The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 131: Chapter 130: Onward, to the Mountain

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Chapter 130: Onward, to the Mountain The framework of a nation was very much alike to that of a machine: its people the gears and pistons, which, when in motion, released a great rumble, growing stronger in response to the call of war. Francia and all others who considered the continent their home was no different. Five mighty lords spoke to the people, thus — they said that the era of strife would soon be over, for they had achieved what was once thought impossible. They joined hands and signed a lasting oath, a pact, of which would flourish their children and their children’s children in the unknowable tomorrows to come, and so the masses were gathered; and they were given a simple command. Toil, children of the land. Labor in the occupations that you excel best. The smithies surged ablaze with forging fire, melting ingots into the weapons and breastplates that would shield their armies from the demons’ reach. Farmers and fishermen harvested their yields, preserving foodstuff and rations that would give their armies sustenance. Even those still yet to become adults found, in their own ways, the subtle means of which they could contribute, by manner of housekeeping, tending to the little ones even younger, or simply with a loving hug and a tender promise. And in doing so they gave their armies the greatest gift of all, the comfort in knowing that home yet awaited their return. Yes, everything was for the soldiers soon to march, the brave men and women who volunteered, despite the dangers beyond their border, to raise up arms and join the continent’s first united army. For their foe was a dangerous one. Ten years had those things called demons threatened their peace and safety; Mount Caroline where their vile lord called home loomed in the distance as a foreboding reminder that man needed to be wary, to be fearful. Now was the time for change. Thus did the paladins of Emperor Karolus assemble, joined by the Penitents of Lombard, the Crystologists of Moors, the Levantine of Arabia, and the Beastly Brigade of Britannia. These warriors, so different in appearances, nonetheless convened on the edge of the Frank’s westernmost fortress, where stood the last trace of civilization before entering the shrouded, decaying territory of demonkind. There, the five mighty lords gathered around the dulled table of swords, of which Lucius so kindly brought with him just for this occasion, and through heated words discussed amongst themselves the best route of attack. The Saracens with their knowledge of stealth and reconnaissance had scouted the roads ahead, splitting into small groups and prioritizing survival above all else. Even with their caution, however, they were soon ambushed by a nigh endless swarm of demons, whose hands ripped apart the scouts and dragged them deep beneath the earth. By some small fortune a few survivors escaped. Their reports of favorable paths upon return were understandably bleak, for there existed not a single stretch of the woods leading to the mountain that was spared from the demons’ lurking. Everything from the branches to the roots were corrupted by the unsettling child-like jolly the people had long since come to know. It was a strange thing. The demons’ behavior which once showed only mindless aggression and the propensity to spread, to proliferate, was now gone and replaced by a more almost unnerving calm. They strayed no farther from their grounds. Even the attacks once surged against Ruggiero’s fortress, the very one the united army now sat within, had ceased but a month ago. Yet the five lords allowed not the demons’ inactivity to fool them. The creatures were quiet now, but whilst in the forest the scouts recounted hearing a faint noise that surrounded them and bloated the air. It was laughter. It was the crazed hums and whispers announcing their liege’s inevitable descent. Somewhere, beyond the forest and atop the peak, the Demon King was gaining power. Its minions had stopped their swarm to come, to