantages, but rarely enough to end the campaign, while defeats and retreats only prepared the ground for the next round of fighting.

As the months passed, the cost became harder to ignore. Soldiers died in sieges, skirmishes, and larger battles, and not all the fallen were remembered in grand reports of victory or defeat. Their names were recorded and sent back through the chain of command to their home territories, where officials passed the news to their families. In Veymont, each report meant that someone would have to tell a mother her son was dead, a wife that her husband would not return, or children that their father had fallen far from home. The news arrived alongside the ordinary business of the territory, but for those families, life had changed in a single letter.

The war continued, and the losses accumulated. Neither kingdom had been prepared for how much it would take to force the other to yield.

Years passed.

As the war dragged on, Lucian returned to Veymont whenever circumstances allowed. Count Veymont sometimes sent him home to attend to matters concerning the territory, giving him responsibilities that could not always be handled from the front. It also allowed his son some time away from the fighting, though neither of them spoke openly about that part of the decision.

The campaign grew fiercer with each passing season, and the Count knew that even a capable martial artist could only endure so much before exhaustion began to take its toll, both physically and mentally.

Lucian’s returns became a familiar rhythm in the household. He would leave with soldiers and horses, spend weeks or months among the camps and battlefields, then come back with road dust on his clothes and the smell of smoke and old leather clinging to him.

Sometimes wounded men returned with his company, their injuries a reminder of what the fighting had cost. Others came home carrying news of comrades who would never return. Lucian had seen men cut down in battle, had fought through the chaos himself, and had taken lives when the fighting left him no other choice. Those experiences stayed with him, even after he passed through the gates of his family’s estate.

But the first time his son was old enough to recognize him after one of his absences, the boy ran toward him without hesitation. Lucian caught him in his arms, and for a little while, the weight he had carried from the battlefield seemed to loosen. He could feel the child’s small hands gripping his clothes, hear his excited voice, and hold him close without having to watch for an enemy or think about his next command. The war had not disappeared, but in that moment, it felt far away.

There were still reports waiting for him, decisions concerning the estate, soldiers to review, correspondence from the duke, and matters that had accumulated during his absence. He attended to them as he was expected to, but his time at home also belonged to Lucy and their son. He shared meals with them, spent time with the boy, and enjoyed the ordinary comfort of being with his family.

For Lucy, each return brought the relief of having her husband home again, even as the knowledge that he would eventually leave hung over their days together. Neither could know how long the next separation would last or what news might arrive before his return.

During one of his visits in the seventeenth year, Lucian had a little more time with Lucy while the campaign continued elsewhere. The kingdom remained tense, and reports from the front arrived regularly. Military preparations had become part of ordinary life, while the younger members of noble households were growing up with the understanding that their father and other members of the family could be called away again at any moment. Yet there were still quiet moments when the war seemed distant enough for life to continue as it always had.

It was during that visit that Lucy became pregnant with their second child.