Augustus and Julius’s army had marched for the first time in weeks, and unexpectedly, that brief unintended break had somehow raised the troops’ morale tenfold.
These were the same soldiers who finally had time to take a break and talk to their fellow companions.
No drills, no armor, no training, no commands.
Just full freedom until Julius and Augustus could figure out how to escape.
And that freedom led to a stronger army, something that Julius had planned the moment they got stuck.
While he didn’t know exactly that this was the result, he had always intended for Raven’s curse to backfire drastically.
And backfire drastically it did.
Julius and Augustus’ army was like a coming thunderstorm, with each city, town, fortress they arrived in surrendering in only a few hours.
Augustus took care of the walls themselves, while Julius with the fighting; the two were unbeatable, and it was clear to all the Holy Allied Territories to see that their reign of supremacy over the center of the kingdom was now coming to an end.
*** Fortress City of Gwent
"So this is what they call the iron wall of the center..."
Julius had his arms crossed, looking over the siege as Augustus had already deployed his siege engines for a total assault.
Their trebuchets chipped away at the mighty walls that were considered to be impenetrable.
But Julius couldn’t help but think... that their walls paled heavily in comparison to Justinian’s design.
"Brother, we’ve almost breached their fortifications; it’s your turn to act."
Augustus returned to their command tent, his voice slightly sour from all the shouting and coordinating to ensure the trebuchets and cannons were in perfect order.
"You sound like a dying animal."
Julius chuckled.
"We’ve been besieging nonstop ever since we were able to move... I would be more surprised if my voice were still as crystal clear as before."
Augustus took a seat at the head of the table, and his arms rested on it. "Give them hell."
"No need to remind me."
***
Julius took the lead on the charge, the enemy’s walls already crumbling as a huge hole had now been blown through for them to enter.
It was a death trap to say the least, with the enemy already having reinforced it in advance with a line of pikemen and spearmen, cavalry was no longer an option.
And even just sending footmen into it would lead to massive casualties.
But that was only a problem when Julius wasn’t present.
"Charge!"
He yelled out, their entire combined army heading straight to the walls.
They didn’t have to worry about archer volleys or enemy ballistae anymore; Augustus had ensured they would no longer have any distractions.
CLANG!
The first clash of steel rang out.
And, unluckily for them, it was Julius’s blade that they had faced.
"Gale!"
Julius yelled out, his blade coated with a powerful wind that could only be described as a minor hurricane.
FWOOSH!
With a single swing, the entire enemy line of spearmen and pikemen was immediately pushed back, their entire formation gliding across the ground as they found themselves completely caught off guard.
"Gale!"
He yelled out again; that wasn’t just a one-time thing.
FWOOSH!
With another stronger swing, he sent an entire pikemen formation flying and crashing into the city’s buildings, his sheer destructive force striking fear into everyone who saw it.
And what was worse was that he was still the only one who was fighting.
"I cleared the way! charge!"
But that was about to change as the entire army was finally given the signal to join in, with hordes of heavy footsoldiers flowing through the hole and passing by Julius as they charged with near zealous fury.
The Holy Allied Territories may be ’blessed’ by the gods, but when it came to Julius and Augustus, they were the gods themselves.
The holy defenders were not weak.
They were seasoned veterans, hardened by righteousness, faith, and years of war against northern raiders and southern heretics alike.
But none of their training, piety, or blessings prepared them to fight a man like Julius.
Not a warrior.
Not a mage.
Something in between.
Something more.
"Hold the line! FOR THE ALLIED TERRITO—"
FWOOSH!!
Another hurricane strike silenced the command. Shields shattered. Steel twisted in the air like leaves. The shockwave alone shook the foundations of the gatehouses above.
Julius didn’t even look tired.
He finally stopped swinging, and simply walked.
And that alone made his allies follow, and his enemies retreat.
Not out of fear.
But out of sense.
Because who in their right mind would willingly stand in front of that?
***
The gates fell.
Not by siege.
But by belief.
The defenders dropped their weapons one by one, as though something had pressed on their shoulders, not magic, not aura, but the simple realization:
They weren’t fighting an army.
They were witnessing one.
The doors of Gwent opened not because they were breached.
But because they knew they would be.
And Julius and Augustus walked through them, side by side. One with hands calloused by war. One with hands worn from planning it.
A priest fell to his knees.
"Wh—Which god... do you serve?"
Augustus didn’t answer.
Julius simply smiled.
"We don’t serve them."
Silence.
"We just know them very well."
Justinian’s intel had been correct.
The Holy Allied Territories didn’t fall by force.
They fell by realization.
Within three days, over twenty minor fiefs surrendered, without a single swing of a sword.
The nobles called it the March of the Twin Tempests.
Because it was not a war.
It was the weather.
Inevitable.
Unstoppable.
And unreasonably calm.
And far away, in the mountain treasury beneath Mithral’s statue.
Justinian sneezed.
Maria looked up from an open chest of artifacts, eyebrow raised. "...Getting cold?"
He rubbed his nose. "No. Just feels like someone’s talking about me."
Maria blinked.
"...Are you sure?"
Justinian looked at the golden vault around them, the ancient artifacts stirring with faint echoes of power, Mithral’s gold veins still faintly humming above them.
He smiled slowly.
"If I were sick, I would know immediately."