The noble Gawein was sitting on a wooden stump as a chair under the shelter of the tent roof. Outside, the soldiers could be seen setting up camp in the pouring rain and running to and fro, doing all kinds of work. "What beastly weather!" came out of the gentleman’s mouth. Two of the other knights were already present in the tent. They were only waiting for Maxentio. Gawein childishly played around with his sword, which he left in its scabbard. He held it by the haft and waved it around a little as a gust of wind blew through the tent. A sparkling red stone could be seen on the pommel of the thing. Almos approached with interest and asked: "Nice sword you've got there." - "You haven't got a clue!" the conceited man replied cheekily. But then he explained: "As a sign of her unshakeable faith in me, Her Majesty has entrusted me with this special sword, so that I may strike down the enemies of Ordania with it. Just another sign that we will win!" he said full of confidence. He then unsheathed the weapon and presented the golden ornamented sword to his colleague. "Looks more like a piece of jewellery to me than a weapon intended for practical use," Almos remarked. Offended, the nobleman looked at him and replied: "You wouldn't understand power, if it jumped right into your face!" He put the sword back in its scabbard and strapped it round his waist. Briefly, the letters "M.R." could be seen engraved on the crossguard.

  Then Etzel came in. Soaking wet, the water dripped down from him in front of them. He first looked over at Almos, who was picking his teeth, but then turned his serious gaze towards Gawein and said: "Gentlemen, I would like your help in organising the troops. Our dear knight Maxentio could finally bring himself to join us!" The two of them didn't give contra to his contemptuous tone, waved Melvin over and trudged out through the ocean of mud that had formed. Melvin looked eastward, across the Archfeld, a wide and flat alluvial plain of the Arch, a tributary of the Duhn. He stared for quite a while until Almos finally tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, the Camenians are coming up west of the Karantian Forests. You are looking in the wrong direction."

  The army rode up, with their commander leading the way, of course. When they arrived, Etzel remarked disappointedly: "What? Are you just bringing mercenaries?" Maxentio, a very tall man who wasn’t the youngest anymore, replied in broken Ordanese: "You will regret such insults to my men. The Boskettian Company is known near and far. Their pikemen will make short work of our enemy’s hussars!" - "Well, let's hope so!" Eztel snarled back. The new arrivals were shown where they could set up camp. Then the field marshal approached Gawein and spoke to him quietly: "It is clear that our two armies have the most experience here. I suggest that we take on the important roles here." The Knight of Zeemark agreed with him.

  The next day they discussed their tactics. Etzel, who was in overall command, raised his voice: "Well, my idea is to let the heretics come to us. We have better trained men overall and, by my reckoning, more of them, though not by much. I want them to have to face us man to man. When they cross the Duhn, we'll meet them here on the Archfeld. A wide, open plain with plenty of room to manoeuvre. This is where our superior training can be used to our best advantage. We choose the place and the manner of confrontation. Our back is free in the direction of the Zeemark, while they will have their backs to the big stream. All this is a good starting position for us." Clearly Etzel was eager for a fair fight, man to man so to speak. He still firmly believed in his superiority, just as Gawein did. "We’ll position ourselves as follows: Gawein on the left and I with my troops on the right flank. Almos on the centre left, Melvin on the right and Maxentio pressing in the centre. The idea is to ...." Now he slipped by almost saying "with our good troops", but held back. "We want to advance from the flanks and ,thus, encircle the forces of the insurgents. If we push them back far enough, which is the job of the rest of you, by building up enough pressure in the centre, we can surround them with their backs to the Duhn and win."

  Everyone nodded in agreement. Even Maxentio, who seemed rather wary and eccentric, immediately agreed with the field marshal without contradiction. Etzel had not expected that. "Okay, good!" was all he could say in response. So, the tactics had been decided. The battle would take place on the Archfeld.

  In the meantime, the revolutionaries were recruiting more forces in the surrounding area under their control. This could not make up for their losses so far, but looking at the army they had, this was no cause for concern. Huge masses of soldiers were camped around and inside Greifenburg. They were all in good spirits and had high morale, based on their recent, brilliant victory here. Whilst the clean-up was going on, many were also training their fighting skills. Some just sat around, playing the lute or other instruments and singing along with their comrades. At some point, a superior would come by and give them some work to do. There was also a lot of looting, as many of the townspeople had either died or been taken into custody and a lot of precious belongings could still be found.

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  Theodor soon received word from one of their scouting parties that the main army of the regime was camped west of the Duhn. Ithad allegedly grown to an enormous size. There was talk of an army of more than a hundred thousand men. This was the largest army to march in Ordania since the days of Melgar! The field marshal was full of confidence, however, as his army was of a comparable size. He was also keen not to delay matters. He wanted to use the current momentum of the revolution to rush straight after the enemy and defeat them decisively. He approached August and the other army leaders with this information. They all agreed that there was no time to lose. This cleared the way for the great Battle of Archfeld, even if the Martyrs didn’t know it, yet.

  On the huge terrace at the back of the royal palace, Wenzel and his two friends were once again hard at work. "Clang, clang!" could be heard as Brahm's blade clashed with that of his opponent. Wenzel made a feint from the left and then jumped over his challenger, letting himself fly with magic. However, the latter had already expected this and left no gap open for him. The former Duenitz went on the counterattack, but was parried by the young man. He dashed forwards again, but Wenzel dodged backwards. He let himself fly into the air, took a swing and threw, yes threw, his weapon at Brahm. This trick was surprising, but failed to land any hit. Then a lieutenant came approaching and said: "Gentlemen, I have been told to inform you that the next campaign is due to start shortly." The men paused their battle and were informed of the plans.

  Apparently, the chief of staff would not be going on the campaign this time. Everyone agreed that this was a wise decision, although it was difficult for August to admit to himself that his body simply no longer allowed him to undertake such endeavours. He had finally realised this during the siege of Greifenburg. However, the wizard surprised them by saying that he wanted to stay here too this time. Ferenc and Brahm had assumed, that he wanted to be part of the campaign. Well then, everything was decided and already in preparation.

  Under the warm spring sun, the flowers bloomed, the trees sprouted and the soldiers laboured. The army organised itself on the large plain around the city. Very soon afterwards it departed under the leadership of Theodor, who was accompanied by Tassilo, Wienand and Ulrich, to name a few important military figures. The behemoth puffed ahead again. It headed north-west, towards the Duhn bridge, which led in the direction of Zeemark. "Maybe we can even force them out of Ordania. Then all their hopes will turn to smoke and mirrors!" fantasised Theodor. He still had no idea what this battle would actually bring them eventually. The peasant army, led by men with a lot of experience, would soon be marching across the muddy roads of the realm again. Their forces were different from those of their enemies, but there was one thing they definitely were: more cohesive than their enemy’s.

  So why had Wenzel stayed in Greifenburg? Had he grown tired of fighting? Or was it something else? There wasn't much for him to do in the city, that was for sure. Would he continue his training or work on his magic? Not exactly. As they stood on the Zeer Bastion watching the troops march off, a pleasant breeze blew in, carrying with it the scents of spring. These were in stark contrast to the great din that the departing army was making. The field marshal had just given another motivational speech. As always, his charisma had carried everyone along. However, the high morale was not only due to this, but also because of to the reputation that now preceded Theodor. He had become a legend thanks to the many battles he had successfully fought. Some called him the "black bear" of the Martyrs. He was still undefeated in the field. "If we're not going into battle with them, we could take care of the issue, that you still haven't gotten any extra bodyguards," Ferenc remarked. Somewhat absent-mindedly, Wenzel simply replied: "Yes, of course." He was behaving almost as if he didn't care about the matter. This was most likely simply, because he was absorbed into watching the army march off. A few stronger gusts of wind came along and caused the sunflags that were now waving on the bastions to flap wildly. It was a wind that brought something new. No matter what happened, Kaphkos would never be the same again.

  Lucius and his mother now arrived at Münzberg Castle. The boy was overjoyed that he had finally completed the arduous journey. A castle with a high keep loomed up in front of them. It stood on the summit of the highest mountain in the area, which wasn’t very high, really. The drawbridge was lowered and the royal visitors rode into the count's castle. The count greeted the few people who had actually arrived with honours, along with all his servants. The majority of Her Majesty's court had left for Zeemark to carry on what business they could from there. That was Gabriela's order. It was all for the purpose of her plan, which no one but she herself knew about. Her son was still clueless about the prisoner, but had asked no questions, as he was preoccupied with his aches and pains from the long journey here anyway. The young heir to the throne now spent the night in his own room in the same residential wing as the count. He was a very fat man who laughed often and a lot.

  He had nothing against him, but Lucius was still full of worry. His mother had become increasingly aggressive as a result of all the recent events. Her disturbed and sometimes erratic behaviour was in keeping with her nature, but it was still frightening. The boy was worried about his mum, to whom he was very attached. But at the moment, she was pushing him away, which increased his insecurity even more. He just wanted give her some encouragement, but it bounced off her like drops of water on a pane of glass.