Daybreak:Alpha Chapter

Chapter 16 - In the Name of the Black Dragon

( under work )

Pascal sighed again as he put down the action report and leaned back in his cabin's workdesk chair.

It was his third time reading over the report in reflection. In fact, he had already sent its contents to Weichsel's General Staff an hour ago.

The real problem was that he simply didn't know what else to do.

The Knights Phantom had set up camp after the battle to rest, recover, and reorganize. Most of the officers were celebrating with their own units, or paying respects to the dead, or just plain sleeping.

Problem was: Pascal couldn't sleep. He was far past the 'drowsy' stage of fatigue.

He also didn't belong to a unit, or even a 'past unit'. He was one of the few command staff personnel who came along for the battle, and unlike the others he had come straight from the academy.

That shouldn't be a problem since there were plenty of cadets from the academy right? Well, of the people he actually talked to...

Parzifal was still working in the makeshift 'hospital'.

Reynald, Ariadne, and Gerd were all recovering there from heavy injuries -- severe enough that the healers allowed no visitors so the wounded could receive undisturbed rest.

Kaede had gone there to help, at least until she herself passed out. Lack of rest plus being drained for blood really wasn't a good combination. Pascal might have been tempted to go yell at Parzifal for that, had he not seen first hand of the casualties they took.

Nearly forty percent of the Phantoms' order of battle had been killed or seriously wounded. The Ghost Riders had been hit the hardest, down to less than twenty percent of their effective combat force. Their only blessing was the survival of Colonel von Hammerstein. The grievously injured commander had stayed conscious long enough to drift down and cushion his landing, where he was later found by Weichsel's rescue teams.

It would take years for the elite Knights Phantom to recover back to full strength after this fight.

Combined with all the other battles and skirmishes fought during the peninsular campaign, Pascal wasn't surprised that the healers had ran out of Samaran blood.

The victory they earned was a pyhrric one. But that didn't make it any less total. Both Skagen's skywhales and their drake force had been utterly destroyed, denying the Northmen of their mobile strike force. With Admiral Winter dead, the stormcaller mages already detected a warm front moving in from the south. Soon, the snow-covered fields would turn to wintry slush, unmaneuverable to the northern skis and sleds. Once General von Blumenthal's land cavalry destroyed the beached Skagen North Sea Fleet tomorrow morning, the entire Skagen army would be trapped in Weichsel without supplies.

Sure, they weren't far from the border -- except Skagen's border defenses had already been obliterated by the peninsular campaign. With superior Weichsel cavalry harrying them from all sides, their retreat back to friendly supply lines would be agonizingly slow.

Meanwhile, King Leopold had already lead the main Weichsel army out of Nordkreuz. They were marching east to finish the job: the annihilation of Skagen's Confederate Army of the Home Isles.

The Greater Jarldom of Skagen still had more forces in their overseas frontier realms. But these units would take months to return, if they could be spared from their duties on the frontier at all. If the King could destroy Skagen's home army, he would ruin Skagen's capacity to wage war on the Hyperion continent for decades to come. This would give Weichsel absolute and undisputed superiority in any peace negotiations which followed.

But would the King settle for merely a white peace -- a return to the status quo -- so Weichsel could free its hand to join Rhin-Lotharingie's war against the Caliphate?

Pascal rather doubted that.

A decisive victory would encourage Weichsel to press towards its ultimate goal in the north: the annexation of the Skagen Peninsula.

With two of the three peninsular Jarls already killed in battle, it was possible that Skagen's Assembly of Jarls might actually agree after a catastrophic loss.

But even in the best case scenario of a swift peace, the people in these newly conquered lands belonged to both a different culture and religion. Their integration would require pacification, which needed the presence of considerable military might -- forces that would no longer to sent to Rhin-Lotharingie aid.

I had not thought this far when I initially proposed the peninsular campaign, Pascal reflected.

He had been too focused on achieving military objectives, without considering the broader political implications.

At times like these, Pascal had to admit that in spite of all his genius, he was still a long way off from becoming a true general.

...Let alone a renowned Marshal like his father.

Pascal wished he could talk to Sylviane right now. She had considerable more political experience than he did, thanks to years of working under Emperor Geoffroi in the Lotharin court. But her armigers had called her away on urgent business -- something about an emergency message from home.

I might be the fiancé of their Crown Princess. But in the eyes of most Lotharins, I am still just a foreigner and outsider, Pascal sighed as he pondered over this sad and lonely truth.

Leaning his head back from the chair, Pascal brought his right hand up to rub his temple.

He couldn't wait for night to come and bring some rest for his fatigue-clouded mind.

That was before he heard two knocks on the door, followed by a familiar voice:

"Pascal? Are you in?" came the soft soprano of Cecylia von Falkenhausen.

"Yes! Be right there!" Pascal called back as he stood up and rushed towards the door.

He really was thankful that Kaede allowed him to semi-reconcile with Ariadne, which brought his childhood friend Cecylia back to everyday speaking terms again.

"You are back in Weichsel already?" Pascal cheerfully asked as he opened the thick wooden door... and promptly froze.

The dhampir girl with scarlet-crossed eyes was just the first of six people who stood outside, all of them wearing figure-concealing gray cloaks bearing the Black Dragon crest of Weichsel.

"Sorry, official business," Cecylia noted as she gave him an apologetic smile.

"Can we talk inside?" said the middle-aged man standing right behind her.

Pascal's eyebrows shot up. This was certainly a very unusual encounter. Besides, he thought Cecylia was still supposed to be in Skagen, doing intelligence work.

Never breaking eye contact or changing his puzzled expression, Pascal slowly turned his hand to point his turquoise casting ring at Cecylia. Meanwhile his other hand summoned four defensive runes. But a subtle scan of her magic aura held a matching checksum with his memory. The unique ether signature was definitely Cecylia's, not some fake modified by polymorph or illusion magic.

He didn't detect any enchantment magic either. Sure, minor spell auras could be concealed. But any spell capable of overwhelming and dominating a dhampir's mind would be powerful indeed.

"Come on in," Pascal replied at last as he lead them inside the cabin.

With seven people inside, it was a little cramped, especially when six of them reached out to take off their cloaks, revealing their uniforms underneath.

...The pitch-black uniform of the King's Black Eagles, all six of them.

Pascal had an uneasy feeling about this. It wasn't natural for the Black Eagles to operate in open groups unless the King was nearby.

The middle-aged man -- who wore a fierce scowl and had blond hair tied back in a 'manly' ponytail -- then began without waiting for the resident's invitation:

"I am Major Kempinski, leader of field operations for the Black Eagles' State Security section," the man revealed his Black Eagle crest-badge, as though offering Pascal to examine its authenticity.

But Pascal simply nodded. Cecylia's presence was good enough for him. If he couldn't trust a Falkenhausen, who had been faultlessly loyal to the Crown of Weichsel for generations, then there would be no man in the world whom he could rely on.

Of course, his friendship and trust towards Cecylia was probably the reason why they recalled her for this task.

"Is this cabin warded from outside spying?"

"Of course," Pascal answered. Who does he think I am, incompetent?

"Then-- I have been charged to bring you a personal note from His Majesty the King, along with conclusive findings of recent investigations into the death of Field Marshal Karl August von Moltewitz," the Major continued.

At the words 'His Majesty the King', Pascal immediately stood to full attention and gave a responsive salute.

"Hail the Black Dragon," he swore his allegiance before receiving the offered scroll-case.

What about father? Is there something else other than him being killed by Imperial Mantis Blades?

Question rolled nonstop across Pascal's mind as he unfurled the two sheets of parchment and began reading.

It began with pleasantries, congratulations for the victory, all the polite terms you expect a King to use when addressing an important subject.

Then, the hammer struck:

...We have since discovered irrefutable evidence that the assassination of the Marshal had been supported by none other than General Neithard Mittemeyer von Manteuffel in a most blatant act of high treason...

Pascal felt his lungs halt mid-breathe. His eyes stared back as though threatening to pop out from their sockets.

von Manteuffel... treason...

At that moment, facing the black, ironclad words on cold parchment, he could have sworn his heart stopped.

It had been frozen in doubtful disbelief, then reignited as he read on, by icy flames of simmering anger and rage.

...The Black Eagles have unraveled evidence of direct contact between the von Manteuffel household and Imperial intelligence agents, including the passing of detailed information on guard and patrol schedules..."

Pascal's knuckles had turned white. His arms had began to quiver, though the grip on the parchment itself had grown as firm as steel.

This was General von Manteuffel, one of the most decorated officers in the Weichsel army. He and Pascal's father had served together for decades! They might not have been friends, but they were at least comrades! How could he...

"...Although initially thought to be the work of a mere spy within the household staff, thorough divination testing has confirmed that these documents have been personally handled by the General...

Pascal could barely believe it. He just couldn't accept it. It was betrayal, a personal sense of betrayal from not just his commanding officer, but a general whom he had looked up to for the man's tactical brilliance.

"Is this... is this all true?" Pascal heard his own trembling voice mutter.

"The King had assigned the best investigators in Weichsel on this task and gave it the highest priority," Cecylia replied in sincerity. "These results are as reliable as they get."

But... why?

It was a question of denial. Pascal knew exactly why: in the wake of his father's death, von Manteuffel had already pulled ahead as the main contender for the next Field Marshal of Weichsel.

...And it was questionable if his ambitions ended even there.

Hence why von Manteuffel seeded his own protégés in all the important command positions of the operation.

Perhaps it even explained von Manteuffel's 'blunder' at the Battle of Nordkapp which almost had Pascal killed.

To pass such sensitive information on the Marshal's security to the Imperials... von Manteuffel could have done no worse if he had personally handed the Mantis Blades a sword to kill Pascal's father.

Pascal hadn't even noticed as his breathing grew into heaving pants, or his shoulders shaking under barely-contained explosive rage.

Father knew you were too ambitious to be politically reliable. But he had always respected, RESPECTED you, because you were a brave and brilliant leader, one whom he had thought shared in the belief of a strong Weichsel independent from Imperial influences. But you...

"...You fucking traitorous PIECE OF SHIT!" he finally spat out.

"I take it... that you are here to arrest that traitorous bastard?" Pascal heard the murderous hatred exit his own mouth.

"...Pascal?" Kaede chimed in, but he ignored her worried voice completely.

"You have my deepest condolences for the Marshal," Major Kempinski's steady voice replied. "But please stay calm and continue reading, Major von Moltewitz."

With a deep breath to swallow any further words of impatience, Pascal begrudgingly returned his gaze to the parchment. Royal communique was always wordy and effluent. He wished the King would get to whatever was the next point already.

Then, there it was:

...It is my heartfelt desire that you be given an opportunity to personally avenge this betrayal by assisting in von Manteuffel's immediate arrest, before his own agents may hear of his unveiled treason and prompt him into launching a military coup d'etat. The Black Eagles charged with delivering this message are hereby assigned to your command. Please exercise initiative with caution, my young friend, as von Manteuffel's long career of service has earned him countless loyal supporters within every military camp. Should he resist arrest by any means, you have my permission for his immediate execution. The Weichsel army cannot risk a major disturbance in this crucial stage of the war.

Other than the words 'my young friend', Pascal found himself in complete agreement with the King's every sentiment. If von Manteuffel found out about his impending arrest, his could launch a military coup in desperation which would inflict immeasurable damage to Weichsel's war efforts.

All of this pointed towards one fact: the sooner he was removed, the better.

"...Pascal what's going on?" Kaede spoke again over their telepathy.

...And once again Pascal ignored her. More precisely, his mind never even processed her words, or bother to consider what her reaction implied.

With eyes intent on his mission, he stood straight to face Major Kempinski at last.

"I accept His Majesty's mission with obedience and gratitude," he replied in with steely determination. "However, Neithard von Manteuffel is one of Weichsel's highest ranking commanders. Should his immediate death be necessary, may I ask if you bear His Majesty's sword to represent his royal authority?"

The Black Eagles officer then shook his head without any change in expression:

"His Majesty said that his sword cannot be spared on the eve of battle. We must make do with the orders of the King."

Pascal pursed his lips at that.

As one of the highest offices in Weichsel, a general can only be promoted or removed with the personal consent of the King. With His Majesty's orders in hand, Pascal could certainly arrest a general -- that was a temporary measure, after all. But to execute, to permanently remove a general, that required more substantial authority. It was an established tradition of Weichsel to ensure that no forged orders or subterfuge could do irreparable harm to the nation's interests.

But then, these were special circumstances. It certainly would be unreasonable to deny the King his personal sword while he was in command of an army.

"We will just have to make do then," Pascal admitted. "With the King's personal letter and his Black Eagles at hand, there should not be any problems. If anything, the best time to strike would be now and immediately. Most of the camp is either celebrating or resting, with only perimeter watch on battle alert. Last I heard, von Manteuffel himself was overseeing the celebrations. Our biggest danger is that a considerable number of knights from the Phantom Gale -- his old unit -- will be there."

"Then we have no time to lose," the Major replied. "There is always the possibility that one of his loyalists sighted our approach here and may raise suspicions."

"In that case, we will gather Colonel von Mackensen and whomever he has at hand. Not only is he a diehard Crown Royalist, but his forces suffered the least losses in the last battle. We will head over to the dining cabins after that," Pascal finalized, having already taken his first steps towards the door.

...And I hope that traitor does resist, because I will gladly send him to hell myself!

"Pascal please say something, you're scaring me now..."

Kaede's faint cry was almost begging him.

Her emotions were beyond mere worry and concern now. They were already entering the realm of being distraught.

"Stay put where you are," he simply ordered as he pushed open the cabin door and strode outside.

"The hell I'm staying put when you're out looking for someone's blood! What is going on?"

Great, Pascal finally realized. I thought the empathy link could only develop one way...

Clearly, his surging anger had overwhelming its barriers. It had caught Kaede's attention in full, possibly even to the point of waking her back up.

"This is a political matter. You would just complicating things."

"Fine, I won't ask any more questions until you're ready to tell me," Kaede relented in her desperation. "But at least let me be there! Can you use an extra hand? Or..."

Pascal really didn't want her in this dangerous affair. But if she was just going to keep pestering him...

Besides, Kaede was right. At this moment, he needed all the trustworthy manpower he could get.

"Meet me outside the dining cabins in five minutes. And remember: no questions!"

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