"Lord almighty, Nigel—what happened?" Anna stared at him, voice low and taut, eyes scanning the swollen bruise stretching across his jaw.
Behind her, the JLTV's engine idled—a guttural hum beneath the tension. Its interior was packed to the roof with heavy lockboxes, velvet-lined caskets, imperial-standard bullion, and enough gemstones to bankrupt half the baronies. Anything that glittered or bore the Lorentz seal had been seized. Every vault, every drawer, even the secret compartments beneath the duke's wine cellar—emptied and stacked.
But judging from Nigel's bruised jaw and the dried blood beneath one eye, things hadn't exactly gone according to plan.
They got the treasury. The truck was full—gold, gems, heirloom coins, a few antique relics for good measure. It would fund another round of armaments, maybe even pay for the next batch of mercenaries.
But Nigel? He'd taken it at gunpoint.
Anna stared at the loaded JLTV, "You held the estate guard at gunpoint?"
Nigel didn't flinch. "They weren't convinced the orders came from you." He gave a grim smile. "So I convinced them harder."
Anja looked between them, expression caught somewhere between awe and exasperation. "You're absolutely unhinged. But… well done, Major."
"Charismatically assertive," he muttered, wiping blood from his lip with a handkerchief.
Anna exhaled sharply through her nose. "Great. So now we're not just rebels. We're traitors and thieves, too."
Nigel gave a dry shrug. "Strategic asset reallocation."
The clink of metal echoed softly as the last crate was locked into place. The sun hadn't even broken the horizon, but the weight of what they'd done pressed heavy on the air. Somewhere, nobles would soon awaken to discover their ledgers empty, their vaults bare—and their futures bleeding.
Anna glanced back toward the distant ridge, where the silhouette of her ancestral home was slowly vanishing behind fog and smoke.
"Then let's make it worth it."
Nigel cracked his neck. "Your father put up a bit of a fight. Nothing we couldn't handle, madam. So… about our pay. This haul covers it, right?"
"Absolutely," Anna replied. "Take the currency as a bonus. Pay the men their full wage. I'll handle the rest. We still need the jewels and golds, things that won't sell to their immediate value."
"Copy that," Nigel smiled.
The soldiers and contractors unloaded the JLTV into the courtyard. Nigel and the other officers sorted through the haul, gathering all the usable currency. It was handed out quickly—back pay, bonuses, hazard compensation. No one smiled. They knew what was coming.
Anna stood apart, quiet, focused. She opened the system's sell menu. With a soft hum, a shimmering portal blinked into existence beside her—a swirling gateway ready to accept the loot Nigel had dragged back under gunpoint.
One by one, she tossed in the gold bars, necklaces, and gem-studded trinkets. The value counter on the interface ticked upward with each deposit.
[Total Value: 7,984,000] [EP: 292,000]
[Confirm?]
Hell yeah.
With this funding, Anna could finally outfit her forces properly. Night-vision goggles, modern radios, maybe even a high-end anti-tank missile system—it was all within reach now. But priorities had to come first. A full-scale defense was looming. Every EP would go into holding the fort.
Anja and Lisa approached, both eyeing the closing portal behind her.
"Well, well, well," Lisa said, hands on hips. "Looks like our situation got turned downside up."
"I think it did," Anna replied, still watching the EP counter flicker to zero.
Anja raised an eyebrow. "The duke's going to be furious."
"What's the worst he can do?"
"Fair point…"
Lisa nodded toward the interface. "So—how much?"
"Eight million EPs," Anna said, grinning. "Solid haul, right?"
"Goddamn," Lisa muttered. "That's a lot."
"Yeah," Anja added. "So… what's the game plan now? Budget seems to be no longer a problem."
Anna exhaled. "They're not dumb. If they want this fort, they'll go full textbook—indirect fire to soften us up, infantry to probe the gaps, maybe armor or light vehicles if they're feeling confident."
Lisa crossed her arms. "Sounds like a proper storm."
"And we're the wall," Anja said quietly.
"Don't worry—we'll plan accordingly," Anna said. "We've got decent anti-infantry coverage. What we lack is anti-armor. I'm thinking drones and ATGMs. Thoughts, Lisa?"
Lisa gave a sharp nod. "Smart call. Hit them before they get close."
Anna tapped open the Items & Logistics interface.
[Items & Logistics Department Interface] [Search:______ ] [Open Sell Menu] [EP: 8,276,000]
20 x [FGM-148 Javelin] = 2,000,000 EP 20 x [Switchblade 600] = 2,000,000 EP 10 x [9M113 Kornet Launcher] = 100,000 EP 100 x [9M113-M2 Missiles] = 1,000,000 EP 50 x [RPG-27] = 60,000 EP 30 x [RPG-28] = 75,000 EP 500 x [PVS-14 Gen 3] = 1,750,000 EP
[Total: 6,985,000 EP] [Purchase?]
A sudden whoosh echoed across the courtyard as another metal container materialized out of thin air, slamming into the earth with a metallic thud. The soldiers flinched—then rushed over, gawking at the strange new arsenal.
"Don't just stand there," Anna called out. "Inventory the gear and get it sorted by squad. Contractors, I want training sessions running within the hour. No deadweight."
With their new firepower, hardened leadership, and an army no longer fighting blind—maybe, just maybe—they stood a chance.
Everything was in place.
The soldiers had been given simple commands, especially those dragged in from the 18th century. They still fumbled with the rifles, awkward with the recoil and weight, but at least they were no longer terrified of pulling the trigger. For now, that was enough.
The firing positions had been reinforced with machine guns, sandbags, and overlapping fields of fire. The recent shopping spree—God bless that treasure-filled JLTV—had stocked the armory with enough ATGMs to make a dent, maybe even stall a full assault. Still, she only had 1,000,000 EP left from more purchase than the previous one. They felt prepared enough, but the enemies wouldn't be stupid.
It would be all or nothing now.
This battle would shape history. No doubt about that. Oberstein Dukedom—Normolus Fort—would either be their grave or their miracle. An armored battalion, bearing down on a force cobbled from muskets, machine guns, mercenaries, and faith. The only real edge? The fortifications. The rest was up to the grit of old-world soldiers and the discipline of the contractors.
Anna leaned forward, watching the trench lines where rows of infantry crouched. She turned to Anja.
"How do you feel?"
Anja gave a weak chuckle. "Anxious. Excited. But mostly anxious."
"Think you'll survive?"
"...Do you?"
Anna shrugged. "I give us fifty-fifty."
"That's not exactly comforting."
"I'm not in the business of making promises I can't keep. We'll be lucky if only ten percent of us die. The mortars and Switchblades are our best bet—if they land well, they'll thin the infantry and maybe disable some armor."
Anja swallowed. "So, what, a hundred dead?"
"Could be less. It could be more. There'll be a lot of wounded. And this fort?" Anna gestured around them. "Probably half gone from the indirect fire alone."
"Goddamn," Anja whispered.
Anna's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "We're fighting machines that throw high-explosive shells and shrug off bullets like rain. The old world can't scratch them. So we borrow the tools of a new one… and hope it's enough."