Chapter 7: Inside and Outside the Desolate Valley

Seven days later, in the wooden cabin in the valley.

"My lord, Emma is much better now. Thank you for saving our family's lives. May God bless you!" Scott stood before the cabin door with his son and daughter, bowing deeply until their heads touched the ground before Art, who stood at the entrance eating wheat porridge from a wooden bowl.

Art had slowly grown accustomed to this kind of deference.

"Very well, Scott. If you wish, you may stay here. You can have Cooper help you build a wooden cabin later." Art had a positive impression of this family.

Scott, whose face was etched with the hardships of life, was a clever yet honest farmer. That he had managed to lead his family safely from distant Vilno to this place, and that he had shouldered the responsibilities of a husband and father in times of peril, marked him as a true man.

Ron was a sturdy young man—courageous and sharp-witted. He had been sharing his father’s burdens, all while knowing how to look after his ailing mother and younger sister.

Camille was a lively little spirit. After spending a week in the nameless valley, she had regained her former cheerfulness. Every day, she followed old Cooper around, calling him "Grandpa" this and "Grandpa" that, much to the old man's delight. Whenever she saw Art, the little girl would also perform a standard, lady-like curtsy.

Emma had been gravely ill. After two days of unconsciousness in old Cooper’s warm cabin, she had finally come to. Art had not had much contact with this poor woman, but from the behavior of Ron and Camille, he could surmise that she was a virtuous wife and mother.

"My lord, I have a request," old Cooper said, approaching Art, who was cleaning his longsword after finishing his meal.

"What is it? Speak," Art continued to wipe the blade with a rag coated in animal fat.

"Scott found me yesterday. He asked me to beg you to take Ron on as your attendant." Cooper chose his words carefully.

Art paused and looked up at the old man.

"My lord, I know this request is a bit presumptuous. Ron is but a farmer’s son and not yet qualified to serve a nobleman. But Scott and I can handle the farm work ourselves; we don't need Ron. Once Emma recovers, she can cook and tend to the pigs, sheep, and mules. Besides, you need a clever helper when you go out hunting..." old Cooper hastened to explain.

"I do not look down upon the sons of farmers. Besides, I am no longer a nobleman; I am merely a hunter who makes his living by the bow."

Art pondered for a moment. Having an extra pair of hands might be ideal for the days ahead.

"What does Ron himself want?" Art asked, lowering his head to resume cleaning.

"It was Ron who begged his father to come to me," the old man added, sensing Art's hesitation softening.

Art tested the edge of the blade with his thumb, which shimmered with a ghostly light. "Send Ron in in a moment," he said, picking up another longsword to clean.

Outside the cabin, Ron and his father were waiting anxiously. When Ron heard the old man call him, his face lit up, and he hurried inside.

Looking at the young master sitting on the wooden chair, Ron felt an irrepressible tension and oppression. Art’s falcon-like gaze was sharp as an arrow, seemingly capable of piercing through everything and looking into one's soul. His deep, dark brown pupils were bottomless, enough to make one suffocate. It was a feeling that made him fearful, yet he could not help but want to draw near—which was why he had kept begging his father to plead with the old steward.

Old Cooper, unaware of the internal turmoil Ron was experiencing, saw the foolish lad standing there blankly and moved over to tug at his hem.

Ron snapped back to reality and bowed deeply to Art. "My lord, please let me be your attendant."

In his nervousness, Ron forgot all the phrases about "following a wise master" and "being loyal" that the old steward had taught him.

"Follow me into the mountains to hunt deer tomorrow." Art looked the sturdy young man up and down. Without a word of wasted breath, he simply accepted him.

"Cooper, prepare a short blade and a short spear for him," Art instructed the old man.

...

Autumn was deep, yet the nameless valley remained lush and green.

Art helped Ron through the dense woods on their way back. Ron’s clothes were torn in several places by branches and thorns, and his face bore several scratches oozing tiny beads of blood.

Upon returning to the cabin, Cooper, who had finished weeding the field, was discussing building a small cabin for the Scott family. Seeing Art supporting Ron as they entered the courtyard, the two hurried over. "My lord (Ron), what happened?"

Art handed Ron over to Scott. "He is fine. Just some scrapes and a twisted ankle."

The incident had started that morning. Art had brought Ron to a dense forest northeast of the valley, where fallow deer often appeared. Fallow deer were highly sensitive, so Art had rubbed grass juices and deer dung on both himself and Ron to mask their scent. While searching quietly in the woods, Ron had performed quite well.

They had found a gray-backed, white-bellied doe in a hollow. Creeping low, they moved step by step toward the deer. Just as they closed to within twenty paces and Art was about to draw his bow, a forest wolf suddenly lunged from the side toward the doe. Under normal circumstances, this would not have been dangerous; forest wolves were not dire wolves—they did not proactively attack "two-legged beasts." Furthermore, since it had lunged at the doe, it clearly hadn't noticed Art and Ron.

But the sudden turn of events terrified Ron. He forgot everything Art had warned him about before entering the mountains, let out a scream, and scrambled away in a panic. Forest wolves are most wary of being watched by other animals while feeding, so the wolf abandoned the doe and sprinted toward Art...

After firing two arrows in quick succession and striking the wolf with his blade, Art managed to scare the beast off. By the time a sweat-drenched Art found Ron, the boy had already tripped and fallen behind a rock.

"Ron, you should stay with your father," Art said, leaving him behind as he walked into the cabin with Ron's spear and blade.

Ron hung his head low, consumed by shame.

...

Life in the valley had been stirred from its former silence by the arrival of the Scott family, yet it had also gained a sense of vitality. Old Cooper spent his days with Scott, either tending to the wheat field or cutting timber in the mountains to build their cabin. Emma, once recovered, did not disappoint Art; she spent her days with Camille in the courtyard, washing, cooking, and tending to the livestock. Art, meanwhile, focused all his energy on surveying the terrain of the valley. His current savings were enough to sustain the few people in the valley securely for a year or two.

But now, it was clear he had more long-term plans.

...

While the valley remained a scene of quiet industry, the world outside was consumed by ceaseless war.

As winter set in, Duke Vladis's National Guard and Duke Witot's Northern Expeditionary Force engaged in an unprecedented battle near Aosta. Both sides committed nearly ten thousand troops, engaging in a seesaw struggle for the castles, villages, and various fortifications in the suburbs of Aosta.

A fortnight ago, a unit of the Northern Expeditionary Force captured a small castle north of Aosta called Naron, taking Baron Solo Ebull prisoner. With the fall of Naron, the northern supply line of the Provence army was severed. Subsequently, the castles and fortresses southwest of Naron and south of Aosta fell one after another. Bereft of strategic depth and logistical support, Duke Vladis withdrew his army into the city of Aosta, where the grain and supplies were stored. The Northern Expeditionary Force began the siege of Aosta.

During the siege, Duke Witot handed command of his army to his adjutant and returned to southern Lombardy. Leveraging his immense wealth, he lobbied the nations of the Southern Lands, hiring troops to aid his cause and funneling more forces along the Ramel Mountains toward Aosta.

The Duchy of Provence was now riddled with holes. Once Aosta fell, the enemy would expand westward, shattering the stability the southern front had struggled so hard to maintain, and Provence would lose the majority of its territory.

The municipal hall in Aosta had been converted into Duke Vladis’s temporary palace and military headquarters.

*Ptoo!*

A thick glob of phlegm flew into the fire before the armchair. Vladis shifted his weight, adjusting his posture to be as comfortable as possible. He looked up at the noble officers seated on both sides of the fire, coughed heavily, and said, "Don't just sit there in silence. Speak up."

A count sitting to Vladis’s left stood up and said in a rough voice, "My lord, the enemy has only been laying siege for ten days. The grain in the city can last at least ten months, and morale is still decent. There is nothing to worry about; we need only hold Aosta."

As soon as the count’s voice faded, a middle-aged baron with thick eyebrows and distinct features at the end of the fire stood up to refute him. "My lord, I disagree with Lord Rafal. Since we retreated to Aosta half a month ago, the surrounding villages, towns, and fortifications have fallen one by one. We have lost our rear supply lines, and we no longer have a mobile force to harass the besieging enemy. While we may be able to hold out for ten months, our grain will eventually run out, and morale will inevitably collapse. Moreover, recent scout reports indicate that Duke Witot has returned to Lombardy; he must be gathering more troops for the siege, or perhaps he intends to pin us down here while he launches a fierce assault on the southwestern front. Therefore, I believe we must seize this opportunity to strike at the enemy’s weakest points."

Vladis nodded at the middle-aged baron.

"Baron Belion, I agree with your assessment. If we have no fortresses to defend our rear, once Witot sends more troops to assault Aosta, we will be trapped. If the enemy maintains a long-term siege, our supplies will surely be exhausted. To regain our depth, we need a support point outside of Aosta. I order you to select fifty men from the army, plus your own hundred, to capture a fortress or stronghold near Aosta within a month and hold it. Use that fortress as a pivot point for the Aosta theater." Vladis endorsed the insightful baron's opinion.

After issuing this task, Vladis turned to the deputy chancellor seated on his right. "Varis, tell us about the situation in the northern County of Burgundy."

The honest-looking deputy chancellor cleared his throat and spoke slowly. "Since the fall of Vilno, Lombardy has sent three waves of envoys to the County of Burgundy. We intercepted all three groups, but one person escaped from the second group, and the cavalry we sent to intercept them have also gone missing. However, reports from the north confirm that the escapee did not reach Besançon. From the letters we captured, we know that Lombardy intends to unite with the County of Burgundy to launch a pincer attack on our Provence from the north and south. That old wretch Witot has promised that once he occupies all of Provence, he will cede our five northern towns and vast tracts of land to Burgundy."

"Are there any movements from Burgundy?"

"Not for the moment. However, according to 'Eagle Eye' reports, a small number of lords in the southern territory of Burgundy are gathering troops, but they are primarily defending against the refugees fleeing from our side and suppressing the increasingly rampant bandits."

"Very well, continue to monitor the situation in Burgundy. Varis, I appoint you as my special envoy to go to the Burgundian court and hold secret talks with the Marquis of Ivrea..."