《(Published )The Scar - a Story of War》


 1 - The First Step

    From the pan-dimensional space gate steps a pair of authoritative, resplendently-shined plate boots that outsize all others in The Knights.


    Royal Knight Hoss¡¯Rayull steps from the gate leading to the forward camp.He can see it¡¯s even more desolate and godless than he remembered it to be, but it¡¯s flow of soldiers is denser than ever.


    The sharp wind glides smoothly across his scales, as if greeting him after some time off.


    The reminiscence is cut short, though. Before he can get a good look around, he¡¯s immediately waved down by a soldier.


    ¡°Identification?¡± the man asks.


    Rayull flicks up his insignia for the man, who does not even need to inspect it to immediately tell it¡¯s a knight¡¯s crest of Old Reinen. Rayull¡¯s is led to the front of the camp. Waiting for him is an official-looking man, bolting down scotch.


    ¡°Oh, a scale,¡± the general starts, reverting instantly to one of the many derogatory terms belonging to Rayull¡¯s kind.


    Rayull, a higher dragon-kin, nods. ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ve been sent directly from my mission in Liefland. If I may ask, where¡¯s General Detrocolas?¡±


    ¡°Died,¡± the stout general says to the nearly two and a half-meter high half-dragon. ¡°You¡¯ll be answering to me, now.¡± The general presents his hand. ¡°Name¡¯s Coltairne Leinhard. I hear you¡¯re quite the monster with that sledge of yours.¡±


    The two shake hands as Rayull replies. ¡°With all due respect, sir, it¡¯s a common type of weapon from my reservation. We tend to think of it as a commoner¡¯s weapon.¡±


    The stubby human chuckles with an unexpected charm. ¡°Well it¡¯s a pleasure to have you on board, boy,¡± General Coltairne says with a quick, friendly punch to Rayull¡¯s massive chest.


    Rayull forgoes mentioning that he¡¯s actually in his eighties, a common time around a dragon-kin¡¯s adolescence, and is probably the general¡¯s senior by at least twenty years. Perhaps ¡°boy¡± is just The Good General¡¯s way of telling Rayull that he¡¯s the one in charge.


    ¡°Yes sir. What am I here for?¡± the dragon-kin asks, scratching his muscular, teeth-lined snout.


    The general nods and hands over an enclosed envelope. ¡°You¡¯ll be officering over a unit of five other soldiers. No mages, so you¡¯re out of luck there. We¡¯re holding them back with the artillery batteries. They¡¯re staying back, and you¡¯re going into the front lines.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Rayull takes the order slip, pauses and addresses the general with his eyes. ¡°Sir, you mean to say we¡¯re going into a firing zone?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, you got a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ve done it before.¡±


    ¡°Very good. Besides, how else would the Easterners go in range if we didn¡¯t have bait to get them there?¡±


    Rayull leans his head backward with a certain crane-like grace expected more from a butler. ¡°¡­ By pulling our line out of the firing zone, perhaps?¡± he asks, testing the interpersonal waters with his new commander.


    The general wags a wizened finger. ¡°Ahh, of course; but then how would they come into range? We are assaulting their line, after all.¡±


    Rayull¡¯s gaze pauses in its movement. The general smirks. Rayull might as well fall over on the ground in surprise.


    ¡°¡­ I was under the impression we were defending,¡± he says.


    The general shakes his head as he pours Rayull a glass of scotch ¡°Not anymore. I¡¯m in charge, and I hate wars of attrition. They cost far too many lives and become hated by the public. We¡¯re going to smack their asses right back home, imprison them, murder them, and delegate the rest of them to prison camps¡­.¡± he shoots a choice, almost venomous gaze in the ¡°scale¡¯s¡± direction. ¡°Sound familiar?¡±


    Rayull twitches as he rejects the scotch. He recalls accounts of the murderous Extermination Wars, back when his own people were the ones on the line. He wasn¡¯t there, it was centuries ago, but these are the sorts of wounds that take longer than a lifetime to heal.


    ¡°So, a group of five?¡± Rayull says with a bland look- he¡¯s not new to racism, but getting that from a commanding officer, someone he can¡¯t punch, is particularly bitter. It¡¯s less-so the name-calling and more on the precedent that he¡¯s about to enable similar atrocities to what his ancestors had dealt with. Before long, he¡¯s certain, Ulterians will be ¡°less than equal¡± citizens of the Republic, just like him.


    General Coltairne smiles at Rayull, reaches up to pat him on the shoulder, and nods. It¡¯s obvious he¡¯s drunk.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ll be taking a group of five others. Recruit kids mostly, with one or two guys that know how to fight. You¡¯ll have some extra gear, but that¡¯s logistics¡¯ job. Don¡¯t bother checking in with the rest of the unit; they¡¯re all busy. Just get on with your squad. I¡¯m too busy to deal with every little platoon that walks through my door, let alone every squad.¡± He takes a pause to sip his spirit. ¡°Any questions?¡±


    Rayull bows his head at an angle. ¡°None, sir.¡±


    ¡°Then get out of my tent,¡± Coltairne says as he takes back to his seat and waves Rayull off with a flippant, almost foppish inflection.


    The hulking knight salutes the general. ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll do our country proud.¡±


    Coltairne just scoffs and takes another shot.


    That¡¯s his cue to leave.


    Rayull bows out of the tent, cursing under his breath that the Royal Knights would ever have to take orders from the Western Kingdoms Defensive Republic; but he knows victory is worth the humiliation.


    One cannot always get superiors one loves. He¡¯s just glad he won¡¯t be running staff duty any time soon with a fattened bastard like this fellow.


    He won''t muse on it. It''s not like it would help anything. He steps off to begin his work.

 2 - The Men in His Charge

    As Rayull looks over his order slip, a young, armed man smashes into him from the side. Rayull, weighing roughly two hundred and fifty kilos with gear, it¡¯s surprising to him that the boy didn¡¯t knock himself out at those speeds. Rayull¡¯s fine, of course, but the boy starts up with a nosebleed and a flame in his eyes.


    ¡°Watch where ya¡¯ goin¡¯, cunt!¡± the kid, of obviously Ragnivanian descent, snaps as he rubs his head and regains momentum off to somewhere else in the camp.


    Rayull raises a brow at the auburn-haired boy, watching him run off past another tent. He calmly shakes his head and gets on to logistics.


    At the tent Rayull meets a far friendlier chap who meters out the standard squad supplies required: twenty four rations and a medical kit for wounds and common battlefield conditions: nothing unusual for a multi-day patrol. Along with that set, he also receives his unit badge.


    He clicks it onto his armor¡¯s collar, and now he¡¯s ready for war.


    Rayull turns and leaves for the arming depot, where the orders told him to meet his subordinates. He approaches a group, spotting among them the auburn-haired brat from earlier. The moment he lays eyes on him, the kid knows what¡¯s coming from the one who just so happens to be his commanding officer.


    The others give the expected response in expectation of taking orders under a dragon-kin, some of them stare in awe, and others look terrified.


    ¡°Attention,¡± a fully-armored one says, standing the others up.


    With a lazy speed expected for the unclear expectations of joint-force operations, the group eventually comes to something resembling the presenting stand for meeting an officer.


    Everyone folds their right arm to their chests, showing off the insignia of the country and state they¡¯re from- all except for the auburn-haired kid. Rayull looks them over: one other Ragnivanian including the auburn kid, so he¡¯s certain at least the other three of the squad won¡¯t be drop-out borderline criminals.


    Rayull glances over their insignias a moment more and notes their unit badges. As the orders state they¡¯re of the yellow primary-company, second combined mystic infantry brigade, seventh battalion, first secondary-company, fourth platoon, second squad. ¡°Second squad?¡± he asks for confirmation.


    The one Spirakandrin boy, exceptionally dark-skinned and tall, nods with a congenial smile. ¡°That¡¯s us, sir. You¡¯re our squad leader, I presume?¡±


    Rayull smiles, almost like a friend. ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯m Royal Knight Law, I¡¯m on loan for the defense of the Western Kingdoms and will be overseeing this group.¡± He scans across the group for only a second. ¡°So, only five of you?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± the same Spirakandrin notes with a mix of black humor and worry on his features.


    ¡°¡­Bit small,¡± Rayull notes.


    He¡¯s met with nods and silence. He¡¯s going to guess that most of the unit¡¯s either out on the field, or dead.


    Rayull gives a single, certain nod. ¡°I¡¯ll now take your introductions,¡± he says, holding his arms behind his back pensively.


    The line of five soldiers is reformed, and the left most one presents himself:


    He¡¯s scrawny, pale, like most other Whihelmishians, but densely packed and muscular- the result of effective training. A sword of surprising size is hilted on his back. ¡°Carl Yarland- Third Squadman, reporting for duty,¡± he introduces with an excited smile.


    The Spirakandrin presents himself with a wide grin that make¡¯s Carl¡¯s look like a smirk. ¡°Awnway Letallk- Second Squadman, reporting for duty.¡± Rayull notes the rag-tag collection of weapons he has belted around him: spears, hatches, knives, a bow, anything goes with this guy, it seems; a true polymath of tools.


    An average sized, fully-armored-and-cloaked Ragnivanian soldier presents himself next. Rayull makes a note of his dilapidated, crudely maintained two-handed sword and shield, both stained with extended use. ¡°Vulrick Gair- Second Armsman.¡± Rayull raises a brow at this one. he¡¯s obviously seen a few fights.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Next is a short, effeminate boy from Kanvane, his soft, brown trusses of hair only exacerbating his young appearance. He has a slant, pretentious air about him. A light crossbow rests against his knee. ¡°Bayl Culiairty¡­ ex magic core, now I¡¯m a First Squadman,¡± he says, averting his eyes from Rayull¡¯s stature.


    The last one is the Auburn-haired boy. He pauses a moment, and then steps forward. ¡°Cet Garraline- First Squadman, proud Ragnivanian. Don¡¯t get friendly with me, I know what your kind did to my people. I don¡¯t like lizards. Don¡¯t you have some no-where reservation for you to shit your eggs out on? I think you¡¯re in the wrong da-¡±


    Rayull snorts a breath of smoked air into the boy¡¯s face. This is his opportunity to set the precedent of authority in the group. His old caretaker, Meeo, might have a gift with being a kind leader, but he has much more difficulty playing nice to subordinates. He takes a moment to decide if he¡¯ll be tough as nails, or someone more relatable.


    After all, it¡¯s not every day one leads men into actual combat.


    Hoss¡¯Rayull addresses the boy with an iron gaze. With a long exhalation, he breaths a billow of smoke through his fortress of white teeth.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re something special, dismissing your superior?¡± he says to the boy, diminutive in comparison.


    The wind blows. Cet Garraline flinches. ¡°I¡¯m better than a Rayda-Damned lizard at lea-¡±


    Cet¡¯s interrupted again, hearing a deep, spinal shift in Rayull¡¯s neck, stretching it about limberly and causing cracking sounds from his limbs.


    Despite it all, Cet still plays it tough.


    ¡°Y-¡­ Ya¡¯ think that-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not used to restraining myself with undermen. I don¡¯t care what your parents taught you about dragon-folk; I¡¯m better than them, and I¡¯m better than you unless you can prove otherwise. If you cross the line again you can expect suitable corrective action.¡±


    Cet stares at Rayull with wide, focused eyes, like a cornered beast. ¡°Yeah? An¡¯ what¡¯s that?¡±


    Rayull smiles, and cracks his knuckles next, crunching under his wide plate gauntlets. ¡°The last time someone broke the rules, they died,¡± he says, not necessarily lying, though it wasn¡¯t him that did the killing.


    The last person who died under his wing was a Kanvanian boy by the name of Lain Gainswold, who just two days ago was crushed under the foot of Oa, the Lord of Necromancers; but that¡¯s another story for another time.


    Cet stares for a moment more with venomous contempt, and then pulls up a salute.


    Rayull smiles, and nods with an immediate shift to light-heartedness. ¡°Our mission is to go into¡­.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°The firing lines, and wear down the enemy via patrol movement.¡±


    The plated Vulrick and the thick Carl, the two most experienced of the five when it comes to open battle, exchange looks from to Rayull¡¯s admission.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be there solely for killing enemy soldiers, but should I make the call otherwise you will follow; understood?¡± Rayull asks the group.


    Everyone salutes.


    ¡°Excellent, now if there are no more questions, I¡¯ll allow you to take your oath of hands.¡±


    ¡°W-¡± Cet barks, ¡°this is bullshi-¡±


    He¡¯s silenced upon the sounds of the other four soldiers removing their left gauntlets and gloves, revealing the vulnerable human flesh underneath. They¡¯re taking this seriously, he can plainly see.


    With a massive, thinly veiled disgust, Cet follows suit, and removes everything covering his left hand.


    Rayull can hear the breathing of the younger recruits pick up, especially young Cet. Rayull takes a quick look to the boy¡¯s palm; no scars, so this must be his first ¡°true¡± mission in the W.K.D.R..


    Vulrick, knowing one must be the example for the others, pulls out his standard-issue dagger given to all soldiers in the W.K.D.R.. He rests the blade against his left hand, covered in scars from previous loyalties.


    ¡°These hands will bleed for you, sir knight, until I am released of my duty, or there is no blood left to let.¡± Vulrick tears the dagger across his palm, adding yet another scar to his left hand, counting nine in all.


    Carl recites the same oath and adds another, five.


    Then Awnway, his new count being three.


    Next is Bayl, his very first and pushing him to the edge of tears.


    Finally, Cet, his hands obedient, but his voice trembling and his eyes filled with the gaze of a spited overlord. Through a minute of wheezing, spitting, and teeth-grinding, Cet swears his fealty to his officer, and Rayull nods. Rayull pulls off his own gauntlet, revealing his scaled, draconic hand, scarred but twice, once from loyalty, and once from a foe.


    He takes a breath and speaks his own peace. ¡°These hands will bleed for you all, my men. May our blood be saved and be shed as one. You have my word as an officer and your brother in arms, I will complete our objective before I turn from the field, as I expect you to do the same.¡± At that, Rayull bites into his hand with his massive row of teeth, ushering a well of blood to run from his mouth.


    Cet¡¯s anger dies down, seeing three times the amount of blood run from Rayull¡¯s hand in comparison to anyone else¡¯s. After the group spends a moment treating their minor injuries of honor, finishing the final preparations, and then they turn for the field.

 3 - The Midland Tour

    As they travel into the long, green plains of the middle territories between the East and West, Rayull gives the order to group in a modified shell-wedge, the most common tactic of the West to prepare against the firearms of the East. At that, Vulrick, Carl, and Rayull, the most heavily-armored of the six, take the front, as Awnway and Bayl take to the sides just behind them to provide ranged support.


    Little Cet is given a bow by Awnway, saying that he¡¯s too scrawny to be a front-man. Cet is about to punch Awnway in his face, but because Cet is short and Awnway is tall, he lets it slide and ranks up in the back with the other two rangers.


    The group starts up a ridge as they near the sounds of deep, obliterating magical charges and gunpowder explosions. The trek is only five minutes until they get to the top and see, looming on for at least a hundred miles: the battlefield.


    Rayull takes a deep breath of the air, and scoffs. ¡°I remember when this was a fishing village,¡± he says with a smirk.


    Vulrick, his dense armor and gear weighing him down as much as Cet with the uphill hike, peers over the horizon and scans over the various groupings of buildings in the valley below. ¡°This war¡¯s been going on about two and a half years now. This village, Paitan was among the first destroyed, and it took only a day for it to be scorched clean.¡±


    Bayl scoffs like a Kanvanian noble, complete with that quipping ¡°pweh¡± sound that is overused so lovingly in satire performances. ¡°A fanciful thought, though the war isn¡¯t two years old yet even.¡±


    Vulrick calmly shakes his head. ¡°It was considered a minor conflict and not worth the people¡¯s attention until the Ragnivanians became officially involved. Months before then the Royal Knights and threatened villages were fighting. It was only after the villages were destroyed and their populations wiped out or enslaved that the king took notice.¡±


    Bayl smirks, raises his brows, and nods down a bit in a condescending fashion. ¡°And just who are you to be so well educated?¡±


    ¡°This was close to my hometown. I visited it often,¡± Vulrick says as he continues to look over the ruination below.


    There is a collective silence, and Bayl clears his throat. ¡°Well, excuse me then. I did not mean to come off as insensitive.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°None taken,¡± he says laxly as he points out a group of small blackish dots in the distance. ¡°A patrol of Easterners,¡± he says.


    They can see them down there. Brown-skinned, a rifle to each of them, and all wearing those mass-produced, conservative gray or brown uniforms; a far cry from the wild armor, mantles, and cloaks of the West.


    Vulrick looks to Rayull. ¡°Orders, sir? Are we going to do this as a play-by-play, or will we have a set way of doing it?¡±


    Rayull squints downwind and spots the group, they seem to be scavenging around a nearby manor. ¡°It should be obvious: we get in, kill all of them. We¡¯re not here for prisoners,¡± Rayull says, motioning with his hand for them to duck down with him. ¡°When they¡¯re all inside we¡¯ll run to the wall, get into close quarters, and pick a fight. Got it?¡±


    Everyone makes a complimenting gesture, and the squad waits for about half a minute. The time comes, and the six rush downhill. The sprint is hard because of the distance, but especially so on Bayl who is well-fed and of an untrained, luxury-loving physical consistency, and Cet, who is under-fed with his bones scraping under the stress.


    The six reach the side of the ruined manor, its roof half-destroyed and its northern wall missing. They enter their stances, and Rayull signals them in.


    The gusting winds of the outside grow into woeful howls as they enter the manor, the smell of dust is replaced with the aromas of carved rich wood, old vanilla-scented books, and rotten stone-staining fish oil. Just faintly, there is also the stench of blood, that vital crimson fume that a warrior begins to connect the thrill of life itself to once they¡¯ve smelled enough of it.


    ¡°Stay quiet,¡± Rayull growls, huddling up with the others in the small servant¡¯s kitchen. Cet hushes up on the order, but Bayl and Carl¡¯s breathing do not quiet up. A quick glance at both tells Rayull that Bayl is frightened and Carl is excited, almost steaming at the mouth.


    Rayull gestures again for them to quiet down, and finally they hush up. ¡°We have one shot. We need to kill as many of them we can without them finding out. Bayl, open the door,¡± he says, gesturing at Bayl.


    ¡°A-are you sure, sir? I don¡¯t know what to-¡± Bayl is pushed forward by Cet. ¡°Don¡¯t be a coward, man.¡±


    Bayl takes a deep breath, and slowly creeps to the door leading to the main foyer of the manor. He reaches for the knob but takes a sharp breath as he veers away.


    ¡°Please. What if they¡¯re looking at the door? I¡¯ll get shot!¡±


    Rayull sighs with Cet, and Carl nudges Rayull. ¡°I can do it. Don¡¯t let my sword¡¯s size fool ya¡¯, I¡¯m quiet as a mouse.¡±


    Very stealthily, Vulrick also nudges Rayull. With all gazes but Rayull¡¯s pointed at the confidant Carl, Vulrick very lightly shakes his head ¡°no¡±, and then gestures over to Bayl, Awnway, and Cet; as if to designate them as the best three for the job.


    Rayull snuffs out a light bellow of smoke in thought. Could it be that Vulrick has a talent for measuring people? It only takes a moment for the dragon-half to decide.

 4 - Smoke-Carrying Visitors

    With a newfound clarity, Hoss¡¯Rayull nods and pats Bayl on the shoulder. ¡°Culiairty, our job isn¡¯t to get out alive. We¡¯re here to protect our people. Are there folks you care about back home?¡± Rayull asks in a hushed, but straight tone.


    Everyone watches Bayl slowly nod. His breathing is calming down.


    ¡°What you¡¯re feeling now, do you want to spare those people the same feelings? Of the armed enemy only a door away?¡± Rayull continues.


    Bayl pauses a moment, but nods shortly afterward.


    ¡°Then do your job and take your position. We don¡¯t have room for kids,¡± Rayull finishes, pushing Bayl up to the door.


    The boy closes his eyes, takes a breath, and opens with a darker gaze, as if he had just expunged his boyhood in one fateful moment. ¡°Alright,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯ll open the door.¡± Bayl then speaks under his breath, causing a slight hum and glow from the bolt set in the crossbow ¨C he¡¯s casting a spell.


    Awnway and Carl exchange impressed glances, seeing that the kid has something valuable to bring into the group, and a spark of contempt strikes in Cet¡¯s eye ¨C now it¡¯s obvious he¡¯s the weakest link; he¡¯s sure of it.


    Bayl sharpens his gaze as Rayull gives the signal. Vulrick eases the door open with barely a sound.


    At the other end is a duo of Eastern soldiers. Their uniforms are gray, and around their shoulders are holstered those long, glinting metal sticks of death: semi-automatic bolt-action firearms. Both of their heads are turned from the door, one laying back in an aged chair, and the other looking at some paintings still dangling on the foyer walls.


    The men among the western group simultaneously agree in perfect silence: the two are not hardened for war and probably enjoyed a soft life until they were drafted.


    Bayl takes aim at the neck of the boy resting in his chair, and the final tremors in his body bind into a lethal accuracy becoming of a proper ranger. He takes the shot. The enchanted arrow whistles, barely perceptible to all but the ears of the trained, and strikes the boy, (Holt Harrenman, eighteen years old, an innkeeper¡¯s assistant and beloved by his father,) in his neck, smacking across the right jugular and filling his throat with blood before he can even yelp.


    Bayl reloads with trained, practiced speed, and takes aim just as Holt, choking on his blood, hits the floor with a slam of the chair¡¯s back. The other boy finds his comrade struggling for air and blood just as the next shot is fired. The slight movement puts Bayl off, and he mark¡¯s the boy¡¯s shoulder, padded with the Eastern double-breasted coat he¡¯s wearing, but not enough to foil the shot entirely.


    The panicked boy takes up his gun and aims just as Rayull gives Cet and Awnway the order to take their own shots.


    Cet¡¯s untrained with a bow and misses by a full two meters. Awnway¡¯s knife, however, is something he¡¯s a professional at, so the blade hits, and lodges in the boy¡¯s leg.


    The easterner screams out in pain this time, and brings the gun back up to his shoulder. Bayl takes his next shot, and this time it hits the enemy, (Dan Olgarant, twenty years old, farmhand and married with one child,) straight in the eye. Dan jolts, and falls over immediately.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The group reloads and listens for incoming movement. Half a minute passes, but there¡¯s nothing. Rayull signals forward, and the group moves out of the tight room into the Foyer.


    ¡°Nice job,¡± a smiling Carl mutters, shoving Bayl lightly. Mr. Culiairty has trouble smiling, but forces one across his face to politely accept the compliment. Awnway nods with approval, and Bayl nods back.


    The group loots the two soldiers, get their hands on the guns and nine bullets.


    ¡°Check these out,¡± Carl says with an intrigued gaze as he spins a bullet between his fingers, ¡°you know, it would be sort of cool if we could play their game and-¡±


    Rayull interrupts him with a sharp scoff. ¡°You¡¯ve been on the field long enough to know that artificial magic is illegal. We¡¯re not going to drop to their level,¡± Rayull says with a bland look; he¡¯s just repeating the same old rule ¨C no guns. After all, the high up magicians in Kanvane can¡¯t just have anyone getting that power at the pull of a trigger. Only after years of learning and study and highly-recommended service to the Council of Magic, can one hope to be given the spells to kill another with any degree of efficiency.


    Carl scoffs, nods, and puts them down; Cet seems more perturbed. ¡°Yeah? And why the hell not? Don¡¯t we want to live?¡± he asks with an indignant peer from the side of the two.


    Rayull looks over to the austere Vulrick, who doesn¡¯t respond with a gesture, and then back to Cet. ¡°Mr. Garraline, I hate the rules as much as you do, but you know the Western Council¡¯s judgement on the matter.¡±


    ¡°Course, and it¡¯s bullshit. Why do we have to follow their rules when we¡¯re out of the West? We¡¯re in the East now! We should take the oppourtun-¡±


    Bayl sighs, cutting off Cet¡¯s speech. ¡°Another idiot who thinks he knows anything about magic, I see,¡± he mutters, resting his crossbow to the side, and immediately allowing his recent success to get to his head.


    Cet growls. ¡°No, dumbass. I¡¯m talking about guns- shit I can use.¡±


    ¡°A Rag would definitely only know how to use something so simple,¡± Bayl says with a poised brow.


    Carl and Awnway watch in some form of entertainment as the two thin boys push each other around, each strike increasing in force. Their arguing has almost reached yelling, until Rayull speaks up.


    ¡°Culiarty, Garraline, a word,¡± the calm half-dragon says, placing his hands behind his back professionally as he juts out his chest.


    Bayl instantly feels the weight of a displeased authority on him, but Cet still has some issues.


    ¡°And what if I don¡¯t want to have a word? You gonna¡¯ report me? I gotta say I was getting pretty excited about this day until you came along,¡± Cet says in no uncertain terms.


    A smirking Carl starts towards Cet, who seems not to notice with how invested he is in his speech.


    ¡°You listen here, lizard: Don¡¯t get in my way and let me do what I¡¯m here for. I don¡¯t need you to tell me how to survive, that¡¯s my job- it was all I did as a kid, you hear me?! Just you try living a life where you never met your fucking pare-¡± Cet is silenced the moment Carl punches him in the face.


    Cet spins about and shuts up instantly amidst the surprise. Unlike Bayl, it¡¯s quite clear that force is what he was raised to respond to. ¡°¡­Sorry,¡± Cet says with a pathetic tone as he averts his gaze, his hand resting against his bruise.


    Rayull looks over to Carl with a look of appreciation though again, the so-titled ¡°Knight Law¡± is one to follow the rules and live up to regulation. ¡°Mr. Yarland, explain yourself.¡±


    Carl nods. ¡°Sir, he was out of place in stating his concerns, and seeing as he was not listening to you, I thought I would ease your burden and discipline him for you. As his ranking superior I find it only reasonable,¡± Carl says with a relaxed smile. Awnway chuckles at the whole scene, and Carl responds to the attention with an accepting bow of the head.


    Rayull struggles to hide his smirk before speaking. ¡°You stepped out of line like he did. I won¡¯t warn you again, though your correction was at an opportune time,¡± he says, which is his professional way of saying ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Carl sharpens his posture in an ironic display of professionalism. ¡°Yes, s-¡±


    The language of the Easterners comes close to the front door- another patrol.

 5 - Dust

    Everyone but Vulrick, who knew this sort of thing was bound to happen, realize that they¡¯ve been too loud, and that they¡¯ve not only kept themselves dull to hear the enemy, but also loud enough to be detected.


    The knob turns, and Rayull scans the situation:


    They have enough time to either grab the nearby and get to a long-range cover or go straight up to the door and fight at melee. Leading a squad is so different from fighting magical foes like in the more traditional sorts of missions a Knight of Old Reined might find himself in.


    Regardless, he is a warrior, and an experienced one at that.


    Rushing for the side of the door, he thrusts his arm forward in command. With three to a side, they close into the shadows as the knob turns fully, the door giving way.


    The easterner at the other side coos out a bored sentence to the two dead in the room. The room is dark in comparison to the bright outside, so it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. Two more enter the room with the front man, and then he realizes they¡¯re dead.


    The man screams ¡°help!¡± in the Eastern tongue just as Carl leaps out from the side.


    ¡°Bitch!¡± the Whihelmishian shouts with a cutting grin. His drawn sword skews the man (Utra Illenmard, age nineteen, blacksmith¡¯s apprentice, enjoyed his grandmother¡¯s cooking so much that he wrote a poem for her about it) and pushes him to the side as the two others draw their guns.


    With a visceral movement that Cet can hardly even register, Garl thrusts his gaunted hand right into the left man¡¯s chest (Bolnar Illenmard, age nineteen, blacksmith¡¯s apprentice, budding music writer), the singular moment Hoss¡¯Rayull tears the right man¡¯s head (Johk Retannahay, age twenty four, son of a merchant, spent most of his time watching birds) asunder as if it were a melon.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A hail of confused fire smash into the deep foyer from the open doorway- at least a dozen easterners screaming as they reload and waste their shells in a manic horror.


    ¡°Ando! Ando!¡± A particularly deep-voiced easterner yells.


    Vulrick skews his breath and reflexively crouches.


    Rayull looks over. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Cannon!¡± Vulrick shouts.


    In a time-removed second, a large artillery shell glides through the solid brick to the right of the door. It travels right past Rayull, and over Cet¡¯s head.


    Bayl stares as the hailing gunfire continues to the unprotected Rayull, who just barely kept his balance from the shock. He takes a deep breath. ¡°Front, go!¡± he yells to the three.


    Vulrick and Carl move out of the frame cover and charge the easterners. The mass of them were still reloading or mentally recuperating, but three are aimed for the door. As Awnway readies from range, Vulrick raises his thick, battered shield and draws his sword. With Carl right behind him, Vulrick is smashed by a blinking mass of rifle-bullets.


    Bayl, shakingly loading his crossbow, watches Vulrick and Carl rush mercilessly into the party of the enemy.


    Vulrick slams an easterner (Mard Hanstell, age sixteen, obsessed with martial arts) and skews another (Boldar Yyll, age twenty-two, painter, two kids) as Carl splits through three in one stroke. There are so many dying, it¡¯s hard to keep track of them all. One easterner was prudent enough to use the often-belittled bayonet attachment- he thrusts forward and marks Carl in the shoulder.


    Carl turns right around and punches him before delivering a long, razor-edge cut to his skull.


    Bayl, wide-eyed, and Awnway, knowing his weapons would be of no use at this range, watch in awe as the two utterly churn the fourteen easterners into a bloody mass of gore.


    Not all of them will be immortalized in this book.


    Carl laughs, smashing his foot down into the bodies while Vulrick scans the area to make sure there¡¯s no more surprises waiting for them. One of the Ulterians had a small, back-packable cannon that they set up to fire through the door. This would explain the small size of the munition in comparison to the usual, field-artillery variety.


    Vulrick turns around and speaks to Rayull.


    ¡°They¡¯re cleared out, sir,¡± he says.


    Rayull takes a breath.

 6 - The Night and The Watch

    ¡°Good job. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Most of them were reloading, sir. Yarland took a wound to the shoulder, but he¡¯s¡­¡± Vulrick looks behind him, and sees Carl dancing around the corpses and singing a rather culturally-offensive song about the easterners; something about their mothers and how much said mothers appreciate swine. ¡°He seems to be fine, sir.¡±


    Rayull nods, keeping his eyes on the borderline crazed Carl. He turns to the others: ¡°Rally up, we should get moving in case we were heard.¡±


    ¡°S-sir?¡± Bayl mutters pathetically.


    Everyone looks to Bayl, kneeling over Cet.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Cet¡¯s alive, but he¡¯s¡­ strange.¡±


    ¡°Shellshock,¡± Awnway says right off.


    Gathering around, the three see that Cet¡¯s staring straight ahead, shaking, and completely silent.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised,¡± Awnway adds, ¡°The shell did go right over his head. It should¡¯ve killed him.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s still here,¡± Rayull pokes Cet, waits for a response, and then flicks him. The boy gasps as if waking from a dream.


    ¡°Help!¡± Cet screams senselessly.


    Rayull sighs and picks him up.


    ¡°We were lucky that this is all that happened. I¡¯ll carrying him for now,¡± he decides.


    Vulrick nods. ¡°I¡¯ll take the vanguard then. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Bayl takes a deep breath and gets back to his feet. ¡°Alright, ready when you are, sir.¡±


    After giving Carl a quick treatment for his shoulder, Vulrick leads them away from the house and further into the front lines. Not only minutes later does a magic-barrage from the West come soaring over to the house, blasting it to bits.


    ¡°Wow¡­ are they using echolocation magic?¡± Bayl asks outwardly.


    Awnway and Carl look to one another, and Awnway shrugs. ¡°You know, I never thought about it like that. I just assumed they were really good at guessing,¡± Awnway says with a chuckle as Carl laughs heartily.


    Bayl sighs, and notes Rayull, calmly nodding. ¡°The artillery mages are a two-part group now- one that uses echolocation to find firing points, and one that actually does the firing spell. With the noise the eastern firearms make, they can be easily picked up and used for strike locations. Were you not taught that in basic training?¡± the half-dragon asks the boy.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Bayl inhales sharply in his teeth. ¡°Eh, it was a week of getting yelled at and being taught how to dress wounds and stay in a formation- that was about it.¡±


    There¡¯s a collective sighing.


    ¡°As expected of glorious Kanvane, the capitol of road-shows and caf¨¨s,¡± Carl says with a snide look about him. Bayl huffs but knows well that Carl hit the nail on the head- most Kanvanians would rather sit in a caf¨¦ and read pretentious novels than be worthy of the reputation of a stronghold of education and knowledge.


    The group continues their move East, passing through a single abandoned town in which they find some downed westerners. As Awnway and Carl cheerily loot their corpses for expendable weapons and armor, Vulrick looks over one of the men in particular and sighs. ¡°So that¡¯s where you ended up,¡± he says so softly that only Bayl hears him.


    There¡¯s a quick discussion about wearing heavier armor, and it¡¯s decided that Carl should put some on, as his traditional Whihelmishian garb, while culturally honored and pleasant, is not very good should one be stabbed in the shoulder by a bayonet. Carl of course complains that he never needed it before and that his superior northern genetics allows him to take a ton of damage- as the only northerner in the group, however, he is promptly laughed at by Bayl and Awnway as Vulrick hands him pieces of plate armor from one of the westerner corpses nearby.


    There¡¯s no shortage of weapons and armor out here from either side, apparently.


    Night¡¯s steady dark is now falling upon them, and there¡¯s immediately talk of making camp during the dinner of rations. The remnants of a secluded wood are nearby, half burnt, but the trunks are still high enough to provide some cover in the night. There too is an outcropping of rock with a small, lead-polluted stream next to it. Finally, there is an abandoned shack, overtaken with layers of dust.


    Carl claims the shack is the best idea, as the group could peer through the windows and watch for enemies.


    Vulrick says the wood would be the best plan, as it would cover the group well and minimize their chance of being heard.


    Bayl, more outspoken due to his recent heroism, notes that the outcropping would be the finest route, considering the sound cover of the stream should cloak them- such would provide both a visual, and auditory cover.


    Awnway likes all the plans but Bayl¡¯s, saying that we couldn¡¯t hear camp intruders with the stream¡¯s movement, and would be less likely to wake up due to the ambiance. Bayl proceeds to call Awnway a southern barbarian, and Awnway calls Bayl a lazy person that has improper sexual interactions with magical tomes- Bayl shut up after that.


    Cet¡¯s slowly regaining some feeling and is now lucid enough to cuss at Rayull every time he asks how he is.


    Rayull just shakes his head. Despite what all these humans think, he¡¯s not here to vote.


    ¡°The woods, clearly,¡± Rayull decides as if it were entirely obvious, though he makes a slight glance of recognition in Vulrick¡¯s direction.


    Years later during a business trip in Ragnivan, one of the surviving squad members asks Rayull why he trusted sleeping outside more than sleeping indoors. The survivor watches Rayull take a sip of his glass of water, smile, and says ¡°I didn¡¯t. I trusted Vulrick knew what he was talking about. I¡¯d rather be cold and safe than warm and waiting for a tank shell to pop into the room, I s¡¯pose.¡±


    Surprisingly, everyone slept soundly, with the exception of Vulrick, who also volunteered to keep first watch just in case. Cet was second to take watch through the night, but for some reason Vulrick didn¡¯t wake him up.


    It was only Awnway who realized immediately that Vulrick suggested an untrodden area to sleep in so he could trust himself to avoid conflict completely. Though he¡¯s in a full squad, Vulrick¡¯s acting just as he did when alone- cautious.


    The sun rises, and the group wakes in quick synch. Breakfast is eaten, and the group sets off further East.

 7 - Midland Culture

    ¡°Anything on the watch?¡± Rayull asks Vulrick and Cet.


    Cet clears his throat awkwardly as he is immediately reminded of his duty, only for Vulrick to speak up.


    ¡°No. A couple birds hanging around, but nothing unnatural,¡± Vulrick says, his deep helmet hanging low, pulling up only occasionally to check the sky.


    ¡°Good, who¡¯d you switch watch with?¡± Rayull asks, glancing naturally over to Cet.


    Cet raises his finger to explain, but he¡¯s interrupted again by Vulrick.


    ¡°I swapped with someone I trusted.¡±


    Rayull squints. ¡°And who might that be?¡±


    ¡°Myself,¡± the man says without skipping a beat.


    Rayull stretches a bit. ¡°You mean t¡¯say you were up all night?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Vulrick says, Cet slowly shuffling out of Rayull¡¯s vision.


    ¡°Do you intend on slowing us down through the day? You¡¯re supposed to change watch.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t slow us down,¡± Vulrick says simply.


    Rayull spouts a puff of smoke from his nostrils. ¡°You best not, or else we¡¯re ditching your gear and carrying ya¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Fine by me, sir.¡± Vulrick looks off to a scant patch of field that hasn¡¯t been totally shelled over by artillery magic or the East¡¯s gunpowder monstrosities. It¡¯s still relatively green, and reminiscent of the pleasant, breezy plains of the midlands.


    The two walk up at the front for a minute until Rayull turns again to Vulrick. ¡°So, what¡¯s your story, Gair? Honestly spoken, the W.K.D.R. doesn¡¯t have many men that get to your rank without being of noble birth, or talent. How did you get to this point?¡±


    Vulrick sighs. ¡°Well, what do you want to know in particular, sir? There¡¯s quite a bit that led up to it.¡±


    Rayull smirks as Bayl and the now-walking Cet get in a petty argument about girls. They have some time to relax and just march about; he might as well get to know them. ¡°Alright, your youth,¡± Rayull chooses.


    ¡°Well, I was actually born as a mid-lander, but back then we called the region-¡±


    ¡°Lanold.¡± Rayull says, finishing for Vulrick. ¡°I spent some time vacationing here with my guardian before the war. So you were a local? I think I remember you saying that yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Paitan was close to my birthplace, which didn¡¯t really have a name: it was just a fishing lodge like the hundreds that dot along the rivers.¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°So as a Lanoldian I suppose you¡¯ve had a lot of interaction with Ulterians?¡±


    ¡°My father was Ulterian.¡±


    Rayull hums. ¡°Actually, that would explain how you knew their word for ¡®cannon¡¯ after all.¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ve forgotten most of the language, but when I hear it, words come back quickly.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, that¡¯ll be useful for us. I could never be bothered to learn another language other than that of my peoples.¡±


    ¡°Draconic?¡±


    ¡°Lower Draconic,¡± Rayull corrects, noting the difference between the language spoken by dragon-kin and the one spoken by the almighty dragons themselves.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Humans tend to not care much about us.¡±


    Vulrick shrugs. ¡°Not a lie. But you shouldn¡¯t feel bad for not taking language too seriously. I¡¯d imagine that¡¯s the only tongue you¡¯d be much interested in, as it¡¯s what¡¯s usually spoken on reservations, anyway, right?¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°Right. I was thirty when I first said my first complete sentence in Draconic,¡± he says with a hint of embarrassment.


    Vulrick looks up to the clouds. ¡°What was the sentence?¡±


    Rayull sighs. ¡°I¡¯m not of the reservation, so it¡¯s a crime if you rob me.¡±


    Neither of them laughed, as it was really quite a terrible, but practical sentence to know in dragon-kin reservations- the places are abysmally poor, and though humans have the means to help them, few of them want to, or are even welcome to do so by the proud sorts that live there.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting first sentence to learn,¡± Vulrick notes.


    ¡°The teacher said that if I was to learn anything, it¡¯d be that one.¡± Rayull shakes his head. ¡°Right, but that¡¯s enough of that. You were telling me about your youth.¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°Yes, sir. Life was charmed. I heard stories about magic and guns, though both sides were too afraid to bring any that close for fear of the other side getting their hands on it. Looks like the West really does have the upper hand with that now. Anyone can grab a gun and shoot, but magic takes years.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°My upbringing was pretty normal. My dad was a river fisher, so that¡¯s what I did until we tried to go to Ragnivan. My father wasn¡¯t welcome, so I stayed with my mother. The war broke out, I grew up, and was enlisted. Lucky for me I was about twenty-five at the time.¡±


    ¡°Incredible. So you¡¯d be around twenty seven or eight now?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Vulrick says, stepping over a person¡¯s arm. ¡°And over those two and a half years I¡¯ve seen this green land get burnt to dust. It was more painful than any wound I¡¯d taken¡­ just the utter, entire annihilation of the place I called home. I sympathize with your kind over that. Not being able to go home is a bad feeling, tells you that you don¡¯t have a place anymore.¡±


    ¡°So your village is gone?¡±


    ¡°Again, sir. It wasn¡¯t a village, and yes. Hit by western artillery.¡±


    Rayull nods solemnly. ¡°War is its own antagonistic realm. I¡¯ve heard speech of places you could go when you die: Atmassan, Any of the ¡°hells¡±, Erergothan, Ree¡¯s Crimson Garden, but it¡¯s hard to imagine something worse than seeing people you remembered as happy, simple things, and watch them become miserable through violence. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen it.¡±


    Vulrick pauses a moment, as if he¡¯s somewhat put off by having to talk about this. Even so, it does seem like the others are listening, so he can be as frank as he needs to be. ¡°I have,¡± he starts. ¡°Young kids, filled with what people call goodness, and then a month later they have the eyes of a man who¡¯ll kill himself if it weren¡¯t for his orders¡­. It¡¯s enough to break every part of the spirit. We do bad things out here, to people we love, because we have to,¡± he glances over to Rayull¡¯s side as they walk. ¡°I imagine you understand that feeling pretty well, as a knight and all.¡±


    The two are silent as a breeze blows and Awnway finally breaks up Cet and Bayl¡¯s argument by calling them both pussies.


    Rayull hums. ¡°¡­If they don¡¯t die¡­ they become those sort of people that don¡¯t just tolerate fighting, but fall in love with it. Those monstrous creatures are war¡¯s greatest horrors. I don¡¯t mind a good fight, absolutely not, but those people make me want to be a pacifist.¡±


    Vulrick takes a moment to think over his companion¡¯s words before speaking. ¡°And yet you¡¯re in the Witch Knights, eh?¡±


    Rayull immediately flings a suspicious gaze in Vulrick¡¯s direction. One rarely uses the term ¡°Witch Knight¡± to describe the magically-altered community of superior wizards and warriors that make up The Knighthood. In fact, it¡¯s usually a word uttered by Ulterians, or those that sympathize with them.


    ¡°I did what I believed was right at the time,¡± Rayull says. ¡°The realities of warfare seen over these decades of service have been¡­ disfiguring beyond imagination, but worth it.¡±


    Vulrick holds his gaze toward Rayull for a few seconds before turning away. In that moment, it¡¯s clear to Rayull that Vulrick doesn¡¯t just dislike The Knights, he despises them.


    ¡°Yeah, some people handle war just fine. Maybe live for that last scrap of their living experience that lets them feel truly alive,¡± is how he responds.


    The two keep their gazes locked away from one another for the next few minutes. Both men get the feeling that the other one considers him a crazed killer; worse than Carl, as unlike him, they learned how to dress in the mannerisms of society.


    The group continues on away from the wood, and deeper into the plains.


    After a minute or two more, Vulrick clears his throat to continue. ¡°Well, thanks for asking. How about yourself?¡±


    Rayull smirks, glad that the previous conversation didn¡¯t damage them to the point to where they can¡¯t talk. ¡°I was told my egg was found in an abandoned nest. A knight named Meeo Letlind picked me up and raised me. She¡¯s a bit flippant for someone of her rank, always been, so while I followed my instinct to become a warrior, she kept teaching me how to do tea parties and knit things and other silliness.¡±


    Vulrick hums. ¡°A very feminine sort of life. I think I¡¯d have preferred it.¡±


    Rayull scoffs. ¡°Yeah, and I wasn¡¯t at all for that. We had a lot of problems¡­ I guess we still do.¡±


    Vulrick nods his head forward. ¡°What sort of problems, if I may ask?¡±


    ¡°Usually we just don¡¯t see eye to eye, but recently it was something much bigger¡­. She betrayed the knights.¡±


    Even this causes the unnaturally graceful Vulrick to convulse in a very light, very quick flinch. ¡°Well. What¡¯s her knight title? Perhaps I¡¯ve heard of her.¡±


    ¡°Love.¡±


    Vulrick exhales heavily. ¡°¡­That¡¯s a surprise. She¡¯s pretty well known. Considered to be in Redemption¡¯s top circle, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°Right. The Knights tried to keep it under, but people have started to ask.¡± Rayull snorts out a puff of smoke. ¡°Word¡¯s spreading as we speak. By the time we come back she¡¯ll be branded a war criminal.¡±


    ¡°What are they doing about it?¡± Vulrick asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to say, but I can tell you a party¡¯s been sent to retrieve her¡­ hope they don¡¯t,¡± Rayull adds with a mixed tone.


    ¡°Huh. This was on the tail of the whole Liefland ordeal with the fairy-folk murders?¡±


    Rayull scoffs. ¡°You keep up with the news?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty well informed for a soldier,¡± he says.


    The group enters a decrepit town of brick and concrete, a clear indicator that it was of the more modern, eastern persuasion.


    ¡°I stay on top of the messengers and boards when I¡¯m between missions. Quite a lot you can find out when you offer the recruits drinks, too.¡±


    Rayull chuckles, ¡°Yeah, they feel pretty tough when you put a few on ¡®em,¡± he says, his reptilian eyes scanning the various openings across the town that could hide an eastern gunman. The two instinctually hush up, and slow down for the others to form a small box.


    ¡°What now, boss?¡± Cet says with a miserable look about him as they huddle into a building¡¯s nook.


    ¡°We¡¯re about halfway through the firing lines. This is where we should be based on our orders.¡±


    ¡°Which you know are bullshit,¡± Cet says matter-of-factly. ¡°They just want us to get shot at so the artillery can get a read on them.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and that¡¯s too damn bad for us. We follow orders. We¡¯re going to wait for movement, and if we don¡¯t hear anything, we¡¯ll spread out in groups, maybe just send out a scout and see what we can find. Remember: you see anyone, you let me know. We¡¯re not here to survive, we¡¯re here to kill Easterners. Are we clear?¡±


    Everyone gestures their acceptance, Cet¡¯s particularly animated as if to suggest sarcasm.


    They wait ten minutes- nothing but the breeze. The only question now is how the groups should be split.

 8 - The Other People

    Rayull gnashes his teeth with slow, perceptive motions. ¡°We¡¯re splitting three by three, melee in one group, and rangers in the other. Don¡¯t stray, but set up a spot to watch us and move when you have to,¡± Rayull says. There¡¯s no major response from the youths this time, just compliance.


    Awnway, Bayl, and Cet cautiously fold out of the dilapidated building, watching closely for the smoke of a fire, or the sound of eastern words.


    Rayull watches the three step off, and then his group starts off in the opposite direction. The silence only seems to accentuate the tension outside.


    ¡°You¡¯d think there¡¯d be at least some refugees hanging about here,¡± Carl says as he shifts his gaze about the various ruined buildings, only a few of them with remaining roofs overhead.


    ¡°Getting caught by artillery magic trashes most everything, especially the fire-element spells- those are exceptional at killing,¡± Rayull says, motioning over to a large group of burnt-out, blackened skeletons spilling out from the opening of a house; probably the remains of a family gathering.


    Vulrick sighs. ¡°The east¡¯s artillery have nothing on this. Though some of these buildings are still holding, our magic artillery target the life of the town, rather than its infrastructure. I once saw one of the grand bolts hit a town a mile off- fire poured through the streets and blasted through the windows. Everyone was killed, but not a single building fell down.¡±


    Carl scoffs, focusing in on some windows to the right. ¡°Well, you can¡¯t hate those blues for doing their job right. Spares us a lot of trouble dealing with their bitches and brats.¡±


    Vulrick¡¯s breath is shorter than his usual, and Rayull snuffs out a bit of smoke. ¡°You mean to say you¡¯d rather have all the innocents just killed off, rather than captured and sent behind the lines?¡± Vulrick asks.


    Carl shrugs with a light expression. ¡°Well, maybe not the girls if they¡¯re cute, but I really couldn¡¯t care less about everyone else. Might as well get rid of them if they¡¯re just going to help the war effort in their capitols.¡±


    Vulrick and Rayull exchange a quick glance. They both simultaneously and silently agree that Carl¡¯s an enormous piece of shit.


    ¡°I see,¡± Vulrick says, ¡°Would you feel the same way about our own people were you on the eastern side?¡±


    Carl turns to Vulrick with a shocked, facetious grin, ¡°Hell, no! We¡¯re not a bunch of inbred dumbasses for one, well, maybe Kanvanians, but the rest of us are decent folk. These people had it coming.¡±


    The three skim across a nearby wall to cut their chances of being spotted.


    ¡°You understand, Carl, that I¡¯m half easterner,¡± Vulrick notes with a surprising amount of genteel.


    ¡°Well ¡¯course! Not saying they can¡¯t do the right thing. Your pa¡¯s probably fine considering he knew who the good guys are. Shame he couldn¡¯t get in with you.¡±


    There¡¯s another silence. ¡°Yeah, that was quite a shame,¡± Vulrick says, his understatement speaking volumes to Rayull.


    Carl nods, picking up on Vulrick¡¯s tone, if only a little. ¡°And I didn¡¯t mean nothing about them being like, evil or anything, it¡¯s just, if they¡¯re going to help the effort, I¡¯d rather them not alive. A kid we spare might be the one to craft a gun for a soldier. You got me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I got you,¡± Vulrick says.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Carl smirks and pats Vulrick on the back. ¡°Thanks for understanding, brother. Sorry about your pa¡¯, again.¡±


    Vulrick takes a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s all passed. I don¡¯t think about it anymore.¡±


    Carl nudges Vulrick as they round a corner. ¡°Well that¡¯s for the best, then.¡±


    ¡°Secure the place first, talking later,¡± Rayull says, putting an end to the conversation now that it¡¯s lost his interest. Carl nods with a smidgen of humility on his features, and Vulrick decides not to respond.


    The three creep to the middle of the town, passing the ground zero of the artillery strike, but nestled into the nook of a blown-out building is an unexpected, alarming sight.


    With myriad vines wrapping and providing support, there is a sizable, verdant tree covering the damages of the building. In it is a small window framed with ornate iron and along with it is a shockingly cute door leading right out from the tree. A blatant eastern banner hangs over the door, making it clear that the tree¡¯s inhabitants are on the gun-toting side.


    ¡°Rayda preserve¡­¡± Rayull mutters.


    A rare twinge of fear marks Carl¡¯s features, and Vulrick sighs.


    ¡°That a¡­ Is that really a-¡±


    ¡°An eastern mage, probably several,¡± Vulrick says, finishing for Carl.


    Carl draws back with a dumbfounded look. ¡°There¡¯s mages from the East?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re a bitter, rare product of our war,¡± Vulrick says. ¡°When the easterners capture one of our mages, they¡¯re tortured for weeks to tell them every spell they know, and how it¡¯s done. Very slowly, they¡¯re building up their own magic forces. Looks like these ones have trained natural magic since the start of the war.¡±


    Carl smirks. ¡°You¡¯d expect that from ¡®em- the cowards. But why¡¯d you think it¡¯s more than one of them?¡±


    Vulrick peers on. ¡°The vast majority of Eastern mages have been training only since the first couple of months of the war. It would be unlikely that a single one could make an entire tree encampment like this with only a couple year¡¯s practice.¡±


    Carl chuckles. ¡°So, do we just burn down the tree, or what?¡±


    Rayull snorts a puff of smoke. ¡°Definitely not. My armor¡¯s set with a couple of anti-magic enchantments, but you two would have a harder time. If there¡¯s several of them we couldn¡¯t stop all of their casts unless we ambushed them perfectly. We¡¯d have to kill every one of them at the same time.¡±


    Carl squints, watching the tree¡¯s branches sway cheerily. ¡°Yeah? So what¡¯s stopping us from ambushing them?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re probably here waiting for opponents. If we screw up most of us would be greeted with a sharp root to the heart,¡± Rayull says.


    Carl cringes, and Vulrick speaks up. ¡°Well, sir?¡±


    Rayull snuffs out some more smoke in contemplation. ¡°I¡¯ll tolerate your suggestions, he says with a mild smirk.¡±


    Carl coos humorously. ¡°Eh, well, sir. I feel it best we grab the other three and make a go for ¡®em. You know, more folks to stop the casting and thus less damage to us, right?¡±


    Vulrick is quiet, allowing the gusting wind to speak first, as he also needs to weighs his thoughts. It takes him a few seconds, but he comes to a personal nod before speaking. ¡°The two kids aren¡¯t ready for this. The three of us are ready to die, and they¡¯re not. Awnway can keep them safe, but not from several spell casters. Usually I¡¯d say caution is the best tactic, but we¡¯re equipped to nip this in the bud immediately. They might have life-detection magic, they could already know we¡¯re here. If we wait, we could be the victim of their ambush, and I¡¯m certain they¡¯d have most of us choking up our organs before we knew they were near. We should bust in and kill them right away. There¡¯s not much room in there by the looks of it, wouldn¡¯t be hard to do a few short swings,¡± Vulrick leans against the wall, staring intently at Rayull. ¡°I don¡¯t make the calls, sir, but if I were in your shoes, we¡¯d already be at their door.¡±


    Rayull strokes his scaled chin in thought.


    It¡¯s not really that hard of a decision for such a tight spot.


    ¡°We strike immediately. Either of you fought a mage before?¡±


    Vulrick scoffs. ¡°Twice; both the hardest fights of my life.¡±


    Carl grins sheepishly. ¡°Well, they bleed too. How hard could it be?¡±


    Rayull sighs some smoke from his nostrils. ¡°Rush them hard. Don¡¯t let them say anything. They need to be dead by the first ten seconds- no survivors or we¡¯ll be the ones dead. Some can speak after having their organs broken, so make sure you go for the jaws as well if they seem like they¡¯re pulling some kind of necromancy or sanguimancy.¡±


    Vulrick nods and pulls his blade an inch from its wide sheath. ¡°Let¡¯s take what¡¯s ours.¡±


    Witness to Vulrick, Carl¡¯s initial fear is forged into confidence, and he taps his comrade in a friendly way. ¡°Damn right. Let¡¯s fuck these animals,¡± he hisses, brandishing his broadsword.


    Everyone takes a moment of contemplation, Rayull serving a mental prayer to the old dragon spirits, Carl clearing his head for his planned berserk-rage, and Vulrick, listening to the wind as he calls to mind other assaults like this one, particularly how he acted to get him through it.

 9 - New, Old friends

    In a blood-scented moment, the three creep forward at the side and around to the front of the door. Exasperated breaths, the sounds of fear and anticipation, can all be heard inside as an easterner speaks a sentence in a frustrated tone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± responds a frail, horrified voice. The three exchange glances as they realize there¡¯s a captive in the grasp of the easterners. Rayull peaks up slightly and sees a group of four eastern mages grouped around a western boy tied to a chair. To the left in the room is one more westerner, and to the right are four corpses.


    The dragon¡¯s eyes flare with hatred.


    Rayull makes a quick hand gesture, signifying him as the door-puncher, and the other two as the rush element. There¡¯s one last moment for preparation, and then Rayull raises his foot parallel to the door.


    The door smashes in and the two humans leap in. To screams of alert, three of the mages pull out their instruments of magic, two with staves and one with a wand, and they start casting their assault spells.


    ¡°Con¡¯Fressul, Materi-¡± The spell of the front-most mage (Verrat Crusint, age 26, P.eople¡¯s F.reeland of U.lteria-states M.ilitary Magic Corps second class, obsessive bird watcher,) is interrupted immediately by the crazed Carl, soaring forward and slashing deep through the neck, cutting two inches into the man¡¯s ribcage.


    ¡°-Materio seta-¡± The second closest caster (Mell Territ, age 24, P.F.U.M. Magic Corps first class, delivered her second kid three months before she was drafted,) meets Vulrick¡¯s sword and shield in tandem, slamming his bulwark against her back as he chops down at her neck, beheading her instantly.


    ¡°-Setaran, At m-¡± the penultimate mage (Bort Halbent, age 21, P.F.U.M. first class, never kissed a girl that wasn¡¯t his mother,) loses his entirety once Rayull slams his mace down into the boy, shattering every bone present in his chest and scraping his entrails onto the concrete of the room in a single motion.


    ¡°-Mon fraety!¡± Casts the fourth mage, the only one who had the thought of back up to the edge of the room, the only one to complete his spell.


    From the man¡¯s staff a long, chaining bolt of lightning leaps from the staff, putting everyone save Rayull on the ground. As Vulrick, Carl, and the captives convulse from the surge, Rayull arcs his mace back for another hit.


    The final mage¡¯s gaze widens in horror, and leaps backwards at the window as if to escape, though the aperture is far too small for him to fit. ¡°Hell Dragon scum! Hell to you!¡± He shouts in a heavily-accented tone.


    Rayull raises a brow as he approaches. ¡°You¡¯ve heard the rumors, right? What my kind does to the coward of a hunt?¡± he asks, approaching the lanky, robed man.


    ¡°Vsh¡¯andka, s-¡± the mage is silenced the second Rayull rams the ball of his mace into his stomach, forcing a well of blood out his mouth. It takes him a few seconds, but his desire to scream is great enough to continue yelling.


    ¡°Hell to you! Please! Let go me! Please!¡± the mage, now delirious with adrenaline, says. He¡¯s still attempting to free himself from the pin of the mace and get away.


    ¡°Normally I¡¯d forgive you and spare you the discomfort. But I¡¯m hungry, and you deserve it.¡±


    The lower torso of the easterner darkens with urine once he picks out the word ¡°hungry¡±. Rayull takes the easterner (Xine Zetou, age 27, P.F.U.M. Magic Corps fourth class, took excellent care of his father in his later years,) by the neck and bites off his arm, crushing the bone between his chip-sized teeth and tearing the flesh off as if it had been slow-cooked for hours.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Vulrick, the first on his feet, sees a crimsoned Hoss¡¯Rayull, snout-deep in the entrails of the last mage. He doesn¡¯t stop him, and instead goes to unbind the two captives. Carl gets to his feet next, but is startled seeing his commanding officer gulping down human flesh. ¡°Rayda¡¯s blood! Holy shit!¡± Carl starts back and trips over the chair that was holding one of the captives.


    Rayull finishes the ceremonial ¡°killing bite¡± and he rises. He uses one of the mage¡¯s robes to wipe off his snout before glancing back to his fellows. ¡°Something the matter, Yarland?¡± he asks, also picking a bit of intestine off a tooth as he regains his professional composure.


    ¡°N-no sir! I just, you know. You sure don¡¯t see that every day! I mean, you know?! Fuck!¡± Carl mutters.


    Rayull scoffs. ¡°I suppose if you¡¯ve never had one of my kind in a fight party it would seem a bit alien to you. I was hungry, and I thought it would be sensible to skip a ration for myself. That and it¡¯s considered polite to eat the heart when you¡¯re saving a comrade.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what?¡±


    ¡°To honor the spirits,¡± Rayull says plainly.


    A thin-lipped smile crosses Carl¡¯s face. ¡°Ri-right, sir. For the crown.¡±


    ¡°For the crown, indeed,¡± the dragon-kin officer says as Vulrick finishes getting the two captives to their feet. ¡°Or would you consider it to be ¡®cannibalism¡¯,¡± he notes, getting back on the obvious topic still at-hand.


    Carl takes a moment and realizes that he¡¯s no better than that. He¡¯d kill one of them to take their food, after all. He responds with a shrug before speaking: ¡°I ¡®spose that¡¯s about all they¡¯re good for, really. They might as well be food,¡± he says, masking over his disgust.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Vulrick says, giving a minor salute. The two freed captives salute with him.


    The closest to Vulrick is a naked, whipped, cut Kanvanian, his pale body contrasting heavily to the multitude of reddish-brown wounds. The skin around his mouth is red with a binding. This is the one they were torturing.


    The other is a Spirakandrin-Ragnivanian mix, darker skin than most of the West, but of a mild height and build expected of the midlands, he has a pair of glasses resting on his nose and he wears a cloak over his gear. Beneath the cloak is the teasing glint of knives, daggers, and other tools of assassination. What¡¯s more, Rayull didn¡¯t recognize him under all the dirt.


    ¡°¡­Dresmond?¡± Rayull asks with an incredulous tone.


    Dresmond Ulveroth, the cloaked one, adjusts his glasses, and lowers his hood. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned. My glasses must be dirty! Rayull!¡±


    Carl spits. ¡°Show your superior some respect, kid.¡±


    Rayull holds his hand up to stop. ¡°No, I know this boy from the Liefland incident, just a few days ago we split to be reassigned, actually.¡±


    Dresmond averts his gaze. ¡°Our officer,¡± he nods his head over to one of the western corpses, ¡°was fresh out of the command academy. Things were going alright until these mages popped up,¡± he says, kicking the corpse of one of the eastern wizards.


    Carl nods. ¡°So you two are close?¡±


    Rayull squints an eye. ¡°As close as is proper for our stations, yes. We fought necromancers together.¡±


    Carl draws back with a raised brow. ¡°Damn. That must have been some real shit.¡±


    Dresmond shrugs, a rare smirk is across his usually cold-serious face. ¡°It was some kind of shit, alright.¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°Seeing as your officer¡¯s dead, I¡¯ll have to take the two of you under my charge. I know you, Dresmond, but who are you?¡± he says, looking to the cut up Kanvanian.


    The Kanvanian wipes a bit of dried saliva from his chin, ¡°Mullant Peretaine, First Armsmen, magic corps.¡±


    Rayull snuffs out some smoke. ¡°Spell caster?¡±


    Mullant nods. ¡°Cover-craft.¡±


    A few pleased looks are exchanged and Carl shoves him lightly. ¡°Glad to hear! You handle the spells, and I¡¯ll deal with the fighting, got it?¡±


    Mullant takes a moment to smirk tiredly. ¡°Sure.¡±


    Rayull feels a presence by the window- like he¡¯s being aimed at. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Letallk. We took care of them.¡±


    Awnway, Cet, and Bayl file through the door. ¡°Always good to know for sure, though,¡± Awnway says, looking over the two additions to the group.


    Introductions are made, Mullant is treated, and the oath is remade without blood this time. It is discovered that the camp Awnway¡¯s group found was actually of the now ex-captives. Awnway had the foresight to go ahead and loot it to maintain a good stock of things.


    There is some minor searching around the area, but nothing of major interest. The talk turns to rest.


    A tall building was found in the area, favored by Awnway for the sake of a lookout, and a decentralized, covered hovel was favored by Vulrick, for the sake of keeping visibility low. No trees around this time. They have to pick a building.


    Rations are measured out and Hoss¡¯Rayull delivers his decision that the hovel would be the better choice.

 10 - Bad woods

    By this point, it seems everyone in the squad is getting used to Vulrick being the one who has the most valued opinion, as he¡¯s the only person Rayull seems to listen to. Of course, they don¡¯t mind much, considering Vulrick¡¯s thoughts haven¡¯t lead them astray thus far and also even Carl is a little afraid of him.


    The start of the evening is spent at the campfire of the captured squad¡¯s spot. Dresmond and Mullant make sure they have everything they need; it turns out there were a few things that Awnway missed, and there was a pack of rations behind the nearby rock. After a filling meal by a scantly-fed, dugout fire, the squadron of eight conclude the night by entering the hovel, its floor sunken and the actual structure easily mistaken for a large stone in the night¡¯s darkness. Following is another sound night, though Dresmond, a noted insomniac, notices Vulrick step out in the middle of the early morning. As much as Dresmond enjoys entertaining thoughts of betrayal and intrigue, he guesses it¡¯s of little consequence and keeps to himself.


    The night passes, and the group awakens to what sounds like the firing of a gun- though deeper, stronger; like the cough of a god. Following right after is the expected magical artillery strike from their own side, a blaring explosion with that distinctively magical sound, a sort of delayed distortion and resonance.


    ¡°Gah, okay, I¡¯m up,¡± Cet says- it takes a few seconds before he realizes that he¡¯s not at the barracks anymore, and he scowls as the others rise up.


    ¡°Artillery from our mages¡­ but I¡¯m not sure what was before it,¡± Rayull notes, on his feet in only seconds after the explosion.


    Dresmond takes a peek inside his coat and messes with something as Mullant opens a small caster¡¯s tome to ensure all his daily memorizations are correct.


    Carl smirks at the over-preparedness of the two, but Bayl quickly adjusts his crossbow sights to look even slightly as professional as the two new guys.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± Awnway asks, picking up his long set of tools and weapons.


    Rayull stretches his huge ligaments and lets out a smoke-filled yawn. ¡°Our orders stand. Pick yourselves up and let¡¯s go find some more.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± says Bayl.


    ¡°Alright,¡± coos Awnway.


    ¡°Bout time,¡± blurts Carl.


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± from Mullant and Dresmond.


    With what sounds like significant exertion, Vulrick pulls himself up from his place of rest, his full set of gear already on him. ¡°Ready.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep?¡± Dresmond asks with a covert tone.


    Vulrick shakes his helmeted head. ¡°Naw, I slept fine.¡±


    Dresmond immediately drops it, and the group exits the hovel after peeking out: there¡¯s a piling tower of smoke rising above the buildings.


    The group sets out toward the smoke, using the various piles of rubble and ruined buildings as cover to approach the spot. They crawl through a school house, a few miniscule skeletons charred out with a larger one, its silhouette imprinted into the chalkboard behind it from whatever blast killed them all.


    At the edge of the town, they find a large, smoking hunk of metal, blackened from an artillery spell. Around the metal is a group of easterners, some looking unconscious, and others in pieces. Across from them is a splattered, strewn corpse of what seems to be some now-unidentifiable animal.


    ¡°Check for survivors,¡± Rayull says blankly. The squad salutes and approaches the mess of people- only one¡¯s still alive. He¡¯s quickly disarmed, and then awakened with a wide, quick slap.


    ¡°Pistah!¡± He yells in his eastern tongue.


    Rayull looks over to Vulrick. ¡°What¡¯s that big metal thing?¡±


    Vulrick nods, and begins speaking slow, pausing eastern. The soldier spits at Vulrick, responds with something that sounds terribly rude, and Vulrick turns to Rayull. ¡°He¡¯d rather us kill him.¡±


    Carl laughs and Rayull sighs. ¡°Then make it so,¡± he says.


    Vulrick only needs to apply a second of applied force to collapse the soldier¡¯s (Glutare Ut¡¯vi, age 25, engineer, grew up in orphanage, very proud of his country,) skull and send him to the ground with a head-wide hemorrhage. Vulrick takes a stand, looking intently at the hunk.


    ¡°So, what is it? Some sort of golem?¡± Bayl asks, in an uneasy tone.


    ¡°Not sure,¡± Vulrick says.


    The heap of metal, with what seems to be a long gun barrel, now bent on top of itself, suspended by two rows of some sort of gear mechanism.


    The group inspects it for a few seconds, but no one comes to a conclusion other than ¡°mobile cannon¡±.


    The troop moves further along mid-land, as things steadily get colder and the land rises in altitude. The mess of clearings are broad, relatively safe, and very peaceful. Rayull decides to take the moment to catch up.


    ¡°So, Dresmond,¡± Rayull asks.


    Dresmond, his hood up to protect against the elements, adjusts his glasses. ¡°Rayull?¡±


    Cet scowls, seeing the two are on a first-name basis.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°What brought you here?¡±


    ¡°Well, after getting back to the knight headquarters, I was given an assignment and notice that I was back on loan, and was to be deployed immediately. Thirty minutes from assignment to stepping off to the field. It was tough.¡±


    Rayull raises a brow. ¡°That¡¯s a shame, at least I had a day or so before I was put back in.¡±


    ¡°Yup- that¡¯s the life of a soldier, though.¡±


    The two share a moment roughing it up the mountain in which they both think of Liefland, the Fairy Kingdom, the bright lights, the music, the warmth, and how it felt good killing the enemies- for Necromancers are not often akin to giving sympathy of any kind. This is all so different from that fever dream of an adventure: they¡¯re killing people out here as well as breaking families to pieces.


    ¡°Yeah, it is.¡±


    Dresmond nods. ¡°Any word on Knight Love?¡± he asks as Mullant and Carl argue if Kanvanian or Whihelmishian culture is superior, Bayl occasionally quoting biased statistics to back up Mullant¡¯s claims to attempt to disprove the common conspiracy theorist perception that Kanvane is a cesspool of human rights violations for the progression of magic research.


    Rayull¡¯s expression gains complexity. ¡°No, a recon party went to get her because it was presumed that she¡¯s with Overlord Chaos.¡±


    Dresmond actually stumbles from the words, though a root was nearby as well. ¡°R-really?¡±


    Rayull nods with a bland expression.


    ¡°Is that¡­ the first time a knight willingly defected to The Overlordship?¡±


    ¡°As far as I know, and because he questioned the ¡®First-Realmer¡¯, there¡¯s no telling what Chaos knows or plans to do next,¡± Rayull adds, referencing the Liefland incident in which Chaos interrupted and ultimately stole the key part in a critical fairy ritual with an extra-dimensional being- an offence that calls for more than just a death sentence.


    ¡°Scary stuff,¡± Dresmond says, getting a few peculiar looks from some of the other soldiers.


    Awnway, a man who prides himself on his citizen¡¯s education, looks especially concerned. ¡°Overlord Chaos? You two met him?¡±


    Dresmond and Rayull exchange light, almost content glances. ¡°Nah,¡± Rayull says, ¡°I heard he passed through, but I didn¡¯t get the ¡®honor¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Neither did I,¡± Dresmond says. ¡°He¡¯s a sneaky bastard for someone that everyone¡¯s looking out for,¡± he adds.


    Awnway hisses through his teeth in nervousness, a very Spirakandrin way of communicating discomfort. ¡°Scary doesn¡¯t even describe that. I¡¯d shit my pants in a second,¡± Awnway says with a clenched grin. The three share a laugh as Bayl and Carl enter a shouting match about how immoral the other¡¯s country is.


    ¡°Oh, and get this,¡± Rayull says. Awnway and Dresmond address Rayull with intent gazes. ¡°The recon party is made up of knights Order, Redemption, Glory, and some coalescence-travel guy from the K.M.C.,¡± Rayull says with a lofty expression.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Awnway says. ¡°That¡¯s a serious all-star team. Bet there¡¯s at least 20,000 years of experience between all of them.¡±


    Dresmond gives a quick nod in agreement. ¡°You could practically finish the war with a group like that. ¡°The Chaos Bane¡± Order, and the Lord Knight Captain both have leave to do it?¡± Dresmond asks.


    ¡°Considering they¡¯re hunting Chaos, anything less would be a complete failure, and Redemption makes the rules in the first place. I¡¯m sure he wants to get Chaos back for snapping Order¡¯s arm like he did.¡± Rayull says.


    Awnway looks between the two with a wide, shocked expression. ¡°I had no idea that Royal Knight life could be so¡­ intense. I thought you guys mostly did community service and stuff.¡±


    Rayull laughs, and Dresmond scoffs. ¡°Definitely not,¡± Rayull says. ¡°They keep us busy as hell so long as we¡¯re not in administration- that¡¯s the only comfy job,¡± Rayull says. ¡°If you¡¯re put over a town to oversee its economic, societal, or even moral protection, you can expect a nice office and an aid at least.¡±


    Awnway shrugs. ¡°I always thought about joining the knights, but I couldn¡¯t get any magic down and I was too tall to win any of the melee try outs.¡±


    ¡°Too tall?¡± Dresmond asks.


    Awnway grins with a dark humor. ¡°The try-out test was always wrestling.¡±


    ¡°That sucks,¡± Dresmond says.


    Awnway grins. ¡°I¡¯ve accepted it. I¡¯m just happy I can fight in some way.¡±


    Rayull hums. ¡°You got anyone back home?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir. Quite the looker, too. She works in the Spirakandrin National Library.¡±


    Dresmond smirks. ¡°So she gets paid to sleep?¡±


    Awnway glances over with a good-humored look that simultaneously suggests a readiness to fight. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    Dresmond rights his glasses. ¡°As a half Spirakandrin I¡¯ve gone to the library a bit. It¡¯s got a full staff for each section, and most of those sections are complete ghost towns.¡±


    Awnway laughs. ¡°Okay, granted. So long as it¡¯s not about agriculture or music the library is pretty relaxed. She tells me the biggest part of the job is chasing off youngsters.¡±


    Dresmond gestures a pointing finger. ¡°Right. Can¡¯t say the Ragnivanian National Library¡¯s much more active- but you can guess what sorts of books they like to check out.¡±


    Another laugh is exchanged between Awnway and Dresmond, but Rayull squints an eye. ¡°Uh, what?¡±


    Dresmond looks to Rayull with a friendly, if perplexed, look. ¡°You know the quote by that comedian¡­ what¡¯s his name-¡±


    ¡°Venn Steinbach,¡± Awnway offers helpfully.


    Dresmond gives a quick point in his direction in acknowledgement before continuing: ¡°So the quote¡¯s: ¡®We all know Ragnivanian streets. They¡¯re wild. As you all know, rag¡¯s job is to clean up two things: blood, and for when the in-laws aren¡¯t around¡ª¡± Dresmond motions with his hand to have Rayull finish the sentence.


    ¡°Blood and¡­ what?¡± he asks, looking back and forth between the two humans who are just grinning at him like a pair of goofs.


    It takes Rayull to piece it together, but when he does, he immediately feels embarrassed that he hadn¡¯t put it together right away.


    ¡°... Oh ancestors preserve. You humans are ridiculous,¡± Rayull says with a look of obvious disgust.


    Awnway and Dresmond laugh, and Vulrick sighs in some sort of disappointment. ¡°R-right,¡± Dresmond says, finishing the topic immediately as he hadn¡¯t the slightest clue that Vulrick was listening, and now also feels embarrassed.


    The group ascends the apex of their current slope and spots a long, verdant pine forest, the canopy touched with gentle, pure drafts of snow. Everyone peers on in some kind of disbelief.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Dresmond says.


    Carl grins. ¡°Those easterners have burnt up a lot of shit, but looks like my northern forests are still standing.¡±


    Bayl sighs. ¡°You realize these forests are technically eastern, right?¡±


    Carl coughs and crosses his arms. ¡°Naw, they stole them from us.¡±


    Vulrick is motionless, but he speaks. ¡°I¡¯ve never been this far North in mid-land¡­ I can¡¯t believe there¡¯s still so much life here.¡±


    The breeze blows, and for the first time in days, it doesn¡¯t smell of burnt flesh and spent lead. It¡¯s wind that comes from the woods, with all its precious, twisting spices.


    For a slight moment, everyone thinks back to finer things- friends, family, lovers, but then Rayull speaks. ¡°It¡¯s only natural that we¡¯ll have to check it out- it¡¯s on the battleground¡­. Something concerns me, though.¡±


    Dresmond and a few others look over to him. ¡°And that is?¡±


    ¡°If there are easterners in there, they can¡¯t have fired a shot.¡±


    Bayl nods. ¡°Because the artillery mages would pick that up.¡±


    ¡°Right. I¡¯m not sure how long it¡¯s been since the W.K.D.F. sent a team up here, so we¡¯ll need to be on our feet.¡±


    Cet laughs with a smartass look about him. ¡°As if we weren¡¯t already?¡±


    No one laughs, but at least Carl gives him a humoring nudge.


    ¡°Sure. Just don¡¯t slip up, and we¡¯ll be fine. Let¡¯s go,¡± Rayull says, the minute of standing about appreciated by the squad, but everyone knows it couldn¡¯t last.


    As they step through the deep, cool, silent pines, Rayull considers who to chat with next. He glances down the line and lifts his head slightly in decision.

 11 - Overlord

    Rayull nudges Vulrick and leans slightly as he sinks to the back of the walking line. ¡°You lead forward, I¡¯m going to have a few words with the new magician.¡±


    Vulrick nods and pulls in a labored breath. ¡°Rodger.¡± He sounds older, darker, as if his soul is as wounded as the rest of him.


    Rayull foregoes thinking about Vulrick, and approaches the end of the line to Mullant, who¡¯s taking up the rear, his multitude of bandages slowing him a good deal.


    ¡°What was it, again?¡± Law asks.


    ¡°Mullant Peretaine,¡± the mage responds with a grateful smirk.


    ¡°Thank you. How are you holding up?¡±


    Mullant glances about in thought. ¡°Well, sir. I¡¯m sure I¡¯m good for a fight, though I¡¯m certainly not looking the part. I apologize for that.¡±


    Rayull smiles, his reptilian teeth gleaming in the light reflected off the snow. ¡°That¡¯s alright, so long as you¡¯ll be ready for when fight time comes.¡±


    Mullant nods. ¡°I absolutely will, sir.¡±


    The group marches up the snow slope, the forest protecting them from the merciless sun. Bayl and Carl are at it again with their debate on which nation is superior, Awnway has taken out a small book and is looking to it off and on, and Bayl is stealthily peeking to read. Dresmond is quiet, focusing on the short sounds of nature coming from the wood, and Vulrick is marching mindlessly, dismissing all noise from his mind with the exception of his own breath.


    ¡°So where did you learn at? Cover magic isn¡¯t very common,¡± Rayull asks.


    ¡°Like all good magicians I began at the Academy of Kanvane. Have you been-¡±


    Rayull scoffs, and Mullant shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, I forget about dragon-kin exceptions, especially a higher one like yourself.¡±


    The Dragon-kin raises his hand as the human mage, assuring no harm was done. ¡°Not a problem. My guardian tried to teach me, but it just didn¡¯t stick. For all the years I¡¯ve been studying the art of fighting, the best I can do for magic are some basic alteration spells, and that only interested me because it would make my gear feel lighter.¡±


    Mullant nods. ¡°So you learned it from your guardian?¡±


    Rayull peers through the trees, an overwhelming feeling of calm washing over him as it does the majority of the group. ¡°That¡¯s right. A very, uh, eccentric learning environment. If it were any other race in that situation, they would be a master spell-caster by my age, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Mullant shrugs. ¡°Well, sir, we¡¯re all different and beautiful in our uniqueness, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Rayull shrugs. ¡°In theory, sure. So, you started in the academy?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Life was hard, which is strange to say considering I just sat around reading and eating all day, but it was all quite strict. Curfews at sunset, I couldn¡¯t talk to any girls¡­ or anyone my age for that matter, really. You also required at least a ninety percent in all your course studies or you¡¯d be ranked down.¡±


    Rayull hums in thought. ¡°I hear The Academy has some fairly controversial ways of encouraging good marks.¡±


    Mullant scowls uncomfortably. ¡°I have a few friends that dropped to ¡®D¡¯ rank. The ones that still cared agreed to ¡®extra credit¡¯ experiments.¡±


    Rayull looks away in some form of respect, and Mullant shakes his head- they both know how badly Kanvane treats its lowest classes, be they intellectually or economically.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Did any of them pass?¡±


    ¡°Thank you, and no. They all got out okay. One lost an arm offering to be an example subject for a lecture.¡±


    Rayull raises a brow. ¡°Could be worse.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but most of those stories that have been circulating through the press are totally bogus. There have only been two break outs and not nearly as ma- Well, I¡¯m getting off track, excuse me. Anyway, I stayed in ¡®A¡¯ long enough that I was given the opportunity to go to ¡®S¡¯ or go take a specialist tutor. I chose the tutor and took cover craft. It¡¯s a dying art, and I think it would be great against our enemy that fights at a range.¡±


    ¡°You think you could make a cover that could take a cannon shot?¡±


    Mullant smirks. ¡°I know I can- I¡¯ve practiced too long to screw up, and I¡¯ve trained on all kinds of spells.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Rayull gently nudges Mullant. ¡°I look forward to seeing what you can do, then.¡±


    Mullant shoves Rayull back. ¡°Absolutely, sir. With the spirit of The Stolen King as my witness, I¡¯ll see us all out of this warzone.¡±


    ¡°I certainly hope so.¡±


    Mullant nods. ¡°Thank you, sir. I¡¯m confident that I¡¯ll be a considerable asset to the team.¡±


    The group, following the technical designation of the warzone line, exit the forest, and enter a vast, snowy tundra, in the distance, a great cathedral of smoke curls around a blazing castle. When climbing, they all assumed it to be a slightly grayer cloud.


    ¡°By the Realms, what in the One Million Hells is that?¡± Carl asks, staring out at the enormous keep wrapped in flames.


    Mullant eyes widen and Rayull¡¯s scaled brow furrows. ¡°The damn easterners have snuck up here to get to the keep. They¡¯re holding back on their firearms to avoid detection from the artillery mages.¡±


    ¡°Crafty little bastards,¡± Carl mutters. ¡°Then how are they-¡± Carl stops, hearing a loud, maniacal laugh come from the keep, then a grinding, authority-commanding voice, carrying for miles.


    ¡°BURN, YOU LITTLE WESTERN RATS! THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE FOR DEFYING AN OVERLORD!¡±


    Bayl reflexively leaps into the snow in some sort of semi-second effort to get distance from the keep. ¡°It¡¯s Chaos! We¡¯re doomed! He¡¯s going to impale us for eternity! He¡¯ll throw us to the minions! We gotta get out of here! He¡¯s go-¡±


    ¡°Bayl,¡± Carl says.


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°Shut the hell up,¡± he says calmly.


    Rayull spouts a breath of hot smoke from his teeth. ¡°Well damn. Either an overlord just decided now was the time to get revenge on us, or Ulteria had the fine idea of hiring one.¡±


    ¡°P-please can we go? I don¡¯t wanna die!¡± Bayl squeals, causing everyone to rethink their opinions on Bayl.


    Carl sighs and looks to Awnway. Awnway looks to Rayull, and Rayull just shakes his head. ¡°Chill out, Culiairty, it¡¯s probably not Chaos- that tower would be a pile of rocks the moment he wanted it to be. It¡¯s probably just some minor bastard. Hate doesn¡¯t live far from here, neither does Crimson. We¡¯ve kept tabs on them, and now it seems one¡¯s gone too far,¡± Rayull says, peering out as Mullant steps up and casts a magnification spell.


    Suddenly space is altered, and the group sees the tower appear larger, and more defined, as if Mullant created a smaller, hand-held version to be inspected in real-time.


    Cet¡¯s eyes flash in disbelief as Awnway raises a brow. ¡°Incredible!¡±


    Mullant nods his head about sheepishly. ¡°It¡¯s actually quite simple once you understand the trick to it,¡± he points to a sizable figure in the model tower, running around frantically stabbing through a crowd of soldiers. ¡°Do you recognize him, Sir?¡±


    Rayull peers into Mullant¡¯s hand, and identifies the muscular, heavily armored monstrosity. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s Crimson alright.¡±


    Bayl trembles as he fights for breath. ¡°S-so where¡¯s the nearest outpost? Who do we tell?¡±


    Rayull stretches his neck about and pulls out a chat stone, a small rock that has a matched magical frequency to a stone somewhere else- often used as a single-frequency two-way radio of sorts. Rayull struggles a second, but he successfully jolts a small spark of mana into the stone, causing it to glow with life.


    ¡°Signal Seven, this is¡­ gah,¡± he draws back in thought for a moment, realizing that Coltairne didn¡¯t even give him a callsign in his orders.


    Dresmond clears his throat to speak. ¡°We went by ¡®Drake Four¡¯.¡±


    The dragon-kin nods. It¡¯s not bad.


    ¡°Signal Seven, this is Drake Four, come in.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, Drake Four,¡± a voice responds over the stone, producing a glow matching the syllables and volume.


    ¡°Put me on to General Leinhard. We have an overlord-class situation.¡±


    ¡°Fuck. Yeah, okay one second,¡± the voice says with an immediately rushed tone as he realizes that this isn¡¯t just a comms check.


    There is a pause, the silence of the squad filled with the laughing of Overlord Crimson from a distance, and then there is a response. The voice is none other than Coltairne Leinhard¡¯s.


    ¡°Leinhard here. You better have a good fucking reason for calling me up your sunnovabitch. Why didn¡¯t you use the proper channels and go through your secondary company fi-


    ¡°The keep in midland tundra¡¯s burning right now. Overlord Crimson¡¯s the only enemy we¡¯ve made out.¡±


    There¡¯s a long pause of exasperated breathing coming from the chat stone.


    ¡°Fuck¡­ That fucking piece of shit. That¡¯s still part of my fucking sector!¡± Leinhard hisses over his end of the stone between long breaths.


    Rayull clears his throat. ¡°Do you have an available slayer team that you could send out here? Any knights or mages?¡±


    ¡°No, would take too long; ¡®sides most of the knights have been put on watch for Chaos and that bitch Love- Order¡¯s team¡¯s been chasing ¡®em out off-realm I hear, but they¡¯re screwing it up like you idiots love to do. There¡¯s nothing I can do for you.¡±


    Rayull sighs, massaging his face with one hand. ¡°How about an artillery strike? We found a mage from another squad that could get you the coordinates.¡±


    Leinhard laughs, causing an uncomfortable exchanging of looks between the group. ¡°And waste my whole fucking tower?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s already on fire, sir. It¡¯s going down. The question is if you want to kill an overlord with it or not.¡±


    ¡°No. If it¡¯s just on fire, then that means it can be put out. Get in that tower and fuck the overlord up.¡±


    Bayl falls over again, Carl¡¯s breathing picks up while Mullant looks dumbfounded.


    Rayull sighs, takes a breath, and speaks back into the stone. ¡°Sir, with all due respect, we are in no way equipped for an operation of that cali-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Big strong lizard can¡¯t handle a little modified human?¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, sir, no. We do not have-¡±


    ¡°You have soldiers. Now do your fucking job.¡±


    Rayull struggles to stifle a hiss. ¡°Sir, you need to-¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s an order. When you come back I¡¯ll give you a medal or something.¡±


    ¡°Sir that¡¯s-¡± Rayull stops, hearing Leinhard¡¯s stone being shoved into a drawer and then what sounds a good deal like the general flipping a chair while he storms out of his command tent.


    There is a pause, and then Rayull places the stone back into his in-armor compartment. ¡°We have our orders, let¡¯s go¡­ kill us an overlord.¡±


    Bayl instantly raises his crossbow at Rayull and Cet starts notching away to leave. ¡°No! I¡¯m not just going to throw my life away!¡± Bayl says, pointing his armament with a willful purpose.


    ¡°Of all the shit-¡± Carl leaps for Bayl, tears the crossbow away, and starts beating him in the face. Awnway and Dresmond pull Carl off Bayl, and Cet takes the opportunity to bail and run to the woods. They don¡¯t have time for this. Rayull¡¯s got to turn the morale around and get these kids in-check. He takes a long, certain breath.

 12 - History

    ¡°You haven¡¯t done anything worthwhile in your entire life, kid,¡± he shouts out to Cet. He slows down and then turns around to shoot an indignant glare towards the dragon-kin.


    ¡°Fuck, dude,¡± Carl sneers.


    ¡°Sir, don¡¯t you think that¡¯s¡­ a bit much?¡± Awnway suggests with an awkward smile.


    But Rayull¡¯s not done. He draws in another breath to yell across the snow.


    ¡°This is your one chance to make history. Do you want to be in the books as a runaway, or an overlord slayer?¡±


    Right at the tree line, Cet stands there slack-jawed. He sees the men he served with for days- by some miracle they¡¯re all still here. In a single moment, he asks himself if he can believe in Hoss¡¯Rayull, the half-dragon that¡¯s gotten him this far.


    He starts back with a slow trot, averting his eyes from the group out of disgusted embarrassment. ¡°Fuck it,¡± he says. ¡°Let¡¯s kick this guy¡¯s ass.¡±


    Bayl, the fatalist in him reaching a new high, sighs and shakes his head in panic. ¡°Are you¡­ Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cet says as he crosses his arms.  ¡°I just had to remember that I don¡¯t run from fights,¡± he adds with a crass smirk.


    Carl scoffs. ¡°Sure kid.¡±


    Bayl wheezes and doubles over. ¡°Are we¡­ are we really going to fight an overlord?¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°Murder, more like it.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯ll die! Like, we won¡¯t even stand a chance! Theses dudes fight armie-¡±


    ¡°Chaos fights armies, the rest of these kids are little magic-school rejects with no friends,¡± Rayull says with a tone of pure distaste. A few nervous glances are exchanged between the men, but Rayull scoffs as if they were discussing the rules to a game. ¡°The only person dying today will be Overlord Crimson. We¡¯re going to make history today,¡± he adds.


    ¡°O-oh, Rayda¡¯s ghost, please no.¡±


    Bayl is nudged by Cet, who¡¯s smiling, though the makings of tears of fury are in his eyes. ¡°Chill out, dude. We got this guy hopelessly outnumbered.¡±


    Bayl takes a deep breath and, while keeled over, he nods. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s make history.¡±


    Rayull looks up to the tower, a large section crumbling off in the flame.


    ¡°Right, now we gotta¡¯ pick a fight. Let¡¯s get in range and open fire. Rangers, fire at him. He¡¯s not the tactical sort, so I bet he¡¯ll be going in a straight line for us; keep it in mind. Mullant can enchant your shots, but we should have time for only one or two shots each, so don¡¯t miss. Mullant will also make cover for Crimson¡¯s first hit, Vulrick, Carl and I will wrap around and hit him the second he hits the cover. If any of us screw up, all of us die. ¡®Big pressure.¡¯  You got it?¡±


    There¡¯s a moment in which everyone embraces the possibility of death as more than mere chance, but an assurance unless they all pull through. A real bond is made.


    ¡°Give me your first projectiles,¡± Mullant says to Awnway, Cet, Dresmond, and Bayl. They hand him the arrows, knives, and bolts they intend to use, and he wraps him in his hand. He casts something and a slight red aura manifests over the projectiles. Everyone loads up and they move in for the tower. The approach is quick, only half a minute¡¯s run, but for many of them, it feels like half an hour.


    Cet bites into the side of his mouth, not noticing the draw of blood welling around his teeth.


    Bayl swallows nervously as his short life flashes before him.


    Awnway remembers the time he went out on a shore-side date with the lady he loves.


    Carl remembers a starry night when he stayed up talking with his father about religion and drinking tea.


    Mullant recalls the quiet days studying books while longingly glancing down at the girls below the academy towers.


    Dresmond¡¯s brow furrows, his thoughts turning to the pages of his plentiful training manuals.


    Rayull thinks, almost lovingly, of home, and Meeo¡¯s smiling face peeping from his room¡¯s door.


    Vulrick¡¯s mind is like a mirror, perfectly clear for the fight with the exception of a few ghost-like memories.


    The time comes, and they¡¯re near the foot of the tower.


    ¡°Charge the spell,¡± Rayull says without a glint of humor.


    Mullant gets right to it and begins chanting and making the gestures proper for an advanced cover spell: the kind one makes to resist against even the force of an artillery shell.


    Mullant excepted, everyone is silent, staring up at the smoke and listening to the laughter of Overlord Crimson cutting down more people up in the keep.


    Finally, Rayull draws a deep, cold breath into his fiery lungs, the small lashes of fire licking along his teeth.


    ¡°OVERLORD CRIMSON!¡± He screams out, his voice gravely and filled with purpose.


    The laughing up above stops, and then responds as a great, terrible head rears up from the side of the keep. ¡°WELL! IF IT ISN¡¯T A NEW SET OF WESTERN TOYS! HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME?¡±


    Rayull says nothing for this one. All he does is reach for his left-hand gauntlet, pull it off his scaled hand and then, with an animated motion, throw it down into the snow. All the while, Rayull is staring with a draconic dignity towards Crimson.


    Everything but the fire is silent. Rayull knew he was going to do it, but not even he believes the moment is real.


    First there¡¯s a slow, sacred coo of awe from above, but after a few seconds it forms immediately into a fit of laughter. ¡°DO YOU TRULY BELIEVE YOU COULD KILL ME?¡±


    ¡°NO,¡± Rayull yells upward into the spiraling cathedral of smoke, ¡°I KNOW WE CAN. IN THE NAME OF THE ROYAL KNIGHTS OF THE OLD KINGDOM OF REINEN, I¡¯LL SEE YOUR BLOOD IN MY MOUTH. YOU ARE FOOD TO ME.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    There is silence above and below, only the breeze dares to speak out and blow a sharp, alerting chill through the group.


    ¡°BLOOD?... NOT BEFORE I BASK IN YOURS!¡± Crimson screams with a voice unchallenged in madness. In a glint, the group sees Crimson leap down at them with an incredible falling speed.


    This is it.


    ¡°Fire!¡± Rayull shouts.


    The four at range fire their weapons at the descending overlord, more of a black and red dot than anything yet. Bayl and Awnway¡¯s shots are especially precise- the group hears a wounding yell from above as the dot, becoming an ant in size, and then a mouse, rotating in the air from the hits.


    At that, Rayull speaks again.


    ¡°Mullant, now!¡±


    ¡°Sher¡¯an¡¯handrane!¡± Mullant casts.


    In the span of a wing-flap, a large, thick stone outcropping in the shape of a perfect wall forces out from the ground and reinforces to beyond-concrete levels of strength. As the ranged delivers one more barrage on unenchanted projectiles into Crimson, he smashes into the newly-made wall, driving his dual swords deep into the rock with senseless force. The barrier shatters instantly and the blades pierce deep enough to get through to Mullant¡¯s right arm, the touch of them alone blasting him back with Awnway right behind him.


    ¡°I¡¯LL SEE YOU ALL TO HELL!¡± Crimson shouts, Bayl¡¯s first bolt smacking into his left eye.


    Mullant doubles back as the three melee-operators leap to the left, right and over the wall. The trio strike at his front and sides instantaneously, Rayull¡¯s breaking into Crimson¡¯s skull, while the other two force in extremity wounds. Crimson responds reflexively by orchestrating his two blades into Vulrick and Carl- all armor is pierced. Vulrick takes a nick to his left arm, and Carl takes it in his stomach. Rayull smashes down again, blood flowing from the black and red overlord¡¯s mouth as a lunatic grin wraps around his face. Vulrick forces his blade deeper, just as Crimson takes a breath.


    ¡°Orn¡¯Fallorn,¡± he casts in a single phrase.


    Vulrick is blasted away into the snow, and Rayull takes this chance to go for the kill.


    He forces his great mace into Crimson, stunting him yet again, and then he tosses his weapon aside and grasps Crimson¡¯s blades equal to him.


    The two struggle with all they have, Rayull¡¯s lightly augmented dragon-kin strength vs Crimson¡¯s heavily augmented human strength. It¡¯s almost equal, but Crimson is the superior, and begins pushing Rayull down, arching the blades to his scaled neck.


    ¡°Any last words?¡± Crimson asks, still taking a steady stream of ignored projectiles from the rangers of the squad.


    Rayull smiles with a loose, sick madness behind it. ¡°Dinner¡¯s served, fucker.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Rayull leans into the blades, his neck pierced in by the points and, but granting him the position to slam his jaws around Crimson¡¯s skull. With enough force to depart steel bars, the dragon-kin crushes crimson¡¯s skull and tears off his head with his dense bulwark of inward-facing teeth.


    Everyone that¡¯s still standing stares on in awe- the corpse of an overlord is before them.


    Rayull, holding his neck for the pouring wounds, rolls Crimson¡¯s corpse off of him as he sits up.


    ¡°Patch us¡­ up,¡± Rayull says with a spit over to Bayl.


    Bayl looks around. Cet probably has no idea how to treat wounds, Awnway and Mullant are in the snow a few meters back, Vulrick is steadily limping back from the right, Carl is curled up in the snow to the left, but he realizes he¡¯s not the only one that can help.


    ¡°I got you,¡± Dresmond says, already with the aid kit and at Rayull.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the half-dragon starts, ¡°does it look bad?¡±


    Dresmond surveys the two wounds. ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re bad. You¡¯re gonna bleed out pretty soon, but you¡¯re a kin so they¡¯ll close before you die; I mean, probably. If you were human you¡¯d already be gone for sure.¡±


    ¡°The jugular?¡± Rayull asks, losing strength and leaning to the side.


    Dresmond works a quick set of bandages around the wounds. ¡°Yeah. But you know the wounds close way faster. Pretty sure you¡¯ll be okay unless there¡¯s something internal going on.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rayull scoffs with a smile across his reptilian jaws. ¡°At least I got that goin¡¯ for me. Tell the general what we did¡­ that a scale dealt the last blow to that asshole overlord,¡± he says, proudly, almost arrogantly glancing over to Crimson¡¯s corpse just a meter away from him.


    Dresmond scoffs. ¡°I will. We really did make history today- and it was all you, man.¡±


    ¡°Heh¡­ hehe¡­he-¡­¡± Rayull¡¯s out, and seconds later, Dresmond finishes his treatment.


    ¡°Will he live?¡± Vulrick asks, reaching to two with a hobble.


    Dresmond leans Vulrick to a sit. ¡°He will. Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Vulrick says. There¡¯s blood coming out of his plating gaps.


    Dresmond reaches for Vulrick¡¯s plating straps. ¡°I need to see. Take off the armor.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re obviously bleed-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Vulrick cuts in.


    But Dresmond doesn¡¯t back off. ¡°Take off your armor, ma-¡±


    ¡°Is that how you address a senior?¡±


    Dresmond sighs and pulls back. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    Vulrick just lays down a meter from Rayull.


    Dresmond then approaches Cet and Bayl. ¡°How are you two?¡±


    ¡°Good, I think,¡± Bayl says stumbling to a sit.


    Cet¡¯s silent, his eyes wide with shock. Dresmond waves his hand in front of him, and Cet finally collapses. Dresmond shrugs and decides there¡¯s more pressing matters than psychological injuries.


    Next is Mullant and Awnway. Awnway¡¯s alright, already regaining consciousness it seems, but Mullant¡¯s right arm is totally obliterated.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ he just¡­ blasted it off, I guess,¡± a not-quite-all-there Mullant says with an awkward, pale-faced grin.


    Dresmond takes a few minutes to apply a tourniquet high and tight to the remains of the limb, then he moves onto the last in the group.


    Carl is still curled up, spouting quiet, spiteful curses.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter,¡± Dresmond says.


    ¡°My fucking stomach, man,¡± Carl says between closed teeth.


    ¡°Show me.¡±


    Carl slowly opens his center. His stomach was pierced, and bile is leaking into the rest of his internals.


    Dresmond pauses a moment as he looks it over, and speaks. ¡°You¡¯re gonna be alright,¡± Dresmond says with a slightly airy tone.


    Carl scoffs. ¡°Don¡¯t fuckin¡¯ lie to me, man.¡±


    Dresmond sighs. ¡°Chill out, there¡¯s nothing I can do, but maybe one of the mages can.¡±


    ¡°C-cool. I¡¯d rather you just killed me now though. This hurts like shit.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Dresmond says as he patches up Carl¡¯s wound, though it¡¯s an ineffectual solution for a very serious problem.


    Dresmond gets up and goes over to Bayl.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he says.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Bayl, eyes to the ground, asks.


    ¡°You know a little magic, right?¡±


    ¡°Not healing, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking,¡± Bayl admits with a cold tone.


    Dresmond sighs in awkward tandem with Bayl.


    ¡°Well¡­ we need firewood, go get some, and come back in half an hour. If we don¡¯t have magic I¡¯m going to have to boil some shit for these guys.¡±


    Bayl makes no sign of even hearing the phrase, as if the concept of work after this holds no meaning. ¡°Firewood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, firewood, find sticks and shit. You don¡¯t need me to explain that, do you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Bayl says dully, taking back to his feet, and lumbering off into the woods as if he were perpetually out of breath.


    Dresmond watches for a moment as Bayl enters the tree line and then he takes up Rayull¡¯s chat stone. With no difficulty at all, he sends a spark of mana into the stone, alighting it.


    ¡°I knew it, you bitches ran away,¡± the drunken voice from the stone emits. ¡°I should¡¯ve sent a slay team to clean up your asses instead o-¡±


    ¡°Secondary objective achieved, sir.¡± Dresmond says with a matter-of-fact tone.


    The voice of the general produces a long chuckle before the slow, irritating noise of a sip can be heard. ¡°Whatever. Just get back to the line and get back to work. If you disobey orders again I¡¯ll have you all court-martialed, you hear me?¡±


    Dresmond clears his throat before responding. ¡°Sir, we followed orders to a t. Overlord Crimson is dead and we need a team to come pick up the body.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause. The general makes no sign of even hearing the phrase, as if the concept of mere mortals gaining victory against an overlord holds no meaning. ¡°What you going on about? Who is this?¡±


    ¡°R.K.O.K.R. Dresmond Ulveroth, sir. I was a pick-up to Knight Law¡¯s squad.¡±


    ¡°¡­And you¡¯re saying you killed Overlord Crimson?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°¡­ Yeah, sure thing, kid. Bring his head so I can put it up on a wall when you get back. I¡¯ll just use yours if you¡¯re lying,¡± he adds with a scoff.


    ¡°No problem with that, sir. You¡¯ll have his head.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± At that, Leinhard hangs up his stone, and Dresmond is left standing in the snow surrounded by the wounded, dying and unconscious.


    He takes a breath and starts weighing his options as Vulrick finally stumbles back to his feet. Already, he walks as if the injuries are nothing. It¡¯s obvious to Dresmond that this man is a warrior that¡¯s been steeled beyond pain.


    ¡°You should lay down,¡± Dresmond suggests.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. We need a fire,¡± Vulrick responds, looking out to the clearing around them as the fire of the massive keep begins to die down, and clouds bend over the horizon. ¡°It¡¯s going to snow, and the tower could collapse any moment. We need something to keep us heated or we¡¯ll be dead by morning.¡±


    Dresmond sighs and thinks on it a moment before coming to a nod.

 13 - Legacy

    ¡°Alright,¡± he says with a distant, professional tone as he turns and goes off for the wood. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon.¡±


    The crimsoned Vulrick nods and starts lumbering towards his unconscious fellows- picking up the smallest and stepping farther into the clearing. Dresmond can see no more as he enters the tree line to get wood. With his hatchet in hand and the rest of his tools dressed tight into his cloak, Dresmond looks through the deep silent wood, following Bayl¡¯s footprints and listening for anything unnatural.


    A few minutes later and Dresmond spots the boy curled up by a tree with a small bundle of sticks clung tightly into his grasp. Right next to him is a fallen tree that looks like it¡¯s been there a while; a good choice for cutting.


    ¡°You alright?¡± Dresmond asks, smacking the hatchet straight into a fallen branch along the tree.


    Bayl averts his eyes. ¡°H-¡± He draws a sharp breath. ¡°How many of them are going to die?¡±


    Dresmond snaps another limb and lops off the hanging bark with the hatchet for kindling. ¡°We¡¯re all going to die, man,¡± he says with a considerate, though certain tone.


    Bayl sighs. ¡°Very funny.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°I mean,¡± Bayl gets up and gets back to finding sticks, ¡°that fight, some of those people have really¡­ really bad wounds. One of Rayull¡¯s arteries was severed, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the least worried about him, actually.¡±


    Bayl raises a brow. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Dragon-kin have weird veins, they close really fast.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Bayl says as if in some realization, ¡°That¡¯s why they decapitated them in The Extermination Wars.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dresmond says, slashing another large branch aside with his hatchet. ¡°Not much matters when you¡¯re disconnected from your body completely.¡±


    ¡°Mmm¡­ and the others?¡±


    ¡°That uh¡­ Big sword guy,¡± Dresmond starts with an uncertain tone.


    ¡°Super smiley?¡± Bayl offers helpfully.


    ¡°Yeah, that one.¡±


    ¡°Carl.¡±


    Dresmond nods. ¡°Thanks. Carl got it in the stomach. If Mullant doesn¡¯t have anything for that he¡¯ll be dead for sure, and it won¡¯t be quick, either.¡±


    Bayl squints an eye. ¡°Mullant has healing magic?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, or at least he had something for me,¡± Dresmond says, revealing his arm just a second to show a scar across it, probably healed by magic. ¡°He knows skin and muscle words, don¡¯t know about organs.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha¡­ alright.¡±


    Dresmond pulls up a large pile of big sticks, kindling, and small logs. He takes a deep breath as he follows his tracks back to the camp. ¡°The other kid¡¯s probably going to be fine.¡±


    ¡°Cet.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. It looks like he¡¯s susceptible to shock- probably something he picked up to cope for something.¡±


    Bayl furrows his brow, a complex expression on his face. ¡°And the others?¡±


    ¡°Mullant¡¯s pretty hit or miss. Pretty sure I can keep him from getting infected so I¡¯d say he¡¯ll be okay. Rayull as I said will probably be fine- he¡¯ll be the first one back up after Cet for sure. Vulrick¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t he still standing?¡± Bayl asks.


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ He¡¯s kinda weird. I haven¡¯t seen him sleep at all.¡±


    Bayl hums. Steadily, a squinting, covert expression washes over the boy¡¯s face. ¡°Now that you mention it, neither have I. He¡¯s kept every watch at night too, I hear.¡±


    Dresmond stops in his tracks in thought, and then starts back on the road. ¡°You mean to say that he hasn¡¯t slept in days?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I think?¡±


    Dresmond sighs. ¡°Do you know for sure?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Bayl looks aside. ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the watch tonight, th-.¡±


    *CLAMP*


    A great sound reverberates through the wood- a frosted, sharp din of pain incarnate.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Bayl asks.


    Dresmond drops his wood, and Bayl does as well. ¡°Let¡¯s take a look.¡± The two step through the wood towards the source with weapons at the ready. Before long, they can hear the pathetic cries of an animal.


    Peering through the trees, they find a snared mammal, its white and grey fur marked with crimson where the trap holds on.


    ¡°A fox.¡± Bayl withdraws his crossbow. Just as he steps forward to approach the creature, he¡¯s interrupted.


    Dresmond pushes an arm in front of Bayl. The two are quiet for a minute more and from another part in the woods emerges an easterner. The Ulterian speaks to the animal in his tongue, taunting the animal and dancing smugly with a minimal use of energy to celebrate his catch.


    Just as he pulls out his hunting knife to finish the job, a bolt marks him in the side- a second later, a precise knife strikes his neck. The soldier (Luut Beramanous, age 23, P.F.U.M., Wanted to be a comedian,) falls to the ground, his neck severed beyond saving. His consciousness dies out seconds after.


    The fox is still straining against the trap.


    ¡°The Ulterians are here.¡± Dresmond notes outwardly.


    ¡°Well, this is the midland,¡± Bayl says while looking over the trees for any more surprises.


    ¡°Yeah, but I thought this was a spot they were ignoring. I know they¡¯re far north, but not through the woods around here¡­ at least they shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t they be here?¡± Bayl asks as he kneels down to the trap with the fox.


    Dresmond watches Bayl attempt to free the fox, and sighs. ¡°Because Whihelmish wouldn¡¯t be far¡­ also, you¡¯re not going to release that fox, are you?¡±


    Bayl smiles. ¡°This is an outman wood.¡±


    Dresmond flinches. ¡°Wh- how do you know?¡±


    ¡°Longevai Studies was my major in the academy,¡± Bayl notes with an awkward smirk.


    ¡°Yeah? So how do you know it¡¯s outman?¡±


    Bayl shrugs as if it weren¡¯t a complex answer, and it¡¯s not: ¡°I just read it. Northern midland in the mountains has a lot of outmen.¡±


    ¡°Ahh, and hurting animals there is a big no.¡±


    Bayl nods. ¡°I hope they don¡¯t think it was us that laid this trap,¡± he says, struggling to force it open after he got past the locking mechanism.


    Dresmond chuckles. ¡°Doubt it, I¡¯m sure the fox¡¯ll tell ¡®em, right?¡±


    Bayl sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how it works. As long as we don¡¯t sleep under the trees we should be fine.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    The two take a moment to watch Bayl pull open the trap and free the fox¡¯s leg. With a snap, it tears off elsewhere into the woods.


    There¡¯s a pause while the two get back to their feet, and they start following the trail that the Ulterian left in his wake. The two quiet their steps, but they keep their eyes alertly forward. There¡¯s something about the snow-drifted wood that makes them feel at peace; perhaps how it provides a blanket of silence that they can both trust to muffle their words.


    ¡°I hear Whihelmish has really incredible artillery batteries,¡± Bayl says, getting back to the previous conversation.


    Dresmond nods. ¡°That¡¯s what the East has heard too, I¡¯m sure. They¡¯re nowhere close to having the right position to hit them. If by some miracle we start getting pushed back, it¡¯ll still take them a month if not more.¡±


    ¡°Really? Are we winning?¡±


    Dresmond scoffs. ¡°Did you have any doubts?¡±


    Bayl hums. ¡°Well, I just didn¡¯t know. I never really kept up with any of that.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like they tell us anything. We¡¯ve been winning on all fronts- but that¡¯s mostly because we¡¯ve been sending so many people forward- I think the East¡¯s running out of guns.¡±


    Bayl looks off wistfully to where the fox had run off as Dresmond glances back at the corpse of the easterner. ¡°Well, that¡¯s good then,¡± Bayl says. ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± he mutters.


    Dresmond smiles as he readjusts his spectacles. ¡°Not many do- I don¡¯t think. Probably anyone who loves fighting is the sort that dies in wars like these.¡±


    Bayl sighs. ¡°How do you think a person starts to like killing?¡±


    Dresmond stands up and gestures for Bayl to follow. ¡°Hell should I know?¡±


    Bayl¡¯s eyes widen as he stumbles over his previous tracks. ¡°Maybe the feeling of survival is what they get addicted to, and they can¡¯t get that feeling any other way. Maybe they just want to see that look in the eyes of those people they kill, and that reminds them of when they were scared for their lives to-¡±


    ¡°Hey, Bayl, right?¡± Dresmond interrupts.


    ¡°Y-yeah.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be weird, dude. Let¡¯s save the philosophy for when we¡¯re back in the academies so all those stuck up fat-ass professors can tell us we¡¯re stupid.¡±


    Bayl snorts. ¡°Y-yeah, okay.¡±


    The two march forward, following the easterner¡¯s footprints to his camp.


    ¡°Huh, just him it seems,¡± Dresmond says, poking around the camp.


    ¡°Maybe a scout?¡± Bayl asks.


    ¡°Or a deserter,¡± Dresmond says as he takes up the dried wood, rations, and other items of use.


    The two turn back and follow their footprints just as the snow begins to fall. They take up their original piles of wood and kindling and finish the trip to the tower.


    Cet and Vulrick are there. Cet¡¯s sitting about in a funk, staring up at the grey sky, and Vulrick¡¯s piling out snow and making compacted bricks. In only the half hour he was gone, Dresmond sees Vulrick¡¯s made surprising progress. There¡¯s a clearing for the fire, parts of the wreckage searched for goods, the downed soldiers are all laid together at the same spot, and there¡¯s a high wall of snow bricks and materials from the tower protecting against the soft wind. Unfortunately, it seems no one from the keep survived the dual threats of Overlord Crimson and his set blaze.


    ¡°Got the wood,¡± Dresmond says with a bland tone as he tosses his load aside.


    Vulrick nods. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    The four sit about as they stack up the sticks, have Bayl spark up a flame spell, and suddenly the unloving cold around them becomes warm and flush. Cet immediately scoots up to the fire with Bayl as Dresmond and Vulrick pull up the unconscious to warm up by the fire.


    As if by a different kind of magic, everyone feels a little better.


    All things considered, they seem to be doing alright, Dresmond feels.


    Minutes later, Vulrick disappears to the forest to get more wood, though Dresmond¡¯s reasonably certain they had gathered more than enough for the night. It¡¯s a full hour before he returns with only a single log; as if he just wanted to avoid them all for a bit.


    Night curls over them, and most of the soldiers are already asleep in their little snow-bricked dig-out. As the others rest, Dresmond realizes that Vulrick is still not planning on sleeping tonight. He wonders what he should ask him about.

 14 - Hungry as a half-dragon

    Dresmond kindles the flames with his breath and rises up back to his seat: a backpack, with a question.


    ¡°So, Vulrick, what¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    The fully-armored Vulrick, leaning against the packed wall of snow, raises his hand and gives a single stroke to his helmet visor as if it were a chin. ¡°Why are you curious?¡±


    Dresmond squints an eye and smirks. ¡°As if I needed a reason, sir.¡±


    Vulrick is still. ¡°Guess you¡¯re right. So be it, I¡¯ll tell you, but you won¡¯t like the answer, I¡¯d bet.¡±


    ¡°Try me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doing my damnedest to think of absolutely nothing.¡±


    Dresmond crosses his arms. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m tired. Out of everyone still here on the western side, I¡¯ve probably been fighting this war the longest. The fighting started close to my village- and then I had to choose.¡±


    Dresmond leans forward a bit and adjusts his glasses. ¡°You fought in the first skirmishes?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Vulrick says with a completely matter-of-fact, completely plain tone.


    Dresmond is silent for a moment. ¡°¡­ What side were you on?¡±


    Vulrick is silent as well.


    The wind blows and tosses about Dresmond¡¯s wide cloak.


    There is tense pause, and then Vulrick finally reaches for his helmet. For the first time during the mission, and only to Dresmond, he decides to reveal his face.


    He works through the various devices set upon the helmet to hold it into its plating joints, an advancement intended to prevent the user¡¯s bones to be broken from an attack without the plate¡¯s joint harnesses being destroyed first. The helmet comes off, and while the skin can be chalked up to the child of a marriage from the dark-skinned Spirakandrins and the light skinned Whihelmishians, it¡¯s his face that tells Dresmond that he¡¯s a pure easterner.


    Vulrick has wide, dead eyes, unlike the usual sharp brows and pierces gazes prevalent in the west. His nose is straight, jutting perfectly from the ridge. His hair is a scrapped, unkempt pepper color, balding from age or stress, and with the exception of a short, but full beard. Perhaps most incriminating to his race, his eyes are colored with an unnatural ochre: a rare, recessive trait found almost exclusively in the East. His expression is slant, dull, and empty: the face of a man who is no stranger to immaculate, all-encompassing pain- the sort of profound torment that a common creature can only dream of in nightmares. This is the face of a man who has walked with hurt for a long time, like a great, debilitating cancer that he fights every moment.


    Dresmond inspects Vulrick¡¯s features with a mixed expression. ¡°Well¡­ Damn. I can understand why you have the helmet on¡­ You killed some of us, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Vulrick glances aside, his ochre eyes shining in the fluctuating firelight. ¡°At the time, I didn¡¯t know who was on whose side. People with magic and people with guns both came to kill me and my family- I wasn¡¯t going to allow either to take them,¡± Vulrick says, gaze now pointed at the raging flame.


    There¡¯s a cough from one of the unconscious. Hoss¡¯Rayull is flinching with new-found feeling. It won¡¯t be long now.


    Dresmond nods. ¡°I suppose I¡¯d have done the same thing¡­. So at the skirmishes, both sides treated the people in midland as an enemy?¡±


    ¡°It was a confusing day. It was peaceful at first and not everyone was dressed in uniform, so people started attacking based on race. My family represented both the East and the West in a lot of ways. We also were on the rivers, and no one ever made it clear what side those bank interiors are on. We were on land that both had claimed, but neither had cared about until the war begun.¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± Hoss¡¯Rayull scoffs out, slowly pulling himself to a sitting height. ¡°I thought your story sounded a little bullshit- you sound and look too old to have been living with your parents just a couple¡¯a years ago.¡±


    Dresmond smirks. ¡°Glad to see you back, Rayull.¡±


    The hulking dragon-kin grins, his mighty row of teeth glinting a feral crimson against the firelight. ¡°Well it looks like your guess was right. I¡¯m feeling better already. Never bled out in all my eighty years of fighting, but I suppose this would be the day, considering we killed an overlord.¡± Rayull stretches, and starts packing off his armor to inspect it. ¡°So, Vulrick. Was the original story a lie?¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°¡­That was the easy story. I tell that to the higher ups and folks I don¡¯t know to stay out of trouble. Truth is I killed a few on both sides that day protecting folks. My parents were there, but they were both eastern.¡±


    Dresmond leans forward a bit more, the light reflecting in his glasses in a strangely inhuman way. ¡°So then why are you on our side?¡±


    Vulrick replaces his helmet. ¡°It was the side that would accept me. I find myself bent to fight this war, regardless of what side I¡¯m on. I ranked up so quickly because of my merit in fighting. Turns out the W.K.D.R. doesn¡¯t mind much where you officially come from so long as you kill the people they want.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Hoss¡¯Rayull sighs. ¡°Truer words have not been spoken.¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°I¡¯d suppose you¡¯d know that as well as I would, being a scale and all.¡±


    Rayull nods back with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s the life I¡¯ve been given, ¡®spose what matters is how we all play the cards we¡¯ve been dealt. It hasn¡¯t been easy, but it¡¯s been mine- and I think that makes it worth living.¡±


    Dresmond readjusts his glasses. ¡°I guess you two have had a pretty shit time.¡± No one responds with words, but Rayull¡¯s smile grows, and Vulrick looks up to the clouded, snowy sky. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t really be able to relate. Spirakander has always been nice to Spirakandrins, of course, and I didn¡¯t get treated much differently when I moved near Ragnivan to Frau. Sorry, guys.¡±


    Vulrick shakes his head, and Rayull shrugs. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s not the hand that matters, but what you do with it.¡± Rayull places his scaled hand against his face. ¡°I¡¯m feeling a bit out of it. I¡¯m going back to sleep.¡± He lays back at the very edge of the fire¡¯s heat, a half-breed creature like him needing less than a warm-blooded mammal.


    Dresmond looks to the now-resting Rayull, and then back to Vulrick. ¡°So, you really just joined our side because you could?¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°I had to fight- it didn¡¯t matter whose side it was on.¡±


    Dresmond sharpens his gaze. ¡°Why? Don¡¯t you have a goal, a purpose that you¡¯re fighting for?¡±


    Vulrick looks into his gauntleted hand. ¡°All purposes I had died alongside those I loved. I lost everything in a single day,¡± His tone picks up a grim sound to it. ¡°Now I¡¯m only here to kill as many people as I can- I¡¯m going to ensure our survival no matter what, so I can keep killing, and killing, and killing. Everyone who entered this battle ground knew they could die without a reason, and I¡¯m here to ensure that happens. War is the darkest state of mankind, and the sooner I finish them all off, the sooner we can move on.¡±


    Dresmond stares at Vulrick- the fire doesn¡¯t seem to be giving off as much heat, now, and the whispering snow seem to be telling Dresmond peculiar, violent messages. Finally, Dresmond gains the strength to speak.


    ¡°You¡­ I don¡¯t think you really mean that. My¡­ my mom taught me that inside everyone there is a lesson to be learned from them, and because of that we should show them respect. I think you¡¯ve forgotten that. People are more different than you realize. You shouldn¡¯t treat those easterners like their numbers, that¡¯s li-¡±


    ¡°Who said anything about that?¡± Vulrick says with an immediately emotional voice, instantly edging upon the excited tone of anticipating violence.


    Dresmond flinches, and even Rayull, who¡¯s still falling asleep, opens his eyes to glance over.


    There¡¯s a short moment as they all listen to the singing of the snow and the music of the fire, then the armored man shakes his head. Vulrick takes a calming breath before speaking again. ¡°Thank you, I¡¯ll apply your council when I have need of it- but I doubt I ever will. I expect to die in this war, just as my family did. I don¡¯t treat easterners like numbers. I care for all of them, and that¡¯s what makes this so grisly¡­. Surely, when I¡¯m dead, I can care about others again,¡± he says, casting his gaze far off to the dim silhouette of the mountains in the distance.


    Dresmond squints an eye and draws back a bit. Vulrick¡¯s smart, capable, and strong, but he¡¯s probably nuts, he thinks.


    ¡°Sure. Now get some sleep,¡± Dresmond says, ¡°I¡¯ll take watch. The lack of rest¡¯s getting to you.¡±


    Vulrick shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯ve never been more lucid in all my life. I can¡¯t go to sleep now- that¡¯s what mends the mind, ties it back and throws it into that dungeon of consideration and morality. Never again will I weigh right or wrong- from the day I saw their bodies, I weighed the action of what I did. It was¡­ my fault.¡±


    Dresmond lays back, realizing there¡¯s no way he¡¯ll get Vulrick to sleep. ¡°Just who did you lose, exactly?¡±


    Vulrick sighs. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything soon enough. Get some rest, Dresmond- you still have the privilege of good dreams.¡±


    ¡°Vulrick.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried about you. Please just go to bed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid this is what¡¯s most comfortable for me, sir knight.¡±


    Dresmond pauses, and ultimately decides he does not argue with that.


    Finally, he closes his eyes. ¡°Alright, man. Just take it ea¡­¡± Dresmond scoffs. ¡°Who am I kidding? Kick their asses- it looks like that¡¯s all you can do, after all,¡± he corrects himself as he lays back onto his cloak.


    Vulrick turns away, looking out to the deep woods. ¡°I appreciate your understanding.¡±


    A few hours pass of Vulrick staring out into the snow. The sun begins to shine on their side of the world once more.


    Rayull, as per his nature and his race, gets up first with a full energy and an appetite to match. ¡°Ugh¡­ I¡¯m¡­ hungry!¡±


    Vulrick nods over to Awnway, who¡¯s carrying all the rations in his sizable backpack. Rayull helps himself to one and sits next to Vulrick. ¡°Say, you haven¡¯t been sleeping for a while, have you?¡±


    Vulrick sighs. ¡°No, sir.¡± He says as Cet pulls himself up from his spot with a look of pure contempt on his features.


    ¡°You really should, you know,¡± Rayull responds, tearing open another one of the ration bags and digging his face into it like a dog.


    ¡°Like I said: I won¡¯t slow us down- and someone needs to keep watch,¡± Vulrick reiterates.


    Rayull mulls it over in his head a bit, and shrugs. ¡°Well we don¡¯t need a watch anymore- it¡¯s day. Could you give me the report for the day?¡±


    ¡°Everyone was out except Bayl, Dresmond, and me.¡±


    Cet scuffles through Awnway¡¯s stuff and finds a ration to eat.


    ¡°Yeah? Anyone seriously hurt?¡±


    ¡°Probably. I expect Carl¡¯s done- only medical magic could save him, and the only guy that could know that, Mullant, is missing an arm.¡±


    Rayull squints. ¡°Most healing magic needs both hands used.¡±


    Vulrick nods. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    Cet draws back. ¡°So¡­ Carl¡¯s going to die?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Vulrick says. ¡°There¡¯s always been exceptions, miracles- but I don¡¯t think we¡¯re getting one of those.¡±


    Cet looks over to Carl, his unconscious expression frozen in pain. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ too bad.¡±


    Rayull and Vulrick exchange a glance, and the dragon-half speaks up. ¡°We¡¯re actually really lucky we¡¯ve lost no one up until now- I honestly thought fighting Overlord Crimson would have ended all of us, but we were coordinated perfectly. I won¡¯t tell you that Carl¡¯s death will be easy, but it¡¯s something that every soldier needs to deal with eventually.¡±


    Cet shrugs as if he didn¡¯t care. ¡°Sure.... So what¡¯s on the agenda for today?¡± he says, now averting his gaze to the comfortable sight of the woods.


    Rayull hums. ¡°Well in our current state, we shouldn¡¯t very well march. We¡¯ll probably need to spend the day here. We could work for a shelter with some of the wreckage and trees,¡± Rayull notes. ¡°The brick-out was useful for tonight, but if we want Carl to have anything resembling a chance, he¡¯ll have to be warm.¡±


    Awnway jolts stretches awake while Vulrick starts up to his feet. ¡°What should we get, then?¡±


    Rayull strokes his white-scaled chin in thought.

 15 - Secret Enemies

    ¡°We need to look around nearby and gather a report of the area. Split up and give me a report of the area. Cet, you stay at camp,¡± Rayull says, stretching to prepare his draconic ligaments for sustained movement.


    Cet huffs like a child. ¡°What?! I gotta look over the sleepers?¡±


    Rayull looks at Cet with a gaze that is blunt, humorless, and authoritative.


    The two stare one another down. Cet takes a deep breath as if to say something, but instead just gives a half-assed nod. ¡°Sir.¡±


    The squad leader nods back and points out directions for Vulrick. Next he directs Awnway after he gets one of his carried rations, then Dresmond, and finally Bayl, who almost smacked Rayull in the face for waking him up before he got his full ten hours of mage sleep. The five split off in five different directions, told to only look and report what¡¯s found, and not to interact with anything whatsoever.  Rayull expects everyone will be gone for at least a few hours, so he also instructs them to winterize as much as they can.


    They prepare by salvaging clothing, dry leaves, or whatever is around to pad out their armor, and they all fill up on calories to keep warm. They wave off, and Cet is alone with the sleepers.


    An hour passes, Cet whiling away the time as he watches Carl, who¡¯s losing color quickly, and Mullant, who randomly jolts with an expression of pure, racked pain on his features.


    The boy watches the mage with a bemused interest, occasionally kicking Mullant every half hour or so to see if he¡¯ll wake up between his short walks to the firewood pile. Eventually, the fire pile runs out, and he¡¯s forced to go take a trip into the wood to replenish the stock.


    Cet takes up the secret extra ration he sneaked out of Awnway¡¯s pack and starts off into the treeline, expecting to only be gone a few minutes.


    He looks for wood, finds a few sticks instead, and decides that the other¡¯s will just have to deal with it. He turns back to camp, gets there, and he starts in shock.


    Mullant¡¯s gone.


    Cet doesn¡¯t need to look long to find the obvious track: no footprints, just drag marks in the snow. Cet looks up to the line of the trees, and spots the unconscious Mullant disappear feet first into the wood, pulled along by a figure cloaked in a tattered, old robe- he can barely see a pair of antlers sticking out from the black head of the kidnapper.


    ¡°Hey¡­ HEY! What the hell?! Get back here!¡± Cet yells across the snow field to the trees. The figure takes a single glance back, revealing a scant blink of glowing jade-colored eyes. It then turns away quickly, Mullant¡¯s hands still firmly in its grasp.


    Cet sprints to give chase, readying his bow to fire while on the move. Though his initial reaction was of irritation, it¡¯s a smile that quickly dominates his face¡ª this is his moment. He rushes for Mullant¡¯s kidnapper, following the obvious trail at a breakneck running speed. He enters after the kidnapper, and spots the trail going behind a large tree. Cet shoulders his bow and takes out his knife. He¡¯s sure the bastard is just waiting around the side to turn on him. Rounding the corner with his blade, he sees nothing at all.


    The boy is still, shifting his eyes about, the realization coming upon him that Mullant and his kidnapper just disappeared into thin air. He glances up and scans about, but to no avail. It¡¯s on his way down that his gaze passes by and notices a seal carved into the bark of the tree.


    While he has no idea what the mark means, he has heard stories about what he might have seen.


    When he was a little boy, Cet enjoyed many stories from the orphanage caretaker; an exceptionally kind man for the sort that would occasionally ¡°rent¡± off the kids for a day or two at a time in order to keep the place running.


    The caretaker wasn¡¯t happy about what he did, but he understood that everyone must take their turn to keep a roof over their heads.


    Laying about at night, he told them stories of careless people that fell asleep in the forest, and get taken away by the outmen ¨C a mysterious kind of fairy folk that has the power to decide the fate of man. Among the dozens of stories about men, women, and children being kidnapped and either killed and eaten, put to work, or used as living soil, there was one story of how one boy escaped their whimsied realm overlaid with the real world- Cet remembers particularly the magic words the boy would say to the marked travel trees that the outmen crafted to jump from one world to the other.


    Cet places his hand on the symbol. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.


    ¡°Please?¡± He says. Instantly he feels the air rise, the cold replaced with warmth, and the distinct feeling of moss upon the bark. He opens his eyes and finds himself in the outmen¡¯s land, a deep, everlasting forest that circles around and repeats for eternity. It¡¯s a summery, radiant version of the wood Cet was just in, with the wonderous chirping of a hundred kinds of kindly insects.


    Cet tenses his body and looks around. Just at the edge of his vision he can see Mullant disappear into a denser grove. A spark relights in the boys eyes, and he gives chase.


    In the proper waking world, Rayull returns to the camp alongside Vulrick, who he met during his trek back.


    ¡°So, tracks?¡± Rayull asks, the clearing coming into view.


    Vulrick nods. ¡°Yeah, hooves, probably huntable game.¡±


    Rayull hums. ¡°That¡¯ll be useful to keep off our rations. It¡¯s weird, I would have thought that the eastern forces would¡¯ve had more of a presence here, like the camp.¡±


    Vulrick nods again. ¡°It seems like a no-brainer, there must be some reason they¡¯re staying out of here. Now that the tower¡¯s down they don¡¯t have a reason not to invade through here, right?¡±


    Rayull shrugs. ¡°I can only know what the chain of command tells me, and I don¡¯t think the good general¡¯s in much of a mood to talk¡­ if I were to guess, I¡¯d say they¡¯re spooked by outman stories or something.¡±


    In a rare moment, Vulrick gives a gentle chuckle. ¡°So between the two of us: what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°Carl¡¯s probably not going to make it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no doubt.¡±


    ¡°Either way, I¡¯d consider folding back to the basecamp.¡±


    ¡°Not further into Midland line?¡±


    ¡°Again, the chain of command will decide. Knowing the current commander, he¡¯ll probably just tell us to push up with the others for Yarseld.¡±


    Vulrick hums. ¡°Yarseld¡­ has been mentioned as the current end-goal, but that place is one of the most populous cities on the continent.¡±


    Rayull raises a brow. ¡°And?¡±


    Vulrick takes a labored breath. ¡°Do you think he¡¯d really do that? Reduce us to murderers? I¡¯m sure that you would know best of all they wouldn¡¯t evacuate everyone properly. Ulterians are too proud not to leave a civil garrison.¡±


    Rayull hums. ¡°I doubt that would ever be on th-¡± he stops himself with a hiss between his teeth.


    Vulrick stares at Rayull from the side, gazing intently between the slits in his helmet visor.


    Rayull is quiet for a moment more, and then comes to a shrug. He¡¯s got a point.


    ¡°Ragnivanian¡¯s have trouble seeing things from the eyes of other races, even other humans. There¡¯s an element of compassion in other three kingdoms, even Whihelmish, but not Ragnivan, they could swallow a world¡¯s worth of blood, and still the next generation would ask for more,¡± Rayull says with a glance behind his shoulder, a subconscious impulse one naturally develops if they ever speak ill of the ¡°Hero Nation¡± of the W.K.D.R.. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. A real storm against Yarseld would mean pools of blood on both sides,¡± he adds.


    They¡¯re silent as they get to camp- they quickly notice something¡¯s the matter.


    ¡°Hell¡¯s Cet at?¡± Rayull asks with a tired groan. ¡°Fire¡¯s almost out.¡±


    Vulrick¡¯s eyes focus on the trail first, Rayull seeing it a second later, and then to Carl.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s not working out,¡± Vulrick says, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword while approaching the downed, pale man next to a scarcely-embering fire.


    Rayull nods. ¡°Pretty serious for sure- not even sure if he¡¯d be worth saving though.¡±


    The two exchange an exceptionally-cold glance, as they both think the same thing. ¡°Honestly, I have half a mind to just get it over with,¡± Vulrick says. ¡°It would be the merciful thing.¡±


    Rayull takes a breath and looks down at Carl. His features frozen in agony- even in resting he¡¯s racked with pain. ¡°Me too, but I say we give it a little time. I¡¯d like to hear Mullant¡¯s word on it first.¡±


    Vulrick nods in admission. ¡°True, he probably knows something about healing we don¡¯t¡­ so I guess we should follow the trail, find Mullant and Cet?¡±


    Rayull grins. ¡°Yeah, one sec.¡± He tosses on the sticks Cet dropped in the chase then kindles them instantly with a swift throw of his fiery breath. ¡°At least he won¡¯t freeze to death,¡± Rayull says with a bland expression as he gets up to leave with Vulrick.


    The two turn to follow the trail and find the tree with the mark on the tree.


    Vulrick is short of breath. ¡°Is this¡­¡±


    ¡°Son of a bitch,¡± Rayull snaps.


    ¡°Outmen?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, dainty fuckers. They probably took Mullant and Cet somehow knew the word.¡± Rayull rubs his temples with his free hand, as the works its fingers around his mace angrily.


    ¡°They¡¯re not supposed to be out here, are they? Isn¡¯t it too cold, and why would they be outside of Liefland?¡±


    ¡°The other fairies wouldn¡¯t accept Outmen, never did. They¡¯re not like normal fairy folk that need a warm climate; they¡¯re melded with the nature of the area, so they can survive whatever the woods around them can.¡±


    They¡¯re both quiet. Vulrick shakes his head. ¡°For all these years, and only we spot it.¡±


    ¡°Only because they made the first move¡­ bastards have probably been swiping people for years, decades even; maybe longer.¡± He scratches his neck in thought. ¡°We need to make a decision.¡±


    Vulrick scoffs. ¡°We can¡¯t go in just the two of us- one¡¯s already half dead, and Cet¡¯s probably tied to a tree by now. Let¡¯s wait for the others.¡±


    Rayull scratches down to his chin, he¡¯s certain this decision is critical, and Vulrick hasn¡¯t led him astray yet... but something tells him this one¡¯s going to be especially pressing.


    He makes a bold, brash decision as he squints with a grim perception.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Chapter 14.


    ¡°It could be hours before the others get back. We¡¯re going in.¡±


    Vulrick inhales sharply, obviously perturbed by the decision.


    ¡°Yes, sir. We¡¯ll die with our weapons raised,¡± he answers.


    Rayull smirks at the morbid tone of Vulrick¡¯s speech as he lays his large hand upon the tree¡¯s symbol.


    They both take a labored breath and they close their eyes. ¡°Please.¡± Rayull feels the world around him change and shift to something new, something strange. The warm and fragrant pollens of the deep out wood unfold inside and out of Rayull as the smokey chill of the snow dissipates. He opens his eyes once he hears Vulrick emerge as well, and they both look upon the forest.


    ¡°Miraculous,¡± Rayull says.


    ¡°You¡¯re a veteran by human years,¡± Vulrick notes, ¡°have you ever been in a fairy realm?¡±


    ¡°My first time was just last week, actually.¡± Rayull sniffs the air. ¡°This one¡¯s a little different.¡±


    ¡°The Liefland situation?¡±


    ¡°Right. It was warm and woody too, but this is different¡­ darker.¡±


    The two admire the swaying emerald tints of the wood as they search out for a path. After a moment, Vulrick points out a grouping of weighted down plants as if it were stepped over by the clumsy feet of a Ragnivanian orphan boy with a poor attitude. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Our best bet. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Rayull and Vulrick start down the dream-like path filled with the skittering and calling of unknown animals and insects all about them. A minute passes as they creep through the wood, and Vulrick turns to his superior.


    ¡°Just so we¡¯re clear. How are we going to engage the enemy if it comes to that?¡±


    Rayull releases smoke from his draconic nostrils. ¡°If they won¡¯t let us just take our kids, we kill them.¡±


    Vulrick clears his throat. ¡°But you know¡­ they have a bit of a¡­ infamous reputation as being able to cast ¡®fate death¡¯ on a person. Is that something you want to deal with?¡± Vulrick asks.


    Rayull smirks. He can hear in Vulrick¡¯s tone that he doesn¡¯t believe in it either; rather he wants to test Rayull to see just how superstitious he is.


    ¡°Naw, that¡¯s a rumor. They can¡¯t curse people with death. We¡¯re going to smash them to pieces if we have to and that¡¯s that.¡±


    Vulrick scoffs under his visor. ¡°Good. I¡¯d ask for nothing else,¡± Vulrick says, his tone the darkest that Rayull¡¯s heard it before.


    The commander looks aside to his fully-armored, cloaked companion. ¡°I think after this you need to take some time to rest. I¡¯ll carry you if I have to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, sir, I don¡¯t need sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you do. Consider it an order,¡± Rayull says, looking away and focusing on the trail.


    ¡°I won¡¯t slow you down, si-¡±


    ¡°I know best. I¡¯m your squad leader.¡±


    There¡¯s a menacing silence. ¡°¡­Is this the first time you¡¯ve led an actual squad?¡±


    Rayull pauses, giving a quick glance to the side to look at Vulrick through his helmet visor.


    Dark, focuses eyes, like a night-creature, peer back at the dragon-kin.


    For the first time in years, Rayull feels intimidated by a human, tiny in comparison to himself. There¡¯s something about Vulrick¡¯s eyes that tell the dragon-kin that this is a man with a streak of almost fantastical murderousness: a genuine war-crime person. ¡°Then maybe you don¡¯t know what¡¯s good for your unit,¡± Vulrick says with a gentle tone but with the implications of a landslide.


    Rayull turns his own guts on at the impulse of a challenge. ¡°¡­ Excuse me, what did you just say?¡±


    ¡°¡­Permission to speak frankly?¡±


    Rayull takes a breath. ¡°Granted.¡±


    Vulrick takes a deep breath.


    ¡°It should be obvious to anyone with half a mind to realize you¡¯re not nearly hard enough on the others, and definitely not hard enough with your decisions- you¡¯re idealistic. I don¡¯t know about your missions with the knights, but Midland is my world, and in Midland it¡¯s about those ¡®what if¡¯ situations.


    Tell me, Rayull, what if we get overpowered because there¡¯s only a couple of us? What if we get outed and the rest come back wondering where we were. Four people in the squad, just gone. We have absolutely no fucking idea what these bastards are packing. IF we waited we could have increased our chances. Really, what¡¯s the value of some orphan kid and a caster with one arm? They¡¯re both practically useless as they are now- but to get them you¡¯re risking us. You know I¡¯m not bragging to say you and I are the glue holding all of this shit together, but if you make even one mistake that we get punished for, it¡¯s over. You may feel like hot shit that we pushed an overlord over. I¡¯ll admit it was a good feeling, but it blinded you. We¡¯re on strings right now.


    Frankly, sir, I don¡¯t give a single damn that we killed Crimson- we kill things all the time because it¡¯s our job. Let historians freak out about that shit. What you¡¯re doing right now is risking everyone¡¯s lives for two. We have absolutely no idea how the others are doing. Perhaps they encountered more of these outmen, or worse, easterners. Take a look at what we¡¯re doing. Do you really expect we¡¯re just going to barge on in there, grab the kids, and run ou-¡±


    Rayull raises his hand in halting. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Thank you for your input. I¡¯ll consider your words.¡±


    ¡°Am I hitting too close to ho-¡±


    Vulrick is immediately silenced by the dense, pressurized sound of Rayull scraping his gauntlet across his mace.


    ¡°I¡¯ll prove this rank anytime you ask for it. Thank you for your thoughts.¡±


    Vulrick seethes between his teeth. ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± he says in a tone Rayull would almost call spiteful.


    There¡¯s an air of anticipating violence between the two of them they realize at the same time. They¡¯ve both met people like that in their lives as soldiers, but nothing ever came from it.


    This vibe is different, however. Vulrick and Rayull both know the other is too genuine to back down from what they recognize as a challenge. Despite the words they speak, despite anything resembling courtesy or respect to rank, the two of them realize the murderous aura of the other.


    ¡°Now settle down. We¡¯re a unit, and the unit¡¯s not going to throw parts of itself away unless absolutely necessary. We¡¯re going to get them back,¡± Rayull says with a mild hiss.


    ¡°Sure,¡± Vulrick says blandly.


    The two reach the end of the trail and see golden lights glowing off in the distance. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve found the camp.¡± Rayull ducks into himself, still a boulder in size while Vulrick perfectly shrouds into the undergrowth. They creep forward into sight and make out the camp.


    No walls, but several bracken-made huts, including a tent so tall that it stretches far out from the trees into the darkness above. Outmen are dancing about a fire and playing all manner of forest instruments. Vulrick spots out a couple of stumps near the fire with a lute playing outman resting on one.


    ¡°There they are.¡± Vulrick points out the two lumpish silhouettes.


    Rayull squints to focus on what Vulrick¡¯s pointing at and then his gaze shoots open in shock. ¡°By The Lost King and Caliburn. They beheaded them?¡± Rayull notes with an uncharacteristic look of shock.


    ¡°No, just buried them up to their necks. It looks like they haven¡¯t bee-


    ¡°FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU TREE-SMOKING BASTARDS! LET US OUT!¡± Cet screams as the lute player pats him on the head with a cordial, foppish sort of grace.


    ¡°Scratch that. It sounds like they haven¡¯t been killed yet,¡± Vulrick corrects with a scoff, his tone quickly growing humored in comparison to how he sounded just a minute ago.


    ¡°Good,¡± Rayull says with an awkward nod.


    ¡°This is going to be a hassle, like I said. We¡¯ll have to dig a bit of them out before we can pull ¡®em up,¡± Vulrick says.


    ¡°You¡¯re becoming a real pessimist,¡± Rayull says.


    ¡°Always been this way, sir. So, what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Rayull looks over the situation, looks over the tents, and then the fire. ¡°Tell me, Vulrick. That sword of yours, considering how broad the blade is, could double as a shovel pretty well, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Vulrick sighs. ¡°Are you actually serio-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you maintain it.¡±


    Vulrick scoffs almost haughtily at the dragon-half¡¯s words.


    ¡°Smartass,¡± is all he says back.


    Rayull nods with a grin. ¡°I¡¯ll buy you time. If one spots you, take care of them. Let¡¯s go,¡± Rayull says, his irises squinting like those of a true reptile.


    Vulrick takes a deep breath and then nods. ¡°Okay. You can count on me.¡±


    Rayull sneaks to the side around the camp so he can approach in front of a hut out of the view of the others. He creeps up like a stereotypical lizard might, peeks about the hut, and begins pushing. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, all of the outmen turn and stare at the mysterious hut moving straight to the center bonfire.


    The outmen say all sorts of arcane words from their old language to alert and command their fellows as they try to push the large hut back in a comedically whimsical reaction.


    Vulrick takes a second for himself to admire the sight of a bunch of hooting, laughing woods people doing all they can to keep a goofily floating tent from the flames; it¡¯s almost as if they¡¯re not sure if this isn¡¯t just some harmless prank.


    They find out soon enough when Rayull overpowers them, and a pile of the bracken used for making the hut catches and spreads to the rest of the structure. The bonfire becomes an inferno. Vulrick watches in awe as Rayull creeps along the ground, still miraculously undetected as he gets behind yet another hut and pushes it forward with a comically easy shove.


    This is Vulrick¡¯s chance.


    As the antlered outmen rally to douse the flames with dirt, Vulrick steps up to the two- Cet¡¯s still screaming.


    ¡°OH RAYDA ON HIGH THE FIRE! THIS IS A TERRIBLE FUCKING PLACE! I HATE FAIRIES! FUCK FAIRIES! SOMEONE HEEEeeeeel-¡­ Vulrick?¡± Cet notes in shock as his armored comrade plunges his blade into the dirt just behind Cet¡¯s back and piles out a couple blade-fulls.


    ¡°Help me get Mullant,¡± Vulrick says as he tugs out Cet with one great pull from the earth. Cet gets to it immediately and starts paddling out dirt from around the woozy, somewhat-conscious Mullant. Just as he starts, an arrow flies right through Mullant¡¯s hair, and then another straight into Cet¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Wh-what the fuck!?¡± Cet screams.


    Vulrick spots the assailant: an outman that looked over from the commotion and took up its bow.


    ¡°Keep digging!¡± Vulrick shouts as he draws his shield up to guard against the oncoming arrows.


    Cet inhales sharply, dismisses his pain, and continues on. The outman alerts others as it draws its knife and rushes forward to strike behind the shield.


    Vulrick¡¯s ready, spots the outman curve around, and he thrusts right where he expects it to come. The cloven-hoofed foe (Nee, age seven months, one hundred and sixty eighth incarnation, top flute-player of the camp, dreamt of meeting other fairy folk one day,) impales itself into Vulrick¡¯s blade. He pins it down into the dirt and sends his armored fist into its masked face. The skeletal systems of outmen are incredibly delicate, and though it was guarding, Vulrick¡¯s punch sent itself straight through the outman¡¯s guarding arms, and deep into its skull.


    A spew of semi-clear, amber-tinted sap coats Vulrick¡¯s fist as Nee goes limp, bow still gripped in hand. Vulrick shoves his shield into the ground and takes up the bow. He starts firing off on the approaching outmen, who fire back but miss their marks. Turns out Outmen are way better at partying and kidnapping people than fighting soldiers.


    ¡°What a joke. You almost got ¡®em?¡± Vulrick asks, firing an arrow into an outman¡¯s torso who buckles over immediately from the shock alone. Cet nods behind him.


    ¡°Yeah, one second.¡± Cet piles out the rest of the dirt as Rayull bursts from the flaming huts and starts throwing around the outmen.


    Another nearly reaches Vulrick and Cet¡¯s position. Vulrick shoots another arrow, this one precise enough to go right through the outman¡¯s thin mask. The outman (Yoo, age two months old, fifty seventh incarnation, favorite food is grass, winner of most races and widely considered the grand champion runner of the camp,) jolts back as its weak amber blood pours from its wound. It falls to the ground and bleeds to death almost immediately.


    ¡°Eh, problem,¡± Cet addresses.


    Vulrick glances over and spots Cet trying to lift Mullant out of the dirt. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°This guy¡¯s a complete fatass!¡± he says with a wince while he struggles over Mullant¡¯s admittedly unathletic, though not overweight, frame.


    Vulrick looks over the red-faced Cet, and then down to Mullant. ¡°He¡¯s not fat at all,¡± he says with a scoff as if he wasn¡¯t even feeling pressured.


    ¡°Help me!¡± Cet cries.


    Vulrick sighs, puts down his bow, and gives a single, crouched tug on Mullant- the man shoots up like a turnip.


    ¡°There,¡± Vulrick says as he leans Mullant over to Cet before retaking to arms.


    ¡°Uh, thanks.¡±


    Vulrick turns to Rayull, who¡¯s so busy flipping and slinging attacking outmen around that he doesn¡¯t notice their success.


    Mullant, his eyes hazy and his head aching, is still lucid enough to spot that the slit of the taller-than-trees tent is slowly opening.


    ¡°Commander!¡± Vulrick shouts.


    Rayull looks over as he tosses an outman into a tree in a manner Vulrick would say is almost playful. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re ready!¡± Vulrick shouts, waving him along to follow the moment he slaps an unarmed outman across the body with his shield, sending it in a twirl to the ground.


    The immaculately unhurt Rayull runs up just as a tall, cloaked creature looms out from the tent of leaves.


    The group turns and looks upon it in horror. The outmen all stop their chase and bow before the tallest of them all.


    Mullant coughs. ¡°A Great Out. In all my years¡­.¡±


    The Great Out¡¯s crown of antlers spans out longer and thicker than a dragon¡¯s bones, and through its illuminated skull it looks down upon the two outmen that Vulrick wasted.


    The Great Out bends down, and from its cloak extends a long, fur-covered arm. It takes up the two outman bodies and stands back to full height.


    It looks over the four and raises a hand once again. The three able soldiers prepare to fight or run with Mullant draped over Rayull¡¯s shoulder, but The Great Out simply points. It points at Vulrick, then it points at Cet. At that, it turns around with the two corpses back into its darker-than-pitch tent.


    ¡°A reasonable reparation,¡± it says as the draping of the tent door closes behind it.


    The outmen stand down and back off- they turn instead to dousing the flames.


    Rayull looks to Vulrick. ¡°That was easier than I expected.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but that thing pointed at me,¡± Vulrick says as they turn to leave amidst fiery, furious side glances of the out men.


    ¡°I hear that¡¯s how they curse you,¡± Rayull says with a smug grin.


    ¡°Well we lucked out, then. I¡¯ll be dying soon anyway,¡± Vulrick says with a laugh.


    Rayull rolls his eyes as Cet hums with a surprisingly-open concern. ¡°Just so long as you fight like you want to live, I have no problem with that,¡± Rayull responds with a half-hearted smirk.


    The four cross over again back to their realm and find Awnway stabbing at the tree. He jolts back in shock.


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re all alive!¡± Awnway says with a wide look.


    ¡°Yup,¡± Rayull says. ¡°Now why are you stabbing at the tree?¡±


    Awnway looks at the group blankly. ¡°I saw the tracks, thought you all got captured by spirits.¡±


    There¡¯s an awkward pause.


    ¡°F-figured that, you know, if I annoyed them enough, they¡¯d give you back,¡± he says with an embarrassed smirk.


    In a rare moment of comradery, Cet and Vulrick share a quick, very Ragnivanian sort of glance that simultaneously forms a bond of understanding that at least neither of them are as weird as a Spirakandrin.


    ¡°Something like that.¡± Rayull waves them along back to camp. He rustles the mage on his shoulders. ¡°You with us, Mullant?¡±


    Mullant sighs over Rayull¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Yeah¡­ So¡­ outmen kidnapped me?¡±


    Cet nodded. ¡°Yup, saw it happen.¡±


    Mullant¡¯s tired features become grim. ¡°Only me?¡±


    The group exchanges some humored glances. ¡°Yes, just you,¡± Cet confirms.


    Mullant sighs. ¡°Then Carl¡¯s dead.¡±


    Everyone freezes, save Vulrick, who stops only because the others did.

 16 - Carl Yarland

    Cet squints. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Outmen capture living people only. If it had the opportunity to drag two back, it would have.¡±


    Everyone¡¯s quiet a moment as they continue down the path. Cet clears his throat.


    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then. He¡¯s gone?¡± the boy asks.


    ¡°Going back to camp anyway,¡± Vulrick says, ¡°we¡¯ll know then.¡±


    Minutes later, they reach camp and find Bayl desperately attempting resuscitation on Carl as Dresmond explains to him how utterly useless it is to try. The two spot the group and back up.


    ¡°Sir!¡± Bayl says. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure Carl¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Dead, I know,¡± Rayull says, coming up to Carl¡¯s body and looking it over.


    Carl¡¯s usually pale Whihelmishian skin has gained a whiteness on par with that of a ghost. He¡¯s bent over on his side in the fetal position, pathetic and motionless.


    Rayull takes off his gauntlet, revealing his white-scaled hand, and he presses his claws against Carl¡¯s neck to check for a pulse himself.


    Everyone pauses with anticipation, though Dresmond just rolls his eyes from under his hood.


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s gone,¡± Rayull says.


    There¡¯s a silence among the squad. Some faces are shocked, others sad, and through his helmet, Vulrick¡¯s hasn¡¯t changed with even a flicker: this is nothing new to him.


    ¡°Is this going to happen to all of us?¡± Bayl asks.


    ¡°No,¡± Rayull says.


    ¡°We¡¯re lucky. This would have been all of us if we screwed up the fight with Crimson,¡± Vulrick says with a cool tone. Rayull nudges Vulrick, and he clears his throat. ¡°Pardon, sir.¡±


    They have a moment of silence as most stare at their comrade for the past few days, while Dresmond and Vulrick scan around for a good place to put a body with at least some recognition of tradition.


    ¡°So¡­ What are we gonna do with the bastard?¡± Cet asks, his face and words cold, but the tone behind his words racked with pain.


    Rayull smirks.


    ¡°We have enough time to honor the spirits,¡± he says with a nod. ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re on the clock right now.¡±


    Rayull makes the decision and the group arranges a burial proper for a Whihelmishian: a pyre ceremony.


    It is a commonly held belief among the Whihelmish that the spirit is bound to a body even after death, and only after absolute oblivion can they be released. It has become the traditional practice, then, to completely burn a Whihelmishian, crush down anything remaining, and scatter it all to ensure every element of the body is appropriately departed.


    It''s especially lucky, as they are far north enough to be able to scatter him to the winds that may eventually carry some part of him to Spirakander¡¯s great frozen lake, where all the greatest heroes of the country are interned.


    The group composes the pyre out from the spare wood and the embering fire-pit. After looting him of practical items, they plunge Carl¡¯s sword into his chest and lay him upon the pyre; all according to tradition.


    Carl is lit up, and after the initial displeasure of his hair and skin burning away, he ignites into a solemn blaze.


    Awnway, typically religious as Spirakandrins tend to be, kneels and offers a prayer to the ancestors, to Rayda, and to The Unnamed All. Dresmond, half Spirakandrin himself, gives enough respect to bow his head while Awnway speaks out his peace.


    Bayl and Mullant stare on in some form of intellectual questioning as they wonder what lies beyond this life, and just what Carl might be experiencing now, if anything.


    Cet crosses his arms and takes in the dismal scent of burning flesh.


    Vulrick shows only the slightest recognition by lifting his visor a centimeter from its base.


    Rayull stares on quietly, offering a quick prayer to his draconic ancestors, and keeping comments to himself about how utterly delicious Carl¡¯s cooking body smells to him.


    ¡­


    It would be right to remember Carl¡¯s history at a time like this.


    Carl was not a bad man, no more than any common man is bad. If he was threatened, he¡¯d kill, if he was hungry, he¡¯d steal, and if insulted, he would hold a grudge.


    He was born in the southernmost province of Whihelmish, Batlan, a land that is the melting pot for the pleasure-seeking, relaxed life of the Whihelmishian, and the militant, physically robust life of the Ragnivanian.


    As his mother ran away at a young age, it was up to his father, Ba¡¯n Yarland, to be the only line between young Carl and the local orphanage.


    Ba¡¯n was a bartender and innkeeper by trade, meaning Carl¡¯s time was spent either helping his father serving drinks, cooking food, or hearing various stories from travelers around.


    Talking to so many people provided Carl with an enriched, though bleak perspective of the world. While he encountered people from all the four kingdoms of The West, and a few chance visitors from The East, the sort of people that would wind up in this town were people in the foresting business- those who would follow the sin in their pockets from site to site and had little in the form of promising futures.


    Forestry isn¡¯t like it is in less-magical realms, where the value of trees is high due to the amount of time it takes to grow. Enchanters can infuse soil about planted woods to cause the trees to grow at multitudes of the speed at which regular ground would produce.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    With trees growing from saplings to fifty-rings in just a week, the demand for cutting trees slowed due to the ease of which they could be collected. That said, lumberjacks often had little work, and what was available did not pay particularly well.


    Surrounded by people like these, Carl was bombarded with negativity, and in the years leading up to the war, this negativity was aimed primarily at the East and its people. Carl was taught that easterners were a strange people who did not appreciate the finer things in life, and were so obsessed with the advancement of their technology, that they would roll over towns, families and nations in their pursuit for metals and chemicals. It was the eastern Ulterians that created machines that could down a tree at a speed of an altered, heavily enchanted human with an axe: but they refused to share their knowledge with The West for fear of it being used against them.


    Ironically, it was the Kanvanian travelers who gave the bitterest accounts- etching firmly into Carl¡¯s mind that the machines, the guns, every drop of eastern knowledge is only fake magic- a dishonorable pretender of the holy western way.


    When drafted, Carl left behind an aging father of around sixty eight, no spouse or children, and few friends. He will be missed only by his father.


    In the midst of his growth, his hobbies centered around cooking, athletics, and a very mild stint of painting, though only the second of the three proved to be any use in the war.


    To Carl, his life was a dream- something that was to be enjoyed in every moment. He learned early to stifle his tears and replace it with a smile, as he saw his father do the same. While he was grinning constantly, joking without tact, and acting the part of a foolish man, his life was not easy.


    Now finally, Carl knows release. Whatever happens to him, it would be preferable to think his situation is better now. Perhaps he can finally find some time to invest in his painting, or perhaps he will rest easy in the fact that he will no longer have to care about anything ever again; who really knows.


    Carl died from bowel dissemination due to a significant wound that pierced his stomach. It was excruciatingly painful, but he was fortunate enough to be unconscious for the majority of the process.


    Rest in peace, Carl Yarland, The West honors you. May the Unnamed All be your companion in the spirit, as your brothers in arms were your companion in the material.


    Glory to the Crown.


    ¡­


    Two hours pass, and it¡¯s done.


    Dresmond and Cet have long departed to gather more wood for the next night, and the stench of a passed spirit weighs on the men¡¯s nostrils long into the night. While there¡¯s light discussion on various, petty things, Rayull calls up the general with his stone, and speaks briefly. It¡¯s to the side, so no one hears the precise words, but once he returned he stops talking for the night.


    Time passes and the sun returns. Everyone, even the one-armed Mullant, takes to their feet. Dresmond takes a breath with the morning air, and asks what¡¯s on everyone¡¯s mind.


    ¡°Alright, what next, sir?¡±


    Rayull clears his throat as he takes up his equipment. He starts with a cold tone, the undercurrent of his voice accompanied with a thin line of irritation. ¡°I spoke with the General. We¡¯re to push forward. He¡¯s advancing in his plan to push the line forward and cause as much damage to the other side as possible¡­ We¡¯ve been ordered to meet up at the new forward camp. As you know, we¡¯ve advanced to the border of the closest eastern city of Yarseld. We¡¯ll meet up with all of yellow company and the W.K.D.R. joint force, and we¡¯re going to break through¡­.¡± Rayull takes a short breath to punctuate his obvious displeasure. ¡°-and we¡¯re to kill anyone that doesn¡¯t surrender outright.¡±


    There are baited breathes, flinches, and pointed glances among the group.


    ¡°This includes civilians. The General¡¯s decided to take to shock tactics in the war. He feels if we kill as many people as necessary, the psychological effect will be strong enough among the Ulterians that they might consider a surrender.¡±


    ¡°So they want us to be murderers, sir?¡± Mullant asks curtly.


    There¡¯s no verbal answer from the others, but a couple of somewhat embarrassed, somewhat depressed looks.


    Cet sighs. ¡°Did you expect otherwise?¡± He says with an edgy snip.


    Rayull makes no motion, but answers right out. ¡°We¡¯re soldiers. If you were uncomfortable with being a dog of The Republic, you should have joined The Knights- but it seems like even that fails to hold weight now.¡±


    Dresmond, also a Knight of The Old Kingdom of Reinen, nods alongside Rayull. ¡°I thought we¡¯d be honoring our code, at least somewhat, but I guess that¡¯s not alright in the face of a war like this. Our General wants to break the enemy¡¯s legs, their heart, hands, and leave them begging us for help¡­ The easterners are going to be treated like shit, and if we say no, we get thrown in Artaifi.¡±


    Awnway releases a cool hum. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear this- news to me. We¡¯d really get dungeoned if we don¡¯t follow orders?¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°He said so. Apparently he¡¯s been holding back a couple of slay teams, not for high priority targets, but for sending them after squads that break orders. We¡¯ll be chased down by knights if we don¡¯t meet up at the new forward camp.¡±


    ¡°This is a complete mess,¡± Awnway mutters. ¡°How do you fuck up that badly?¡± he adds with a stern look.


    Bayl takes a deep breath, his face pressed into his palms. ¡°S-so is there nothing we can do?! We¡¯re going to¡­ just kill people?!¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of silence, and then Vulrick speaks up. ¡°No. Humans are scum. People in power have fucked the weak since the dawn of time, now it¡¯s our turn to be the swords of the powerful. Unless we all want to die by the hands of our very own knights or spend the rest of our lives in that shithole Artaifi, we¡¯ll go, kill their women, kill their children, and after this war¡¯s done, maybe kill ourselves too. About fucking time, I sa-¡±


    Awnway flinches. ¡°Vulrick, you ca-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking say that¡¯s not what¡¯ll happen. It was fine and dandy while the new General was getting the trust of the higher ups, but now that the chains are off he¡¯s going to bite as hard as he can, and his teeth will be around people like me. My people¡­. I¡¯ll do it, too. I don¡¯t care about them any more than I care about the West. Fuck everyone.¡±


    Rayull squints an eye while he releases a long, hissing scoff. ¡°That¡¯s fine, because I¡¯m not asking if you¡¯re happy about this or not. We have our orders, gentlemen- we¡¯re going to the forward camp¡­ unless, of course, you do have some objections. We can deal with them now.¡±


    No one speaks up, though a few, especially Bayl, struggles not to.


    ¡°Good. We¡¯ll set off immediately after we¡¯ve finished with Carl, Rayull says with a bleak tone.¡±


    Vulrick takes a gust-like breath, and his stature straightens back to his common, capable posture. ¡°Alright.¡±


    Bayl, Awnway, and Mullant nod with mixed looks about them, and Cet shrugs with a snide, almost pretentious irritation. ¡°Whatever. We have our orders.¡±


    At that, the group scatters Carl¡¯s remains to the wind, and after a moment¡¯s silence with a few final prayers, they take up Overlord Crimson¡¯s head as proof of their triumph and turn to go back downhill.


    Bayl steps just behind Rayull. ¡°So that¡¯s what you were talking about with the General, the new orders?¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°¡­What would we have done if we hadn¡¯t gotten the orders?¡±


    Cet rolls his eyes as he listens in.


    Rayull snuffs out a temperamental puff of smoke. ¡°Ran around and killed people on the front lines I¡¯m sure. Not such a big difference to me, really- the boys we¡¯re fighting were drafted in just like you were. Either way, we¡¯re killing people who don¡¯t want to be killed. What¡¯s important is the mission. Perhaps¡­ perhaps by killing the innocent, we¡¯ll save more lives in the long run by getting an early surrender. Maybe all of this will be worth it after all.¡± Rayull says this all with a cold, pessimistic tone.


    Bayl stares toward the ground, nodding in understanding, and glances up only a second as if to say something, but he utters nothing. Rayull did catch that a glint in the boy¡¯s eye was gone- he¡¯s become a man at such a young age, it seems.


    Rayull decides to overstep his boundaries as a commander, and he gives Bayl a small, light push on the shoulder. Bayl returns it as a small shove, producing a slight ¡°pssh¡± as his fist meets the full plate of the dragon-knight.


    The group steps out from the mountains and they look forward. Bending over the horizon and blazing with magic fire is the new forward camp, and looming over it, the eastern city of Yarseld, glistening in the morning light and high enough to compete with the clouds. It has tents; tents as far as the eye can see. With only a moment¡¯s contemplation before they move down into the valley, Rayull wonders to himself: Just how much of this city will be remaining once the republic passes through it?

 17 - Angry Camp

    The group crosses a wasteland at the edge of the forest overlooking the Western Kingdoms forward camp, driving at Yarseld like a wooden splinter.


    ¡°Suppose we¡¯ll be delegated to an offence team?¡± Dresmond, ever thinking, asks to Rayull.


    ¡°Most likely. They¡¯ll be keeping us down on the reigns anyway,¡± he answers as they cross. ¡°For all we know we could be reassigned or split up. You can never be too sure, especially with a commander like this.¡±


    Stepping across the wastes to the forward camp, Cet looks aside with an intense gaze. Parts of the landscape are still on fire, and he has the privilege of seeing the lower plain¡¯s very last tree fall from the damage done. The war machine of the W.K.D.R. made sure not to leave behind anything that might suggest even the smallest understanding of mercy.


    Cet looks over to Vulrick, who sighs. ¡°Yarseld is¡­ well, was famous for their forests- it used to be that all the wooden crafts of the East would be made here in their workshops,¡± Vulrick says with a tone that is so dead, so cold, that it almost sounds devoid of pain.


    Cet sighs and focuses his gaze forward. He¡¯s sure this is hardest on Vulrick of all, seeing the land of his childhood get torn to pieces in front of him like this. ¡°I guess this is what war is when it comes down to it- a culture¡¯s killed with a people, after all.¡±


    Vulrick answers only with a pathetic, bone-chilling laugh.


    The seven of them step over the myriad bodies twisted, cut-down and burnt by sword and sorcery combined. A great fog rolls in; a deep, consuming blanket of unknowable illusion. The great spires of Yarseld become obsidian nails, piercing at the great grey expanse surrounding it. Every soul save Rayull feels a chill of awe crawl up their mammalian spines- another rare glimpse of beauty in their dark and murderous stations of life. A few minutes pass, and at the camp gate they¡¯re hailed by a pair of Whihelmishian soldiers.


    ¡°Insignia,¡± the one to the right says.


    Everyone takes a moment to display the military insignias of their unit, also marked with the crest colors of their respective countries. The left guard comes forward and looks through the names etched into the sides of the small metallic chips. There¡¯s a pause, and then the armored man nods in approval.


    ¡°Welcome to the camp. Report to the main barracks and you¡¯ll-¡± The man is cut short as a great explosion shatters the hearing of everyone in the camp. An eastern mortar shell¡¯s been lobbed into the camp.


    Cet inhales sharply as the camp looks up at the descending star of hell. ¡°Wh-what the hell is-¡± Just as soon as Cet analyzes the threat looming over the camp, the mortar hits a dozen meters above head. There¡¯s a brief flash of light, revealing a just-invisible barrier raised by mages to defend the camp.


    Bayl coos pretentiously. ¡°What, you actually thought Kanvanians would be okay with making a camp this close?¡±


    Cet just stumbles over his words for a few seconds before responding. ¡°Wh-wh-what the fuck was that?¡±


    The left guard shrugs. ¡°Some kind of gunpowder missile the East developed.¡±


    ¡°Probably stole it from the dwarves,¡± the right guard says, lazing by a flag post. The two guards share a quick chuckle as Cet shakes his head.


    ¡°No, I mean, what was the thing that popped up, the colorful bluish¡­ clearish thing?¡±


    The guards, Bayl, Mullant, and Dresmond all share a collective sigh.


    ¡°Is this kid serious?¡± the right one asks, lifting his visor and firing an expression with far more sass than is becoming of his rank.


    Bayl nods. ¡°Orphan,¡± he explains.


    The guard scoffs. ¡°Well yeah, but that doesn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°And a Rag,¡± Bayl adds with a wry smirk.


    Immediately the two guards notch back in realization.


    ¡°Gotcha,¡± the left one says with an ¡°in-the-know¡± sort of tone.


    Cet looks about in confusion- he quickly understands there¡¯s something he¡¯s just not in on. ¡°No, really, what the hell is that¡­ field thing that was protecting the camp?¡±


    Mullant sighs again and Bayl scoffs. ¡°You know, only the shields that protect literally every town and city in the West?¡±


    Cet¡¯s gaze is indignant, but clueless. ¡°Which are?¡±


    ¡°Barrier magic, idiot! Cover craft! The stuff Mullant does every day,¡± Bayl snaps with a grin.


    Cet looks away in a mix of contempt and dejection. ¡°Well Ragnivan doesn¡¯t have one of those!¡±


    ¡°Yes it does, retard,¡± Bayl snaps, ¡°you just don¡¯t fucking pay attention in class!¡±


    Cet scoffs defensively. ¡°Joke¡¯s on you! I ain¡¯t even been to a class!¡±


    Mullant coughs for attention. ¡°You can¡¯t blame him, Culiairty; orphans from Ragnivan really don¡¯t get anything close to a standard education.¡±


    Bayl draws back in shock. ¡°Uh, isn¡¯t that illegal not to provide an education? Like, I just thought he was super fucking du-¡±


    A rigid nudge from Dresmond next to him shuts him up, but it¡¯s too late for that. Cet¡¯s looking the boy over with an intent so bitter that it could level a tower.


    Amidst the awkward pause, the left guard redistributes the insignia with a nod. ¡°Anyhow, you¡¯re free to go in, report to the main barracks and you¡¯ll be delegated to an attack team. I don¡¯t know what you guys did before this but you¡¯re definitely going to be kicking down doors tomorrow. Hope you boys are ready for a whole lot of bullshit.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Rayull says, returning the nod and leading the group into the camp.


    The camp¡¯s alight with the fires of multiple groups, Vulrick would wager the number of the camp to be at least three thousand strong, and with a multitude of wizards and royal knights thrown in. Fires are spread snugly together, with even more snug sorties of soldiers telling jokes, chatting, sparring, and firing the occasional distrusting glance to another from one of the other kingdoms making up the Defensive Republic.


    Of course, the dirty looks between humans are a far cry from what¡¯s reserved for dragon-kin walking by, and Rayull¡¯s the only one he can see around.


    Passing camps of side-gazes and hushed words he takes the group to the main barracks, a great, metal-stand tent in which the sound of ink on paper and conversation provides a busy ambiance. Rayull is quickly handed out stacks of papers by the little hands of a secretary: one for the officer in charge and six others to be given to each soldier. There¡¯s a moment of paperwork and scratching in information, and just as he finishes, Rayull spots a certain fully-armored man in the corner of his gaze, but by this time, he¡¯s already at him.


    The man, about Vulrick¡¯s height, leaps up to Rayull¡¯s height and punches him square in the jaw. Seeing the man, Dresmond¡¯s gaze sharpens with interest.


    ¡°Always be readi-¡± the man¡¯s interrupted by Rayull¡¯s reflexive high knee to the man¡¯s crotch. The aged voice of the man buckles in agony, only to spring back to normal standing a second later.


    ¡°Nice to see you again too, Nach,¡± Rayull says with poorly-hidden satisfaction for catching his dearest mentor right in the balls.


    ¡°You-¡­¡± Nach takes a breath through his helmet visor, ¡°you little bastard. You know I could¡¯ve killed you right there,¡± he says, now having to look up to meet Rayull¡¯s gaze.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The towering half-lizard lets out a sigh and a facetious nod. ¡°I¡¯m sure. But as you said, you¡¯re supposed to go ¡®all the way¡¯ in combat. While you could¡¯ve killed me, I definitely made you infertile,¡± he says with a put-own frown.


    Awnway grins stupidly and Cet sputters air between his teeth.


    As the squad exchange curious glances and Cet bluntly asks: ¡°Now who the hell¡¯s this guy?¡± he says with no small amount of admiration. It¡¯s clear that a ballsy showing like that caught the kid¡¯s attention. Nach takes a stand back with a relaxed smirk.


    ¡°So they have you out here doing dirty work, I see, and all these kids, too! What happened, I bet you got demot-¡±


    ¡°Nach,¡± a mage girl about Bayl¡¯s age says, tugging Nach¡¯s white-black sleeve. Her two ribbons curl in the breeze, and her mage regalia is flush with soil. Cet¡¯s admiration transfers instantly over to her: he thinks she¡¯s very, very cute; Bayl appears to hold the same opinion.


    There¡¯s an awkward silence between Nach and Rayull, both grinning ear to ear.


    ¡°What is it, Quoamay?¡± Nach asks with a sheepish, though doting tone, like a goofy father.


    ¡°I finished with the registration, can I go get some food now?¡± she asks, firing a single, wary glance of Rayull¡¯s massive draconic teeth.


    Nach takes a deep breath. ¡°Yes, you may.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sir!¡± she says sugarly, patting him as if he¡¯s her grandfather and then rushing off out of the tent.


    In the next moment, Cet and Bayl both BS their registrations and smash them into Rayull¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Sir!¡± Bayl salutes professionally. ¡°Permission to-¡­ I saw her first you fu-¡± Bayl turns tail out of the tent behind Cet, who took the liberty to not ask permission and go straight to talk to the girl while on the way to the canteen.


    Rayull and Nach watch the duo rush off, and Rayull looks back to Nach. ¡°I got demoted?¡± Rayull says, putting stinging emphasis on the ¡°I¡±.


    Nach sighs. ¡°They don¡¯t much respect the loaned knights, obviously. They assume one hundred and forty three years battling asshole overlords in the service of the old kingdom is about equal experience-wise to the W.K.D.R.¡¯s stupid six month officer program.¡±


    Rayull shrugs. ¡°Everyone that gets past one hundred joins the knights eventually, so obviously if you just treated the whole order badly, you¡¯d make everyone else feel better that they won¡¯t live to see more than one century.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the life, but our age hasn¡¯t ended yet, pal,¡± Nach says with a smile that no one else can see. ¡°So I guess you¡¯re in with the assault?¡±


    Rayull raises his brows with a hint of obvious displeasure. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    Nach flicks up his visor. The kind eyes of a killer are behind them. ¡°Chances are we¡¯ll all be thrown into the same squad then. I hear they¡¯re rewriting all the platoons for it. Maybe you can show me just how much that training¡¯s paid off.¡±


    ¡°By slaying civilians?¡± Rayull asks with a tensed brow as he clasps Overlord Crimson¡¯s wrapped-up head under his arm. As he jointly turns from the others in his group and shoos them away, leaving them to discuss things of their own or run off.


    No one complains. They all know where they need to be, and they step along, some leaving with a salute, and others adding in the proper ¡°by your leave¡±.


    Nach squints an eye as he watches Rayull¡¯s men leave. ¡°Pretty sure they¡¯re all evacuated- but if I find any I¡¯m turning them right around to safety so long as they don¡¯t fight. The brass in the D.R.¡¯s acting like this is an actual war and not some joke. There¡¯s a reason the West and East haven¡¯t fought until now. If you ask me, the East thought they¡¯d be stomped on up until they got those firearms, and only now that we¡¯ve been culturally out of contact for this long did the brat Emperor somehow assume they could take us: doesn¡¯t take much to get deluded, I guess. Now that the West has its excuse, we¡¯re going to be merciless. That¡¯s how it happened with your kind and all the others.¡± He explains this, slowly silencing the soldiers nearby as they listen in on the knight¡¯s musings.


    Rayull nods in a relaxed agreement. ¡°This really is just another stain on the pavement for us, but this time it¡¯s a lot more land. I knew it would come about eventually.¡±


    Nach refocuses his gaze. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It seems all your race is capable of is comparisons. With those big heads of yours, all we¡¯ve seen humans do is beat out those who are different. It started with us ¡°scales¡±, then the fairy folk, and now it¡¯s down to country and race. One day I¡¯d imagine humans will be stabbing and enslaving each other based on their eye color.¡±


    Nach shrugs. ¡°Not sure if people could ever be so stupid, but I¡¯ve been wrong before, I guess. At least I¡¯m not a fucking lizard.¡±


    Rayull and Nach turn in their papers, more properly delegate their soldiers to places where they can find them later, and then both step into the officer¡¯s canteen.


    They receive a slew of elitist looks from the other officers, mostly men of the long-running Ragnivanian warrior families, before the turning back to their food and drinks. Being royal knights, this sort of attitude is to be expected from the military community, but Rayull has it considerably worse as a dragon-kin, he could almost swear one of the other officers was offhandedly pointing a crossbow at him as they took their seats.


    A waiter comes up. ¡°How may I help¡­ you gentlemen?¡±


    Nach and Rayull share a playful glance as they scan the large chalkboard-menu next to the bar.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have the Pasta Raymassen with the Spira-man-drin Amber,¡± Nach orders as he undoes the latches on his helmet to doff it.


    Rayull slowly, horrifically turns his head about to look at her. ¡°Your soul,¡± Rayull says with a ghastly tone, staring right into the waiter¡¯s eyes.


    The waiter turns tail immediately and heads promptly into the kitchen as she mutters terrified curses between her pursed lips.


    The duo shares a laugh, and then Rayull laxes into his chair, arms swinging freely at both sides. ¡°Right, so how long has it been?¡±


    Nach shifts his eyes about in thought. ¡°Five, six years maybe?¡±


    ¡°Sounds about right. Any promising new recruits?¡± Rayull asks.


    Nach, one of the Royal Knight¡¯s top drillmen and trainers, motions his head about. ¡°Not really. No Meeo Letlinds or Veruse Stantwalds to be found. Last kid that had any real salt to him was a little Spirakandrin brat maybe a year ago. Polite kid, raised in Frau, actually.¡±


    Rayull notches back in his chair. ¡°Really? Wouldn¡¯t be Dresmond Ulveroth by any chance.¡±


    In a pause of disbelief Nach strokes the cheekbone next to his eyepatch- a habit formed in moments of shock. ¡°You¡¯re kidding! You know him?¡±


    Rayull squints a scaled brow. ¡°He¡¯s in my squad. You should have seen him back at the tent.¡±


    Nach stumbles over his breath before delivering a quick swat to his friend. ¡°Asshole, you should¡¯ve introduced us!¡±


    Rayull just rolls his slatted eyes.


    Nach stretches back animatedly, quickly returning to the previous topic. ¡°So, you two were assigned together?¡±


    ¡°Not quite. I found him this time on the Midland line. Would have been dead hours later if I hadn¡¯t shown up, I reckon.¡±


    Nach hums with a dry tone. ¡°This time?¡±


    Rayull nods, providing a dramatic pause before continuing. ¡°You heard of that Liefland incident?¡±


    Nach squints his one good eye. ¡°That thing with the necromancers and fairies? Is that still going on?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one, and no. Dresmond was that one kid that¡¯s still here. One got stomped by Oa, and the other got kidnapped by Chaos or something, we still don¡¯t know.¡±


    Nach is quiet a moment. ¡°I heard rumors¡­ never thought that Meeo would ditch the knights though.¡±


    He draws back as he sees Rayull look to the table with abject disgust. ¡°She must have hated this so much.¡±


    ¡°N-now no need to get hasty, kiddo. She¡¯s¡­ I dunno, maybe Chaos has a huge cock or something,¡± Nach says off-handedly, trying to think of the situation from Meeo¡¯s angle.


    Nach is not always very good with holding his tongue, especially when he¡¯s relaxed.


    Rayull¡¯s gaze meets Nach¡¯s incredulously.


    ¡°What?¡±


    The drill-captain clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding the look from his old pupil. ¡°Uh, no, nevermind. I guess she hasn¡¯t told you about that side of her life.¡±


    ¡°What side of her li-¡±


    ¡°Look, kiddo, I¡¯m sure she¡¯s fine. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    Rayull leans into himself on the table bitterly. ¡°The bastard did something to her, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Nach nods, glad for the recovery from such an awkward blunder. ¡°If anyone could enchant Knight Love herself, I¡¯d imagine Chaos would be the one. He deals with spells every day that most folks in the Kanvane Council haven¡¯t even heard of. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s perfected some kind of¡­ brain, mind control thing against archmages by now.¡±


    Rayull nods. ¡°I¡¯m worried, still. This has never happened before.¡±


    ¡°Maybe there¡¯s just more for us to learn. As I said back when you were just a wee little lizard: your opponent always has something new to teach you. Fights are not simple displays of skill, but classrooms. The ones who learn the most, live the lo-¡±


    ¡°Your food,¡± a new waiter says bluntly as he places the plates before them, with a pint of beer for Nach and a glass of slightly-yellowish water for Rayull. The waiter steps off as quickly as he came, and it¡¯s obvious to the two that something¡¯s wrong.


    Rayull sniffs his dish, appearing to be the same as Nach¡¯s, just with a hint of shit. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to spot that the glass of water also has a urine-like taint to it.


    ¡°Funny,¡± Rayull says, taking up to his feet along with his plate.


    Nach sighs. ¡°Hey now, I sure hope you¡¯re just going up there to make them change it.¡±


    ¡°One way or another, sure,¡± Rayull says with a leading tone.


    The dragon-kin steps up to the little window dividing the kitchen amidst glances and whispered insults from around the canteen, and slides the plate and glass up on it.


    ¡°Get out here and fix my food,¡± he says.


    The kitchen erupts into laughter and a mug is thrown his way, only to shatter against the divide.


    ¡° ¡®Ow ¡®bout ya¡¯ get outta this canteen?¡± the head chef spits as Rayull¡¯s waiter eggs him on. Rayull walks up to the kitchen door as the insults increase in decibel and variety, one unpleasant gentleman going as far as to insult the memory of Rayull¡¯s mother in an incredibly questionable fashion.


    ¡°I suppose an introduction will be necessary,¡± Rayull says as he enters the kitchen and up to the chef, ¡°I¡¯m Knight Law of the R.K.O.K.R.. I don¡¯t know who¡¯s working in this kitchen but I can take an easy bet that your chain of command would be interested to hear about you mistreatin-¡± Another mug is flung from the group, this time it hits him right on the shoulder.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t¡¯cha jus¡¯ go n¡¯ off ya¡¯sef? Cold bloodid peesa shit,¡± The head chef says with a confidant grin.


    Rayull, more than three times the man¡¯s size, imposes his body and looms over the little, angry man. ¡°I suppose a reminder is in order,¡± Rayull says, noting several of the waiters and chefs taking up something to fight with.


    Rayull cracks his knuckles and stretches his head about as if he were about to smash the impetuous gentleman¡¯s head right into the counter.