The third week of the southern campaign began not with a trumpet's call, but with silence.
And in that silence — Romanus moved.
The southernmost coastal stronghold had fallen, its defenders buried or broken, its walls now flying the gold-and-crimson eagle.
From its heights, Elheat had overseen the dispatching of twelve cavalry outrider units, each tasked with sweeping wide arcs across the southern coast — not merely scouting, but destabilizing.
Fires rose in the distance before sunrise — controlled, precise, like punctuation marks across the Achaeian shoreline.
Watchposts.
Signal towers.
Supply caches.
Minor garrisons.
All gone.
None of it random.
Elheat knew what he was doing, he had served as a commander in the Lunanese military for decades, and while no wars had been fought he had still participated in numerous conflicts.
And just like then he was removing the enemy's eyes.
And once they were blind — the blade would follow cutting their heads off.
~
