Zápolya János once again was on a peaceful ride through the wilderness when he recieved the messenger. A young Vlach riding to him on horseback, handing him a parchment.

The Austrian dogs had begun their invasion. Rage began to fill his head, and quickly he saw the Vlach messenger sent off back to where he came, lest he take out his anger on an innocent boy. Clutching the paper in his hand, he hopped down from his horse. While disappointed that he would no longer be able to instantly began an offensive to take Buda, at the same time an invasion would do much good for his image.

János leaned against a tree, the bark biting into his back. It was early evening, the sun dipping below the horizon, giving the forest around him an even deeper shade of green than normal. Beside him was a creek; two watercress plants struggled in its thin current.

The parchment was heavy in his hand, the hatred against the Habsburgs and what they have done to his people was like a hangman's rope across his neck. Indeed, should he fail this mission, the Austrians would have a literal hangman's rope on him. Nevertheless, the peaceful wind blowing across him and his horse allowed him to at least organize his thoughts despite all of his rage. The peasants would have to be levied, the knights and cavalry across the land brought into a great army. Many men would die soon, and he may be one of them if God so willed it.

János got back up on his horse. A man must do what he must do, he promised to God and to his people that he would not abandon his post. He shall either be a victorious monarch in Buda, or perhaps a rotting corpse in Vienna. He rode onward, back towards Kolozsvár. It is there that he would begin the raising of his glorious army. Peasants, mercenaries, knights, Hungarians, Vlachs, Saxons. If your heart was beating and your blood was red, you would assist in this war in some way.

That János Zápolya could even think of doing something about this Austrian threat felt impossible at first; that somehow the thought had found his mind, like a maggot that finds itself lodged in rotting cheese between layers of briney mold. Armies would descend upon his land, and he was practically alone in it all. Yet if he did not, Hungary's own fate would be to fall under rule of this Austria; would Hungarians continue, as but slaves if the Austrians were permitted to rule the beautiful land of Arpad?

János looked toward the Sun and smirked in defiance. He was a dead man walking, or in this case, riding.