Fallout:Blood and the Bull

honest reviews would be greatly appreciated

Any opinion and comments are welcome

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The following days were marked by the continuous arrival of emissaries to the city. They brought official declarations from towns that, upon hearing of Abbeville's fate, had decided to switch sides. Many nobles and important figures arrived in chains or under escort, serving as hostages to confirm their surrender and pledge of loyalty to the Count.

One morning, while overseeing the training of my legionaries—always with their faces covered and bodies protected by armor—a weary messenger approached, flanked by two of my men. He knelt with evident nervousness before speaking:

"My lord, I bring news from the southern cities. They have sent their dignitaries and accepted your demand for submission. Here are the documents confirming the agreement."

I gestured for him to rise and hand me the parchment he carried. My eyes slid over the wax seals, recognizing the emblems of several powerful houses. Among them were some that had openly opposed our cause in the past, but now, defenseless and facing an uncertain future, they had chosen to yield. My strategy of instilling terror by razing Abbeville had worked: without an army to defend them, the towns understood that they either knelt or shared the same fate.

Meanwhile, reports confirmed that the claimant's forces had marched east, expecting a prolonged siege by the Count. Their focus was misplaced; they had no idea that their allied cities would surrender one by one, leaving them without supplies or effective support.

A strange calm reigned in the streets of the city we had conquered. The new slaves, supervised by my legionaries, were busy clearing rubble, reinforcing the walls, or gathering provisions. In the plazas, several dignitaries—merchants, minor lords, or administrators—who had arrived as prisoners from other towns sought my favor in exchange for some form of clemency. However, everything ultimately depended on what Lucien desired. Once this absurd familial conflict between him and his bastard sister was resolved, he could act as he pleased: delivering exemplary punishment to traitors or showing magnanimity, depending on his inclination. My role in this war would have an end: I would collect my payment and move on to another conflict that required my skills.

Yet, something else captured my attention, something related to the local Adventurers' Guild. Not for their veterans' experience in dungeon exploration—after all, my men are perfectly capable of clearing ordinary dungeons as long as they are not "corrupted mana dungeons"—but for a far more ambitious reason: magic.

My Legion was expanding rapidly, claiming territories and recruiting new members. But in a world where magic could tip the scales of any battle, the absence of mana users was a weakness I refused to tolerate any longer. An average mage, with some practice, could easily face five men; a trained sorcerer could decimate dozens; and a true archmage, educated in the imperial war academies, could annihilate entire cohorts with a single fireball or a lightning strike summoned from nowhere.

The church remained intact, a stone fortress in the middle of a city that still bore the scars of battle. I wasn't there out of reverence or faith, but necessity. My legionaries—a mix of freemen and trained slaves—had proven their worth on the battlefield, but they did not fully understand their potential. Many had never been examined to discover their blessing, and that was a waste I could not afford.

Upon entering, the priests regarded me cautiously. They recognized the wolf's head emblem on my shoulder, a symbol of the promise I had made to protect the church during the sacking. It was both a warning and a reminder that, although I had spared them, they owed me.

A young acolyte approached, bowing his head slightly. "Lord, how may we assist you?"

"I came to speak with the bishop," I said, my voice echoing in the vast space. "Tell him the man with the wolf's head is here."

The acolyte quickly disappeared through a side door. I looked at my men—the legionaries I had brought with me. Some bore the marks of their past as slaves: scars, ownership tattoos, hardened gazes. They were capable soldiers, but many had never undergone the process to uncover their blessings. I could not afford to ignore their hidden talents.

The bishop appeared shortly after, flanked by a deacon carrying an ancient book. His gaze settled on me, then on the men I had brought.

"I knew you would return," he said calmly, his tone tinged with irony. "I suppose your soul cannot bear the guilt of what you did to this city?"

"Not at all," I replied coldly, letting my words hang heavily in the air. I motioned toward my legionaries with a slight nod. "I want you to examine my men. Many of them were slaves before joining me. They were never allowed to discover their blessings. I cannot afford to waste hidden talent."

The bishop studied me in silence, his eyes attempting to discern something beyond my words. Finally, he nodded and turned to his assistants. "Very well. Prepare the stone."

He began issuing orders to the acolytes, who moved swiftly to organize the ritual. The sacred stone, an artifact essential for revealing blessings, was brought and placed on the altar. Its smooth, crystalline surface seemed to absorb the light from the surrounding candles, as if waiting to respond to the presence of the legionaries.

I remained silent, observing my men. I knew this would take time, and I didn't mind. I had hundreds of legionaries—men and women who had endured the harshest trials, many of them slaves who had never had the chance to discover their true selves. Every person was born with a blessing. It was an absolute fact, an undeniable truth of the world. But not everyone knew theirs. It was I, their commander, who had brought them to this moment. It was now my responsibility to ensure their gifts did not go to waste.

The process was slow and meticulous. Each legionary had to step forward, place their hands on the stone, and wait as their essence connected with the artifact. The stone reacted to each individual, glowing with unique colors that revealed their blessing. For some, it was a moment of pride as a powerful gift manifested. For others, it was a humble but meaningful revelation of their place in the world's structure.

Hours turned into days. The acolytes worked in shifts to maintain the pace of the ritual, and the bishop remained in place, observing with near-infinite patience.

One by one, my legionaries revealed their blessings: Warriors, Protectors, Healers—the variety was impressive. Each had a gift, and every gift, even minor or specialized ones, could be useful if properly utilized. However, I was searching for something more: mages. I knew there had to be those among them with the talent for magic, gifts that could tip the scales in any conflict.

Finally, after a grueling day of ritual, the stone emitted an unusual glow. A young recruit who had been with me only a few months approached nervously. The light that emerged was golden and violet, both powerful and dangerous.

"A Mage," announced the bishop, his voice echoing in the silence of the temple.

The young man stepped back, visibly bewildered by the magnitude of his discovery. My gaze hardened as I fixed it on him. I had found what I was looking for.

"How many more like him?" I asked the bishop, my tone direct.

"Not many," Gregorius replied, a trace of weariness in his voice. "Mages are rare, even among a group this large. But if you continue this process, you might find more."

I nodded, satisfied but not complacent.

When it was over, I turned to the bishop. "Thank you for your patience. This will not be forgotten."

The bishop regarded me with a mix of exhaustion and caution. "I hope you use this knowledge wisely. Blessings are gifts, but they are also burdens. Do not forget that."

"I know," I replied, my voice unwavering. "But the burdens are mine to bear, not yours."

With that, I gathered my legionaries. We had lost days, but we had gained something far more valuable: certainty. Now I knew the true potential of my men, and with that, the path to victory seemed clearer than ever.

The succession war continued with ferocity over the following week, but the balance of power had begun to shift. Each day brought new victories to our side. The forces of Count Lucien's bastard sister, his lifelong rival and claimant to the county, suffered under our relentless incursions. We attacked her plantations, warehouses, and strategic points without pause, destroying not only her economic capacity but also the morale of her troops.

The war for the county had always been divided between two poles. Lucien, the legitimate heir, initially had the backing of the most influential nobles and the legitimacy of his lineage. His bastard sister, a cunning and ruthless woman, had garnered the support of the discontented and those who believed that blood was not the only right to power. What had started as a balanced contest was now rapidly moving toward a predictable conclusion.

With the loss of her plantations and resources, the bastard sister could no longer sustain her troops or pay the mercenaries that made up much of her army. Each strike we launched against her territory drained her ability to respond. The nobles who had once supported her cause, lured by promises of autonomy and wealth, now abandoned her. No one wanted to be associated with the losing side in a war of succession. The prospect of falling out of favor once Lucien secured the county made them defect en masse.

Where once there were organized armies and solid lines of defense, only isolated pockets of resistance remained. The potential recruits who should have been bolstering her army no longer arrived. Even her own subjects began to doubt her leadership, fearing the reprisals they would face if Lucien consolidated his power.

Meanwhile, every victory we achieved was not only a blow to her forces but also a message. It was a declaration to the undecided that betting against Lucien and his newfound might was a recipe for failure. The bastard sister, though tenacious, seemed to have no clear path to victory.

One night, after a particularly successful raid on one of her armories, my legionaries rested around the campfires. I watched their faces. The war had hardened them, but it had also transformed them into a precise and lethal instrument. Each one of them understood that we were not just a military force; we were the tool dismantling the bastard sister's ambitions.

Count Lucien, who had initially relied on us as mere mercenaries, was beginning to see us as something more: the architects of his victory. However, I knew the war was not yet over. Though the bastard sister was being defeated, she would not surrender easily. She was too proud and too ambitious to accept defeat without a final battle.

Three months of relentless war had ravaged the contested lands. Though the bastard sister continued to resist, her position deteriorated daily. The struggle for the title of Count, initially balanced, had become a one-sided conflict. Her resources were depleted, her forces scattered, and even the nobles who still supported her began questioning the viability of her cause.

The proposal came at the right moment. Through my frumentarii, we established contact with the few nobles still backing her. They were not particularly loyal, but pragmatic, and the promise of clemency from Lucien, along with the restoration of their privileges, was an irresistible lure. The offer was clear: switch sides, betray their leader, and secure their survival and estates. All on terms more than reasonable.

The frumentarii worked with precision, exploiting the insecurities of these nobles. Some had already lost faith in the bastard sister, aware that her position was untenable. Others felt pressured by the sight of Lucien consolidating his power. They did not want to be on the wrong side when the war ended. It was only a matter of time before they accepted the deal.

The plan was simple but effective. The nobles would feign loyalty and offer the bastard sister a supposedly secure stronghold where she could regroup her forces. Unbeknownst to her, they would lead her directly into a trap. Everything was carefully orchestrated. While she focused on directing her remaining resources toward a desperate defense, her own allies guided her toward her capture.

The night she was betrayed, the frumentarii and my best men were already in position. We waited for her to enter the stronghold, confident that she was surrounded by allies. Once inside, the nobles locked the doors and handed over the keys. The capture was swift and met with little resistance. Though she was still a powerful mage, unprepared and betrayed, she could not defend herself. Once neutralized, she was taken directly to Count Lucien.

Upon hearing of her capture, the remaining forces of the bastard sister, leaderless and without hope, disbanded. The few who attempted to resist were quickly subdued, while most surrendered without a fight. The struggle for the title of Count had come to an end.

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honest reviews would be greatly appreciated

Any opinion and comments are welcome