Herald of Steel

The scouts did not find Nibbar’s body.

Because Melodias had seen to it that all the nobles’ bodies were properly cremated before the mansion was looted and burnt.

The soldiers even took their clothes, as they were expensive and fine enough to be used just after patching up the few stab, and arrow holes.

The people of this time were pragmatic as such.

Thus the only thing the aged father of the Jamider (Earl) got was an urn full of presumably his son’s ashes.

And such similar scenes were played out in many other noble houses that had sent their own forces to gather news about their loved ones.

In fact, it was not only those who lost their family members that were grieving from the news..

Because there were also many loyal servants and staff from other noble families whose masters had left Jabel but did not have the time or space to evacuate these workers.

The knowledge of the atrocities and the complete eradication of Jabel and its inhabitants shocked all those affected, for they never even imagined such an act of barbaric cruelty would ever be done to them by one of their own, even if Alexander was only nominally counted as a noble of Adhania.

Hence they convened the meeting as soon as possible, with either all the involved nobles themselves participating or having a nearby representative of theirs do so in their stead.

“This act is not something even Ptolomy can tolerate. We will have to pressure him to execute that Thesian bastard. Adhanians should deal with their own problems by themselves,” Amenheraft strongly said the word, half believing his own words, half to placate the crowd in the room.

But it failed to placate one enraged man.

“I don’t care what that idiot brother of yours does. I want to tear apart that fucking Jakqum by myself..arggg,” The foul-tempered Muazz felt his rage boiling again hearing the mere illusory mention to Alexander, even going as far as to talk rudely to his liege.

“….” And this particular behavior made the crowd draw a long scowl.

They had somewhat empathized with the grieving noble at first, but now he was becoming a nuisance and disturbance.

After all, everyone who had gathered here had lost some loved ones.

But none of them were screaming their lungs out and howling in the air like him.

‘Idiot, stop behaving like a woman. Act like a man,’ Even Amenheraft was fed up with him. ｏｖ𝚕．ｃｏ𝚖

He had not even planned on bringing this man into the meeting room knowing his mental state, but the large man had somehow gotten wind of the gathering and insisted.

And Amenheraft could not say no.

“That’s why we are here. To kill the fool and retake your city. So calm down!” Finally, seeing no one else manage the man, this curt, fearless response laced with frustration came out of a young man in his late twenties.

Dressed in a heavily embroidered black tunic and matching tapered pants, this was Faruq-Djose’s most talented son.

And if he had been birthed from the Pasha’s main wife, without a doubt it would have been him scheduled to take over his father’s fief.

“Yo youu….,” Pasha Muazz could hardly stop himself from pouncing on this rude remark.

But held himself back eventually, understanding he was no longer the top dog he once was.

And had to be content with looking at him hatefully.

Pasha Muazz did not only hate Faruq for this slight.

Oh no, for their mutual dislike for each other went far back.

Their two provinces of Zanzan and Kuleef were neighbors and so naturally frictions and disagreements had developed over time, resulting in much bad blood, ranging from trade deals, to banditry to even border skirmishes.

They even had completely different political alignments as Muazz staunchly supported Amenheraft, while Djose until recently leaned towards Ptolomy.

And among all these conflicts, Faruq would be always the negotiator sent from the side of Kuleef to deal with these, while on the Zanzan’s side, it would be Pasha Muazz himself.

Hence the personal bad blood.

And this rivalry was ignited very recently when disagreements broke out over who would get to be the leader of the allied army.

Faruq argued that it should be him as his father was footing the biggest bill, but ultimately it went to Muazz’s son through some political shenanigans.

But though Muazz had won that battle, it appeared now that victory was moot.

A happy occurrence that Faruq did not forget to very vividly show as he stared back at the hateful gaze with a mirthful, disdaining one.

He could no longer see in any point being courteous to this man.

Sure, when he was a Pasha he might have been a formidable force and one to lend an ear to.

But now he was only a toothless bear with no real power and even a tailless dog with no successor.

So, instead, Faruq focused on what the future held.

‘First Fatrak. Now Maizdy. This Alexander must be my lucky star,’ This talented, ambitious man happily hummed about how all these thorny obstacles were taken care of by another man, paving the way for his glory and achievements.

As a signal of the start of his glorious rise to power, he would first take charge of the allied army to crush Alexander, use this to secure his position as the Pasha of Kuleef, then retake Adhan to raise his power, and lastly destroy Matrak to become the most powerful man in Adhania.

At least that was the plan.

‘Haha, Alexander, to thank you for your efforts, I will be sure to thoroughly destroy you,’ The son of Djose heartily laughed at his imminent victory.

While outside his imaginary palace, back in the real world, Amenheraft after being somewhat pleased to see someone put Muazz in his place, and even sending a favorable look toward the young man, said, “Lord Faruq is right. We have all gathered to discuss the upcoming attack. So let us not waste time and get down to it.”

This former king then looked around the large table to see who would start the military analysis.

And lo and behold it was Faruq.

“I believe that the preliminary plan is known to all. But to reiterate again, we are here,” The man took charge and used a long stick to point to a place on a map that had been laid over the large oval table, as he continued,

“The men from the various areas will march or use the waterways to meet up here, the port city of Mouna. Here they will board my father’s ships that are waiting for them and then travel south all the way to this small port called Hatamum. From where we will be just three days march away to Zanzan, where he will crush that scum of the earth.

This rough plan had been already discussed so there was no major point of contention there.

“Mouna has been prepared to accommodate the army. Large fields have been cleared to place the soldiers. And sufficient entertainment has been arranged for all the lords,” This was said by the steward whose master was in charge of the port city.

He could not be here in person and had sent this experienced servant of his.

The aged steward then further went on to say, “Also, in the meantime, all three of the city’s harbors will be closed to merchant shipping and be solely dedicated to catering to the army. In this way, we hope to finish the entire loading process within five days.”

“Five days? Impressive! How many are we?” Another noble from the side commented.

“Close to 55,000,” Faruq had calculated this number a few times.

And he even broke it down, reciting out of the top of his memory how many each of the thirty or so nobles had contributed, and then presented the summarized numbers,

“So, in total we have thirty thousand (30,000) infantry, about five thousand (5,000) archers, four thousand (4,000) slingers, three thousand (3,000) chariots, two thousand cavalries (2,000) and ten thousand seven hundred and ninety-two (10,792) camel archers.”

The last number was so accurate because it was his own forces.

The attacking force thus consisted of about:

30,000 melee troops,

10,000 projectile troops

5,000 ‘heavy’ cavalry and

10,000 camel archers which also had some light cavalry.

On paper this force appeared very forbiddable, and even in reality, it was no doubt formidable.

But it had its problems.

The biggest and most glaring flaw was the mishmash of various factions,

Different nobles had contributed with various amounts of troops, ranging from a few hundred up to more than ten thousand as in the case of Djose, all with extremely varying degrees of skill and disciple.

And they all wanted a say in how their troops would be used.

To make sure that these would not be wasted for the gain of others.

For as much as they hated Alexander, many of the fellows they shared this room with were a close second.

And this feeling went from big-shot nobles such as Jamider (Earl) Nibbar’s father and Pasha Djose who had sent the best of the best, to the lowly smaller nobles that could only afford to send a few raw recruits or lowly peasants.

Because they were nobles.

And getting all of them to work together was a massive challenge, a task even the former prestigious Amenheraft had trouble accomplishing, much less now.

And hence the meeting.