《The Ranger-Core Force and the Endless War [Progression Action-Adventure; Base Building]》


 Chapter 1 (Last Stand)

    Doom approached.


    The sky gray; the Slipstream gone, though it would soon return, for now, they were alone; and approaching as steady as the beat of the war-drum, the enemy.


    Zan stood still. Tense, but unmoving. He breathed in deeply. Exhaled slowly.


    Was he scared? No.


    He was excited. "No. Not excited. Not really." But ready, he told himself.


    Ready for war.


    ----------


    The day began as any other day:


    Zan woke, dressed in the basic garb of his town, some might even have called it a ''village,'' and ran off to join his work team. Chores had to be done by everyone in the village of a certain age. Being sixteen, the village expected Zan to contribute as much as the next able-bodied adult. His job? Working the lumber for fishing vessels and for sale.


    He looked outward and saw the horizon depleted of trees. It might have seemed to an outside observer that such an immensity carved from the forest to sustain his town''s economy had depleted the natural resources of the forest. But compared to the vast supply which stretched, seemingly, forever into the distance, it was but a scratch. "Not even a scratch," he often told himself bitterly half-way through his shift, when he realized the work which remained for the day was actually higher than he believed it to be.


    Everything changed when a crier bolted into the work site.


    ¡°INVASION! INVASION!¡± he screamed repeatedly at the top of his lungs.


    Immediately, a rustle went up among the workers.


    The crier, acquiring an audience, continued: ¡°As I speak! The might of the New Woodland Expanse has attacked us! The attack came without warning and has overtaken all the borderlands. All the hinterlands are threatened! Our King has established a defensive line every civilian must evacuate to immediately!¡±


    The crier then repeated his proclamation several times before prodding off on his horse. Zan¡¯s face drained of color, the shock, the audacity of the enemy!


    Zan wasted no time. He rushed back to the village with many others, some electing to flee in wild directions, so overcome they were with fear; he rushed through the several defensive trench lines which had been dug by the local defense corp. ¡°Jiehong! Jiehong! Where are you?¡±


    Hearing the chaos, Jiehong came outside. His chore was with the village leadership, acting ¡ª on certain days ¡ª as advisor-in-training; other days, he mined precious stones in the mine, his large body and muscle making him the ideal candidate for such labor.


    Jiehong was Zan¡¯s brother, best-friend. And roommate ¡ª most of the time.


    Being an orphan, Zan had luck on his side when Jiehong¡¯s family took him in as their own. Jiehong saw Zan and asked, ¡°What is going on? Invasion?¡±


    Zan explained about the crier, who was now setting himself up in the village square, a distance just far enough to prevent the words being heard over at the mayoral hut.


    ¡°An invasion?!¡± Jiehong gasped. ¡°So, it has come to war? I guess we can''t be surprised that an expansionist super-power who has never showed signs of wanting peace is invading. Hardly the developments of the century...¡±


    Jiehong looked sad. And why not? War is a devastating, family-destroying experience no one should need experience. Yet, Jiehong faltered not a single step and said, ¡°Then it will be up to us to play our small part!¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I think so, too!¡± Zan exclaimed. ¡°But how?¡±


    With the elders of the village in attendance, a meeting was called. Frantic, scared, everyone talked quickly. The crier ¡ª having since left town to go to and warn the next rural community -- had departed the village in a huff, tumbling through the crowds as he shook his way through the many bodies clogging the streets. Zan, as a male of fighting age, had input which he shared with the elders, along with those other able-bodied males who remained to fight. A strategy quickly formed, helped by the previous weeks of planning, drills, and fortifying the town.


    ¡°Temporary defense to hold off the enemy it is!¡± a village leader, Trip, said.


    ¡°But for how long?¡± Jiehong asked.


    "Only as long as everyone needs to pack up their whole lives," Trip said before rushing off to find his old, rusted family blades.


    Zan and Jiehong rushed to their home. Jiehong rustled around in the familial trunk for the basic armory his family owned. ¡°Think we¡¯ll make it?¡± Jiehong asked as he found a couple of swords and bucklers.


    ¡°They¡¯re only golems. Wood at that! Hardly more animated than bundles of sticks and twigs. We¡¯re not helpless infants or the death-bed ill. We¡¯ll be fine¡­ as long as they don¡¯t surround us and pummel us to death,¡± Zan said, a bleak chuckle escaping from his lips.


    ¡°I figured. Don''t get swarmed. But I wanted to check in with my best,¡± Jiehong said, smiling.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get through it together. We always do, bud,¡± Zan said, patting Jiehong on the back to eliminate tension.


    Changing the topic suddenly, Jiehong said, ¡°You ever use one of these?" Jiehong brought a couple of armed pieces Our parents bought me a tutor to teach me a bunch of things, remember? Basic swordplay was one of them.¡±


    He shook his head. "No, not outside of the drills they put us through. I could use another lesson," Zan said.


    Jiehong showed him how to use the sword and tiny shield. He watched Jiehong closely. In his brother''s oversized hands both tools looked tiny. The sword was a mere short blade, while the buckler was barely twice the size of his hand. ¡°An hour¡¯s tutorial doesn¡¯t buy us much more than a fighting chance, but I will take it,¡± his brother remarked.


    Jiehong set up some targets: damaged clay pots steadier than rock and showed him some basic sword strokes. How to stab. How to use his blade in conjunction with a buckler, the proper way, so he didn''t skewer his own shield while trying to defend. Maybe twenty-five minutes passed. With a few moves demonstrated and practiced, the last thing Jiehong taught was magic.


    "I know you can do magical foundationals -- mend, fortify, and the like. I wanted to see for myself and offer any tips," Jiehong said. "Destroy that pot."


    "Sure," Zan replied, channeling magic into his hand. He smashed his fist against one of the training pots Jiehong had put up. It shattered into pieces.


    "Impressive. You can channel with emotion, it looks. I prefer to get on the angry side when I channel. Whatever works for you, though. I don''t begrudge the process. Now, take a couple pieces of the pot and mend them together. Good!" Jiehong said as Zan watched his brother watching him perform the simple mend spell. For added measure, Zan then performed an elementary heal on his own body. By the time the crier came to their village and warned them of the invasion, he had been working for nearly a full shift and so had plenty of scraps which needed tending.


    "I''m not sure how I didn''t notice your skills earlier," Jiehong told Zan.


    Feeling overstimulated, Zan let his aggressive side free. He said, "You''re always busy with yourself, that''s why..."


    "I''m not sure if that is true, necessarily, but no other reason is coming to my mind. I don''t think now is the time to talk about this stuff, though."


    "No, I guess not..."


    Sitting down, his training causing a sweat to break, Zan asked for some water. Jiehong obliged.


    Outside their childhood home and seeing clouds of misfortune ahead, Zan looked to the sky, hoping to see the Slipstream. Once the Slipstream came out, he would be able to recharge his magical essence. Though the Slipstream encircled the whole planet, it was weather-dependent, and often faded into inaccessibility on mysterious whims. ''It came from the gods,'' was the extent of a most people''s understanding of it.


    ¡°What will we do if things go south?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll cross that bridge when we get there.¡±


    ----------


    The sky rumbled. Of course it is going to storm, Zan thought.


    He and Jiehong waited outside the village limits. To their backs were trenches lined with archers, spearmen, and shield-bearers. Ahead was the work camp. With only a few dozen alongside them, he knew it was an impossible battle. The enemy''s number were in the hundreds, if not the thousands. They would fight for as long as they could, hoping they were not overwhelmed and slaughtered. Or perhaps worse, captured and pressed into slavery.


    It was here they would make their first and last stand.


    At least until everyone had time to flee to safety.


    The speed of the enemy impressed both boys. For slow-moving automotrons clunking along the land, they made good time. Though he knew they must have transport of some kind...


    ¡°They¡¯ve overtaken the lumber yard!¡± a scout said, rushing back.


    Zan¡¯s heart thumped.


    Time slowed to a crawl.


    With the steady beat of fate, he saw the foe approach.


    Of medium height, the wooden automotrons of the Expanse came within sight. They clambered mechanically through the lumberyard and into the field, showing no sign of emotion, let alone fear, as they strode inexorably toward the town''s defenders.


    He drew his sword and prepared for battle.

 Chapter 2 (New Threat: Basic Automotron)

    Zan saw the automotrons approach ¡ª slowly, though with a rigor unmatched.


    He held his sword in hand and saw the blade''s sharpness as unmatched. He was happy he and Jiehong sharpened their weapons before they departed for the front.


    I am going to need every edge I can muster, Zan thought.


    Slamming his feet to the ground as an extra-large wrestler might in some far-flung ring, he screamed a war-cry loud enough for Jiehong to hear. He saw Jiehong some ways away, standing down the enemy alongside a group of soldier veterans. The town leaders decided how for every greenhorn among them, they should be close to a trained professional, so as to show them the ''ins'' and ''outs'' of live combat. Jiehong shouted back a war cry of his own.


    "I can do this," he repeated to himself like a prayer. He looked ahead: four troops stared him down, walking in formation. Two in the front, two in back, the world¡¯s most conventional cube shape.


    Each of the wooden soldiers, their bodies little different from a bulky training dummy, and made from questionable trees, had swords inserted into their wooden pommel-hands with blades so sharp they glinted in the dim afternoon storm. Slow-moving though the automotrons be, he understood how even a single slow move on his part could result in his instant death if the enemy''s blade were to make contact. Swords with legs attached were still swords, after all. He considered their large numbers, and the always swaying limbs seeking flesh, their legs meant to kick, their arms to slay. "If they overwhelm me," he thought, "I will die."


    Someone could argue it was nerves getting the best of him, but Zan refused to wait anymore for the battle to start. Why should he wait for the enemy to lumber their way to him? That would deny him space for strategic maneuvering.


    Taking the initiative then, he ran straight into the field. He clutched his simple saber with both hands as he charged into the first automotron. Up close, he saw the wooden soldiers as lifeless as any inanimate object: pungent sorceries wafted off their cheaply hewn oaken bodies, Zan saw into its lifeless, featureless face. Emptiness.


    But that observation happened, seemingly in slow motion. Now, the battle was upon them when he brought his blade to bear after swooping in wide for a powerful swing.


    When the blade made contact, Zan did not feel the reverberations in his arm. He witnessed the manufactured soldier cleanly be cut in half.


    Instantly, the magics dissipated.


    With its severed half fallen back to the ground, and no more arcane energies flowing through its surprisingly empty form, the lower half of the automotron, containing its legs and part of its back and abdomen, fell forward, not unlike an improperly balanced weight. He glimpsed inside the wooden machine to see most of it hollow except for a few iron rods and copper pieces. Their function unknown and irrelevant, he pulled his attention away from the recently destroyed golem.


    He smirked, confidence roaring through his body, as he shouted, and brought himself upon the remaining three automotrons.


    Glancing sideways and seeing another scout patrol come upon them, he realized something: he had claimed his first kill.


    ----------


    Two remained. Four incoming.


    Zan called to Jiehong: "Got my first splinter! How ¡®bout you?¡±


    Smashing his gauntlets on his buckler, Zan heard Jiehong shout even though they were far away from each other. Jiehong yelled, ¡°Already have three! ¡ª Keep up!¡±


    Smiling, Zan redoubled himself: bringing his sword down in a curved arc, Zan cut cleanly in half another automotrons. Sidestepping its jagged remains, Zan brought his sword up, then down, in a similar cutting motion, cleanly severing the fourth automotrons head from its shoulders. Alas, Zan had to then stab several times its still functioning wooden body as ¡ª evidently ¡ª slicing the head did not matter to lifeless war-machines.


    Looking at the destroyed automotrons, Zan saw four fallen enemies.


    He swelled with pride.


    Four foes ¡ª four invaders from beyond the borders ¡ª and they were dead before him. Slaughtered by his blade. Him.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    It was an unusual feeling. Knowing he handled the defense of his homeland in such a visceral way. Images of grand rewards fluttered through Zan¡¯s youthful imagination.


    Yet setting his sights on the next group of four enemies ¡ª and another group further beyond them ¡ª Zan realized he had broken a sweat.


    Physically willing to fight until his body broke down, Zan realized his spirit outweighed the capacity of his muscles to keep him up. Zan knew he would fight until he physically couldn¡¯t, but with more foes weighing down upon him, he wondered, before they arrived, could he rest his legs?


    Yes, he could. So that¡¯s what he did. Rested on his haunches. His sword plotted into the ground tip-first, his hand on the pommel. He did not for long. Only a minute, if that. Just enough time to give him back an ounce of stamina.


    Although Zan was ready for the battle to last all night, he had to be smart if he wanted to live. Automotrons like these were the most basic infantryman of the Wooden Expanse. Seeing their ultra-sharp scimitars plopped and glued into their hands, though, he reminded himself how easily his life would bleed away if one of those blades caught him on a slow buckler draw.


    Looking over to where his best mate Jiehong was fighting, he saw an impressive physical display. Powerful smashes, brutal kicks, and the finesse of a dancer all rolled into one. Jiehong was an impressive specimen of a man. Someday, he would make something great out of himself. "Trying to make me fly into a rage so I de-comm more of them?" Zan yelled to his brother. He received no response. Which was fine. He had yelled it more for sportsmanship in battle than anything else.


    Rest is over, Zan thought. With the next detachment of wooden soldiers upon him and seeing another couple emerge from the woods, Zan had to take action if he wanted to keep up with Jiehong. Drawing himself from his quasi-sitting position, he grabbed hold of his sword''s handle and worked it from the soil with a single yank.


    Practically flying into the next automotron group, the leader''s melee attack he easily blocked. He heaved his blade back and stabbed the leader through its head, splinters and shards of wood flying out, covering the ground with a sawdust strangely reminiscent of blood. He slammed his body into the next automotron. He sent it to the ground where a few hacks to its blubbering form made quick work of it. The third golem he attacked from its side with a similarly powerful stab; unlike that first golem, however, this golem resisted destruction with a stab -- its abdomen, clearly, a position where no valuable magical interfaces existed. He finished it by yanking hard on his sword and vertically cleaving the soldier in half from its side straight through its head. The final golem of the group he torched with a flame attack.


    Outrunning himself, he thrashed his body into another group of automotrons. He slew this new group using the same strategies as the first group. By the time he ended them, and resumed his resting haunch, the battle had become (for him) practically routine.


    It was a lie, of course.


    Already, he was feeling mighty tired.


    As a youngling, Zan knew many of the people from his town. Yet some villagers lacked a certain connecting thread to them and Zan never learned who they were¡­ an older man to his side, fighting as valiantly as any man half his age, and who must have seen him at rest, yelled to Zan. "Don''t burn yourself out, lad!" The man then sprinted close to Jiehong where Zan saw his mouth move a mile-a-minute.


    He did not know how the old man knew the Woodland Expanse''s battle tactics. Perhaps he was insane? But Zan smiled his way to be polite while bearing his thumbs in an ''up'' and positive gesture. Turning to Jiehong, who had turned to Zan in a similar state of confusion, likely in curiosity at what the man was going on about, simply shrugged his shoulders, clearly not knowing who the man was either, despite the man''s intentions on lecturing them both.


    Not having the time to think about the man, however, the situation forced him to bear his attention back to the battle. He had oak automotrons to slay!


    And with many sword slashes and slices, half of which were experimental ¡ª he found himself taking a martial delight in slaying the invading, and relatively speaking, low-threat golems. He continued to destroy many. Several hours from whence the battle began, the field between the lumberyard and the town became strewn with the wooden dead.


    Checking along the perimeter using his seeing lens, he saw the line had held! People, then turned as smudges in the distance, lined the circumference of the small town. None of the enemy managed to break through!


    He darted his gaze nervously to the sky. Still no slipstream. What gives!?


    Sometimes the gods could be finicky with their blessings. Now was one such time. Without the slipstream, prolonged magic use was impossible. And some magic was definitely needed. Much of his magical reserve had drained by now through either natural evaporation through his skin or through his limited magical use while deployed against the enemy. Nice as the Slipstream would be, he had no time to dwell on what would be nice.


    Screaming while he surged forward, he felt a jolt of adrenaline enter his consciousness for, if not the first time in his life, then for the only time he could recall in recent memory. The adrenaline gave him a second edge. Crucially, this was what he needed as he was now at the point where his legs felt heavy and weighed down as though stuck in mud.


    Having finished a group of the soldiers off, he rested on his haunches in the now familiar stance. Sweat poured from his face. Seeing the next few groups of enemy soldiers'' approach, Zan realized he wasn¡¯t ready. Not yet. So, he¡­ retreated. But only by a slight distance further to the trench line. A few (dozen) steps, at most. With the energy he would gain from letting himself rest longer, he would make short work of the automotrons. They wouldn¡¯t have any chance to screw around with the village.


    And as he thought, it was so. He did, in fact, slay the group of approaching golems. As well as the one after that. And that...


    Several squads of golems later. however, and he again felt the sting of not feeling battle ready when the golems neared.


    Panting, soaked with sweat, it was now when Zan felt a twinge of fear.

 Chapter 3

    Fear? ha! Zan dismissed his ¡®twinge of fear¡¯ as nothing more than nerves. Of course, he knew, in truth, why he felt the fear: tiredness.


    It was his first battle, after all. He had worked nearly a full day before the battle started. The weight of the world already hung at his shoulders.


    Indomitable thought he felt, he kept in his mind¡¯s light the tiredness of his body and how he was not actually invincible. "I will die like any other man if the enemy lands a strike," he reminded himself.


    Pushing through, Zan continued to fight. Using fewer flourishes ¡ª like that fancy downward slash of his, which consumed a lot of stamina and usually involved a jump ¡ª Zan managed to eke out more combat efficiency. Power-slash, sidestep, breathe, hack-one-hack-two-hack-three. Repeat. Group killed. Next ¡ª Hack. Repeat.


    ¡°Any update about the village? What the heck¡¯s taking them so long?!¡± he yelled to anyone who was within earshot.


    Near to him but busily engaged with the vile machines, he saw Jiehong. Even from his distance, Zan saw how his friend was being worn down.


    Looking to the field, he saw more groups of enemies appear¡­ a lot more.


    ¡®Holy shet,¡¯ Zan muttered. ¡®I didn¡¯t realize how many there were. It¡¯s like an army.¡¯


    Well, makes sense there is an army here. It¡¯s an invasion, is it not? Regardless, he thought, he did not consider the Expanse sending what appeared to be a whole army. He assumed this was a splinter from the main force, not the main force itself! Yet maybe I am right: maybe, even as large as the force looks, it is nothing more than a splinter? The idea that a force of this size could be a splinter terrified him.


    Though tired, his will to fight refused shuddering nonesuch. Until he saw a new enemy golem, that is.


    It looked like all the other golems, but this enemy had its upper body painted red.


    What did that mean?


    He soon found out.


    ----------


    Zan fought steadily through the approaching groups of golem-automotrons. But with so many in their number and his indomitability gradually chipping away, the normally short battle duration for each group swelled to grotesque proportions. He took several times as long to do away with a group. By the time he diced his way to the group led by the red-half golem, he had broken more than a sweat. He nearly had broken his bones while taking some blows by the wayward axes of some of his misshapen foes.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Focusing more on the red golem at first, Zan switched tactics. He destroyed the regular golems once he saw the new golems had been none different in terms of speed or battle style. He slew its compatriots, swelling with newfound energy, short-lived as he knew it would be, then focused on the new red-painted automotron.


    Dishing out his power-attacks once again, Zan saw himself shocked for how he felt upon hearing how the new golem withstood the mighty blows from his blade; a blade, he reluctantly recognized, might have dulled with the use he had been putting it through over the last few hours.


    Slashing at the golem while holding his ground, Zan finally figured out why the new golem was so impervious. ¡®It had a protective coating!¡¯ Zan realized.


    What did that mean for him? The answer came to him as plainly as possible ¡ª it meant he had to devise a new battle strategy and in a hurry!


    He could do nothing, though! If the coating was over its whole body, then ¡ª ¡®wait!¡¯ Zan shouted to himself. ¡®I don¡¯t know it¡¯s over the whole body. I have only been attacking the upper-chest area since it is the easiest to hit normally. What if I attack its lesser parts?¡¯


    Doing just that, he brought his blade swiftly across the golem¡¯s top, decapitating the ugly red painted drone.


    As with the previous time he beheaded a golem, though, the attack did not, by itself, disable the automotron. So Zan had to dish out more damage; he drawed from deep within himself to continue the fight and from the fact he damaged the new foe. But what next? ¡®The legs!¡¯ he thought. Circling around the golem too fast for it to respond, and therefore react to his attack, Zan crouched low and brought his blade clean across the golem¡¯s one-step, two-step mockery of legs.


    His intuition had been right! The legs, flimsy, wooden, for some reason, not reinforced, buckled, and allowed his blade to slice clean through.


    Collapsing, Zan moved out of the way by a dodging roll. With aplomb, the golem fell to the earth, lifeless. He raised himself to a standing position and wiped the sweat from his brow. He did it! He killed the tough, new golem!


    ¡°Behind you!¡± a voice yelled. Jiehong?


    He turned and saw another red golem upon him. Not just the one golem, he realized, but a whole group of them!


    CRAP!


    Zan tripped over himself and fell as he attempted to get himself into a proper defensive position. Being momentarily frozen in panic, he watched helplessly as Jiehong came to the rescue. He slammed and hurled the golems about like they were nothing, crushing even the red golem¡¯s reinforced hull like it was nothing more than a tin can from a merchant cart.


    Helping Zan up, Jiehong embraced him, and gave his buddy a friendly pat on the back, encouraging him to keep his guard up. ¡°You were so focused on fighting that one group, you didn¡¯t realize others were on you!¡± Jiehong explained, unnecessarily, Zan thought. He knew his mistake: ¡°Sorry,¡± Zan replied. ¡°I am getting tired¡­¡±


    ¡°We all are¡­¡± Jiehong lamented. But with nothing more needing to be said, Jiehong gave a pained expression, then barreled on back to his own position along the town''s perimeter. "Duty calls!"


    Seeing another enemy squad approach, and another, and another, Zan thought of anything he could do to turn the battle to his favor. Nothing came to mind. The arena was barren. It was just a field without any intriguing qualities.


    Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword arm, wobbly as though it be, and prepared to fight despite the unwelcome state of his weapon. Dulled, bent, even, the sword would not be providing anymore quality service. Which meant he would have to try twice ¡ª nay ¡ª three times as hard for the same effect.


    Huffing, Zan wondered if it could get any worse.


    Of course, the answer was ¡®yes,¡¯ much worse, in fact.

 Chapter 4 (Advancement: Fire Sword)

    A bolt of lightning split the air, followed by thunder that resonated throughout the horizon. Rain came next which fell like bricks from a besieged castle. Gentle though the downpour was, its constancy would dampen the battlefield, providing ample opportunities for slippage on both sides if one wasn''t careful.


    It was now when the enemy played their trump card.


    Rolling out of the woods all over the front, like titans, came war-machines.


    Primarily made of wood, one could see metallic parts glinting between flashes of thunder, like talons on an eagle. ¡®What were those?¡¯ Zan asked himself.


    Returning to battle, he tried his failing best to not become overwhelmed. The older man next to him, who had mentioned the supposed battle tactics of the Expanse earlier, spoke again. He said, ¡°Those are troop carriers! If you get close, you will see a mounted cannon on front. It has a pathetic range, but don¡¯t get right in front of it! It will blow you to pieces!¡±


    Good information to know, Zan thought. Rationally.


    The rational side of him was not the one who gave the old man a reasoned response. Unfortunately.


    Panicked, Zan instead screamed, ¡°And how are we supposed to fight that?!¡±


    The man shrugged. He simply said, ¡°Fire?¡±


    Fire.


    Fire¡­?


    That¡¯s not a half-bad idea, actually! Zan realized.


    ¡®But how?¡¯ he muttered. He knew how to start a fire. But in this rain? Building a fire was not¡­ wait! Thunder roared. Seconds later, lightning crackled. It was as though the gods answered his hurried prayers ¡ª a tree near the town line burst into flame after being struck by a blast of ultra-fine electricity.


    He grimaced and bolted to and behind the tree at his back: "There''s my fire source. Blessed be to me the tree is not among the enemy!"


    Skidding to a jumping halt just before he crashed into the tree -- the newly formed mud on the ground making such a slide easy -- he brandished his roughed-up sword and smacked his blade into the roaring flame of the smoldering tree. Pain racked Zan''s whole arm at once as fire lapped away at his skin. Luckily, he did not keep his blade in for long.


    Withdrawing his enflamed blade from the grievously wounded tree, he saw how his blade now shined with dancing fire.


    This will light ¡®em up! Shrieking with adrenaline-bound glee as he braced himself, ready to use his new weapon, he stood his ground -- his body a fortress against the invading horde. The wicked automotrons might have forced the defensive line back a few paces, but it was he who would ensure their defensive line ¡ª cannon-on-wheels or no!


    To test his new weapon, Zan stepped to the automotrons next on his killing docket. Whilst in a strong stride, he allowed the golems to encircle him; acting upon instinct once the golems sufficiently surrounded him, he spun his blade in a whirling motion, setting fire to all four automotrons at once.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    With one group now totally annihilated, he stepped to the next cluster.


    Repeating the same strategy, another group, which included another reinforced golem painted red, burned to cinders. Zan knew it was ordinary fire, so how the automotrons could burn so fast was a mystery, but one he loved. With eight automotrons now slain in rapid succession, he yelled to anyone who could hear, ¡°Light your swords on FIIIIIIRE!¡± Did he sound like a madman? Yes. But what something ¡®sounded¡¯ like in war was irrelevant.


    Whether the other stalwart defenders of the village heard his words, who could say. Not he, who continued his part without the luxury of knowing if the others picked up on what he was laying down¡­ tactics wise.


    Ahead, more automotrons approached.


    Several succeeding automotron formations faced fates similar to the previous clusters. So quick were their destruction, Zan rescued himself from energy debt. He also waded into nearby enemy clusters, destroying them, and helping to give his fellow tonfolk some much needed breathing room.


    With the battle¡¯s tide now turned -- thanks, in part, to his mad screaming about fire -- he could now see several other fighters igniting their blades. Soon, their advance became a general counter-offensive.


    One which even the enemy''s armored troop carrier could not halt.


    Seeing the self-propelled vehicle lumber slowly on the rough ground, Zan pushed all his stamina to his legs. Without meandering groups of automotrons assailing his part of the defensive line, he could reinvest his health into outfoxing that war-type.


    Standing behind the cannon-blasting, smoke-clogging contraption, he saw a basic wooden exhaust pipe hanging under the back edge of the device. Will it work if I stick my blade up in there? Choosing to act, he stuck his still fiery blade up the rear exhaust port!


    His intuition proved right. The vehicle caught itself aflame in a blink. The rapidity at which the vehicle broke down impressed him. One minute, normal, clunking around on iron-rimmed wheels. The next? Searing fire baked the sky.


    Stupidly, Zan tried to retrieve his blade, but the ripping hotness lashing out at every step proved too much for Zan¡¯s idealistic hopes.


    Now I don¡¯t have a weapon¡­ Shet! What was I thinking?!


    Glimpsing the non-stop advance of allied squads, yet lacking even a basic weapon himself, the enemy forced Zan to retreat to friendly lines. The others have adapted. They¡¯re leading the charge now. I played my role, he said to himself.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, buddy? Oh, no sword¡­!¡± Jiehong said, taking a breather from the fight to check in on his friend.


    ¡°Yeah. Lost it in that grand action. Did you see?¡± Zan replied between panting.


    In the background, the thunder and lightning worsened. Sporadic booms turned more frequent. Rain fell.


    Then a bell rang from the village square, loud enough for every defender to hear.


    ¡°Everyone has gone, now, youngling!¡± the old man fighter shouted.


    Running close to him, the old man said, much more softly, ¡°Prepare to withdraw!¡±


    Taking the moment of relative privacy to confide in the older man, feeling suddenly safe in his elderly presence, Zan said, ¡°I¡¯m so tired. But also, so wound up!¡±


    ¡°Keep holding on tight, lad. You¡¯ve fought well!¡± The man smiled. ¡°Hold the line for me while I check in with the village. Look! The Slipstream is coming out!¡±


    Looking at the sky, he saw the storm rage, but now there was a mighty river of colors and vibrant hues flowing through the sky. The old man handed him his personal sword, then rushed off toward the village center, his body belaying a speed people would not expect from a senior.


    Focused not on the man anymore, he gazed at the Slipstream. Plant-esque, in a photosynthesis like way, he felt the magic again flow through his veins. He felt renewed. With hope, if not exactly energy.


    To his front, he saw more groups of soldiers than ever emerge from the forest and lumberyard. Many red-painted goons with a detachment of troop transport vehicles appeared on the horizon. Had the old man not given him his own weapon, Zan would''ve been in a poor situation.


    On the tree line, the wooden foe massed for a concentrated assault. Additional enemy groups filled the horizon. It was going to be quite the battle -- if they lived!


    Breathing heavily, he stuck his blade into the ground, crouched to one knee, and waited for the enemy to come.


    With magic in his body once more, he would show them the might of a desperate warrior defending his homeland. And he would do so with a vengeance!

 Chapter 5 (New Threat: Troop Transport)

    Whirl-plop!


    That was the sound Zan heard time over time.


    Whirl-plop!


    It was the sound of the wooden machines as they lifted their legs and stepped forward. Practically silent in small groups, with dozens of them advancing, the sound came to define Zan¡¯s struggle ¡ª whirl-plop!


    The sound only helped him. It forced him to focus on the enemy. Absorb magic from the slipstream.


    Whirl-plop; whirl-plop; whirl-plop.


    ¡®They¡¯re getting closer,¡¯ he thought.


    With several transport vehicles ¡ª holding, likely, dozens more troops ¡ª and them nearly upon him, he steadied himself. If he was going to survive this, and not become flattened by a vehicle¡¯s treads or get pummeled to death by their primitive blunt and bladed weapons, he was going to need his wits.


    Whirl-plop¡­


    Fighting broke out among the enemy and the human defenders. Waiting till the last second before he started his offensive, he waited until the enemy was too close for comfort. Easy to do on a battlefield.


    Whirl-plop: ¡®That¡¯s it!¡¯ he gleaned the moment and struck!


    Roaring a deep breath of magified air into his lungs, Zan stood up, then stood his ground.


    Lashing out with his arms, Zan held his hands in front of him. He concentrated. He focused his mind. Then, it happened.


    Lapping tongues of flame burst forth from his flat, steady palms. Using the blast to his advantage, he covered the entire space toward his front. He used the puttering force of the outburst to reach even one of the troop transports, setting it aflame. Dozens more automotrons tasted the heat of his fury, their interrupted advance turned to a route.


    He held steady and nearly shot back with the force of the magical eruption. But he had practiced for this moment, so he knew what he was doing. What he lacked in refined blade movement he more than made up for with magic -- whether Jiehong could see that or not was yet to remain seen; of course, even this was in thanks to his brother, Jiehong, who had taught him late during many an uneventful evening. Now, if only he had confidence in him!


    Stopping his outpouring suddenly, he controlled and pulled himself back: he had shot for nearly thirty continuous seconds. Not only was performing magic this way extremely draining ¡ª already, at least half of his magical output potential had vanished ¡ª it was also ill-advised. Practically everyone, with slight exception for those exceptionally talented or trained individuals, had only so much potential use per day for their magical practice. Tactical application of one''s magical energies, then, became the domain of savvy and thoroughgoing living. But even the most sublime magical strategist was at least partially dependent on how long per day the Slipstream was out. Wonderous as his display had been, he chided himself for enacting magic with such irresponsibility; if I try and do that area-attack again, with the magical fire, I am going to catch an episode of mana sickness.


    Although he liked the devastation stemming from his and his allies¡¯ magical use, with many fires splitting the battlefield, defining the perimeter of engagement, even, he felt an early warning sign of the sick when he realized how defocused and confused, he was. He tried to focus, then his mind wandered; he tried to search for the old man to see if he was okay. Trudging along and claiming the lives of the unfortunate soldiers who were becoming trapped and overwhelmed by the enemy horde, he became hyper-aware. The responsibility of holding a defensive line with only the barest magical and bladed training was getting to him and a slow panic built. Seeing the damage he had inflicted on the enemy buoyed his spirit, sure, but after each victory came another battle, one harder than the last, and so he knew he would eventually meet his match. If this engagement dragged endlessly on all of them would be killed.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Stepping to one of the many fires throughout the battlefield, he placed the old man¡¯s sword into one of the ripping flames. With his enhanced weapon again in hand, Zan pressed his advantage while he still could move. Advancing steadily into the fray, using the wreckage of a troop transport as cover, despite his shaky legs, he forged a path around and to another troop transport.


    All troop transports had ground protection, it seemed, to him by at least one squad of ground soldiers. Despite sweating profusely, and his haggard breathing, he wiped out the soldiers, though not with the handy-spinning attack which so effectively destroyed the previous groups. Tiring, his limbs slowed, and his energy reserves dwindled to a pale comparison of what they were at the start of the fight.


    Although he ¡®killed¡¯ many wooden golems, he did so with many more hacking motions than he would have preferred. By the time he arrived behind the transport ¡ª and had to act fast, he realized, at seeing the doors open ¡ª he slammed his flaming blade into the exhaust pipe; learning from his previous mistake, he swiftly withdrew the sword.


    Catching the result of his heroism, the fire colonized the vehicle''s body with stunning haste, burning it to cinders along with the sickly looking oak automotrons within.


    "Crap! My blade''s flame is out!" he spoke to himself. He searched for a new fire source to ignite his weapon again. Fluster beset him.


    On the verge of hyper-ventilating, a nearby troop transport redirected away from Jiehong¡¯s location to him, perhaps seeing his reaver-like ability to destroy and becoming worried over the danger he could pose if left unchecked. Its blasting cannon screamed murder as it drove toward him. Though every blast fell short of Zan, he stumbled backward in a rushed retreat, feeling a genuine danger from knowing he was within range of one of those cannons. If he didn''t move his arse and now, he would be (literally) blown to pieces.


    Because most flames of a magical disposition were short-lived, he used a precious amount of his remaining magical reserve to light his blade, once he took cover behind a pile of automotrons killed by conventional means and not the all-consuming magical flame which rendered automotron frames to ashes.


    Hyperventilating, he outright panicked. He needed someone to help him. Anyone.


    He¡­ words failed him. His heart beat so hard, he thought it would burst.


    ¡°Help¡­!¡± he tried to say, though what came out he couldn''t say, except for the fact it made no sense. He babbled. What was happening? Was this mana sickness or a panic attack?!


    Hearing explosions dot the distance, he wondered what fresh oblivion awaited him.


    Ducking a kneeling glance, he saw enemy vehicles advance. It wasn¡¯t within range yet. But it would be soon. What was he to do?!


    To his left, squads upon squads of enemies. To his right, the same sight.


    He saw his friend struggling with the many automotrons assaulting him; as were the other defenders of the line who, despite their courage, were incrementally overpowered and pushed back. "This must be how the enemy operates," he told himself. Send wave after wave of soldiers, amass for attacks, and gradually increase the pressure, wearing the enemy down.


    BOOM! Another blast, but this one came from the ever-closer vehicle in front of him. It had him in its sights. If he didn¡¯t move now, he would be a goner!


    Forcing himself into a run, despite his heaving chest, he threw caution to the wind once he saw how the wind itself was on fire, metaphorically speaking. This forced measure gaze him the incentive he needed to rush out from cover despite the terror coursing through him. Running behind the vehicle, slashing wildly at several squads of golems attempting to obstruct his progress, he was about to lunge and slam his blade into the vehicle¡¯s exhaust pipe when¡ª


    Everything stopped.

 Chapter 6

    What happened? Zan didn¡¯t know. All he knew was he was on his knees, vomiting.


    He expected the vehicle¡¯s back doors to open, disgorging the automotrons within so they might surround and beat him to death.


    But they never did.


    Instead, the vehicle accelerated and turned around. He realized with horror what was about to happen ¡ª they wanted to blast him to dust with their front cannon!


    ¡®MOVE!¡¯ he willed his legs, but he couldn¡¯t stand up, no matter how hard he tried.


    Moving into position to end him, he thought it might be the end when, out of the blue, Jiehong came to his rescue!


    Screaming with everything he had, Jiehong used his massive muscles to lift the transport vehicle, causing its cannon to fire into the ground instead of at Zan. Although he wanted to flee, his body still would not let him, and the impact blast sent him flying.


    Skidding brutally to a stop, reality swirled before him. He stood up, though promptly fell back down. He could barely breathe. Barely think. Thoughts, sights, sounds all fused together. Unbeknownst to him, tears flew from his face.


    ¡°I got ya, buddy¡ª¡± Jiehong said as he grabbed and moved him. Dragging him away from the front, but luckily when the next wave of enemies had not yet reached fighting distance, Jiehong plopped him down closer to the village boundary. Beyond them he hazily watched as an inferno consumed the lumber yard. Watching as it burned, only one thought came to Zan''s mind: I spent my whole life working there. And now it''s gone...


    It looked like Jiehong was about to say something when the old man returned.


    ¡°We have to leave, now!¡± the old man said. Continuing, the elder said, ¡°The town''s packed their crap! We''re heading along the road to a refugee camp. We need to provide protection!¡±


    Jiehong nodded ¡ª or the world swerved in such a way as to mimic nodding ¡ª and with him in tow, Jiehong carried him underneath his arms like a sack of flour.


    Blubbering incoherently, he gradually recovered his wits as his limp body saw itself be carried by his brother. Seeing the enemies in the distance gradually shrink, he wanted nothing more than to continue the fight. He couldn¡¯t, though, he knew this. The day had taken everything from him; if he didn¡¯t rest, he would fade.


    Not realizing he fell asleep, he woke on the back of someone¡¯s wagon.


    ¡°Ah, the hero comes to!¡± the old man from the front said to him.


    He said nothing. His mouth was dry. He needed water. Confused, he asked what happened.


    ¡°Here you go, lad. You look thirsty with those chapped lips,¡± the man said, handing him a bottle of water.


    Mouthing a ¡®thank you,¡¯ he took the canteen and drank from it with a hearty thirst. He gulped several times before stopping.


    ¡°D-did we win?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°The battle¡¯s over. You performed excellently! You reminded me of¡­ well, me! When I was younger, of course,¡± the old man said, laughing.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He wanted to ask the old man who he was, but what came out of his mouth was, ¡®Where is Jiehong?¡¯


    ¡°Oh, Jiehong is near the front. Leading the caravan. What a man that boy is! He must make his parents proud!¡±


    Although the old man was not wrong ¡ª Jiehong was, in fact, a wonderful young person ¡ª his praise at his friend caused a mild pang in his heart. Zan did not have parents. He didn¡¯t have a family. No one said or would say such things about him.


    He tried to move himself, but his muscles were tired, so they raged against him.


    Groaning, he tried again.


    Placing a hand on his should thereby suggesting he should continue to rest, the old man was forceful when he needed to; and though he appreciated the old man¡¯s gesture of food when he offered some dried meats and cheese to him, it also made him feel infantilized being doted over.


    He just couldn¡¯t win.


    An hour turned to nearly three, and he jumped off the wagon with his belly full of food and water. He thanked the old man, to which the old man acknowledged with a tip of his beautiful feather hat; had he always had such a beautiful hat? he wondered. Who was this man? Few villagers had luxuries like this old man had¡­


    The walk to the head of the caravan was a shorter parade than he expected, which made his heart feel heavier than it ought to feel ¡ª everyone in his life, everyone he knew, huddled up in a quaint two-dozen strong carriage row. Reality did not reflect the chaos which dwelled in his heart.


    He approached the caravan''s front. He soon found his brother with some town leaders.


    ¡°Hey, where are our parents?¡± he asked.


    ¡°There you are!¡± Jiehong explained. ¡°I am happy you woke up. The old fella took care of you, I see. Good! What an asset he was on the battlefield.¡±


    Not able to remember if he watched the old man fight, his focus had been on not dying. But he took Jiehong¡¯s word for it all the same. The old man was interesting, for sure.


    ¡°Where are we heading?¡± he said, still regaining his wits.


    ¡°To a far-away refugee camp. Near the capital, I think,¡± Jiehong said.


    "So, the town was lost?" he asked.


    "Yeah. Soon after you lost consciousness the horde became too much. Those huge four-legged machines, the Walkers, appeared. We couldn''t handle their powerful flame crests."


    Looking over the horizon, he saw in the distance other caravans of people fleeing from their own horrors. He wondered how many people died; it was impossible to know without a headcount. Still, he kept hope in his heart no one from his village died. The villages next to his, though? He could not say if they all made it...


    But he pushed those darker thoughts from his mind.


    He did not know the casualties, so far, and the fact was, he would not know. Not unless he was an official Royal Tabulator.


    ¡°Wild, huh?¡± was all he could say.


    ¡°Yeah. You can say that again¡­ you fought well, Zan. Super courageous. If you hadn¡¯t thought of that fire and blade trick, not sure what we would have done. Same with the tailpipe on the end of those machines. You were the hero today,¡± Jiehong said, lavishly praising him for the first time in his life. Well, maybe not the first, but the first of such praise being both warranted and of a mature nature.


    Praise like that caused him to light up red. In a good way.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± was all he said.


    ¡°Do you think we will ever see peace?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Haha, of course we will! The war is just a temporary setback to the whole peace-thing. We¡¯ll be sitting back, fishing, and joshing around before you know it," Jiehong said, attempting to keep the mood light. "We have to find somewhere safe, first. A city but we won''t be able to live there freely. We won''t be able to resist joining the royal army, if you know what I mean."


    The caravan went unmolested through the road, tearing up dirt. Ahead of the enemy''s advance they might be for the time being, he knew if they did not continue their accelerated pace day and night, the enemy would overwhelm them eventually. Listening to Jiehong speak, he read between the lines. When they got to the refugee camp, the powers-that-be would likely draft them into the army.


    Which was¡­ fine? He did not know. He wanted to fight, obviously. He wanted to defend his homeland. But the thought of also endlessly fighting as part of a unit did not seem appealing. The notion made Zan feel unnerved. Even if it also excited him, somehow, as it signaled the start of a new world.


    Yet such matters were far off. They wouldn¡¯t arrive at the camp for days, if not longer. In the meantime, he would have oodles of pontification moments.


    Any such quiet moments of reflection, however, would have to wait.


    Ahead of him, another caravan, larger by several orders of magnitude than their own caravan, exploded into flames.

 Chapter 7 (New Threat: Walker)

    ¡°What should we do?!¡± Zan asked at a loss.


    Ahead of them a caravan burned. Explosions ripped up the ground, pods dispensing automotrons. Had they been ejected from some huge, unseen machine in the sky? He did not know.


    Jiehong froze and muttered something about asking the village leaders, but they only shook their heads. Had they given up hope?


    From the tree line ahead emerged a massive four-legged steam-powered entity. Its height pierced above the height of even the trees and by several heads at that. How are we going to survive that?


    Over several minutes, he, along with everyone else, could only stare in bewildered defeat. It was impossible, everyone seemed to say.


    ¡°Should we turn back?¡± Jiehong asked the elders.


    But none of the elders had a word for the current situation. It was beyond them. Though one did sputter, ¡°we can¡¯t retreat. The enemy is coming from the direction we came!¡±


    ¡°So, if we can¡¯t retreat, and we can¡¯t go forward, then we¡­¡± Jiehong tried to tease out the answer.


    ¡°Die,¡± an elder said. ¡°We will die.¡±


    Hearing an elder speak so frankly of their situation, especially after they had just fought so hard to keep themselves, he exploded, though with fury, not from a wayward blast. ¡°I refuse!¡± Zan shouted.


    Angrily marching back along the caravan column, he sought the old man and asked for his blade. ¡°More threats already?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°What else?¡± Zan replied dispassionately.


    Grumbling comedically ¡ª where he fit in one too many grunts and asides about his ex-wife for it to be non-comedic ¡ª the old man brought Zan his blade. ¡°Be careful with it, now,¡± the old man cautioned. ¡°I know you youngsters are apt to break everything, even swords. And this was gifted to me a long time ago by a great warrior, so I will be upset if it¡¯s shattered any way except from an over-the-top encounter!¡±


    ¡°Encounter?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Oh, you know¡­ like¡­ that?¡± the old man said, showing the four-legged machine blasting up dirt over yonder.


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Zan replied, still not really understanding where the old guy was going.


    Moments later, the man placed the sword into Zan¡¯s hand. ¡°Best of luck,¡± he said.


    Rushing back to the front of the caravan, Zan told Jiehong and the other village leaders he wasn¡¯t going down without a fight. ¡°My life doesn¡¯t end here! If I am to die, let it be with honor!¡± And he rushed toward the gigantic enemy war-machine.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    What the heck am I doing?! He asked himself. I am going to get squished. Like a freaking tick under thumb!


    Not letting his imminent death get in the way, however, he ran toward the walking weapon, though now he shifted slightly to the right to avoid its attention. He still didn¡¯t have a strategy, but at least knew enough about basic tactics to try and get behind the enemy; with an adversary this big, he thought, it probably has a lot of blind spots.


    Keeping in the tall grass, it was easy enough for Zan to get close to the machine. Near to the machine as he was, he saw how every slight movement elicited a groaning noise as steampipes and reinforced (but strangely soggy looking) wood worked together to terrify. What was he to do?


    ¡°Finally caught up to you!¡± a voice said.


    Turning suddenly with sword in hand, he was ready to fight for his life.


    It was only Jiehong. He should have known ¡ª since when did the enemy talk?


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you¡­ decided to join me in death?¡± he asked.


    ¡°So pessimistic. But yeah. We¡¯ve done everything else together, why not die together too? If we can help it, though, we might want to figure a way to live¡­ I have my family to look after, after all, and you have figuring out where your parents went off to, assuming they¡¯re alive. So, thoughts?¡± Jiehong replied, his warm tone of voice pulling a chuckle and a thin smile from Zan. Jiehong always knew what to say.


    ¡°We could¡­ try to climb the machine? Maybe find a weak point and sabotage it?¡± Zan wondered aloud.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ although that¡¯s probably the best idea we have, I see nothing to climb on to. And what would be the weak point?¡± Jiehong asked.


    He couldn''t think of anything as a response. He saw no handholds, neither anything like an obvious weak point. ¡°Is steam combustible?¡± He asked.


    ¡°No idea¡­¡± Jiehong replied.


    So much for that idea. Besides, did he really want to use his little remaining magical energy on a fruitless endeavor, trying in vain to get steam to combust? It sounded like a futile end in his opinion.


    He felt pathetic. He knew nothing. He was just a kid. A kid with a pointy stick.


    For several minutes, Zan and Jiehong remained frozen in the tall grass. They watched the machine dominate the countryside. In the distance, they saw groups of enemy soldiers. And more coming. Zan realized if they didn¡¯t do something soon, if the machine wouldn¡¯t kill them, the incoming enemy would.


    Suddenly, seeing an odd behavior from the machine, he asked, ¡°What is it doing?¡±


    Jiehong replied and asked, ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Look! I thought something was weird with it. It isn¡¯t going anywhere. It is just blasting up dirt in this meadow. Shouldn¡¯t it be advancing along the front to some big city or something?¡± Zan clarified.


    ¡°I guess¡­?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°But we don¡¯t know the purpose of this machine. Sure, it looks like a siege engine, but we don¡¯t know the enemy¡¯s strategy, here, or even what the specific purpose of this machine even is¡­¡±


    Observing the machine for a while longer while keeping their eyes peeled on how close the oncoming enemies were to their position, he and Jiehong waited.


    Moving up ahead, to a zone recently blasted by the machine, he asked Jiehong to search the area for anything of interest.


    Did he think there was something here which would prove useful in their defense? Not really. But he had to cling to something.


    Ouch! He yelped. His foot stubbed on something.


    Crouching down, Zan investigated what he found.


    Peeling back the layers of earth, Zan found a way stone. One of the ancient lodestones of older society. An old druid''s tool, way stones functioned both mysteriously and pragmatically. What this one held -- boons or dooms -- he did not know despite the fact way stones usually heralded blessings.


    ¡®What the heck does this do¡­?¡¯ He asked himself.


    It was then that the way stone gently pulsed with magical energy.


    Then he had an idea.

 Chapter 8

    It was an outlandish stunt, even by his standards, but Zan conjured up his younger trickster self and injected the old way stone with an amount of magical energy.


    What drove him to do so was beyond him. He ran at this point on pure instinct; the massive boom-boom-shock of the quadrupedal machine having already snuffed out Zan¡¯s fear of being squished, where he found courage anew to keep on fighting, he did not understand. All of what he knew to be important told him to imbue the stone with magic simply for no other reason than it was the only thing he could so¡­ he had no cannons or bombs or even arrows. His sword was merely one blade, and what could one blade do?


    He did not know it would work. But once the stone shone with a ferocious bright hue after so little energy, Zan knew something more was happening here than he knew.


    Looking at the machine towering over him like a god, he remembered its vicious blasting of the ground where he now stood. He considered: was the machine attacking the way stone? Why? The machine was only a stone¡¯s throw away from his and Jiehong¡¯s position. What is it doing? Is it.. yeah, it is. It¡¯s only blasting the one spot. Why¡­! Wait, could it be? Another way stone? He thought.


    Blissfully, the machine, moving at a pace even a snail would envy, made its way to another location within the meadow. Although the meadow was sizable by several miles, with the size of the machine, even a space as wide open as here, pristine nature seemed dwarfed.


    ¡°Why are we over here?¡± Jiehong asked, not picking up on Zan¡¯s idea right away.


    Zan was curious. Could there be here more than a single way stone? Searching hurriedly over the earth, they eventually found proof of another stone. Spending more of his magic, he gave the stone another small sum of his energy.


    ¡°I see! Do you know something about way stones I don¡¯t?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Not really! Just runnin¡¯ on instinct¡­ you don¡¯t know anything, do you?¡± Zan asked, hopeful and fearful: hopeful his brother could be helpful. Fearful they were making a huge mistake.


    ¡®No ¡ª nothing! I¡¯m,¡± but Jiehong grasped for words. Instead of finishing his thought he began a new one and said, ¡°Look behind us! We¡¯re not going to have time to finish imbuing these stones. The enemy¡¯s advance guard is almost here. If we stay here, we¡¯re dead!¡±


    Crocking his head for a quick turn, Zan saw what Jiehong meant ¡ª columns of enemy automotrons advanced along the middle of a nearby dirt road. A convoy of troop transports flanked each column. Jiehong was right ¡ª if they stayed here, they would die.


    Yet looking ahead, though the machine was slow, if they stuck to the tall grass and made their moves sparingly, they might stealthily pursue their ends.


    ¡°ZAN!¡± Jiehong urged in his ear.


    Finally relenting, he made a sudden decision. He told his brother to ¡°return to the convoy. Have them hide whatever they can along the tree line. Have them camouflage themselves, anything to minimize themselves. I will stay here and imbue the stones. You make sure the others get through this!¡±


    Jiehong made a disgruntled noise but took off toward the villagers.


    Staring at the war-machine and then the invading force to his back, he wondered what-in-the heck he was doing. It was crazy and he knew it!


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    But I have to do it, he thought. I have to! For my community, for my pride, for my home, and simply for my life! I have to do this!


    Heart blasting a beat louder than any bard troupe, he dug his hands into the dirt, clutching the soil. He had to hold on to something. The stress, the tenseness. He nearly was hyperventilating. But he had to hold. He had to hold! He told himself until the very words made him sick. And why wouldn¡¯t it make him sick? Everyone he ever knew might, just might, in the next few scenes of their lives, be slaughtered.


    Taking serendipitous glances toward the village convoy, Zan wished he had on him a spyglass. Something to see from long distances. Be it as things were, though, he had nothing but his imagination to know if people were dying or surviving. Any seeing lens from earlier had not survived the enemy, unfortunately.


    Wasting away in the tall grass for what seemed like forever, Zan heard the enemy column enter the meadow. Soon, they would overrun the place. I just hope they won¡¯t set up camp here¡­


    Keeping a tab on the giant armored machine, he saw his opening, and though many enemy troops milled in the area, the column had only just arrived in the meadow. Thus, Zan used the vastness of the meadow to his advantage while the enemy column did¡­ enemy things.


    Keeping low, he stalked the war-machine in the same way a kitten stalks its mother¡¯s tail. Seriously, but with limited pouncing power.


    Having inched his way to the spot where the machine sent up vast sums of earth in its attempt to destroy the way stone, he settled in low to the cratered soil. With no tall grass for cover, he would have to keep to the ground if he didn¡¯t want to be discovered. He had no clue what the visual range on these wooden golems was ¡ª probably not good! ¡ª but he couldn¡¯t take any chances right now by assuming they had crap for vision.


    Shuffling around the dirt for the way stone, Zan groaned at how deeply the dislodged dirt kept it buried. Scooping up piles of dirt with his shirt, he must have looked an awful mess if anyone had seen. But finding it after a solid five or more minutes of frenzied labor, Zan stuck his hand to the way stone and imbued it with magic.


    Crawling now to the next stone, Zan decided he couldn¡¯t wait for the war-machine.


    Seeing the armored column split into two new directions ¡ª both of which, blessed be! -- were nowhere near the village¡¯s convoy, he saw the danger recede. Good, obviously, he thought. It made his gambit easier. Or did until he saw part of the sub-convoy detach from one of the two new columns and start setting up an encampment around the meadow¡¯s perimeter. Not good!


    Not letting such matters slow him down, however, he made a break for the war-machine at a hobbled run. As he ran, he could only rapid-fire think, ¡®don¡¯t see me, don¡¯t see me, please don¡¯t see me!¡¯


    His target this time was not to make a break for the next stone. Not only was that suicide, considering the stone was suffering cannon after cannon blast. But without those blasts and the overturned earth marking the spot, Zan wouldn¡¯t be able to locate the way stone, anyway. The meadow was too large. Too filled with swaying plant-life.


    Instead, it was his prerogative to simply exist underneath the war engine. He would stay beneath its belly and hope to keep himself out of harm¡¯s way by remaining so close.


    In the shadows of the titan, he felt cooler now he was out of the hot sun.


    And so, he returned to his waiting, hearing only the musical cannon thunder as he waited, and saw the enemy slowly make up their encampment. Burning with indignation at not being able to assault the terribly slow automotron golems, although the golems setting up the camp were easy prey, too many of their friends filled the gap.


    As the minutes turned to a half-hour, which gave way to an hour and more, by Zan¡¯s guess, Zan lit up several more way stones.


    By the time the sixth stone lit up, Zan thought to himself, ¡®is this going to go on forever?! Am I wasting my time and putting my village¡¯s life in danger by doing this?!¡¯


    Before the answer revealed itself, though, a strange whirring sound emanated from the war engine. Zan did not know what it was doing. Searching the area? How many more stones are there?!


    ¡®I need to get out of here,¡¯ Zan thought. ¡®I¡¯ve wasted enough time on this freaking goose chase. If I hurry, maybe I can still die with my friend!¡¯


    As Zan was ready to leave the shadow of the beast, it shot a cannon blast.


    The blast impacted the road the village convoy was on. In the middle of the road, unharmed though she looked, was a little girl.

 Chapter 9 (Advancement: Command Center)

    Realizing what was about to happen, Zan¡¯s face drained of blood.


    ¡®Heartless! They would kill a child?! And with a cannon shell, too! Monsters!¡¯ He raged at no one except for the cruelty of the situation.


    Now, up and fully ready to commit to the battle ¡ª the many tedious of minutes of him lying in the tall grass trying to remain unseen, mildly restoring his energy reserves ¡ª he rushed to the little girl, then stopped. What am I going to do?! I can¡¯t fight this thing, I can¡¯t¡­ but I can swoop that girl into my arms and return her to the woods. If I don¡¯t get blasted apart in the process.


    Taking the risk, for it was the honorable thing to do, he pounded his legs at full blast. He gained an immense distance quickly. As he thought, though, the war engine was targeting him, the huge billows of earth falling upward, all the signal he needed to move his legs with all his life.


    Cursing with more eloquence than a sailor fighting a kraken on the high seas, he practically had his eyes closed, trusting his fate to the gods; he had to keep them closed as he ran, otherwise seeing the sums of earth dislodged, knowing that earth could have been his broken body, would have caused him to soil himself and pass out. Not an honorable way to go¡­


    With his eyes open, he saw he was about half-way through the gap, then he glimpsed something. Though only a moment¡¯s notice, it was enough time ¡ª he saw another way stone!


    His body reacted before he could even think of what he was doing; all thoughts of the kid, the war machine, even his own safety, went out the window. He reversed, practically leaped on the stone, and brought his hand to its surface, imbuing it with a generous amount of magic. Way stones were common in his region but not in others; imbuing them with magic often resulted in boons from the Gods. Or unexpected effects which usually aided the weary.


    A flash of light.


    This was all he remembered as he heard a loud sound explode from everywhere all at once.


    With no idea what it was or what it was about ¡ª the way stone? ¡ª he remained rooted in place with his terror. Tightly, he kept his eyes closed as the cacophony washed over him and, as it seemed, all of his country.


    What he heard made no sense. It was as though a thousand trees burst along with a damn and he stood between both in exactly the wrong location. When he pried his eyes open, finally forcing himself to proactivity, he saw the four-legged war machine flayed open with a gaping hole in its middle while flames consumed its many processed hulls.


    Standing up, he found it impossible to remain upright. He fell several times because of his wobbly legs. Before him was a massive smoking hull, as though it were an industrial boat from one of the great trading ports of the world. Yet it was no boat.


    And he had no clue what destroyed it.


    Seeing a bright haze below, he stared downward at the way stone. Seeing the stone now, it glowed like a thousand fireflies. Bright enough to be seen in the late afternoon. But the unexpected aura did not end there. For, several other lights also glowed radiantly. Noticing for the first time how each light connected to a way stone, and how the way stones arranged in a circular formation surrounding the meadow, the war machine lay ruined in the exact middle. But the wreck was not alone. Huge slabs of the wreck fell further to the ground while a structure emerged from the earth and displaced the giant engine.


    Rushing back several degrees so as to not be hit by the debris, he covered his face with his arms as the secondary explosions continued to prick the (surprisingly) combustible wooden machine. Glancing around, he also saw the now illuminated way stones form an almost spectral tether between each other and the center-most structure emerging from the earth. Is this magic? Thought Zan.


    Unable to move, he watched as the structure hitherto hidden within the ground finished its ascent. Sliding to its full height, he heard a mighty clicking sound reverberate, as if giant gears and bolts unseen by the human eye moved into place and stuck, fulfilling their one and only function.


    Calm.


    No more explosions. No more loud¡­ chaos.


    Only silence. And the spackle of dancing fires as the war engine continued to burn.


    Stepping forward, he did not know if he had been called or summoned, but whatever one wanted to call it, he felt a compelling force. That force was ushering him toward a door which materialized in front of him, seemingly, as he strode forward. Lines beneath the door''s surface previously blocked etched themselves free, dislodging huge slabs of topsoil. Appropriately compelled, he entered through the materialized door. Inside, he saw a highly advanced interior forged from sleek reflecting materials.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Walking further into the structure, he entered a staircase which was barely large enough for a man. He walked for what seemed an odd amount of time for such a short hallway, almost as if time or space bent weirdly here. He entered a room. In front of him, lights from above turned on, as if touched by a magical flame. Behind him, the thick metallic door closed shut. Hissing steam released from it as gears moved inside; he tried to paw the door open, but nothing he did mattered.


    He entered the room''s middle to see more lights turned on. Illuminated by unseen fires, he had no clue how technology such as he saw now worked. But he knew enough about ancient tech to understand there was nothing in his personal experience which gave him insight into what he was seeing now.


    Fully illuminated, the room before him was of modest size. Directly in front of him stood a large table made from materials alien to his daily life. Behind the rectangular table was a half-circular table with many buttons, levers, and softly humming tiles which a more educated person might have recognized as a keyboard (of sorts). Though to him, it was another strange piece of technology.


    From the side walls, two figures emerged. The walls themselves shifted, turning over an operating table with a humanoid figure strapped down. ¡®Human-like¡¯ however, was the proper term, for what had laid before him was not an actually human. It looked like an Expanse soldier except instead of it being made of wood, its body was of shiny metals.


    Waiting for it to move while still in battle mode, he expected the device to awake and attack him ¡ª he was inside its home, after all.


    But it never did.


    Several minutes crawled by. But nothing happened. Daring to step forward a few more paces, he investigated the contraption. Beautiful, he whispered. What jeweler could have made this? The number of gems and precious ores here is incredible!


    Sweat continued to slide off his forehead and drip onto the machine. Thinking nothing of it until the machine lit up and made noises, he scuttled back.


    ¡°Please do not drip any more of your fluids on me ¡ª aye, ey, ey!¡±


    ----------


    Chapter 9.5 (Bonus Chapter)


    For the first time in Zan¡¯s life, he was to come face-to-face with a fate beyond his wildest of imaginations.


    However, let us wait a moment before we discover alongside Zan what this destiny implies. Let us first leave through the command center¡¯s rusty walls. Walk like a ghost further backward yet and cross the automotron soaked ground. Let¡¯s flop and turn our sights to not what used to lie in front of us ¡ª the command center ¡ª but what lies on our backs.


    Through the forest and across the river, we fly. Further up a hill, we bound like phantoms hot on the town, the command center now to our backs and concern.


    When we reach the top of the hill, we relent. For, another one of destiny¡¯s chosen awaits. We settle upon a mysterious group of gentlemen. Three dressed in regal, black armor, with dread color so intense, life itself could drain from someone for daring to step too close¡­


    And next to the regal black, an imperial engineer under the employ of the (New) Woodland Expanse.


    The engineer, like the pitch-void folk huddled around their leader, are enemies of Zan and his simple people. Enemies who hold strange ambitions about the land and its inhabitants. A class of folk who believe themselves better than the unwashed riffraff besmirching the earth with mediocre deeds and pathetic fetes.


    Grotesque? Many would say, of this dimension and others. Yet, it is enemies like these whose minds we must now gleam.


    Let us now enter the mind of this engineer.


    Welcome yourself.


    Introduce yourself, engineer¡­


    My name is Rictus Dawson¡­


    Wait¡­


    Why did I say my name? Why does anyone do anything? I shook off my strange and violent vertigo and focused on my job.


    I observed the target with my seeing lens. A village youth. Unremarkable. He entered the submerged structure.


    ¡°Milords,¡± I said, approaching the eccentric group of High-Borns. ¡°The target has entered the structure. We were too late, it seems. I give you my apologies but would like to remind you the failure of your objectives does not correlate to a failure of my services.¡±


    In professional business, it was beneficial to be upfront.


    As always, however, the High-Borns paid me no heed.


    They whispered in their corrupted tongue. I genuinely attempted to pay them no attention. Like every such attempt, however, I failed. It was impossible for me to not glance a hundred curious snippets of indiscretion. With each glance ¡ª a sway of a robe, a glint of a blade or jewelry ¡ª I formed complex theories about who these people were. How they seemed so familiar, yet so alien. I figured each glance would bring me to some peak of understanding. It didn¡¯t ¡ª in fact; it made the opposite happen: a torrential confusion reigned in me day and night about who these people were and how they could afford to pay a campaign fee at the height of an invasion. It made little sense.


    Could they be Libertines? With combat abilities? With magic to rival powerful kings? Libertines were many things, but not that. So, I had only one question in my mind as they spittled their aristocratic tongues at each other. Who were they?


    As suddenly as they spoke in their confusing code, they broke off, and resumed talking as the hippest youths of my nation might have at a school function. I would know. I had kids of my own, so I knew how they talked to one another. Always making up slang and pretend-languages, mixing the two into it became a paracosmal mess¡­


    Outside of their labored code-language, they addressed me as any young person would to an adult who didn¡¯t speak the hip-language. They said, ¡°We understand the terms of your condition, good sir. Worry no more over this or future laborious matters. We weren¡¯t able to get here in time. Such a shame. We wait and watch!¡± Once they finished speaking with me, they returned to their monkey-mouthing with one another.


    What more was there to do? I would get paid, regardless. Were these people looking for something? ¡°I will chart us a new course, then?¡± I had to ask because the clients were bad at giving me direction, which impacted my ability to help them.


    As a response, one of them, not the same which spoke to me a moment ago, came to me and grunted aggressively while pointing at the ground. He was crossing his arms. Then he angrily pointed at the ground, like he was a mole or meerkat. Was he trying to tell me they wanted to stay put?


    ¡°I will prepare camp?¡± I asked.


    He gave me a thumb up.


    Who were these weirdos?

 Chapter 10 (Advancement: The Wardens)

    ¡°You can talk?!¡± Zan said of the strange golem-like Life Form.


    ¡°Of course I can talk!¡± the machine replied. Around it stood strange equipment with blinking lights, each like a mini torch.


    The machine struggled to free itself from the surgical table. Its machine¡¯s limbs wiggled helplessly against the tightly woven straps keeping it secured to the table.


    ¡°What the heck are you?!¡± Zan asked in complete wonder.


    ¡°My name is Sigma-Prime, and I am one warden of the Command Center. My former masters put me to sleep as part of operational capacity formations¡­¡± the machine spoke, though he understood nothing of it.


    ¡°Okay¡­ nice to meet you Sigma-Prime,¡± he said, still not quite believing he was talking with a pile of gems in human form.


    ¡°And you are?¡± the machine asked.


    ¡°Oh! My name is Zan. Zan Chaplin! I am from a nearby town. War graced I and my community with a visit. Ever since, we¡¯ve been barely holding on.¡±


    ¡°That is why you could enter here¡­ explanation confirmed. My sensors are picking up lowly animated beings outside. These are the ¡®invader¡¯ you referred to?¡± it replied.


    ¡°Yes? They are made from wood, sometimes reinforced with metals, and sometimes huge battle machines. But all of them are soulless husks!¡±


    "Do you know anything else about these invaders? What kind of magic powers their core, for example?"


    "I am sorry. I am only a teenage peasant. I don''t know much about... well, anything, really. I think I heard someone say they are powered by spiritual essence, or something?"


    Sigma-Prime looked unperturbed. Then again, it also didn''t have a face. So, he had no clue what it was doing or if it was thinking on his words. ¡°Necrotonic magic is extremely rare,¡± the machine replied after a time. ¡°If you do not claim your power, you will probably die.¡±


    Such an answer set him off ¡ª ¡°What do you mean I am going to die?! Claim my power?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t claim your power. Yes, you will die. I need you to pull that lever next to the table and release me. I must attend to the state of the command center and awaken all functions. And you, Ranger-to-be, must claim your power as we offer as the Shiv Martial Order.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know what to do. He knew nothing about this command center. He knew nothing about the machine talking before him. He knew nothing about¡­ anything. He didn¡¯t know a single blasted thing! If only Jiehong were here, he would know what to do¡­ he thought.


    Overwhelmed and no longer wanting to feel bad about himself, he decided.


    He approached the table and pulled the lever. What was the worst that could happen? That all this stuff with the machine and command center was evil? In which case, they would kill him. And it would be up to someone else to handle the threat. From both the Expanse and them, these martial order Wardens. And if whoever would oppose the Expanse had such power in the first place, they would have enough to oppose whoever these people were... which could be beside the point anyway, he reasoned, as this Warden, this precious-stone humanoid, might be as they say, and be good.


    Once he pulled the lever, lights sparkled like rainbow sand on a summer day. A sound emerged, not unlike the village horn during a field day. The obnoxious sound temporary deafened him. But it did not last for long. Once the table with the machine stood at full height, and he saw the entire humanoid gem-creature, the sound and lights ceased. With a whipping slap, the straps released, and tubes which plugged into the machine retracted into the walls.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Stepping forward, the machine-person waddled momentarily as it found its bearings.


    ¡°Thank you for releasing me¡­ it was very boring being strapped in the darkness for so long! And with no one to keep me company. Aye-aye-aye! But no time for that! Wait here as I activate the systems!¡± Sigma-Prime told him as it went to the half-circular table and began pressing buttons and keys, which he knew nothing of.


    He didn''t know what happened as the entire building shook. He watched the machine-person rapidly input commands into mysterious technology.


    Realizing it was much brighter in the room than previously, he still could not see the entire room; how he could not see he did not know as from the outside, it seemed impossible for there to be such a large room so close to the structure''s entryway, which had not suggested a space so large when he had looked at it from outside. Nevertheless, in space illuminated, he saw near the back of observable space, how outlines of doors appear within the walls. He could not help but wonder where those doors went.


    ¡°And now,¡± the machine said, though to whom he did not know. ¡°It is time for us to return to work! Screen-Master, AWAKEN!¡±


    Though the gem-person''s speech gave an over-the-top impression, they ended their exclamation with a mere press of a button. Once they pressed that button, though, the whole wall in front of the half-circular table lit up with light, the source of the light being some kind of large block or engine which overlooked everything in the room.


    Zan did not know what he was seeing. At first, the light looked normal. Then it changed. Maybe it was the exotic materials on the walls. Or maybe it was the light itself being under the influence of some strange sorcery he didn¡¯t understand. Whatever the case, what formed before the machine-man and he, was a large face. The face gradually gained definition as it whirled through many color tones before shifting into a dark blue light.


    ¡°Welcome! Prospective Ranger-Knights! I am Screen Master Simulacrum. I am here to help you overcome the threats which dare impose themselves on the peace-loving world. Tell me of the trials which have led you to this moment!¡±


    Whoa¡­ was about the extent which went through his mind. What had he stumbled into? Who the heck were these people?!


    ¡°Ranger? What? You¡¯re talking about me, right? I guess you have to be¡­ I am the only one here. Are you sure you have the right person? Maybe you mean my friend, Jiehong? He is the blessed and smart one. Not me!¡± he stuttered as he talked faster than his tongue could handle.


    ¡°No one other than people who embody the qualities of a ranger-knight can discover this place. No one other than the worthy become Ranger-Knights. You will believe in yourself in time. Yet for now, you have an important question to answer: young man, will you take up the cause of the Ranger-Knights ¡ª which is to spread justice and liberty throughout the world ¡ª and defend your homeland from evil?¡±


    The Screen Master''s words impacted him and left a feeling like a physic wound. The frankness, how they thought him worthy of something other than a humdrum life, of possible greatness, even? It opened in him a desire he had never felt.


    He considered his options. Or tried to, anyway. How could he? What options did he truly have?


    Stuttering, he made his decision, and said, ¡°U-uh, y-yeah? Yes! I do¡­¡±


    ¡°Then welcome to your new life, Ranger-Knight, to your future! Grab hold of your Power Crystal and let the energy of the cosmos flow through you!¡± Simulacrum said.


    The metal person¡­ sigma, alpha, prime something¡­ waddled to Zan and handed him a crystal from one of their interior departments. ¡°Here is your power crystal. Use it carefully, young warrior.¡±


    He looked at the crystal. It was unlike anything he had seen. Rarely, he might see a naturally formed crystal in local caves, especially the deepest parts of said cave. But this crystal was unlike any of those cave-dwelling crystals he saw. This crystal shone with a litany of colors and shimmered like the air during the sweaty summer months. Holding it in his hand, it was cool to the touch -- highly unexpected, he thought. It gave him energy merely by holding it.


    ¡°Whoa¡­¡± he uttered.


    ¡°Cool. Wicked? As you humans say¡­¡± the machine person said.


    He smiled and said, ¡°Yeah, something like that. What does all this mean? I feel something from the crystal. It¡¯s like a power surging through it and into me.¡±


    ¡°Gradually, you will come to understand the power of the crystal. But you will not understand until the crystal fuses with your body.¡±


    Had he misheard? He said, ¡°Sorry. Did you say, ''I have to absorb the crystal?'' Like, what¡­ swallow it?¡±


    The machine man took a moment before replying. Sounds came from its body, though he had no clue what the sounds meant.


    Twaddling toward him, the machine lifted his shirt and said, ¡°No. You must place the crystal here. Into your belly-button...¡±

 Chapter 11 (Advancement: Power Crystal)

    ¡°Into¡­ my belly button?¡± he asked, still in disbelief.


    ¡°Correct. Into your belly button.¡±


    He expected them to say more. They did not, so he took their claims as incomplete and accordingly met them with silence to encourage their extrapolation of the subject. Not hearing them say anything else, he asked, ¡°Why?!¡± finally.


    ¡°This is how the crystal works. Although this substance might appear inert, it is actually an organism.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± Zan shouted. ¡°Like a parasite?!¡±


    ¡°Incorrect. The crystal is more akin to what your people would call ¡®yeast.¡¯ It is alive. It has motion. Sentience. But no will of its own.¡±


    Instantly, he shook his head. Some of his panic died down. "Yeast? Like bread?"


    Holding the crystal in his hand and resisting the tingly tickle of the gem-man¡¯s smoothly chilling touch, he considered placing the crystal to his belly button: Do I really want to do this? It sounds scary as shet... but I did already say I wanted to... can I really go back on my word? Can I afford to go back on my word?


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Afraid?¡± a voice called to him.


    He turned to see a figure stride through the door. It was Jiehong!


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I could ask you the same question. And I would have more weight: you vanished. I thought you were dead, Zan. I searched the wreckage outside for your body!¡± Jiehong said, emotion welling up inside of him.


    ¡°Oh¡­ I didn¡¯t know¡­ realize. I¡¯m sorry, Jie. I was running on pure instinct. I rushed back to protect the little girl, then I saw the final way stone. Things just happened so fast¡­¡±


    ¡°Water under the bridge! I¡¯m happy you¡¯re okay, though. But now I am interested in what all of this is¡­ who are these strange fellows?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°I am called Sigma-Prime,¡± the machine-man said, jogging his memory.


    ¡°And I am Screen Master Simulacrum,¡± the giant face on the wall said.


    ¡°Nice to meet you two,¡± his brother said. ¡°My name is Jiehong. My buddy here seemed to help you guys out, yeah? What is happening with these crystals? And more to the point, can I have one, too?¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t just give these crystals out all willy-nilly, Jiehong. You have to earn them! Err¡­ right?¡± he said, strangely defensive now that the possibility of people other than him could receive the power, whatever this ''power'' turned out to be.


    ¡°You entered the command center. As such, you were judged worthy of the Center to enter the inner sanctum,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°Yes, you may have a crystal as well. Your heroism displayed itself on the battlefield and clearly had been observed by the gods. Sigma-Prime, do so, please.¡±


    Jiehong deserved to be awarded one of these crystals alongside him. Yet He knew this, yet still felt a chill; it was not a chill from the cold of the place ¡ª and the underground structure was, indeed, on the chilly side ¡ª but from discovering his best friend and brother would also partake in this strange society. Truly, there was no one who would be a better fit, he thought, thinking how, for once, he could''ve been the special one.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Pulling himself away from these negative emotions, he refused to linger on his all too human aspects. Both he and Jie had survived the harsh trial of the invasion to get where they were. There would be no point in groaning about being ¡®special,¡¯ as though Jiehong wouldn¡¯t make a great ''Anything'' in life, no matter what he chose to do.


    He pushed the crystal into his belly button while Sigma-Prime retrieved another power crystal for Jiehong.


    Instantly, he regretted his action. Though the crystal¡¯s adhesion and absorption into him was not painful, per se, it felt uncomfortable. And more than anything, weird.


    A powerful stomachache rocked his world before he broke into a sweat. He felt the crystal sink -- so painfully, so slowly -- into his body. The sensations of the crystal seeping into him felt not unlike that of an insect as it rustled into his skin, biting, tearing away at his flesh.


    ¡°Oh, gods¡­ I am right there with you, buddy,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°This feels strange as crap! and not so fun anymore.¡±


    ¡®At least he feels the same as me!¡¯ he thought as he saw his brother clutch his sides, then stomach, then sides again, as his own crystal sank deeper into his body. Stepping over to Jiehong, Zan grabbed hold of his shoulders and told him, ¡°We¡¯ll get through this together!¡±


    Jiehong smiled, then hiccupped ¡ª and burped? ¡®Must be a side effect of the crystal,¡¯ he thought ¡ª and as the crystals worked their respective bodies, they at least could count on each other to get through this less-than-ideal moment.


    ¡°You will feel well again momentarily. Aye-aye!¡± Sigma-something said. ¡°The crystals take only twenty-five minutes to fully absorb!¡±


    Twenty-five minutes?! He felt sharp pains stab his abdomen. At best, they were only a quarter of the way through its absorption. If the pain worsened, he considered, both he and Jiehong would be keeled over in agony by the time the crystals had their way with them both.


    Oh, Zan, what have you gotten yourself into? He asked himself. Lamentation aside, it was too late for anything else. They would have to rough it out. No more, no less.


    Once the full twenty-five minutes eloped, he and Jiehong were on the ground.


    Foam surged from their mouths. Neither of the boys knew what happened to them. Pain, pain, then sudden bodily jerks. Falling to the ground in a fit, what further limited their confidence in surviving the ordeal was Sigma-Prime rushing all over, taking their vitals, asking the Screen Master if they would be alright.


    ¡°Yes, Sigma, they will be fine. Some humans have more violent reactions than others. But this is a good thing. The more they thrash, the stronger their powers will be!¡± he said.


    Stronger? If that was the case, he thought, then by the end of this, he should be indomitable!


    Admittedly, it was hard to think of these things when one¡¯s body felt too hot for comfort and when one couldn¡¯t tell if the moisture in one¡¯s pants was because of sweat, water on the floor, or urine. Throughout the final several minutes of the process, he could do nothing else except accept his misery. He endured the pain because he had to; the hardest part was the spike, when it felt like his life had been nothing but hardship because of this one moment of agony. Once the spike passed, and he simply had the aftershocks to deal with, life seemed better by contrast, especially as his eyes met his brother''s and they regarded one another''s sacrifice.


    When the process finally ended, he and Jiehong remained motionless on the floor. Foam, spittle, snot, tears, blood. All could be seen near their bodies.


    He wanted to ask, ¡®is it over?¡¯ Words refused to come. To speak would have meant for the possibility of his body feeling normal. Of being happy. Could such a pain-free existence be possible after the nerve-frying despair he had experienced?


    He was too tired to speak, anyway. Spit, foam, blood, vomit -- everything which could come from him, had come from him. He felt gross.


    He felt a rumble in his gut which set off a pang of anxiety. Oh gods! He mentally shouted. It isn¡¯t over! Why isn¡¯t it over?!


    The rumble traveled up his throat. His lips parted. A slight expulsion of gas.


    Only a burp.


    The false alert told him an important fact: although he was unsure of moving his body, least the crystal still had business with him, and he trigger unnecessarily more pain, the burp made itself clear. The absorption was done.


    Looking over to Jiehong, he blinked. Unfalteringly. He had survived. Good! I can¡¯t imagine doing any of this without him, he considered. Although he had been (maybe) jealous when Jiehong came along and nabbed a crystal of his own, he was anything but jealous now. Now, he couldn¡¯t imagine being jealous. He had a partner, a battle-buddy, a fellow Ranger-Knight to protect his back! It was no more ''he against the world, against the Expanse.'' It was ''he and his brother against the world.''

 Chapter 12

    The will to ¡®get up¡¯ and resume their lives returned to Jiehong and he with the speed of a turtle tiptoeing through mud.


    Standing upright once more after seemingly an hour or longer of pure pa--¡­ he couldn¡¯t even finish the thought. He stood upright again. That was all that mattered.


    ¡°How do I look?¡± he asked, though his words came out a muddle.


    Jiehong replied half-heartedly. He said, ¡°Ugh. You look like me after Sandy rejected my advance.¡±


    Ouch! He had to laugh at that, he knew.


    Wait, did I laugh? He asked himself. Yes. I actually laughed and didn¡¯t think searing pain would rip my lungs out and step on my soul as my bones explode. Cool¡­


    ¡°How do I look?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Zan looked his friend over. He said, ¡°Like me after a Mud Tournament.¡±


    Ugh. Not what he wanted to hear, but what could his brother expect?


    On their feet again, he looked at Jiehong and asked how he felt. ¡°Surprisingly good,¡± was the answer, and it, surprisingly, matched Zan¡¯s own feeling.


    ¡°I could do with some sleep, though. Or something to eat,¡± he replied. ¡°I can wait. But¡­ sorry, now what do we do?¡±


    ¡°Defend the light,¡± Sigma-Prime said. ¡°Until the day you die, defend the light.¡±


    ¡°We have to make it back to the villagers,¡± he said.


    ¡°They¡¯re safe for now¡­ or they were before I left,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Key word, right? ¡®When¡¯ you left¡­ when¡­¡± Zan said.


    ¡°I see your point. It has been a while, hasn¡¯t it?¡± Jiehong replied, looking at the two command center guardians.


    ¡°It has been approximately one hour since both of your arrived. You are free to leave and check in on your families, but you must return soon. As Ranger-Knights, you will find new responsibilities as you uphold the Ranger-Knight code.¡±


    ¡°And what is the code?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The code is simple. Uphold Truth, Individuation, and Goodness. Both of you are already upholding the code. Go and check on your families. The Screen-Master and I will be here getting the command center up and running. When your families are safe, return to us, and we will arm you with the tools of the Ranger-Core.¡±


    Not fully understanding what Sigma-Prime told them, but leaving anyway, he and his brother rushed out of the command center.


    Leaving the building, they noticed a lot more of its submerged form had surfaced. What had been little more than an oddly jutted cave jutting out of the ground was now as tall as any holy building in a bustling city. ¡®Whoa,¡¯ he stuttered, seeing the tall parapet towers and sparking field of electricity which surrounded the structure; he saw how the way stones shone more brightly than before and singed anything which either got too close or had an evil intent. Of course, he only knew of the field''s deadlier qualities because of the many insects which burst into tiny lumps of meat upon wandering too close to a way stone turret.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Looking outside, he saw the meadow cleared of enemies. All around the command center¡¯s perimeter were small fires which marked where a foe once stood tall. In other places, black splotches scorched the meadow, marking where a burned foe had long since disintegrated. Zan breathed deeply. As he exhaled, he felt victorious.


    ¡°We¡­ did you do this? I entered the center once it popped up. Did you have to cut a path through all of them?¡± he asked, referring to the many black places throughout the meadow which were as good as gravesites.


    ¡°No¡­ what could have? There must be hundreds of destroyed automotrons here.¡±


    Making their way up the road where the villagers had to flee for the woods, Jiehong called out for them. He did as well. Though too long passed before he and Jie discovered where the villagers had run off to, the time to find them merely meant how seriously they took to evasion, he was happy to see everyone was healthy. Not exactly unhurt, as many had issues with bones and muscles, but far from dead.


    He and Jiehong had no time for small talk as much as they wished for it. ¡°We should return to the command center, Jiehong,¡± he told. ¡°The townsfolk are safe. They can continue on their way to¡ª¡±


    ¡°The way is blocked! The road ¡ª thousands of them!¡± a voice screamed out.


    Turning to see who came with the bad news, it was a villager. Running toward them, the figure was a hysterical woman. ¡°We¡¯re doomed! We¡¯re dooooomed!¡±


    The elders attempted to calm her and fed her soothing tea. Despite the beverage¡¯s relaxing properties, though, nothing but the slow passage of time brought her ease enough to talk.


    ¡°I scouted the area¡­ nothing else to do¡­ I found my way to the central highway. I saw legions of the wooden monsters! Thousands ¡ª minimum!¡±


    He and Jiehong each turned to one another. He had no answer for their current predicament, though he did motion for Jiehong to follow him. Once distance put privacy between them and the villagers, he said, ¡°What will we do now?¡±


    ¡°I do not know,¡± Jiehong spoke with a pang to his voice. He could tell Jie was telling the truth -- he did not know.


    ¡°We can¡¯t fight them all ourselves¡­ I am so tired, Jiehong,¡± he said, choking back tears, his hands covered in either sweat, dried sweat, vomit, or an off-liquid byproduct which bled from the golems under certain conditions. He understood very little about the ¡®golem oil,¡¯ just that it smelled bad, like a fungal infection on a skin infection.


    ¡°I¡¯m with you¡­ I can barely keep my eyes open. Let alone fight through thousands of golems. Plus¡­ so many splinters,¡± Jie replied.


    The friends talked for a while about possibilities, but none of their conjured imaginings were realistic in the slightest. On their way back to the elders, he, thankfully, had an idea. Approaching the elders, Zan said, ¡°We have no choice. Gather everyone and retreat inside the domain of the center.¡±


    At first, the elders were confused, but he told them, ¡°We should be safe there. Those way stone things? Those are like magical baristas. They are like cannons that shoot power spells,¡± he explained of the command center''s defenses.


    ¡°What is that building? Zan, what happened?¡± an elder asked.


    He and Jiehong explained what little they knew about the building and the caretakers within. ¡°A situation like this is far from normal, Zan. Jiehong. Caution is what I recommend. But you have already taken the fast path. I fear where it will lead you.¡±


    ¡°We understand your concern. We are concerned, too. But it seemed like the only ray of hope¡­¡± he argued.


    The head elder nodded. He only said, ¡°Strange tidings this war brings, boys... Do not lose yourselves.¡±


    With nothing more to be said, but their audience of elders still present, Jiehong filled the silence. He sighed and said, ¡°What other options do we have?¡± Of course, no one spoke up. Jiehong continued and shouted, ¡°Everyone pack up! Let¡¯s go! We gotta get inside the perimeter!¡±


    In a hurry, everyone packed up their scant belongings and roved into the command center''s immediacy.


    He had done it! He had given people an option, and they had taken his suggestion. Highly unusual, as most people, including Jiehong, thought little of his plans.


    Now¡­ he had to hope his plan wouldn¡¯t get any of them killed.

 Chapter 13

    Despite the town''s worth of refugees, it took only thirty-odd minutes for everyone to collect the remains of their lives and hurry inside the perimeter walls. Most people had lost at least a part of their belongings by now and were running on instinct. They kept only their most precious possessions on them, things like food, family utensils, and basic child-caring needs. Though he saw how the wealthier among them had larger items, which seemed, to him, impracticable to carry across a wartime land; but what did he know? He knew nothing of the world and had nothing from it.


    ¡°Jiehong, we should return inside¡­¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes, lead the way, friend.¡±


    Inside, the structure already looked in a better condition than when they left. The walls, made from a strange and shiny stone, looked sharper as it reflected their images like water on a clear day. Although he didn¡¯t know how, as he walked down the stairs and entered the inner sanctum, the bricks he trode upon gleamed. It was as if the building had taken the outside light and somehow absorbed it for use while inside.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of anything like it?¡± he asked while he stopped for a second just before they entered the sanctum.


    ¡°No, I haven¡¯t¡­ I have read of lost civilizations which had a technology level far above what exists today. I guess this stuff must be part of one of ¡®em,¡± Jiehong pontificated.


    Nodding, he wondered why a piece of ancient technology would be out in the boondocks of a little backwater like their kingship. The world must have looked mighty different back then, he said to himself.


    ¡°We¡¯re back!¡± he said to the Center¡¯s two caretakers. ¡°Wait, sorry. What are you guys'' titles, again? Caretakers?¡±


    ¡°We are called Wardens,¡± Sigma-Prime replied. ¡°Our job is to tend to this Command Center and awaken more centers as we discover them and as the Ranger-Knight core expands.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I think I got it," he said. "So, problem: there is ¡ª evidently ¡ª a huge number of enemy soldiers nearby preventing our village from going anywhere. Will they be safe if they huddle against the building? ''Does this place have defenses?'' I guess is what I¡¯m asking? I am sorry for placing this burden on you guys¡­ this place isn¡¯t exactly a refugee camp.¡±


    Sigma-Prime walked to him and placed their hand, a weird crab-like pincer, but blunted, on his shoulder. As a sign of support? He didn¡¯t understand gestures well. Especially not with unusual life-forms like the two Wardens before him.


    Sigma-Prime said, ¡°Zan, of course your community will be safe here. The Screen Master and I had actually thought you and Jiehong had gone out to do just that! Our sensors picked up the large enemy force you spoke about. The core roadways are impassable. It would be suicide for anyone to attempt passage.¡±


    Now it was Jiehong¡¯s turn to place a hand on Zan¡¯s shoulder. What was it with shoulders and people? But Jiehong said, ¡°See? Told you everything would work out. It was a good idea, Zan. Thank you for keeping on your toes.¡±


    Turning red for a moment, he muttered, ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± Turning his attention to the next matter at hand, he asked the Wardens, ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°Our task as Wardens is to assist the Ranger-Knights in their daily focus. We do not have an aim of our own. We merely exist to help others ¡ª you Rangers ¡ª in your fight against evil powers. As long as your fight is just, your power will grow; as your power grows, you will attract allies. So, we must ask you Zan, Jiehong ¡ª what is your goal?¡± the Screen Master said, lofty but simple.


    What was their goal? What else other than ending the war?


    He turned to Jiehong, ¡°How about you answer for me?¡±


    Jiehong answered and told them, ¡°Our aim is to end this predatory war!¡±


    He liked his answer but had more to share. He said, ¡°Not only end the war, but ensure no other innocent people must suffer at the hands of the New Wooden Expanse! They have been a menace to the peace-loving folk of the world for too long and their leaders are nothing but psychopaths. It is time someone puts an end to their tyranny!¡±


    Although his answer had jived his spirits toward lively heights, and had assumed Jiehong would benefit from embracing the notion of waging endless war against the invaders, Jiehong remained, instead, silent. Only after a few moments of thought did he reply.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that mean a lifetime of war?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°What other life would we have, Jiehong?¡± he answered.


    ¡°A peaceful one? Fighting to liberate our country is one thing ¡ª I will gladly devote my life to that, but these other nations of the world? Some of them wished us ill-will even before they were taken over by the Expanse. I am not sure I want to risk my life fighting to free them when they are just going to turn their backs on us...¡±


    His brother''s words surprised him. He did not ever think his brother as an isolationist. Despite whatever context he may have been missing, it seemed to him a shortsighted response to one''s homeland being invaded to stop the opposition at their own borders.


    He replied to Jiehong and kept his response simple. ¡°I guess you would know more about that than I, Jie. I never got the chance to learn like you. But let¡¯s stick this topic in the oven for later. For now, you will fight. How about we revisit this topic again, but when we free our country?¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Making a show of considering his words, Jiehong said, ¡°Yes. I agree. We will revisit this conversation much later. There is no point in arguing and disagreeing when so much information is missing for us. First, our home. Then, maybe, the world.¡±


    Turning to Sigma-Prime, he said: ¡°Our first goal: free our homeland!¡±


    #


    ¡°Zan, Jiehong,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°As the newest Ranger-Knights, there are basic educational courses which both of you should take as it will teach you the history of the Ranger-Knights. In our databanks also are educational courses to improve your combat and magical skills. Do access them: this Command Center is yours to Command!¡±


    Jiehong spoke and told the Screen Master, ¡°Thank you, Simulacrum, sir! But I have to tend to my village first and get people settled. Everyone is frightened. Zan, one of us should look over the people. How about we both help for a while, then one of us can get some sleep as the other continues to help the village?¡±


    He had no objections to the plan, though he already felt overtired and overly pained in his joints. His muscles were none better. But he said, ¡°Sure¡­ lots to do.¡±


    The two boys went outside and went amongst the people.


    The next several hours were a frenzy of activity and a near constant back and forth between the community and the Wardens. Every and each need of the community had to be answered:


    ¡®Is there a spigot nearby?¡¯ ¡®Can we plant a garden?¡¯ ¡®That shaded area, is it fine to set up our family space?¡¯ ¡®Jiehong, can you gather for us some wood beyond the perimeter so we can have a firepit?¡¯ ¡®Zan, can you gather some of that metal so we can rig up some sturdy tents? Speaking of tents, are there any durable materials around to make shelter?¡¯


    And the now classic question, ¡®Why can¡¯t we go into the building?¡¯


    Via a trial-and-error process, Jiehong and he answered all these questions. Though the answer to the last question was more obscure. For that question, he simply replied, ¡°Only people chosen by the gods can enter,¡± or if he didn¡¯t have time, ¡°Sorry. Rangers only¡­ just a rule. Nothing against you.¡± Most of the town''s youth, a minority, thought it a great disservice to be refused permission to enter the Center. Why they cared about this when they were fleeing for their lives and lucky to be alive, he did not understand. Older adults, meanwhile, avoided even being near the structure, going as far to set up their tents as close to the perimeter as possible¡­ he wondered how such people slept without being rattled awake by the automatic fire from the defensive weaponry which had sprouted from the onetime way stones.


    Although initially the boys intended to take turns watching out for the community, so much needed to be done, both of them worked into the evening. As they worked, automatic fire sputtered every so often, jolting awake at anyone who might have dared sleep.


    ¡°You¡¯ve boys done enough,¡± an elder told he and Jiehong. ¡°Thank you for all you¡¯ve done, but we old folks can take it from here. You signed yourselves up for this Ranger-Knight ¡®order.¡¯, Go and do that. A man is nothing unless he fulfills his obligations and keeps his word.¡±


    Neither of the boys needed to be told twice. They cleaned their hands, shook the dirt from their tattered footwear, and entered the Center.


    ¡°Please tell us you have beds¡­¡± he asked in an almost pleading sort of way.


    Sigma-Prime was back on the table. They were not lit up with all the eye-popping colors he remembered seeing while they were awake and talking. What was going on?


    It was the Screen Master who spoke next. He told them, ¡°Sigma-Prime is charging. Her batteries are old, possibly damaged. Three and a half hours is the most she can go with a full charge.¡±


    ¡°So, after those hours, she has to return to that table? And¡­ charge?¡± Jiehong asked to clarify what the unusual processes were about.


    ¡°Correct, Jiehong. And to answer your question, Zan ¡ª yes, we have full barracks on site besides many private rooms. As the first Ranger-Knights of the revival, you have ¡®first claim¡¯ on any room you desire.¡±


    He looked to Jiehong and smiled. ¡°Any room? Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Screen Master confirmed. ¡°Any room.¡±


    The two new Ranger-Knights saw a door unravel from the backend of the room. It was the same door he had noticed earlier, the one whose outlined had faintly been visible. It now fully unlocked itself and swung open. As it opened, dust and gods-know-what-else, scattered from the door, creating a large cloud.


    Going through, there was a slight stairwell which descended for several compact tiers before ending in a hallway. The plump hallway had nothing of note except for rooms jutting out at intervals along its duration; four rooms on the left side, four rooms on the right side. Each of the rooms, Zan and Jiehong saw, was large enough to hold a dozen men.


    ¡°Wow¡­ just how many Ranger-Knights do we need?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Enough for a small fighting force, evidently. And this is just on this base. Didn¡¯t one of the Wardens saw there were other bases?¡± he replied.


    ¡°I think so. Hard to say. But we¡¯re in it now, aren¡¯t we, old friend?¡± Jiehong said, changing the topic suddenly.


    Jiehong looked at him warmly, but not for long. Never for a period longer than ¡®traditionally close but not too close¡¯ friendship. Jiehong had many admirable qualities to him, but showing his soft side had never been among his talents.


    ¡°Yeah, we really are¡­¡± he said, as he looked at the eight open rooms plus the mysterious door at the very end of the hallway. Of all of the rooms, none except the door at the end of the hallway had privacy doors.


    ¡°Let¡¯s look inside that door,¡± he said, pointing to the end door.


    They went to the end of the hallway. He and Jiehong opened the door to the one room which actually had a door and stepped inside.


    Unlike the barrack-styled room, this room had a bed, a bookshelf, and a storage trunk. He took to it right away and was about to claim it when Jiehong shouted, ¡°MINE!¡±


    In their old life, he would have slinked away and let Jiehong have the room. His brother''s lifestyle was higher than his own. He had been accustomed to ¡®more,¡¯ as their parents clearly favored their blood son over their adopted son. Yet nagging voices in his head told him to turn around and fight. Fight for the room.


    ¡°Actually¡­¡± he began. ¡°I should have this room. I was the one to discover this base. I was the one who activated the Wardens, and even if you think about it, I was the one who destroyed that huge four-legged war engine. Not to mention I was the first of us to take the dive and plug that¡­ crystal in me. It is only fair.¡±


    Jiehong made a show of consideration. He said, ¡°You¡¯re right. Totally right. Take this room, my man, and I will claim one of the open barracks. Put up a tarp for a door.¡±


    ¡°Okay, sounds good,¡± he replied, surprised his brother did not fight him on it. ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep now. See you in the morning, bud.¡±


    Both of the brothers went their separate ways for the evening. Once Jiehong left the room and found a barrack suite suited to his disposition, he closed his door and found an immense satisfaction in doing so. He never had a door to close before now!


    From the ceiling was a single shining gem which provided light. On the side of the wall, next to the door, was a smooth and flat surface made from some unknown precious gem. Experimentally, he touched it; he saw the gem embedded inside the ceiling flutter. It controls the light, he told himself. And probably other things, but I am too tired to figure those things out¡­


    Collapsing into his mattress ¡ª a rare luxury for him ¡ª he fell asleep practically the moment his head touched the pillow. When he woke, it was a whole new world.

 Chapter 14

    With his community safe, tended toward, and the elders back in control, not to mention the cozy bed shielded from the elements, he slept peacefully. He did not know how long he slept exactly, but it had to be ten hours, minimum. He awoke fresh and ready to tackle the new day, even if his body was mighty sore.


    He walked out of his room ¡ª the very notion of him having his own room still tingling in his brain ¡ª and found Jiehong¡¯s space. As he said he would, Jiehong claimed a barrack suite; to mark his territory, Jiehong hung a tarp over the entryway. Zan¡¯s own name written in paint, marked his lounge.


    He knocked on the material next to the tarp since there was no ¡®center¡¯ on his makeshift door to knock. ¡°Bud, you sleeping?¡± he asked.


    No reply.


    Ducking his head inside the room, he saw the space was empty. Only one bed, its thin, cotton-like sheets slightly muffled from use, looked out of order. "Guess he¡¯s not here,¡± he told himself as he continued down the hallway.


    Walking up the staircase and entering the inner sanctum, he saw his brother reading a book at one of the tiny tables and chairs which dotted the war room.


    ¡°What¡¯s you reading?¡± Zan asked.


    Looking to him, Jiehong replied, ¡°Oh, morning. You slept in late. Wow! The book is a history of the Ranger-Knights. I can only read parts of it, unfortunately. It¡¯s written in a dead language and although I have some knowledge of the language, I am far from fluent.¡±


    ¡°Cool¡­ learn anything interesting?¡± he said, his stomach rumbling.


    ¡°No. Not really. Just a bunch of names and other names and how people interacted with¡­ other names. Mostly it is a bunch of names. I can tell from how the text¡¯s structured, though, it is more than a ledger. I know prose when I see it.¡±


    ¡°How about some food?¡± he asked, not knowing how to talk about literature. Besides, he was just hungry.


    The Screen Master, still blazing triumphantly on the high-end of the wall above the many controls which Sigma-Prime operated, spoke. ¡°The Command Center is outfitted with meal preparation stations. These stations are ready for immediate use. There are also food synthesizers capable of creating basic meal options. Useful for while out on expedition. Unfortunately, they are not yet fully operational.¡±


    ¡°No worries. I will find something to eat from the community. How long will it take for the base to be fully operational again?¡± he asked, stretching.


    ¡°A long time, unfortunately. Likely years,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum told them.


    ¡°Years?! Won¡¯t that impact our ability to do Ranger-Knight things?¡±


    ¡°It will. But hope is not lost. As Ranger-Knights, you can help lend a hand in the base¡¯s repairs and retrofitting. Although this should not be your top priority, between engagements, please lend Sigma-Prime and myself help repairs if you want to see the base''s capabilities increase faster. The benefits to doing so will be abundantly clear when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good. We¡¯ll do that, for sure. For now, I need food. Excuse me,¡± he replied, tripping off outside to find some breakfast.


    He went among his people and asked for breakfast. Cheerful at having survived the night despite the evidently near constant clatter of automatic fire, people were shelling out their prized possessions to keep morale high: pan-friend eggs with bacon ¡ª a delicacy ¡ª and potatoes with roasted corn. On the side, seaweed salad mixed with vegetables and a sesame dressing. Washing it all down was fatty milk flavored with a tree sap which many people thought was reminiscent of chocolate.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Normally, such a meal would only be for holidays, such as All Spirits Day, but people were running thin. He understood how desperate the situation was and so he thanked each villager who donated to his breakfast fund. Scarfing the food down, he feasted like a king before returning to the command center.


    With Jiehong by his side and equally full, both boys were back in combat mode.


    ¡°What is our next move?¡± he asked, boldly.


    ¡°Good question¡­¡± Jiehong said.


    Both of the new ranger-knights looked to the Screen Master. Cocking an eyebrow, both seemed to ask with their faces, ¡®well, you going to help us or not?¡¯


    The Screen Master tilted his eyes toward the rectangular table between him and them. The table suddenly ignited with lights illuminating its breadth. What the table now displayed was something he did not understand. It was ¡ª essentially ¡ª a map of their current area but all the trees and rocks and other natural things were all¡­ strange. Slightly blue, see through.


    ¡°This is a hologram,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°It is a virtual representation of the immediate world around us. Think of it as an illusion generated by our advanced Ranger-Knight technology. Touch it if you desire, it cannot harm you.¡±


    He and Jiehong did just that and touched and ran their hands through the fascinating three-dimensional images. ¡°Wicked!¡± he said in unison with his brother. Neither had ever seen or even heard about this kind of technology before. Seeing it in person was altogether an experience.


    Letting the Screen Master continue, Simulacrum said, ¡°Although this device has its limits, it will display the region¡¯s local terrain. With upgrades, it will display even further zones of interest. For now, consider it your strongest tool for countering the threat imposing itself upon your home.¡±


    ¡°How so, exactly?¡± Jiehong asked. ¡°It looks fancy, but how does it work? How do we use it to our advantage?¡±


    ¡°Use it as a bird''s eye view of the land and where the enemy has set up occupied zones. I will teach you how to engage with the table. The controls are simple,¡± the Screen Master said.


    Over the next few minutes, the Screen Master taught them the basic finger-based controls for the screen. ¡®Pinching¡¯ would zoom in on a location while reversing the pinch would enlarge the zone; pointing at anything specifically within the display ¡ª as in, letting one¡¯s finger linger ¡ª would provide more information on something within the table¡¯s display; then the final motion, if one made a large wave with your hand, the map would swing quickly to a far-end portion of the table¡¯s map being displayed. Simulacrum had been right. Easy controls.


    ¡°Neat. So now that we have the table conquered ¡ª what an odd thing to say, eh guys? ¡ª now what? How can this table help us out? Screen Master, you said it uses this technology to show us the surrounding areas? I guess that means we can use this table to guess where the enemy will move?¡± Jiehong spoke.


    ¡°But a device even as advanced as this¡­ it¡¯s not useful to use if we can¡¯t move quickly to fight the invaders. Nor if we have allies. So, we¡¯re sort of stuck, aren¡¯t we?¡± he said, going off what Jiehong said.


    ¡°Both of you are correct. Which will be among your first mission as Ranger-Knights ¡ª finding allies. Our divine mission is to gather the like and holy-minded under a common banner opposed to evil. Considering the circumstances and the topic of conversation last night, the first step in achieving this goal is thwarting the invasion of a hostile power ¡ª this ¡®New Woodland Expanse,¡¯ as both of you have called it. I need no more evidence to believe the life-forms which herald this territory have wickedness in their hearts. We are fortunate in our cause: for our first step coincides with the enemy¡¯s initial assault. We will repel these foul creatures and begin a new dawn for goodness everywhere. Zan, Jiehong, are you ready to take the pledge?¡± Screen Master Simulacrum asked.


    ¡°No, not yet,¡± Zan said. ¡°I will pledge myself fully when I learn the ins and outs of this order. When I have allies and have freed miles of territory under the yolk of this tyranny. Until then, I will earn the right to take this pledge.¡±


    ¡°Spoken like a true leader. I look forward to working alongside you. Young Ranger-Knights. As you work to free your home, consider I your ¡®war minister.¡¯ I and my partner Sigma-Prime have seen our share of conflict. Consider us honorary countrymen and draw on our knowledge to aid in your fight,¡± the Screen Master spoke.


    Smiling at Simulacrum¡¯s sudden but much-welcomed intensity, Zan addressed him and asked, ¡°So, if you, Screen Master, are going to act as our war advisor¡­ what is your first recommendation?¡±

 Chapter 15 (Advancement: Ranger-Knight Gear)

    ¡°We will strike the enemy where they least expect it,¡± Simulacrum announced.


    The two lads turned their attention to the table. The display shifted. The visualization now was of a ''pulled-out'' view of their location. It looked as though they were of a true bird¡¯s view. How many miles they saw exactly he did not know, but it was enough to gain advantage over the enemy.


    ¡°Over beyond the rolling hills,¡± Simulacrum continued. ¡°The enemy has concentrated their forces. Yesterday, we picked up a large movement of enemy war material. It was this material which prevented your community from finding refuge. A nearby city is suffering siege. If we can break the siege, the momentum of the invasion will stop. It is a risky plan, but with the power of the crystals, it should be possible.¡±


    He took a moment to confirm what the Screen Master said. He rolled his hand between their current location and the destination. ¡°What about the journey?¡± he asked. ¡°The city you speak about, Screen Master, is called Thundervale. It is the sub-regional capital. By foot, it is about half-a-day¡¯s travel.¡±


    ¡°True, at half-a-day¡¯s travel, we would be already exhausted by the time we arrived. I guess it will have to be a multi-day mission?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°It seems so,¡± the Screen Master replied. ¡°But take care Rangers and know this: once we restore the command center, there will be many new tools for you to take advantage of, including transportation. For now, steel your bodies with physical endurance. It will bend you into powerful fighting machines if you allow it.¡±


    ¡°Okay, well¡­ physically enduring the painful is what we are used to, so how much can we really complain?¡± he asked. Jiehong agreed with him.


    ¡°How are we going to break the siege?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Yeah. Important question there,¡± he added.


    The Screen Master answered: ¡°By use of coordinating with your allies on the ground, your countrymen, and by the weapons you will use as Ranger-Knights. Sigma-Prime, when you are ready.¡±


    At the Screen Master¡¯s words, Sigma-Prime activated and removed herself from her ¡®charging table.¡¯ She went over to a part of the wall opposite the barrack doorway and touched a hidden button. Like magic, the walls ¡®flipped¡¯ and revealed a hidden cache of goods.


    He and Jiehong rushed over, eager to identify what shiny new toys awaited them.


    ¡°What are those?¡± he asked a wide-eyed.


    Before them was an armory. Swords, shield, and some clothes, with other gear he didn¡¯t recognize, were arrayed on a display rack. ¡°This is your basic Ranger-Knight equipment. ¡®Standard issue,¡¯ as you mortals say. Sigma, please bestow upon our defenders their pieces. I will explain the function of each.¡±


    ¡°Aye-aye! Will do, Screen Master!¡± Sigma-Prime said as she (with surprising ease considering her bulky form) retrieved each piece of exotic equipment.


    ¡°Ranger-Knights! Please shed your old garb. You will soon be granted new clothing to better reflect your new position,¡± the Screen Master said as they, with no embarrassment, shed their clothing. Neither he nor his brother had shame regarding their bodies. Both of them were the same underneath. And growing up with a relative ¡®lack,¡¯ of course, made them stretch out everything they had, no matter how little. Most of the time, the youth of the village simply went naked. It wasn¡¯t until young people came of age village elders presented them with clothing.


    Standing before Sigma-Prime in only their cozy, and still wonderfully clean undergarments, the first item Sigma-Prime presented to them was a pair of pants.


    The boys slipped the breeches on and found the material cozy, warm, but not stifling. It ¡®breathed,¡¯ as the village tailor would say.


    The Screen Master described: ¡°Made from fairy silk and steel wool mixed with threaded water, these pants will never give out no matter how much friction you force on it or how much wear it¡¯s forced to endure. Pockets will appear on these breeches as you have need of them.¡±


    Sweet! He thought. He didn¡¯t understand any of the materials which went into making the breeches, let alone the process for how one would make it, but the pants fit him snugly, and he never wanted to take them off, then why did it matter if he didn''t know how they were made? He would just make a mental note to keep them in good condition. Otherwise, who would be capable of repairing something like this?


    The second item given to him (and Jie) was a long shirt: ¡°made from similar materials to the pants, although with an extra amount of fairy silk soaked in an ultra-concentrated dragon fat, this shirt is element-proof. It is indestructible, lightweight, and even capable of holding trace amounts of magical energy. Wear it well and it will protect you as well as a suit of armor.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Sigma-Prime then presented them with several additional pieces of clothing. Socks, cold-weather gloves, warm-weather gloves, and a facemask for those times of angry wind interference or the chilly blow of winter. He stuck the cold-winter items into his pants pocket; to his delight, pockets appeared just as the Screen Master said.


    He looked at Jiehong. He looked sleek. Cool. Like he was the son of a fancy minister instead of simply the son of a moderately well-off trader.


    He saw his own reflection in the smooth material of the command center. I also look so fine, he thought.


    Next, Sigma-Prime gave the boys more of the expected infantry getup: heavy boots, shoulder pauldrons, and a defensive buckler.


    The Screen Master explained the items and how fantastical they were, how the boots would never wear thin or feel too heavy, despite their size, and no matter how deep one plunged them in the mud while out in the field. The pauldrons were similar except capable of taking a hit and then some. It was the buckler with the most ingenuity, however; as Sigma-Prime told them, ¡°Although not indestructible because of design philosophy, this shield can change sizes automatically in relation to incoming threats. Use this shield well, keep it well maintained, and it will continue to serve you despite the bitterness of war.¡±


    Taking another glance at himself, he saw how much of a warrior he looked. He looked like a member of the royal guard only¡­ fancier.


    Next up was a leather satchel bag. Although weathered from time¡¯s passage, Sigma-Prime waxed the bags and they soon appeared like new. ¡°Basic carrying bags for anything which does not fit into your pockets. Wear this satchel across your back like a standard backpack.¡±


    Slipping his arms through the straps, he donned his satchel, never having felt more like the son of a wealthy baron than now. He liked the satchel most of all, as it was an item with use both on and off the battlefield. He intended to use it in his everyday life as his everyday carry. It was a luxury he never ¡ª and he truly meant never ¡ª would have been able to afford otherwise.


    Having finished with the more ¡®non-functional¡¯ parts of the showcase, Sigma-Prime now dealt with the more ¡®military¡¯ end of things.


    ¡°Take these,¡± Sigma-Prime said. He glanced at what she handed to them. It looked like pinecones.


    ¡°Those are called grenades,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°Pull the pin there and throw it as far as you can. A powerful blast will spread. These grenades are basic issue explosive devices. However, in time, we will be able to make for you ''special use'' grenades which come with a variety of effects. Note, Ranger-Knights, only you can pull the pins and only for combat missions. Anyone other than rangers cannot pull the pins, as they will find their arms too heavy with sin to complete. Just the same, if you attempt to pull the pins outside of a life-threatening situation, you will be unable.¡±


    Knowing the spiel already about ''Holy Law,'' and the inability of one to kill, he stuck the grenades on his belt loops. He made a mental note about their use but did not see how such would be relevant.


    Next up, Sigma-Prime handed them what he had been looking forward to getting his hands on ever since the display case opened. A sword!


    ¡°Be careful, Ranger-Knights, these are unfathomably sharp!¡± Sigma-Prime warned.


    Holding the blade in his hand, he examined it. Pure black. Though¡­ the color seemed to change as light reflected off it.


    ¡°These swords are a Ranger-Knight¡¯s go-to weapon. Forged from cosmic steel plundered from another plane of existence, the blades are truly unlike anything in our universe. Their craftsmanship is beyond compare, smith¡¯d by the original Shiv Order founder himself. In the past, ranger-knights have said the blades are capable of many things. Things would not expect a simple bladed weapon to do. Magical absorption, piercing thick walls, even returning to their owner when discarded. Be warned, however ¡ª the blades are finicky and demand a proper master. If the blades judge you wanting as their wielder, you might find them a touch more troublesome than you will expect from your weapon,¡± Simulacrum explained.


    ¡®Strange.¡¯ ¡®Unusual,¡¯ were words which came to mind when he considered the Screen Master¡¯s warning. ¡®Weapons with a will, essentially?¡¯ He thought. ¡®Well, if they want to offer their opinion on strategy while I am waist deep in crap, good for them! I will welcome their input.¡¯


    ¡°And finally, Ranger-Knights, we come to the final gift we wish you to have. Sigma, now,¡± the Screen Master said cryptically.


    Sigma-Prime brought them something which looked like a rock with a wire attached to it.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Jiehong asked, sounding weirdly put off.


    ¡°This, Ranger-Knights, is a communication tool. An earpiece. Sigma, could you attach it to them? There will be a small pain, young knights, as it must pierce your ear, not unlike an earring. Apologies for the discomfort.¡±


    He looked to Jiehong. His brother was not excited about getting a sudden piercing. He muttered, ¡°Just another thing to explain to my parents¡­ they don¡¯t like jewelry.¡±


    Zan had no such objections, though, and gladly allowed Sigma-Prime to pierce his lobe, though, once he felt the pain, he had second thoughts about future bodily modifications. Jiehong still allowed his ear to be pierced, but he had clear objections.


    ¡°Using this tool, Sigma and I can talk to you practically anywhere. No more shouting, no more slowly enduring the travel of messenger birds or letters. We will always be in your ear, giving you aid where needed. To send us a voice message, merely hold down the earpiece. Sigma, please show them,¡± the Screen Master said.


    The boys tested out their new tool. Once it was in working order, they thanked the two Wardens and said, ¡°I think it is time, yeah? You two have given us a lot. Time for us to do our new job and fight.¡±

 Chapter 16 (New Threat: Pillbox)

    ¡°The air is so¡­ fresh out here,¡± he said, as he stretched and yawned after standing around and hearing the Wardens and their explanations.


    Jiehong shook his head. ¡°Indeed. The air in the command center could be of a higher quality. I did not know how stifling it could be until I breathed in this outside air. I hope it will be something the Wardens can fix while they''re making repairs.¡±


    Nodding in agreement, he said, ¡°Okay! Well¡­ to Thundervale. Which is that way, right?¡± he made a vague, pointing motion with his finger.


    ¡°Yep, that road. The same one overrun by those columns of troop carriers and automotrons. It will be a good while by foot, so we should get over there right away, and hustle,¡± Jiehong said, already starting out toward the camp¡¯s perimeter.


    ¡°Leaving already?¡± an elderly man asked.


    ¡°Yes. Thundervale needs our help,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°I think the whole country needs your help¡­ look at you two. Such clothes. And the swords you both carry. Incredible! It reminds me of my youth. I encountered a man, once, with nearly the same.¡± As the man spoke, he got a good look at him. He was the same man who talked his ear off during the defense of the town.


    ¡°I highly doubt that sir,¡± Jiehong said, taking up the cause of keeping the man straight. ¡°These clothes and gear are from the Wardens who safeguard that building over there. If you really met someone with the same equipment as us, they would of have to have been Ranger-Knights¡­ which is impossible.¡±


    ¡°Oh, why is that?¡± the man asked, unaware.


    ¡°Because we only just reactivated the order yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± the man said. ¡°I wonder who that man was. I supposed he could have been a mercenary from one of the Advanced Outposts. Then again, a mercenary so far from his home seems off. And then¡ª¡±


    Making nice with the man and not wanting to argue anymore, the boys bade the man goodbye. They had a mission to do.


    The boys stepped outside the perimeter of the camp. They saw what had to be thousands of black splotch marks throughout the meadow. Each black patch an automotron grave. "For how long did the automotrons throw themselves against our encampment?" he thought about. The answer was not clear. It had to have been hours, he reasoned. If not the whole evening. And then some...


    But no enemies were nearby. Not now.


    Walking for several minutes to the road they had to take, he surprised himself when he saw the road had no enemies upon it. Mentioning it to Jiehong, he said, ¡°Where would the enemy forces have gone? If Thundervale is over yonder... then that¡¯s all well and good. But the column of bad guys we encountered yesterday wasn¡¯t heading to Thundervale on this road. They were going elsewhere.¡±


    Jiehong shrugged, clearly not believing the issue important. ¡°There are many roads to Thundervale. We shouldn¡¯t overthink our role. Let¡¯s keep ourselves alert and ready for anything.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± he agreed, and they resumed their march, just now wearier of a surprise force ambushing them.


    Theoretically, the road was a straight shot to Thundervale. Yet as they found a couple hours into their trek, they saw enemy checkpoints dotted the road ahead.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± he asked. ¡°If we knew how many checkpoints there were, then we could take them out. I don¡¯t want to tire myself out to the point of exhaustion, though. Would it be better to sneak past some?¡±


    Jiehong shrugged again. He replied, ¡°We could sneak past some, but it is our goal to eradicate every invader. So¡­ I say we take them out. If we find too many, we can take a rest. Besides, we brought some basic camping gear, right?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No, we didn¡¯t. Our camping gear was among the casualties of yesterday¡¯s assault.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Jiehong said. He clearly thought the camping gear was alive, well, and on them. He sounded let down.


    ¡°I still have some magic stored from the other day. Most of it likely burned off, but I think I can manage some to help us. I say we get the sneak on them, set fire to their checkpoints.¡±


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Love it. Let¡¯s get going... keep me good and I will keep you good, brother,¡± he told Jie, nervous energy filled him, and he hoped the imminent battle would go their way.


    Jiehong split from him, taking the other side of the road. Or the ditch more accurately; the boys could not risk taking the main roadway and be seen as they approach. Such would negate the ¡®stealth¡¯ idea they were going for. Speaking of ideas, he had thought of the strategy they used: Jiehong was to ¡®take¡¯ the checkpoints on the right-hand side of the road, while he would take the ones on the left. They would swoop up from the ditch, burn the checkpoint, and advance relentlessly.


    Coming upon their first checkpoint, it was on the left-hand side of the road. Which meant ¡®showtime¡¯ for him.


    Seeing only a couple of automotrons inside the flimsy-looking wooden structure no larger than a small hut, the two enemies stood unnervingly still. Without any eyes ¡ª beside their simple slits where their eyes should have been ¡ª the automotrons appeared little better than statues. He snuck his way past their gaze, pressed himself to the building, and used some of his magic to set fire to the defensive structure.


    The building went up in flames quickly. He scurried off and returned to his ditch. But only after making eye contact with Jiehong and motioning for their advance.


    Coming upon the next pillbox, this time on the right-hand side, and therefore it was Jiehong¡¯s turn to take it out. He watched his brother spend his magic and create fire to burn.


    The pillbox went up in smoke as quickly as the first one. Yet he worried himself and wondered, ''would the golems be able to see the fire and smoke from the destroyed huts? Just how bad is their eyesight?''


    He did not have long to wait to find out ¡ª two pillboxes, one on each side of the road and one for each he and Jiehong.


    Thinking extra-strategically for a moment, he still wondered about the enemy¡¯s vision. He figured it better for the enemy to discover them now, while they were still quite close to the command center, than get into trouble much later into their journey. Worse came, they could always retreat.


    He approached the bunker nearly by simply walking up. The automotrons did not react until he had gotten weirdly close to their checkpoint. By then, thought, he had jabbed his sword into one and then the other, de-activating both.


    They dealt with both checkpoints in a hurry. Neither boy got spotted.


    With flames at their back and confidence soaring, he wondered if the automotrons were blind. Or practically blind; he guessed they still could see some since they knew what they were doing in melee combat, as he remembered so vividly from the previous day.


    At a point in the day, he wanted to test ¡ª to truly test ¡ª the limits of the golems¡¯ vision, but he also didn¡¯t want to endanger the mission. Besides, he already knew their vision was bad. He didn¡¯t need the exact science behind it¡­ not unless documentation said otherwise. Documentation looted from an enemy base? The idea intrigued Zan.


    Remembering his earpiece was a communication device, Zan touched the device hanging inside his earlobe and said, ¡°Jiehong: stay on the lookout for enemy intelligence. Any intel about our enemies during the conflict should be prioritized.¡±


    Jiehong did not respond right away. Another checkpoint burned ¡ª by him ¡ª before Jiehong replied. Eventually, Jiehong said, ¡°Sorry. Took me a second to remember how to work this ear thing¡­ yeah. Will do, buddy.¡±


    A few more burned fortifications later and he had depleted his energy. Coming upon a fork in the road, he tried to figure which way they should head. This would be so much easier if someone taught me foraging! He moaned. At least then I would know the lay of the land!


    ¡°I think we go that way¡­?¡± Jiehong said, though it came out more like a question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we should give ourselves guesses and treat them like facts. We should ask the Wardens for directions. Neither one of us has ever left the village, so¡ª¡±


    Zan talked but Jiehong interjected and said, ¡°I have left the village before. I would know. This path,¡± he spoke, with some force to his words.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he complied. ¡°That way, but if it isn¡¯t the right way, we¡¯ll just be wasting our time and the precious seconds of Thundervale¡¯s defenders.¡±


    He saw Jiehong roll his eyes. But he led the way, getting his way once more. As usual...


    An hour of walking crawled by. Time was like a baby, skittering around on its hands and knees as birds of prey circled overhead. He felt aggravated after so long. After so much longer, he couldn¡¯t hold in his objections anymore. He burst and yelled, ¡°Enough! I¡¯m tired! This doesn¡¯t look like the way, huh?! I¡¯m pinging the Wardens!¡± Before his brother could object with anything more than a sputtering of syllables, he touched the earpiece. It took him a couple of tries to touch the correct button on the earpiece which connected him to the Wardens.


    ¡°Sigma-Prime speaking: go,¡± a voice came through after registering his signal.


    ¡°Sigma! Thank goodness it works. We need directions to Thundervale. Can you help us out?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Easiest thing to do. Hold."


    A minute of silence passed. He knew Jiehong was not happy at being opposed, but he was only like that because he always got his way.


    No more, though, Zan told himself. I discovered the command center; I discovered the Wardens; I destroyed the walker; and I was the first to thrust that crystal-parasite thing into my belly. I am the leader. Not Jiehong!


    A chime in his ear. It was Sigma-Prime. She said, ¡°You are way off course! Reverse track. There is a fork in the road you should have passed; return to that fork and that the other road, understand? Continue that way until you arrive at a lake. Thundervale will be beyond the lake.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Sigma-Prime. I will be in contact if we need anything more.¡±


    Taking his hand off the button, he turned and said, ¡°Other way.¡±

 Chapter 17 (New Threat: Red Golems)

    All his life, he had heard of Thundervale¡¯s lake. Local villages used the lake as both a meeting place for festivals but also as a shared fishing spot. Until now, however, he had never been, so tales was all he could go on.


    Having climbed a tree to get a better vantage point over the lake, he looked over the body of water. They were still a-ways away from the edge of the lake and the many enemies they saw infesting the lakeside. ¡°Hundreds,¡± he said under his breath.


    ¡°Dare we try to split up again?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Absolutely not. You were right about the direction to the lake. On this matter? I¡¯m setting my foot down. We take them together.¡±


    He had no objections. There were many enemies, after all. If either of them became overwhelmed, then what? Nothing but death. The automotrons would swarm and then -- cut to black.


    ¡°Shall we consider our options, then?¡± he asked his brother. Jie nodded.


    Commenting aloud, he said, ¡°If our objective is to lift the siege, then the best way would be to eliminate the siege weaponry, right? But we have no magic. I also don¡¯t see the Slipstream anywhere. What do we have? Those ¡®grenades¡¯ the Wardens gave us. They said the grenades are weapons. Do you think they would be enough to take out a siege engine?¡±


    It was Jiehong¡¯s turn to muse. ¡°It would depend on their power. It would also depend on the siege engine. Is it a simple catapult? Or one of those four-legged machines?¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± he replied. ¡°We know neither. So, we just go in blind?¡±


    Jiehong gave his brother a look which he didn¡¯t like. He needed no translation. They were to go in blind.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this started, then,¡± he announced, practically growling his displeasure at the lack of information.


    Dropping to the ground, He and Jiehong drew their blades and advanced on the enemy. Confirming his suspicions about the enemy¡¯s limited range of sight, none of the wood golems took up arms until the boys were precariously close. By then, of course, too little, too late.


    He extended his arm with blade in hand and brought a broad downward-vertical slash against a golem. To his shock, he felt no resistance as the blade did the work and cleaved the foe in two, instantly ending its function.


    Just like that, he had slain the day¡¯s first golem. Proceeding almost automatically to the next batch, running on battle focus, now, he was ready to cut anything which stood in his way to pieces. Automotrons lumbered to him, and he diced them down to size.


    While he kept himself occupied with automotrons on one side, to his back, Jiehong battled his own set of golems. Using the blade and his still-functioning brass-knuckles, Jiehong ripped through the lumbering automotrons with a fury. He wondered if Jiehong was taking his frustrations with navigation and planning out on the golems. If so, then good! The enemy was the proper outlet for one¡¯s negative emotions.


    Having cut their way through a host of the invaders in what had to be only thirty-minutes or less, he yelled to Jiehong to cease and regroup.


    Obeying, they both retreated from their respective warpaths. One reason he ordered them to regroup was because he noticed he and Jiehong each were gradually losing each other as they engaged the enemy. If they weren¡¯t careful, he knew the battle would separate them on the lake¡¯s respective sides.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Which way do we advance?¡± he asked.


    With a huff, his brother said, ¡°Now you want my opinion?¡±


    That was it! He exploded. ¡°What do you want from me, Jiehong?! Are we really doing this now? And for why? YOU were the wrong one, remember? Your knowledge, your experience at having left the village before didn¡¯t help us find the correct path! Just because for once in our lives it is I who is the leader, doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re any less of a person. Now, can we put this crap behind us and fight the godforsaken invaders -- please?!¡±


    Refusing to make eye-contact, Jiehong said, ¡°Let¡¯s go along the right-hand side of the lake. I think I saw some kind of bridge further that way¡­¡±


    He refused to press the issue further. He really didn¡¯t want to push it, after all. The only thing happening now was stress. Stress from the war, and the Ranger-Knights being a thing¡­ stress from fear of losing loved ones. Stress from not knowing how many years they would be at it, fighting these golems. Day after day...


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± he said, falling into line behind Jiehong, hoping he did not see his comment as anything other than the team leader giving an order.


    Warring together, the two encountered more Automotrons, of course, but not any siege weaponry. Where were they?


    ¡°Is that a bridge? Or a dock?¡± he asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Over there. See? There is a path leading into the center of the lake.¡±


    Jiehong stretched his eyes to see what he saw. ¡°Oh. I see it, now.¡±


    The boys fought their way to the bridge. It was exactly as he believed. A floating pier leading into the heart of the lake.


    ¡°There¡¯s an island in the center of the lake? That must be where the siege equipment is, right?¡± he asked, finding it hard to see with his eyes.


    ¡°I would figure¡­ that or at the other end of the lake.Thundervale, I think, is right up on the edge of the lake. So, if the siege engines aren¡¯t on the island, I don¡¯t know where they would be.¡±


    Seeing enemies lumber speedily toward them, he suggested they get a move on.


    Not wanting to waste time, the two ran the length of the floating pathway. It was a longer path than expected. But it allowed them to dodge the automotrons which were clambering toward them.


    Reaching the island ¡ª blissfully, he thought, as their legs were throbbing, and chests on fire ¡ª they saw on the island¡¯s tip a host of heavy weaponry. Worse yet, the enemy¡¯s presence there was much denser than the edges of the lake. He wondered to himself if they could cut their way through so many foes.


    Jiehong took point this time, however. Reaching into his satchel, his brother withdrew a grenade. He pulled the pin, tossed it with a mighty throw, and waited for the explosion. They did not have long to wait as the loudest noise they ever heard ripped through the densely packed golems.


    Once ¡®exploded,¡¯ Jiehong rushed into the remaining mob. Zan did not watch for very long, of course, since he had to rush into action himself, but he saw Jiehong¡¯s trouble right away ¡ª many of the enemies here were of the golem type with a metallic reinforcement on their body. Which meant they needed more hits than your basic automotron.


    Familiar with the red painted golems, which he thought might be of a higher rank than non-painted golems, he leaped into action and helped his mate by slashing away at them. ¡°Jiehong! Use your sword!¡± he shouted. Jiehong, he knew, enjoyed using his fists, but the sword clearly would be more effective.


    Decapitating a couple of golems in a single slice, then bringing his blade down in a wide attack, Zan de-comissioned a couple more in a couple of swings. Following belatedly in suit of Jiehong, he reached for his own grenades hanging on his belt. He pulled the pin, tossed it, and waited for the loudest noise ever.


    BOOM! A cascade of earth heaved then fell with a muffled crash.


    Then the silence. Strange how in such chaos, the enemy did not scream.


    Pressing his advantage, he rushed ahead of Jiehong who, to his dismay, refused to use his blade. ¡°Jiehong. Sword ¡ª NOW!¡± He screamed. ¡°That¡¯s an order!¡±


    Peeling the advantage they had hard won, he dispatched stragglers as he fought his way to the first catapult.


    Thrusting his blade through the catapult¡¯s operator, he expected it to die immediately, as the rest of the golems.


    But it did not. Somehow, the golem lived.


    Turning to him, he saw how, and why it still lived.

 Chapter 18 (New Threat: Gold Golems)

    Turning to him, and nearly causing Zan to lose his blade before he ungracefully pulled it from the husk, the golem before him was neither the blase type of golem common to the invasion ¡ª wood and nothing more than foul play ¡ª yet nor was it the red-painted golem with authority and metallic reinforcement. This golem had a gold-color painted over its upper-half. Then, whomp! The golem brutally punched him to the ground as he took-in its ill-formed radiance.


    Shakily rising, the golem surprised him again and punched him back to the ground. Although his special armored clothing took the blow''s brunt, he felt sore right away, and his muscles hurt. He worried he would bruise like rotted fruit. At least I won¡¯t have any broken bones, he consoled himself.


    Rolling away from the golem while on the ground, he refused to make the same mistake twice. He lifted himself to his feet and faced the automotron once again, but with his buckler-shield to his forefront. Lifeless and idiotic as ever, the golem again pummeled him but this time the shield absorbed the worst of the blows. Though he felt every impact and blow, he stood his ground.


    Unfortunately, the automotron never slowed or relented. Not until Jiehong slammed into the golem¡¯s side and pummeled it to doom with his fists, his knuckle-duster shattering its way into the golem¡¯s cavity. Then, and only then, did he receive a reprieve. Hacking at the golem¡¯s corpse for good measure, he panted as he wasted no time in attaching a grenade to the catapult, though he did not yet pull the pin.


    ¡°Thanks, buddy¡­¡± he said between panting.


    Jiehong, still sour about being ordered to use his sword, despite the fact he clearly refused to use his sword, only spoke under his breath. He ignored his defiance and needless melodrama. Attaching grenades to the other two nearby catapults, he had to rest his tired lungs for a minute ¡ª literally ¡ª just to have a chance in the continued engagement; he saw over yonder, near the other siege engines, more golem swarms. And with more swarms would be another gold-golem, no doubt.


    Looking at the dead gold golem on the ground, he visually picked apart its deactivated body. Strange metal coils wrap around its arms. Thanks to Jiehong¡¯s fists, the golem¡¯s chest no longer existed; in its place, only a gaping hole remained. Through the hole, he glimpsed an unusual sight: mechanisms. A tiny machine existed in its chest. Zan knew little about machines, but he suspected, from only the appearance of the golem, how this internal mechanism was the means by which the automotron could pack such a punch.


    What the feck is this crap?! He asked. How many golem-types are there going to be before this war¡¯s done? He had a feeling a lot¡­


    Having caught his breath for the literal minute, he rejoined his brother on the battlefield. Jiehong relentless advance, although inspiring, displayed recklessness. It was only them out here; if Jiehong became overwhelmed by the enemy, and he wasn¡¯t nearby, then dark futures would enforce themselves on Jiehong out of necessity.


    Said again, his brother was being pigheaded. And why? Because he, the leader, was giving orders? It¡¯s ridiculous, he told himself as he caught up to Jiehong.


    ¡°What was that shet?¡± He said, bashing his way into a smaller golem before running several more through with his sword.


    ¡°Cursing, are we? I thought you didn¡¯t like¡ª¡± Jiehong said before saving his breath for the enemy. He captured an enemy by the leg and hurled a basic golem into one of the red-painted golems.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Are you going to be like this forever?¡± he said, as he finished off the golems, he speared with his sword by slashing straight through their shoulders. Or shoulder areas; as golems, they did not have any actual bones, let alone anatomy. Seeing the effortless work the sword made of the automotrons forced a smile from him. He felt invincible.


    Until he encountered another gold-golem, he felt invincible. ¡°I think you can take this one,¡± Jiehong said as he rushed to the next set of siege equipment.


    Grunting all the while he engaged the golem, he felt unimpressed with his blood. What happened to teamwork?!


    The chaos of battle gave the gold golem the advantage as he had to first take evasive action to avoid the golem¡¯s power-punches. And with so many lesser golems surrounding the gold-golem¡¯s party, he only thought it prudent to eliminate the lesser threats first, so he was not constantly side-dashing his way out of trouble. Which, of course, he had to do plenty of regardless of the number of golems, as the total number increased while the gold-golem screeched an awful noise which attracted allies. With fleet-footedness, he ran about, hacking a limb here or a chest there with his sword.


    Ending many of the golems, thus providing for himself the space needed to fight the gold golem, he stepped to the gold automotron with his blade at the ready.


    Sweat dripped from his brow. He waited for the golem to come to him. He did this to regain his energy and catch his breath; although stragglers remained, and he wanted to help Jiehong, especially his sides and back, while he advanced on the next group of siege engines, he had to admit he could not do everything by himself. If Jiehong found himself in trouble, then what else could he do but fight his way out of it? Was it his fault if his brother refused the smart strategy for his own ego?


    Not realizing how quick the gold-golems were compared to the other two types, he found his thoughts interrupted by the smashing fists of his gold-plated foe. Luckily, he brought his shield up in time and deflected the blows. He felt every blow in his bones, despite the shield, which impelled him to break away from the relentless battering in a bold evasive move; pushing his weight to his shield, Zan ducked underneath the pitter-pattering blows of the invader and quickly waddled around the golem¡¯s position as it continued to smash away at the air, its primitive consciousness failing to realize right away his foe had moved. Realizing the automotron was slow to stop and would soon have to walk either forward or backward to re-position itself, he forced his blade through its legs, causing the wooden demon to fall onto its back.


    Seeing its fists continue to wail pointlessly, he had the impulse to walk away and let it rot. But figuring it could still be a danger to others ¡ª random hunters, animals, whatever ¡ª he smashed its head with his blade. Good thing this blade is sharper than sharp, he commented while bashing the golem unceremoniously with his weapon.


    With no more movement coming from the gold golem, he took only a moment¡¯s reprieve before sliding himself back into the fray.


    Jiehong nearly had destroyed all the automotrons by the time he caught up. But two ¡ª TWO ¡ª gold golems gave him trouble. Zan considered throwing a grenade, telling Jiehong to run, but decided against it. Considering Jiehong¡¯s attitude, he probably would intentionally stay just to prove some point.


    Normally, he would take his position alongside his brother, but considering their enemies, he thought better than a frontal assault. Running behind the two gold golems, he wasted no time in severing their limbs; without legs, both went tumbling to the ground: one on its back, the other face-first. Jiehong bashed the one on its back to deactivation while the other had smashed itself to pieces once its flailing fists met the cold earth, the reverberation, Zan guessed, responsible for ripping its own body apart.


    Panting, tired, he gasped ¡°Catapults. Grenades!¡±


    Jiehong realized what he meant and attached the weapons to the engines.


    Meanwhile, he continued panting. The battle finally caught up to him and he felt withered to his soul. Sweat rolled off his body and dripped to the ground like rain. He wanted to remove his gear so as to feel the breeze on his skin, but he knew better than to ditch his special armor in the middle of a battle.


    His limbs shook. But he knew he couldn¡¯t stop now. He saw on the island¡¯s central most hill the final set of siege engines. Not catapults, but gigantic crossbows.


    Jiehong was already making his way over when Zan, having enough of his adventurism, screamed, ¡°I¡¯m done! Can you give me a gods-damned-moment!¡±

 Chapter 19 (New Threat: Siege Engines)

    He stopped moving. Finally, Zan thought. But Jiehong did not turn to face him.


    ¡°Just¡­ rest¡­ for one¡­ second!¡± He huffed, trying desperately to regain his composure but rapidly losing that battle.


    A sound came from the giant crossbow weapon. Then he saw a bolt fly toward the town. He did not think the enemy could fire the weapon at them, not from both their, and its, current positions, but he made a mental note to take care of where he stood when facing it in the future.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re just as tired as me. I can see in how you move. You¡¯re going to get yourself killed. And why? To prove some stupid point to me?¡± He stated. Catching his breath, letting the wind blow away some of the frustration, he took deep breaths. Then he exhaled. Fast, then slow, he only wanted a few moments of strategic bodily calm before they launched themselves back into the violence.


    ¡°We¡¯ll wait¡­ if you need it,¡± Jiehong said, he noticed with great reluctance. Jiehong¡¯s stodgy reaction only made him wonder why he was acting so childish. It was tempting for him to say exactly that ¡ª ¡®why are you behaving like a spoiled child!¡¯ But they were out on their first mission as Ranger-Knights. He couldn¡¯t allow their operation to become compromised. That could wait until after they were out of danger¡­


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Jiehong announced, eager for the fight to resume and end.


    He followed. Why not? They were on the same team. Right? Though, it might not have felt so at the moment, he knew they were the firmest of allies. Of course, we¡¯re on the same team, he knew. Sometimes, he thought it helped to think of the worst-case scenarios. With the worst out of his mind, he could focus on what he could control.


    Climbing the hill, he saw ahead of them ¡ª perhaps of about two-hundred paces or more ¡ª a solid wall of enemy soldiers. Seeing them approach, the soldier-golems took advantage of their grace period before he and Jie was within striking distance. They further reinforced their wall-like defensive position and appeared more turtle-like than one might expect of wood-based abominations.


    ¡°Do you have any magic left?¡± he asked.


    Jiehong said, ¡°Not a drop. You pissed it away, I take it?¡±


    The tone of voice egged him on like he had never been egged before. He swallowed his disdain and pushed forward with the battle plan. For the sake of their mission. And their friendship. ¡°Yeah, I have none, either,¡± he replied.


    It looked solid, the wall. Fighting their way through with brute force might not be possible. Even if they did, it might mean for them nothing more than a one-way victory.


    Like a candle blazing in the dark, he thought of a plan: grenades!


    He unflapped the pinecone-like object, pulled the pin, and threw it ¡ª threw it like how he threw up after sneaking some of a traveling merchant¡¯s gin when they were younger and up to no good.


    The grenade landed true and in the middle of their formation.


    BOOM!


    He averted his eyes for the flash and bang.


    When he opened them, he saw an entire line of automotrons in pieces.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Only two left, both golds.


    ¡°Approach them with purpose, Jiehong. They¡¯re tougher than they look and can take a punch as well as they dish it out,¡± he cautioned his brother.


    ¡°I¡ª uh, yes. Noted,¡± Jiehong said, seeming, too, to Zan like his brother wanted to have an attitude but pushed against so at the last moment, allowing for a nice reply instead.


    These have got to be the last gold ones, he thought as he got in the first swing, his experience in battling them before helping him, now. Specifically, in realization of how much time he had literally facing the enemy before said enemy violently punched him to death. His blade cut true, and a golem lost most of an arm, along with part of its (mostly) wooden hull.


    But the battle was far from over.


    Having ended his swing, he knew he had to step back. Jiehong likely understood he needed to move fast, but he was late in taking up his shield, and he paid for it by needing to violently shove his way off and into the golem he faced. Freed of its fisting, its attempt to imprison and wear him to bone-rot by sheer force, he knew he had to make the most of his breathing room.


    He had to move, so he shoved all his weight to his left. He brought his blade down and used it less as a sword and more as a common axe.


    It fell to the ground. In two pieces.


    Moving to strike the automotron Jiehong faced, he flashed his blade across and down. The automotron fell dead, ''de-commissioned,'' as was said.


    ¡°Let¡¯s attach a couple of these grenades to this one. Has lots of metal, but we should save one grenade for the enemy in case more of these timberheads contest our return to camp,¡± he told Jiehong.


    Jiehong did not take offense to Zan¡¯s plan. He even said, ¡°Good idea. I honestly did not think of it.¡± He sounded genuine. Warm, even.


    In a mad dash, he and Jiehong ran back to and through to the siege weapon site and pulled the pins. By cue, the grenades exploded, sending one booming blast after another rippling through the air. With fires burning in over a dozen places, he and Jiehong ran back to the mainland, so to speak, smoke drawing the attention of more foes than they realized. Across the distance, he saw enemy patrols mobilize from places neither he nor Jiehong knew existed. The siege force was larger than expected.


    Looking to his right, but still a ways away, he saw the town lines. To his front and left, converging enemy troops. What should they do? He realized how troubled their situation was...


    Exhausted by the day¡¯s travel and fighting, he was running dangerously low on stamina, resolve. With a chill, he realized he could die here. He and Jiehong could become overwhelmed and simply pummeled or punched one too many times and die.


    It was a risk, but he decided: he would run to the town and hope for aid. He could not guarantee survival if they were to wage a running battle back to the command center. So, with such an option presented, he chose life.


    ¡°Jiehong! Let¡¯s fight our way to the town and draw out their help,¡± he shouted.


    Not waiting for Jiehong and whether he would listen ¡ª which was irrelevant, as he would have to listen because his life depended on it ¡ª he made a break toward the city walls. He ran slowly; he wanted to push his legs, but even with the energy of life or death flowing through his veins, he could only manage a heady jogger¡¯s pace at best.


    ¡°Are we even going to make it?¡± Jiehong asked, his breathing ragged.


    ¡°We will,¡± he replied. I hope¡­


    But the closer they got to the town, the more enemies which came out of the woodwork. How many are there? And why? He wondered. What could they possibly gain from hiding out in the woods? This doesn¡¯t make any sense!


    What started as he and Jiehong needing only to use their melee weapons ended with him wishing they still had a grenade between the two of them. Oh, how welcome a grenade would be, he desired. But they had none! They used their grenade supply while destroying the siege engines.


    With their swords clutched tightly in their hands, their advance slowed to a crawl. Battles broke out, with each battle lasting longer than the last; the fighting gave the slowly moving enemy groups time to replace their fallen compatriots within the fray. Which further dragged down the boys, threatening them with becoming overwhelmed if they did not break out of the never-ending lines of automotrons.


    Reaching a position close enough to the city wall where help might hear their cries (of a league or two concerning paces), he hoped there was more than one lazy-eared watchman on duty during this early evening hour. He told Jiehong to protect his back for a moment and brought his hands to his mouth and cupped them, trying to get his body to mimic a shouting cone.


    ¡°Patriots in need of assistance. Repeat ¡ª Please, someone, help!¡±

 Chapter 20 (Discovery: Thundervale)

    His throat was sore, raw like bark from a tree rubbed violently. I¡¯ve done what I can, he told himself, feeling his trachea and knowing the iron he tasted was how the gods told him he had done well. He wouldn''t lie, he would prefer a more direct way for the gods to communicate with him...


    Around them, the fighting continued. He leaned on his bro while he turned to fight. And die, if need be, without mercy. He had done what he could using his grenades. Their lives were in the hands of the city guard, now; ironic, he told himself as he waded through the heavy-feeling battlefield, that the power they had gained from war luck should be our downfall. Perhaps the Wardens chose wrong? "Cover me!" he shouted as he performed a daring maneuver which left several destroyed automotrons in his wake.


    It could have been dying tiger¡¯s roar and nothing else. This final stand. Or it could have been the desperation of a child who didn¡¯t want to die -- not yet! But he found himself a more focused, concentrated, and willing spirit than ever. before He wielded his blade with enthuse, where even his hand, wrist, and fingers performed little flourishes he knew only from fancy. No more bodily disobeying. His whole form worked to his advantage in this serendipitous war serenity.


    He slew dozens. Maybe a hundred, it he wanted to fib a smidge. Jiehong destroyed at least as many. He wanted to spend his last few precious breaths doing something important, perhaps reconciling with his blood, such as. Yet doing so would admit they were as good as dead. Admitting their end had come was not something he wanted to acknowledge. So, he kept his mouth shut. He looked closely at his brother, and he thought of the good times; like sunshine, those memories filled with mind with hope.


    Which was what he and Jiehong needed as he saw, finally, a gold-golem enter the field flanked by several red-golems. And a troop transport ¡ª how had they not seen the troop transport?! Too focused on not dying? He chided himself, though he knew he shouldn¡¯t¡­ he was new to this battlefield stuff. He couldn¡¯t have eyes everywhere at once.


    Seeing their doom enter the field in the form of yet more gold-golems, he had no reaction. His limbs moved independently of him. He fought to buy himself not victory, but precious seconds of life. He had no plan for the golems. No grenades, no magic, bodies pushed to their limits already and drained. There was nothing else for them to do. Nothing except accept their grisly fate¡­


    Readying to charge the enemy one last time, he placed his hand on Jiehong¡¯s shoulder and told him, ¡°Let¡¯s give these excrement-lords one last go, eh?! Charge ¡®em with me, together!¡±


    Jiehong clasped him back and said, ¡°I¡¯m with ya¡­ buddy.¡±


    Walking back several paces to gain maximum momentum, the young Ranger-Knights began their death sprint when the ploys of destiny forced a dead stop.


    From the city walls arrows rained down from an unseen source. The arrows peppered the enemies; more unexpectedly, the arrows burst into flame, sending leaping tongues of blue fire throughout the enemy ranks. With such precision, the arrows rained, the armored gold-golems even found themselves within an early grave.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Turning in all directions to find their saviors, he saw a group of men on horseback giddying their way over. As the riders made their way around the city¡¯s walls, they cleaved a path through the massed enemy, sending dozens to their maker. Meanwhile, arrows continued to rain from the walls, he witnessed at least a dozen archers taking aim and releasing arrow after arrow.


    Using their cover to advance close to the wall and around the edge, and hopefully all the way to the main gate on the other side of the city wall, he and Jiehong used their remaining energy to make one last dash to safety. He had reached his breaking point. It was now or never: he breathed in, then out. He placed one foot in front of the other. I have to make it. I have to make it¡­ he repeated like a mantra.


    About half-way along the city¡¯s impressively sized left-defensive wall, they met the horseback riders. The riders dressed in a thick leather hide reinforced with metal bits on the shoulders, chest, and legs. Even their horses wore armor, a defensive measure which featured many oblong spikes, some of which jutted ¡®gruesomely¡¯ with automotron limbs.


    ¡°Get inside the city¡¯s gates, young riders. We will protect you!¡± the captain ¡ª he assumed ¡ª told them.


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± Jiehong shouted.


    He saluted and the two boys resumed their march.


    The riders protected them with every step they took, putting the enemy to route.


    By the time the boys made it to the front gate ¡ª and also seeing the widespread destruction which graced the town¡¯s entryway ¡ª both boys could hardly move. Forcing their bodies to over-perform, however, the boys knocked loudly on the gate. It was a formality, just to make sure. But an unneeded one, as they soon discovered, for the door opened, slowly, as their balled-up fists contacted the door.


    ¡°Come in! Come in ¡ª quickly!¡± the town guards shouted as the massive front gate swung open a crack.


    Needing no more time, he ushered Jiehong in first, the guards actually needing to open the gate a touch more to accommodate his girth. Following at Jiehong¡¯s heels, he slipped in behind, taking in one last sight of the war-ravaged countryside before the iron gate locked shut.


    He wanted rest. To sit down for even a few minutes. Maybe sleep? Just a small nap, he wanted. Forty-minutes.


    But as the saying went, there wasn¡¯t any rest for the wicked.


    Wicked good in their case, but all the same...


    ¡°This way!¡± a guard shouted.


    Not in the mood to resist, the boys followed, literally too tired to argue.


    Letting their eyes make love to their new location, the boys visually apprehended Thundervale.


    If he had to sum up his take on the town, he would say it was ¡®quaint.¡¯


    Cobblestone streets, small two and three tiered homes with horseshoe-shaped shingles lining the way, covering the houses totally, not unlike a turtle. Chimneys shucked smoke, foregrounding how, even in terrifying times, daily life ground on.


    He was sure he heard many sounds of daily life ¡ª merchants calling out their goods, people haggling over prices, but he heard none of it. He was too distracted, too tired. He only had ears for the angry guards, who every few seconds turned their way to ensure he and Jiehong didn¡¯t get any funny ideas about running away. Or so he assumed.


    The guards ushered them into a small, reinforced guardhouse. Once inside, the guards ushered them further by guiding them to the basement. His heart started and failed twice before settling. Jail cells! What do they think we are?! He wanted to say.


    As if to punctuate the issue further, overhead and from a higher floor, came a rumbling boom. On the sole table in the dank and empty jail, candlelight flickered from the rumble.


    The guards roughly forced the boys to a corner and pointed spears at them to prevent them from moving. He held his breath ¡ª are the guards going to kill us?

 Chapter 21

    Blessed be to the gods. The guards did not end their lives!


    Praise be! Sure, it wasn''t as if they could, but still...


    The guards did yell for them to ¡°stay put and don¡¯t move a finger!¡± though,


    Neither of the boys had reason to disagree.


    Far too long passed before someone attended to them. Meanwhile, the guards gave not so much an inch from their spears. He sweated. Perhaps he had been too hasty in announcing their fates as ''living'' and had mispronounced their fates? If so, then it meant death was on the horizon.


    Finally, the boys heard footsteps.


    Creak, creak, creak. The floor made sound for every step down.


    A part of him hoped the stairs would snap. Only if the person meant them harm. He guessed, though, they would not know if the person was a friend or foe. Though, while waiting for them, he wondered if they had stumbled into a circus. Why else would the guards arrest them after rescuing them? He thanked the heavens for the guards lacking the foresight to strip them of their weapons.


    From the stairs emerged a man in armors similar to those worn by the riders who saved them. Was it their captain, he wondered?


    ¡°Boys, my name is Colonel Winters. I will make myself brief: explain yourselves and your intention here in Thundervale during this precocious time of ours.¡±


    He wanted to speak first, but Jiehong beat him to it. Jie said, ¡°We are Ranger-Knights of a newly risen order of holy warriors! With powers and weapons granted to us by ancient Wardens, we now dedicate ourselves to helping freedom-loving countrymen in repelling the enemy invasion. We are here to offer help in your resistance efforts.¡±


    Colonel Winters appeared at first interested in their claims of comradeship, then annoyed. He asked them, ¡°What sort of super-warriors needs rescue?¡±


    ¡°We are new at it,¡± Jiehong replied with less enthusiasm. ¡°Only got our power yesterday. We¡¯re still new to the whole ¡®fighting for our lives¡¯ thing.¡±


    Zan chimed in as well to reinforce his brother''s statement.


    The colonel said, ¡°Fair enough, I ¡®suppose. Many people of modest means are learning how to defend themselves the hard way. Clearly, you two are not golems or automotron agents. But the golems are not our only enemy in this war, boys, so I cannot release you yet. A subordinate will ask you more questions. Cooperate with her and answer truthfully, and you might just get out of here soon.¡±


    With those words, the colonel left, back up the creaking stairs. He reflected on the encounter: What the heck does he mean? Not their only enemy?!


    Coming down the stairs a moment after the colonel left was a well-dressed woman in a colorful army uniform.


    The guards holding them into the corner by spearpoint remained and just as friendly as ever.


    ¡°Welcome to our fair city,¡± the woman said. ¡°But enough pleasantries. Are you or are you not, rebel agents?¡±


    Seeing Jiehong¡¯s reaction and hearing his grunting, he could tell Jiehong failed to find the accusation amusing. Though he couldn¡¯t imagine why they would be at all suspicious as ¡®potential rebel agents,¡¯ until the woman spelled it out for them bluntly: ¡°We do not see too many ¡®strangers from faraway lands,¡¯ in our little neck of the woods.¡±


    Realizing what the woman was implying, he shouted, ¡°Lay off! He¡¯s not like that at all! His family came from the Sunstar Principality as a goodwill move ¡ª he¡¯s helping us! Helping the Kingship integrate into the new world, even helping us by fighting, here and now and¡ª¡± but the woman cut him off and said, ¡°I only had to ask! It¡¯s my job. I can tell by your reaction you¡¯re not an enemy agent. Neither if your friend. Also, your dress is totally inconsistent with how rebels dress. This is mostly a formality, honestly.¡±


    Jiehong muttered something under his breath but repeated it louder and said, ¡°You could have led with that¡­¡±


    ¡°I could have!¡± the woman replied. ¡°But then I wouldn¡¯t have been able to fuss over your purposes here. Speaking of which, what is your purpose?¡±


    ¡°As we told the colonel,¡± He replied calmly. ¡°We are warriors of light of a new martial order. Well, a revived order. We initiated ourselves only yesterday, so we are still new at this whole hero-deal. We came here to help you guys'' fight.¡±


    ¡°I understand. Really, I do. Thank you, boys¡­¡± the woman asked them several more questions, but none of the questions were sensitive questions by nature. Only questions which might have been an issue to a genuine rebel agent¡­ whatever that even was.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    An hour traversed itself before the woman told the guards to lower their spears. He sighed relief, though it might have been nerves.


    ¡°Thank you for cooperating with us,¡± the woman told them.


    ¡°Not a problem,¡± Jiehong replied. ¡°War time. Requires everyone to be more cautious.¡±


    ¡°Very,¡± he said, picking up the conversational cue for his own rationale. He wanted to ask the woman a question before they left. ¡°Ma¡¯am? What are these rebels? I have never left my home village until yesterday. I know nothing about the wider world of this country I¡¯ve called home. What do you mean, ¡®rebels''?¡±


    He hoped the woman did not think he was fishing for information in an illicit sort of way. He was genuinely curious. Luckily for him, the woman smiled and told him, ¡°I can tell. You boys might dress outlandishly, but your faces don¡¯t lie ¡ª you¡¯re country boys! Simple people. Rebels are people who hate our king and want to see him deposed. Meaning, killed. It is up to people like you and me, king-worshiping folk, to oppose them at every turn, making sure they can¡¯t spread their mind poison to the general population. Rebels have used the invasion as a pretext for launching their own operation. Supposedly, they¡¯re seizing towns all over!¡±


    Zan spoke some kind words for the king. He didn¡¯t understand any of what the woman said, but he knew he had to praise the king, or else. So, he did exactly that and said, ¡°We can¡¯t have that at all! And after all the king has done for us!¡± Obviously, he did not know what the king had done, either for or against them as subjects, but he knew this was what the woman wanted to hear.


    Nodding along vigorously, the woman stamped some papers and told them to report to the third floor if they wanted to help break the siege. Saying they wanted to get some air first, she directed them outside and told them to head up to the third floor whenever they were ready.


    Outside and away from unusual eyes, he and Jiehong slouched against the guardhouse in an alleyway.


    Jiehong faced him on the opposite end slouching against the building across from the guardhouse. Jie said, ¡°Thanks for defending me in there. I didn¡¯t think I would have to explain myself¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve lived your whole life in our little village. I think you¡¯re right in my little boat of ignorance. We¡¯re in this together, Jie,¡± he replied.


    ¡°I thought I knew more about the world. Maybe I didn¡¯t listen hard enough¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll come in time. I don¡¯t know what anyone here is talking about. But you don¡¯t see me complaining,¡± his response came with more bitterness than he intended. In his defense, he thought Jiehong needlessly placed himself on too high a pedestal.


    Considering, Jiehong looked tired, moreso, perhaps, then even he. ¡°You¡¯ve never had reason to be knowledgeable. I do! I¡¯ve had an education. A basic one, but an education. I feel like a fool. I should¡¯ve asked my parents more about the world before I left.¡±


    Ignoring the fact his brother essentially called him stupid, Zan took the high road and said, ¡°What do you mean, ¡®left¡¯? It¡¯s not like you¡¯re a bachelor on the prowl striking out and building their own nest. Crying out loud, bro. We can literally go back to the community and your family anytime we want. And we''ll be back again soon enough, besides...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡­ I should¡¯ve done more.¡±


    After a while of enjoying the evening air, not having to worry about lurking golems, Zan said, ¡°We both should have done more. We can¡¯t change the past, though. We only have the future.¡± Pointing his thumb at the guardhouse, Zan continued. ¡°A future which for us starts by getting going to the third floor of this wonderful organization which recently held us against our will.¡±


    (BONUS CHAPTER)


    Chapter 21.5


    Once more, we must take our leave of Zan and Jiehong. We remove ourselves from their presence, difficult as it is at their time and hour and return to a man we have met before. A man who always seems close to our heroes. The Imperial engineer Rictus Dawson.


    He is with his masters. The strange ¡®High-Born¡¯ folk who speak in hip codes.


    Our pullback resulted in us coming far outside of town. Thundervale is in the distance but none too close. The imperial engineer has on him a pair of binoculars. He watched the whole battle closely with his clients.


    Watching as the youths entered the town, escorted by the newly arrived riders, our engineer puts away his long-distance lens and addressing his clients¡­


    ¡°Milords,¡± the imperial engineer Rictus Dawson said. ¡°The target has entered the town. Orders?¡±


    Silence. The clients do not give the engineer much to go on.


    Hisses, chirps, tongue-clicks, and the seldom used glib word. The odd body motions his clients threw into the communicative pot weren¡¯t helping.


    Rictus stood staring at his clients uncomprehendingly. Did they really expect him to understand them? What was the point? Surely, they knew he could not understand them.


    ¡°Sirs. As I have said before, I cannot understand you when you talk to me like this. Please use the standard tongue. If this is a joke to you, please leave me out of this unusual humor,¡± Rictus told his masters, politely.


    Among his clients who were harassing him, they continued their unusual glib. Not that it mattered to him, frankly, as it simply meant he could ignore them now in peace, without the un-nerve of wondering if they expected him to understand.


    Rictus returned his attention to the town.


    The sun was setting.


    The setting of the sun heralded dwindled automotron efficiency. Whether the enemy had discovered such a weakness yet was unknown.


    Approaching Rictus was the lead client. The individual who had normal talking capabilities but rarely used it unless he was talking with Rictus. ¡°Hail, engineer. What do you see?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, my sir. The sun is setting. Our target has entered the town¡­ as I have told you a moment ago,¡± Rictus replied.


    ¡°Yes. I remember. Continue to keep a vigil. My associates and I are going to scout the area. We shouldn¡¯t be long.¡±


    Rictus nodded and returned to his duties. He wasn¡¯t too happy at this job as of late as he hadn¡¯t yet actually encountered a situation which his skills and training would be helpful ¡ª specifically, engineering! So far, his labor had all been irrelevant. Mostly scouting duties: keep track of those kids, head to this town, talk to that rebel¡­ although a question formed in the engineer¡¯s mind, of how ¡ª exactly ¡ª these clients of his knew about the complexity of the local field amid an invasion, he kept this question to himself. The eccentric High-Borns behaved in a way which served their dementia. He would not get drawn into their orbit of madness.


    With binoculars in hand, he resumed his vigil.


    As ordered.


    He would look across at the town until the targets left.

 Chapter 22

    With tired hearts, the boys climbed the stairs and reported themselves to the commanding officer. Which was none other than the man with a season for a name.


    Colonel Winters was speaking to a room full of uniformly dressed soldiers and officers. By the time he and Jiehong entered, Winters had been in the middle of briefing the other soldiers about their upcoming mission.


    Everyone turned to look at them.


    Awkward, he felt. He said, ¡°Apologies for our clear lateness. We had¡­ well, we had to get some fresh air after being detained.¡±


    Silence. ¡°Just saying¡­ don¡¯t blame us for your screw up,¡± Jiehong said, uncharacteristically blunt.


    ¡°Who are these guys?¡± one of the assembled officers said.


    ¡°The fellas who took out all the siege artillery near the lake,¡± Winter replied.


    ¡°Damn! Those are the dudes who did it? I was expecting people more beefy. Not these shrimps. No offense, shrimps!¡±


    He waved the officer off. Their description of him as being a ¡®shrimp¡¯ irritated him. What could he do, though? Pitch a fit in a room full of military men? That wouldn¡¯t get him honor. Might get him smacked on his ass, however¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you could join us, boys. I was only going over with the men the details of the mission. Everyone knows the plan by heart by now, so you missed little. Tell me, boys, can you ride mounts? My battle plan tonight calls for a mounted assault,¡± Colonel Winters said.


    His cheeks turned red. Jiehong told the group, ¡°Sorry. We don¡¯t actually know how to ride. Maybe we should have led with that?¡±


    Someone in the audience coughed.


    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate,¡± Colonel Winters continued. ¡°It would have been nice to have backup on the mission.¡±


    Wanting to get out and head to an inn or something, he said, ¡°It would have been nice, yes. But my friend and I are tired. We desperately need sleep. Even if we knew how to ride, we couldn¡¯t come, anyway. Not on the mission tonight. Will there be another mission tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Not if the mission tonight goes well. With your actions at the lake earlier today, the enemy forces are attempting to shift and make-up for the loss in war material. It isn¡¯t working for them, though. Not by our fleet-footed spy¡¯s eyes and their reports.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Zan said. ¡°You are welcome for the aid we rendered at the lake. And I thank you for bailing us out of that danger at said lake. But with your mission imminent, and Jiehong and I tired, we should leave for an inn.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes¡­ you boys are free to go. Should we cross paths in the future, till then,¡± Winters said, saluting them, then turning back to his presentation.


    He and Jiehong exited the room and returned the way they came; he couldn''t speak for his brother, of course, but personally, he felt as though the female secretary urging them into the meeting with Winters could''ve waited if all they were to ask them was if they could ride horses. Heading outside, they leaned over once again near the alleyway.


    ¡°So, an inn? With what money?¡± Jiehong said.


    He felt bewildered. ¡°I didn¡¯t think of that¡­¡± he admitted.


    ¡°So now what? We sleep in an alleyway?¡±


    He attempted to think of a solution, but nothing came to mind. He wanted to cry.


    Unexpectedly, the solution came from the military guys heading out on their mission. Passing them on the sidewalk, presumably as they made their way down to the stables, Colonel Winters turned to them real quick and said, ¡°I forgot to mention. The inn travelers usually stay at is in the center of town. Real nice place. Oh, also, nighttime is great for travel. Golems cannot see through the darkness to save their lives. Use that to your advantage.¡±


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Like that, the troops passed them, leaving he and Jiehong to themselves.


    ¡°Think he was right?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°About the vision?¡±


    Zan nodded. He told his friend, ¡°Yes. I have noticed that too. Even just on our way to town while we were destroying the checkpoints. Golems had terrible sight. Winters must be right. Those guys are doing their mission under cover of darkness, yeah? We, though, could use this dark to our advantage and sneak our way back to the command center.¡±


    ¡°Sneak? You surely don¡¯t mean tonight¡­¡±


    Thinking on it, he said, ¡°I guess I do mean tonight. We need more grenades. And a place to sleep that doesn¡¯t charge money while still keeping us safe.¡±


    Jiehong couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°We destroyed, like, what, a dozen siege engines helping this town free itself. How about this? Instead of going on your death march in the middle of the blasted night, we just go to that tavern and beg for a couple of coin for a room? Or beg for the room directly! We can tell them about our heroism!¡±


    ¡°Jiehong, no one would believe us. Honestly, even if they did, do you really think there are any rooms to spare? Look down the street. If that¡¯s the heart of the town, then the town¡¯s already overfilled. I can see people sleeping on the sidewalks,¡± he said.


    ¡°Zan! I¡¯m so freaking tired. Do you really want to walk miles back to the command center, in the middle of the night, while enemies by their hundreds prowl?¡±


    ¡°Obviously not, Jie! What other course of action do we have?! Do you really want to beg? I figured that would go against your honor. Maybe that was another thing you should have asked your parents for ¡ª money!¡±


    He expected a response to that, but instead only a bitter mutter came from him. ¡°Yeah. I should have. As I said, I should have asked about a lot of things¡­¡±


    A moment of frustrated half-thinking later ¡ª he could not in good conscious call it ¡®thinking¡¯ as his exhaustion kept distracting him at every sight and sound around ¡ª and he decided. ¡°I¡¯m the leader,¡± he said. ¡°And I say we take the risk.¡±


    With legs of sludge, the boys returned to the front gate.


    He knew Jiehong wasn¡¯t happy. But he did not care. Not now.


    They had done the mission they came to fulfill. Thundervale might not be totally free from the siege, but they had come and destroyed many siege engines and what he took to be commander-level automotrons. They had no money, no grenades. Colonel Winters said the golems are practically useless at night. It made sense to leave now.


    ¡°Safe travels, friends,¡± the guard at the gate told them.


    Jiehong stopped in his tracks for a moment and asked the guard, ¡°Is it true? The golems can¡¯t see in the dark?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely! The things are useless! My buddy and I had one too many drinks the other day, and, well, we went out to find one of the freaks, and we messed with it. Knocked it around a bunch. It made weird noises but couldn¡¯t do anything other than stand still. Hilarious!¡±


    Jiehong and the guard made some small talk, but the conversation ended abruptly when the guard¡¯s co-guard told him with bite how his job wasn¡¯t to ¡®make chit-chat with every traveler who comes through,¡¯ and how he needed to get to his other responsibilities.


    Walking away from the argument, Jiehong wished them both well and returned with him outside the gates.


    Away from the town after a good few paces, Jiehong said, ¡°At least Winters seemed to tell the truth on that end.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ good,¡± he said, never having a reason to doubt the man to begin with.


    Although the plan to return to the command center had been his own, he had not considered it in all of its aspects. He knew it would be dangerous, but he¡­ he couldn¡¯t finish his thought. He was beyond spent. He placed one foot in front of the other, mindlessly. Perhaps like an automotron?


    ¡°It is quiet,¡± Jiehong said, passing several unmoving automotrons on the road who had either wandered into the route or had somehow been out of their field of vision when they initially made their way up. As the guard had said at the main gate, they made weird noises, but did not so much as lift a foot.


    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s nighttime for us,¡± he replied, not really caring how he did so.


    They continued to walk away from the town. it was at a at a certain hour of the night when the boys heard far-away screams and shouts. Then an explosion. Then another.


    ¡°Must be the operation,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Hopefully they kill ever last golem,¡± Jiehong said.


    Otherwise, the night lacked suspense. Too tired to even kill the golems they passed, each of the young Ranger-Knights had enough resolve to step and step closer back to the command center and nothing more.


    Turning suddenly, a start bumbled in Zan¡¯s heart. ¡°Someone there?¡± he called out.


    But no one replied.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Jiehong asked. Right behind him, Jiehong would have seen anyone approach from the rear. He would have seen anything from the front. It might have been nighttime, but the moonlight provided ample light.


    He felt foolish. The lack of sleep must be getting to him.


    ¡°I, uh¡­ thought I heard someone. Let¡¯s keep a move on,¡± he said.


    In the back of his mind, though, he knew someone was out there.

 Chapter 23

    When they arrived back in the meadow where the command center protected everyone they ever knew and loved, both boys had a look on their face of pure delight.


    Home¡­ food¡­ sleep!


    People tried to talk to them, but neither were capable of conversation, however trite. They soothed their way through the crowd, saying whatever they needed to pass free. People surely saw the tiredness on them, the few who were up at such an ungodly hour.


    ¡°Wait¡­ crowds?¡± he asked himself aloud. Why are there crowds here? Who are all these people?!


    He wanted to ask Jiehong, but he was already making a beeline for the center proper. Jie either didn¡¯t care or did not notice.


    Oh, how I want to be Jiehong. Zan wanted nothing more than to head off and sleep. As it stood, he endured micro-naps. Moments of consciousness bled into unconsciousness.


    Walking back to the center, he felt a pull.


    ¡°Hi. How are you?¡± he said to a stranger he had never seen before. Which fed into his question: where did these fair folks come from?


    The stranger turned to address him: ¡°Poorly. You wisecracking mongrel!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± he said. ¡°But why are you here? What happened?¡±


    Instead of an answer, he received a string of curses. He resisted an impulse to slap this lady back to sensibility. He walked away.


    Finding another stranger, he asked them the same question: ¡®why are you here?¡¯


    The new stranger told him, ¡°We fled our farm near the border¡­ were going to the capital, but a huge enemy force cut us off. We had to divert around here; are you the lord of this realm¡¯s son? If so, then please thank your father for me. What a kind man he must be to allow us into his home and protect us.¡±


    He walked away from the man. What he was saying made no sense. They thought this was some duke¡¯s fiefdom. He had to learn what happened; he would go talk to the Wardens.


    Walking down to the war-room he saw Sigma-Prime milling about, checking information displayed on several monitors. The Screen Master spoke, ¡°Zan, welcome back! Jiehong has entered his bedroom for rest. I advise you to do the same. You look vanquished.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell I am tired?¡± he asked, wondering if it was only the heavy black bags under his eyes or if there was another tell.


    ¡°Your communication device allows me to monitor your basic vitalities. Part of it is technically inside of you. But that was not my only way of knowing you need rest. Your eyes, general disposition, told me a lot, as did your lack of energy. And, just coming from a mission¡ª¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay, enough!¡± he said, interjecting. ¡°I am going to bed. Before I do, what is with the new people?¡±


    ¡°Shortly after you departed for your mission, a large movement of civilians fleeing the conflict entered the region. A volunteer from your village saw their pitiable state while hunting, leading them here after taking pity on them. Do you disagree with your community¡¯s offer or peace? If so, I can rescind the offer on your behalf,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum said.


    He had to make a choice. He was the leader, right?


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if they stay, Screen Master. They¡¯re my fellow countrymen, right? But do they have food? We have nothing here in the command center they can use, do we?¡± Zan replied, letting the first things which came to mind out.


    ¡°They appear to have brought some supplies with them. How long it will last them, however, is uncertain. Opening supply lines to acquire the resources needed to care for them should be the top priority outside of the war situation.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Many thoughts came into his mind but all of them ended with him feeling stressed beyond care. He told the Screen Master, ¡°As long as they don¡¯t cause trouble, as long as they can fend for themselves, I don¡¯t care. Let them stay. Now, I need to bed go to¡­ you know?¡±


    Realizing he said the words out of order, he threw his hands up and walked to the side, entering the stairs leading down to the barracks and his own personal room.


    He closed and locked his door. He wasn¡¯t thinking anymore. His bed might have been basic, but that was exactly his style. Better than the blanket on the floor Jie¡¯s family gave me when I first moved in with them¡­


    Lying on his mattress, he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, a statement not at all an exaggeration.


    He slept for as long as he needed. The war would continue without him; he might be a valiant Ranger-Knight (in-training) but he still was only one-man. One young man.


    He would wake, then return to sleep. Sometimes, semi-periods of wakefulness dominated his perception. Being all similar, however, they blended into something he could only describe as a ''m¨¦lange of consciousness,'' of one sensation blending seamlessly into another.


    His life became a blur of sleep, stretching, then sleep.


    Sometimes during his awake moments, he would see gray shadows dance with the light from beneath the door. Dust clung to the air¡­ sleep.


    And more sleep.


    Boy, did he love sleep. He couldn¡¯t quite describe how much he liked it.


    Finally, he felt rested enough to resume his day¡­ whatever ''day'' it was, in fact, as he felt too discombobulated to have a proper sense of time. Rising from his bed, he woke and lazily walked up to the command room.


    Silence. Blessed silence.


    ¡°Good morning, Zan! How are you feeling?¡± Sigma-Prime asked.


    ¡°So good,¡± he replied, groggily. ¡°Jie still asleep?¡±


    ¡°Jiehong is still in his room, yes. Would you like something to eat? While you were asleep, I appropriated some food from your community for the rental tax. I also organized your village, and the newly arrived folk, so each had a relatively equal amount of space,¡± Sigma told him.


    ¡°Rental tax? Like, we¡¯re charging them money just to exist?¡±


    ¡°If you dislike the rental tax, I can rescind the order. However, you have no source of income or subsistence resources. Without the means of survival from day-to-day, your efforts in liberating this land will come to naught. Please note, I informed the community from which you hail the rental tax was myself and the Screen Master¡¯s idea.¡±


    Sigma-Prime made sense. Although he disliked the idea of ¡®taxing¡¯ the community, which raised him, he needed food. He needed the basic means of survival; and right in that moment, his stomach growled too fearsomely to ignore. ¡°Very well, Sigma. Please tell them this is only a temporary measure. An emergency measure while we are sorting everything out.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Master,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°Master?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Master is an old term to denote the commander of a base. Multiple levels of ¡®Master¡¯ exist; do you offend to the term?¡±


    Honestly, he did not know if he ¡®offended¡¯ the term. It was more he didn¡¯t expect such a powerful term to apply to himself. Before he could think to ask why he would take offense to the term, his rumbling stomach demanded its due.


    ¡°No, fine¡­ what about that breakfast?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I have placed the good down in the basement kitchen. Help yourself, Master. As base commander, you have complete control over how the base¡¯s resources.¡±


    ¡°Cool¡­ cool. Do you have cooking skills? Can I ask you to make me something?¡± he wondered aloud to Sigma.


    ¡°Unfortunately, I lack culinary skills within my database,¡± Sigma said, confusing Zan. ¡°However, although I cannot cook for you, there are many people outside. I would suggest recruiting a cook from the newcomers. Their service to the encampment can be their tax.¡±


    ¡°I like that. Is this a service I can pass off to you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Your wish is my command, master. Unfortunately, it will take time to locate a chef. Meanwhile, you will need to fend for yourself. If you have questions, never hesitate to reach out.¡±


    He thanked Sigma for her help and went down to the kitchen. He had food to prepare. Luckily for him, his culinary talents were slightly above miserable. On more than one occasion, he and Jiehong had to cook over an open campfire, so he knew the basics.


    Although he found the kitchen easy enough in the basement, within a wing of the command center close to the barracks, there was something off about the wing which he could not account for¡­ something old, off-putting...


    Before he walked into the kitchen-proper, he looked around at the nearby rooms. Or wanted to but couldn¡¯t because of every single one of the doors were locked. Six doors and not a single one so much as budged.


    What is this place? He asked. Other than some musty smell, nothing looked out of place. It all looked smooth, shiny black minerals of a type wholly mysterious to him. He saw his reflection travel with him as he walked, like all the walls were one big mirror. Same as any other part of the command center. If so, though, why did it feel weird?


    ¡®I¡¯m just overtired,¡¯ he reasoned. He would ask Sigma about it later. For now, food!


    Walking into the kitchen, he was then presented with a shocking sight. Waiting for him inside was a woman. A woman with some words, which shocked him even more.

 Chapter 24

    ¡°Do you remember me? From last night?¡± the woman said.


    ¡°No? What do you mean, remember? Were you at Thundervale?¡±


    ¡°Sort of,¡± she said. ¡°I was stalking you last night on your way back¡­¡±


    A flash of inspiration: she was the one. She was the sound, the premonition he thought he heard while walking back. He hadn¡¯t just been imagining things!


    ¡°W-wait. You were stalking me? Why? What for? Also, how did you get in here?¡±


    ¡°What did I just say? Yes, I was stalking you. As for why, it is because I need help. How I entered this place? The front door, like everyone else.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Zan said. ¡°So, what do you need help with?¡±


    Making tentative moves to the bundles of food collected by Sigma-Prime, he sorted the food into the pantry or the icebox depending on its storage needs. As he did so, he listened as well as he could to the mysterious interloper. Just because a stranger was hogging his ear did not mean his needs waned.


    ¡°I was hunting for my village when the invasion happened. It is a small tributary a little ways outside Thundervale¡¯s walls. The enemy took my whole village as prisoners. If we act fast, we might be able to free them before they¡¯re shipped back to the occupied territories as slaves,¡± the woman said.


    Her words spoke of a righteous cause. He had to feel for her.


    But he was also hungry. And his stomach was growling so loudly it literally was breaking the flow of conversation. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am, but I and my friend and battle buddy are the only practicing members of this order, and this order did not exist until yesterday. Or the day earlier? Later? I can¡¯t even ride a horse, neither can my friend. You¡¯ve wasted your time. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? You can¡¯t be serious. The incredible warriors I heard all the murmuring about back in Thundervale can¡¯t even ride a mare?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a weakness, yeah, but it is what it is; and let me tell ya, ma''am, I might not know how to tide a horse, but at least I¡¯m not the one stalking people in the dead of night based on a rumor. Now get the feck out of here before I lose my temper,¡± he yelled, becoming angry.


    The woman whose name he hadn¡¯t even learned stormed off in a fit, pitching shet.


    He didn¡¯t care. He was hungry and needed a gods-be-damned bite to eat. He wasn¡¯t playing anymore; he needed something in his gullet.


    Alone at last, he got the stove going in record time and threw in some eggs and meat. He had to pick out the shells, which irritated him to no end, but he was happy to finally have something going for him. He toasted some bread in the oven. The meat practically did itself up and cooked the proper way after only a few minutes. He piled up a plate high, drizzled some refined tree syrup over it all, and dug in with the intensity of a ravenous dog.


    Thinking he should have saved some for Jiehong, he considered making up another batch for his brother.


    Then again, he thought. I don¡¯t know what Jie is going to do when he wakes up. He will probably go have a meal with his family.


    He brought his dishes over to the sink and cleaned them out. Washing his hands, he returned to the war room and to the Wardens.


    Jiehong was not present. He wondered if he should wait for him. No need to, he figured. He would let him be with his parents for a while.


    ¡°Sigma-Prime: did you see a woman leave the building?¡± he asked.


    Turning to face him, Sigma said, ¡°Yes. Was she not a follower you picked up along the way on your most recent mission?¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°No¡­ not really. Although yes? In a way¡­ she was desperate and asking for help. In the future, if someone is in the building and it is neither myself nor Jiehong, let me know, okay? I thought only Ranger-Knights could enter the building?¡± he said.


    ¡°Anyone with the potential to be Ranger-Knights can enter the building. If they are not an initiated Ranger-Knight, but their hearts are pure, they can enter. I can change this security setting, but it might require more repairs being completed,¡± Sigma replied. ¡°Why was she here? You said she asked for your help?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And no, the security is fine for now¡­ she wanted warrior companions for a rescue mission. But we do not even have horses or have the talents at riding the horses, so I had to turn her down. Her village was all the way outside Thundervale near the border. Kind of a suicide mission to be waging the war in an overrun region.¡±


    Sigma replied right away and said, ¡°In our current situation, yes: it is not strategically advisable to launch expeditions to regions heavily occupied by invading forces. However, this will not always be the case. I am close to repairing a fundamental function of the command center. Once repaired, it will make transportation much easier.¡±


    This intrigued him. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Sigma explained: ¡°There is a tool Ranger-Knights use. It is called The Backroads; it is a warped region of space-time which allows Ranger-Knights to travel between far-flung locations in the blink of an eye. Once it is fully operational, you and your party will be able to at will. Using The Backroads, it would be possible to launch an extraction operation. However, the risk remains high.¡±


    The Backroads? He had never heard of it, clearly. Yet it lined up hope.


    He asked, ¡°What can we do to help?¡±


    Sigma-Prime told him all she needed was time. In their current condition, there wasn¡¯t anything more they could do to help. Though, in the future, she might need highly advanced ores for the most advanced repairs. ¡°Leave it to me, Zan. Thank you for your offer of help, but there is nothing to be done, other re-routing wires and incinerating grim from the many years slowing the center¡¯s processing abilities.¡±


    Sending him out on his way, he went off to find Jiehong.


    The search was not long. Most people in their makeshift refugee camp had little more than a thin tent, if that. Jiehong¡¯s family had an elaborate, multi-colored tent large enough for several people, plus a pet.


    Asking permission to enter, he found Jiehong at the center of a family gathering.


    ¡°Oh, hey, you guys. I hope I¡¯m not interrupting. I need Jiehong for war stuff. Now a good time?¡± he asked.


    Jiehong¡¯s father, a tall, thin man with more hair than one would expect, said, ¡°Perfect timing, actually, Zan. Sit. Tell us about your recent adventures!¡±


    Without thinking about ulterior motives, he did just that and told Jiehong¡¯s parents, and his sort of half-adopted guardians, all of which happened. When he finished, he expected a hearty hug, maybe even an honorable handshake.


    Boy, how wrong he was¡­


    ¡°So, this is how you disobey us? With wonton adventurism? With usurping of the natural order? Did you even stop to think about it? No, clearly, you did not. For this disrespect is immense!¡± It was ''their'' father who spoke.


    When Zan exploded, he directed it to the patriarch. ¡°What the fecking-heck do you mean?¡±


    His cursing cast a shadow over the table.


    ¡°Language, young man!¡± the mother replied. He had a love-hate relationship with her and would despise her guts one moment while at other moments adore her. Her head was ¡®fiery,¡¯ as the doctors would say.


    ¡°We meant we expected you to give our son the leadership role. He has always been the leader, hasn¡¯t he?¡± the father said, remaining calm.


    ¡°It was not in my power to control,¡± he told his guardians. ¡°Besides, the circumstances were chaotic. Neither of us had a choice in what happened; I did what I thought would be best given the conditions.¡±


    ¡°This creature-crystal, though¡­ my son here says you thrust it into you so quickly to spite him? Is he lying?¡±


    By now, his patience had entered the negative. ¡°What can I say? What can I say to make you two happy? Nothing I take it? Same as ever?¡±


    Silence reigned again over the dining table, but this time it was a silence of a seething variety. Not hearing them say anything in response made his rage boil like the simmering blood of a demon''s cauldron. He knew he should stop what was about to come out of his mouth, but he didn¡¯t want to stop it. He knew it needed to be said:


    ¡°Yeah, I took the leadership position, but that is because I found the command center; I imbued the way stones with magic; and I was the one who decided to confront that huge four-legged machine. I was doing my thing, defending people. I didn¡¯t become the leader to spite him. Seriously? Do you guys really believe I would ¡®spite¡¯ Jie?!¡± Letting his emotions flow, he got up with a start from his seat. Then slammed the tabletop with his fists. He let flow through him every instance of second-class citizenship they forced on him, from the extra chores to the nullification of his studies. Continuing, he said, ¡°Because if you believe I would spite my best friend, then I think our relation has ended. Thanks for the table scraps and secondhand sheets!¡±


    Storming out was all he could do not to show himself crying.


    He held back the tears, but it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

 Chapter 25

    And then his emotions cleared. He stuffed them down and didn¡¯t think of them again.


    Not for a while, anyway¡­


    Taking deep breaths¡­ taking deep¡­ exhales¡­


    Zan¡¯s body was shaking. He wanted to be left alone. But where could solitude be at a time like this?


    The church tent? No, it was always full. Especially now. Where, Zan didn¡¯t know, until the answer struck him: he could go to his room.


    Or even take a walk to the woods? Too dangerous.


    He wanted to check-in with the Wardens and see if they made any progress on base repairs. Zan fidgeted. He felt anxious, though, about what he couldn¡¯t say; obviously part of his mental unwellness had come from the ¡®encounter¡¯ he just had, but now his body felt on edge. Surely, his recent somatic responses couldn¡¯t have only come from such an argument?


    It was more than an argument, right? Zan told himself. It was cutting strings?


    ¡®Stop it!¡¯ Zan cursed himself. ¡®I can¡¯t think of this crap. Not now. I need privacy!¡¯


    Rushing to his chamber, Zan locked the door and pulled up the privacy slot so no one could see into the room through the solitary window.


    Resting head first into his pillow in complete darkness, Zan replayed the encounter in his head: he entered, he sat down, then he had to defend himself. They didn¡¯t even make small talk, just accused me of one-upping their son; Zan thought: did he do anything wrong? I probably could have done without the swearing¡­ Zan relented on that point. But I don¡¯t regret what I said. It was the truth!


    Then Zan replayed the encounter: he entered the room, he sat down; the father scolded him for something beyond his scope¡­ but wasn¡¯t he perceptive? Didn¡¯t I thrust the parasite-thing into me only to one-up Jiehong? Zan didn¡¯t need to dwell on the question. He knew the answer: yeah, maybe I did, but what of it? Jiehong was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. For once, I wanted my time in the sun. It is not like he found the command center first, right? It WAS me. Everything I told them was truthful.


    Zan wished he could sleep, but he wasn¡¯t tired. He had just slept for a long time then eaten. No way he could be¡­ tired? Then Zan realized, somehow, against all odds, he was tired.


    He figured he would not be able to sleep. Not after having already had so much rest. It was the argument, he knew; it drained him.


    Repeating the encounter in his head for a third time, Zan attempted a fourth re-play of the altercation before he fell asleep.


    His dreaming was restless. He dreamed he was a small child again and playing on one of the farmer¡¯s bales of hay when a monumental explosion ¡ª like a volcano ¡ª erupted in the distance. It blocked the sky and cast doom upon all; as the ashes fell, Young Dream Zan saw others running. He was too frightened to run. Fear rooted him in place even as the shockwaves washed over him, causing him to levitate before crashing him to the ground. Then came the heatwave¡­ Young Dream Zan saw how all became incinerated once the heat wave touched. His heart sped faster than a thousand horses as he gave witness to the incoming wave of broiling air. He was going to die! He didn¡¯t want to die.


    He¡ª


    Woke up.


    Zan didn¡¯t know what to make of the dream. His slobber wetted the pillow and coated his face. Gross though it was, Zan made no move to clean himself or get up from the bed. He was¡­ strangely paralyzed. After the passing of some minutes, rationality returned to Zan, and he shook the dream¡¯s oppressive atmosphere away. Yet the memory of the dream lingered, causing Zan to wonder what it could mean.


    Finally, moving to ease himself up from the bed, Zan sat upright on his mattress, his feet on the floor. He slowed his breathing. Little help it did until many minutes eloped, causing Zan to think and realize his body stank to high heaven.


    He needed a bath.


    Having a kind of peace-of-mind after the disturbing dream, his body finally letting the dream simply be a dream and therefore an irrational representation of the chaos of life, as opposed to something he had to muse on indefinitely, Zan pulled down his privacy slot.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Finding a washroom as a side-way door tucked between two of the primary barrack chambers, Zan entered and found himself alone. Heading deeper into the washroom, he found a route which led to a naturally occurring hot-spring. He hadn¡¯t expected a hot spring underground, but if it was part of the base, then such would explain its unlikelihood.


    Zan didn¡¯t overthink the hot spring¡¯s existence. He stripped and slank inside the warm water, letting it wash over every bit of him.


    It felt good. I feel good. Zan closed his eyes, letting himself truly feel the warmth and wet as it slicked over his body. Wetting a nearby heavy cloth, Zan rested the material over his forehead to ease his headache. I could really go for a cup of tea right now.


    Iced tea, maybe? Though cave diving for ice would be extremely reckless, given the situation. I can¡¯t be expected to be a soldier twenty-four seven, though, right? Maybe I have no choice? The invaders won¡¯t be waiting around for me, after all. What choice do I have other than to throw myself into it? Still¡ª


    And on Zan went, debating with himself on his role in the conflict. Using the idealism of the heart present in those young enough to ignore the complexities of why people fight.


    It was a moment of peace in the chaos, Zan knew as he washed his body, some parts more vigorously than others¡­ because of uneven distribution of dirt. Yes.


    Feeling himself relieved of some of his load, Zan exited the bath feeling refreshed.


    He dried himself off with another set of heavy linen. Dressed in his cloth-armor ¡ª Zan didn¡¯t have any other way to refer to the protective yet lightweight garb he wore ¡ª he exited the bath, making sure it was clean and ready for the next person who used. Likely Jiehong.


    Ready to tackle the day, or at least for the next few hours, Zan returned to the upstairs and entered the war room.


    Sigma-Prime was charging, so she was on her table being non-responsive.


    Pointless hello then, but that¡¯s fine. That¡¯s on me for not realizing she was inert. Silly me, Zan thought.


    Addressing the Screen Master, Zan said, ¡°What is your next recommendation?¡±


    ¡°Zan! I am glad to see you are better rested and full of much needed nutrients. I would be happy to call a strategy meeting and to help you plan the next step of our operations. However, should we wait for your co-Ranger, Jiehong?¡±


    Zan shook his head. ¡°No, it is fine. Jiehong is spending some time with his parents at the moment. Besides, we had a fight a little while ago and things are rocky. I can plan alongside you and fill Jiehong in on the details when he has had some time to cool down.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry you are experiencing this difference of opinions, Zan. Is the issue between him and you something you wish to talk about? I am a Galactic Being. So I have lived for a very long time. I have picked up a lot of interpersonal skills in those times and am always happy to assist my Ranger-Knights any way I can,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum said.


    Zan considered the Screen Master¡¯s offer but shook his head. ¡°Thank you. For the time being, I think we simply need more time. Let¡¯s continue with the strategy meeting.¡±


    ¡°Understood. I have been monitoring the situation. Enemy forces are making large territorial gains within the border of your country. Currently, it seems the enemy is making a pile-drive to surround and assault the Kingship¡¯s capital. Despite the large enemy force, however, the command center sits well outside of the enemy¡¯s apparent goal. This is not to say the enemy is ignoring our region. Currently, the direction of the enemy forces allows us to posit their goal as being the seizure of the local capital. We should not take this as a confirmed strategy, however. The host is large and a splinter force might yet break off and launch an assault into our region. If this should happen, enemy troops would overrun us. Not even the defenses of the command center would be able to resist for long, not with so many in their number.¡±


    Feeling sharp, Zan asked, ¡°If the enemy should overrun us, what would happen to the command center?¡±


    ¡°Without open supply lines, the enemy would forcefully send us into hibernation mode. In hibernation mode, I would order the command center to use its emergency battery to dive into the ground using the heavy drill deep within its heart. This hibernation mode was the mode you and Jiehong disturbed the command center. Accordingly, the command center would remain in hibernation mode until such a time when the local hostiles were defeated in combat or until their evil rule withered into obscurity and it was safe for the center to resume operations.¡±


    Zan thought about the Screen Master¡¯s response. He said, ¡°Why did the command center emerge now? An invasion is hardly safe.¡±


    ¡°The command center did not choose now to emerge. Surrounding the command center are waystones. A couple of days ago, you imbued these stones with a petty sum of magic. By doing so, you summoned the command center. Seeing your time of need, it allowed itself to be discovered so as to oppose the evil which threatens the land. Safety might be the command center¡¯s first priority, but opposing evil will always be a risk it must take. In certain circumstances, of course. You should feel blessed, Zan. Few situations can call a Shiv command post to abandon its slow recovery.¡±


    ¡°I am honored,¡± Zan replied. ¡°Truly. Your aid has been extremely useful. Thank you for helping us.¡± The Screen Master nodded and thanked Zan for restarting the order.


    Continuing off the Screen Master¡¯s explanation, Zan continued. ¡°So right now, our top goal is to make sure the enemy doesn¡¯t overwhelm the base, so the base doesn¡¯t turn its tail and hide underground?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°And there is currently a huge force marching its way through the heart of my home. A force large enough to shatter our incumbent attempt at renewing the Shiv Order and defeating the enemy?¡±


    ¡°Correct again.¡±


    ¡°So, well¡­ that makes our job easier, then. We just have to make sure the space between here and the massive convoy of troops is a wasteland of death.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    Zan paced back and forth. He was thinking.


    ¡°So¡­ how?¡± he said.


    From the shadows came a voice. It said, ¡°I think I know how¡­¡±

 Chapter 26 (Reinforcements: Whiskey Minsk)

    Everyone turned to see who spoke.


    Except the Screen Master. He remained projected onto the wall. Like always.


    It was the lady who asked for his help in the kitchen.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me she re-entered the building?¡± Zan asked.


    The Screen Master replied, ¡°She never left the building.¡±


    Ugh. Was what came to Zan¡¯s mind.


    Turning to her, he said, ¡°I thought you stormed off. W-wait, shouldn¡¯t you have stormed off? Your family still hasn¡¯t been un-enslaved, right?¡±


    ¡°Firstly, don¡¯t tell me what I should or should not have done. Secondly, maybe I should have, but this place captured my imagination. I was actually on my way out when I overheard this little strategy ¡®sesh¡¯ of yours. I have some information you could use in your quest to protect the region. But I need help to rescue my family first,¡± the woman said.


    Zan replied, ¡°For the love of¡­ lady, it isn¡¯t you, it¡¯s us. If we could help you, we would. But we can¡¯t even ride horses. So, again ¡ª sorry!¡±


    The woman looked at them sullenly. When she did speak, it was with hardly a whisper. ¡°I am sorry for making fun of your riding abilities. Even if it is by foot, I desperately need fellow blades to help me. I might not know anything about you other than what I observed back in Thundervale, but I know this much about you, Zan: you¡¯re trying to help people when hardly anyone can think of something other than saving their own hide.¡±


    She let her words linger in the air. Zan truly had no clue what to say.


    He wanted to help her. He really did. But didn¡¯t he have¡­? Have what? He asked himself. He wasn¡¯t part of the military. Not yet. Plus, the command center was not in contact with the Kingship¡¯s leadership. He did not and, in fact, could not coordinate with anyone right now about how to wage the war. He was like a fish out of water, and Zan hated flapping about.


    But Zan finally thought of something. Remembering how Sigma-Prime said transportation wouldn¡¯t be an issue once the base was more repaired, then how he was not in contact with the Royal Army, Zan said, ¡°How much time until the base is repaired to the point where this new method of transportation is up and running? Hours, days, weeks? Sigma said something about the ¡®backroads¡¯?¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Command Center repairs will not reach the point of backroads availability for another week ¡ª according to the calender used by this nation. Since our friendly intruder has claimed to have knowledge of regional defenses, and you have time until the back roads expand your travel abilities, I recommend taking the stranger up on their offer,¡± the Screen Master said.


    Looking for a time into the stranger¡¯s eyes, Zan told her, ¡°I think the same. I thought I had less time than a week. Being a hero and a warrior is all new to me. It will take me a while to think like a warrior.¡±


    ¡°I understand. I am not a warrior by profession, either. I was a huntress until a few days ago¡­¡± the lady said, a hurt in her eyes.


    ¡°I was a nobody in a nowhere village,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Do you have a name?¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Whiskey Minsk.¡±


    ¡°Put ¡®er there, Whiskey,¡± Zan said, extending his hand for a handshake.


    She took his hand and shook vigorously.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go over the details for the mission. How many days are we looking at? Do you have any money for supplies along the way? How many weapons should we bring? Do you have a plan ¡ª sorry! My soul is burning with everything we need to do,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°We can go over the basics, but shouldn¡¯t your friend be here? I overheard you¡¯re in a fight, but if he is gong on the mission with us, and I think he should since he is another sword, then it would be nice not having to repeat myself,¡± Whiskey replied.


    She made sense. It was just things still felt too soon. Too raw with Jiehong.


    ¡°How about I just explain everything to him?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°If that¡¯s what you want, fine. What can you tell me about the border-zone?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s overrun, obviously. Swarms upon swarms of automotrons. Lots of defenses being built; every time the expanse takes over an area, they build a massive militarized border wall. Lucky for us, the construction hasn¡¯t yet truly begun. But we will make due.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®make due¡¯? What strategy do you think will help us?¡±


    Whiskey made a face and said, ¡°Stealth. That¡¯s my strategy. I know how to move unseen in both day and dark. I take it you guys don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Zan replied. ¡°Why would we? Plus, Jiehong is a behemoth of a boy. Stealth for him will be much more difficult.¡±


    ¡°True¡­ I sneaked up on you both easily.¡± Whiskey made more strange noises, a mixture of grunts and ¡®ah ha!¡¯ type noises as if she had thought of something.


    As she thought and Zan considered the legitimacy of sauntering up to the enemy encampment, the Screen Master made a response. ¡°Excuse the interruption, but I have an idea: Zan, although the Backroads are not yet operational, I have been working on getting other tools which will be of use to you during your missions. I am proud to report


    Smoke Grenades are once again ready for use!¡±


    ¡°Smoke grenades? Sweet¡­ I¡¯m assuming its name and function are the same? So we would use them to beat a retreat?¡±


    ¡°Correct, Zan,¡± the Screen Master replied. ¡°Smoke grenades are useful for when needing to retreat, change defensive positions without the enemy seeing, or when charging the enemy in a melee duel is the only option. When used responsibly, smoke grenades can very well save your life.¡±


    ¡°Sounds wonderful, Screen Master. Thank you for your help.¡±


    Breaking out of her reverie, Whiskey asked, ¡°What¡¯s a grenade?¡±

 Chapter 27 (Advancement: Smoke Grenades)

    Whiskey and Zan continued to ¡®talk shop¡¯ for a while on their stealth strategy. They figured between the smoke grenades all of them carried, her natural talents for sneaking unseen, and Jiehong ¡ª potentially acting as a diversion ¡ª they would (hopefully) make do.


    ¡°Get some rest, Whiskey. You¡¯ve probably been up all night, haven¡¯t you?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°I fit in a nap some time ago¡­ but I could always use a bit of shuteye. I¡¯ll go find myself a bed in the barracks,¡± she said.


    ¡°Sounds good. A couple of hours? A few hours? I will wake you when Jiehong and myself are all set. We should leave soon, though. If the golems are so despondent during nighttime, we should use the natural darkness as our greatest ally.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. A few hours at most, then we must leave.¡±


    Zan restocked on his grenades, happy to see there were, in fact, grenades for him to restock on, and picked up six of the new smoke grenades. He would make sure Whiskey and Jiehong did the same.


    Zan left the command center, but it was not to go and find Jiehong. With Whiskey resting, he had time. So, he used the outhouse, had himself a lunch in the kitchen, then got some rest himself. When he woke, he made small talk among the villagers, both old and new, just to see how everyone was holding up.


    How was everyone holding up? Not well. Lots of crying, some people were running low on food, and children were either bored or overworked, depending on one¡¯s capabilities.


    Zan realized the situation was bad. The elders were doing their best to keep everyone in line and cared for, but with resources so thin, what could truly be done?


    Seeing this only gives me more resolve. I can¡¯t help these people unless I fight! And I can¡¯t fight unless I hold myself together and hold my team up high, Zan reminded himself.


    With such things in mind, he went to find Jiehong. He was a Ranger-Knight and it was time he returned to his duties.


    Reaching the ¡®familial tent,¡¯ which held the Jiehong, his parents, and, theoretically, Zan, he yelled, ¡°Jiehong! Mission time!¡± But no answer. They were probably asleep. Ducking his head inside the family tent for a quick peek, Zan saw no one.


    Where could they be? Zan wondered.


    Asking around the villagers he knew, some people had seen the family enter the nearby woods. A dangerous proposition, but Jiehong knew how to defend himself. Maybe his parents did, too? Hard to say.


    Zan waited. And waited.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    After a solid forty-five minutes or more, Zan couldn¡¯t wait anymore. They had only an hour before they had to head out for their mission. And he still had to get Jiehong caught up.


    Talking with more elders, Zan pinpointed where they supposedly left the safety of the encampment. He crosse the perimeter and waded into the forest trails, though he was careful to watch both his step and his blind-spots.


    Zan did not travel too deep into any single woodland path. He hadn¡¯t the time.


    But nearing the end of his hour, and with no Jiehong in sight, he had to return to the camp. On the way back, he met Jiehong at a fork in the road, returning from some unscoured path.


    ¡°There you are,¡± Zan said, as they both walked back to camp.


    ¡°Yes. I was escorting my parents to a bunker,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°A bunker? What do you mean? Did they build one for emergencies?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the specifics. It all happened quickly. Evidently, some wandering minstrel with money and magic is offering the wealthy in war-torn areas the chance to live in luxury underground or something. I brought them to the bunker.¡±


    It was a weird story. Zan wasn¡¯t sure if he believed it, but he would not get into another argument with Jie. Not so soon after the last. So he said instead, ¡°As long as they are safe,¡± and he didn¡¯t even bother to rip up Jie for not leaving a note about where he was going.


    Entering the perimeter of the camp, Zan said, ¡°We have a new mission. It¡¯s near the borderlands and is sure to get us killed. So, I need you there to die alongside me.¡±


    Jiehong grunted. He seemed frustrated. But he did not turn Zan away. He said, ¡°Fine. Lay it on me.¡±


    Zan explained to him the situation with the huntress and her community. Then explained how the Screen Master bequeathed unto them the newly fangled ¡®smoke grenade.¡¯


    Expected Jiehong to say stuff -- maybe about the fight or him or the woman and her needs. Or even just about their situation.


    He hardly said anything.


    ¡°So, considering the distance the border is from our base, we have a lot of walking to do if we are going to get there in a timely manner,¡± Jiehong said when he finally spoke.


    ¡°Yes. I am on my way to the command center now to wake the woman. Then we make final preparations and head out. Maybe it is too early to tell, but I think she is our next order recruit,¡± Zan replied, the two of them crossing over the perimeter wall.


    Entering the war room, Jiehong found new explosive grenades waiting for him in the equipment display, on an extending cabinet shelf. He tossed them into his satchel and was ready to depart by the time Zan returned with the huntress.


    ¡°I filled Jiehong in on the plan and I assume you already know who he is, since you stalked us and all,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Yes, yes¡­ Nice to formally meet you,¡± Whiskey said.


    Jiehong nodded with a focused stare, but a polite one. With chiseled features, sometimes Jiehong could communicate perfectly well with just his body.


    ¡°We¡¯re all together, now. How about introductions before we hit the road?¡± Zan asked.


    But the woman¡¯s impatience got out: ¡°Actually, seriously, can we get going? Every moment we waste here, we risk dooming my village to slavery.¡±


    ¡°Of course¡­ sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± Zan replied, jumped at her sudden screech. Though, later, when he would think about the outburst, he came down in favor of her: in her shoes, Zan would be no less an emotional wreck.


    Getting on the road, the now party of three left the safety of the camp to find the sun in set.


    Watching the setting sun with perhaps romantic feelings in his heart, Jiehong turned to the newcomer while they walked and told her, ¡°So, your name¡¯s whiskey?¡±


    Whiskey nodded and replied simply, ¡°Yes.¡±


    Underfoot, the crunch of dirt played.


    Jiehong said, ¡°I like it. I think you¡¯ll make a great team member. Welcome abroad.¡±

 Chapter 28 (Enemy Tool: Bonfire)

    Whiskey laughed. She said, ¡°Thank you for welcoming me, but this is a straight-cut transaction. You guys help me with rescuing my family. I help you with your defenses. Simple and nothing more; we walk away from each other. Maybe we¡¯ll meet again as comrades-in-arms, but I doubt it.¡±


    The words did not seem to faze Jiehong who said, ¡°Perhaps. But if you were allowed into the command center, I have a funny feeling we¡¯ll be seeing each other more.¡±


    ¡°I guess we¡¯ll have to wait and see. You seem pretty confident we won¡¯t be killed on the mission. I like that, confidence,¡± she said, bordering filtrations.


    ¡°Well. How could we? Do you think Death would really claim us when we have with us such a powerful force of nature?¡± Jiehong said with definite vibes.


    Man, there¡¯re really going at it, Zan told himself, not caring because it took Jie¡¯s mind off him and into something which might make him happy.


    Although the filtrations had been, for a time, a welcome diversion, it did not last. Walking made sure of that; many miles later, the trio came upon the dark of the world, and finally out of the hot sun, an affect boost came over them all.


    ¡°How much further to the border?¡± Zan asked.


    In terms of travel, they had come to the road where Jiehong and Zan had originally gone when trying to locate Thundervale for the first time. It felt weird to be back here, at the site of their social ostentation, when now they had reason to be here. Not, of course, as though they lingered. With Whiskey leading the way, they came and went quickly.


    Responding to Zan, Whiskey said, ¡°A ways, but we¡¯re making good progress.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Zan said. ¡°Small talk while we walk? We shouldn¡¯t have to be so on guard with night falling, we can risk letting our guard down, some.¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t actually like small talk, but he knew enough about interacting with people to understand ¡®small talk¡¯ was the lynchpin of how normal people related to one another.


    ¡°I guess¡­¡± Whiskey said, her eyes still on the road. ¡°Tell me something about yourselves.¡±


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Zan went first: ¡°I don¡¯t have parents. Or there gone, I guess I mean.¡±


    ¡°Bummer,¡± Whiskey replied. ¡°So, are they, like, dead?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea.¡±


    ¡°So, there is hope? You want to go after them?¡±


    Zan considered Whiskey¡¯s response. Did he want to go after them? No one had ever asked him that before. The question caught him off guard, so he said, ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Picking up the beat, Jiehong told Whiskey his factoid: ¡°My family comes from the Sunstar Principality. We live here as a goodwill gesture.¡±


    ¡°Neat,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a ¡®Gift Family¡¯ before. What does that entail?¡±


    ¡°Oh, about what you would expect, really. We help rural villages and small towns with problems. Irrigation, mostly. Sometimes we repair or build wells. Help them set up homes.


    Anything that is the most pressing need of the village.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor. Thank you for your aid,¡± Whiskey replied.


    Jiehong smiled. He said, ¡°Thank you for thanking me. We get a lot of thanks in our line of work, but a ¡®thanks¡¯ from a cute girl is worth twice as much.¡±


    Whiskey muttered a laugh but kept her eyes on the road.


    ¡°So, what about you?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°You mean my personal detail?¡± Whiskey said. ¡°Uh, well¡­ I guess I am the opposite of you, Zan. I have too many family members. My community is a more extended family. I love them and obviously am rescuing them, but sometimes it is a bit much. I enjoy being by myself. For abnormal periods of time.¡±


    ¡°Nothing wrong with that,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Everyone needs personal time. Just a fact of life. You must have a lot of friends which jockey for your attention?¡±


    ¡°Hey! I gave my one fact. Let¡¯s conserve our breath.¡±


    Zan agreed with Whiskey on ending the factoid convention. Some of the responses generated for Zan an unwelcome feeling in his bones. He only brought the idea up as an icebreaker, anyway.


    With the cover of darkness enveloping the group, their focus drifted naturally back to the road. Zan didn¡¯t know how long they walked in silence, but it had to be for hours.


    Funny, he thought, how the mood could change so rapidly.


    Noticing an unusual light in the distance, Zan thought he saw the far-away flicker of a bonfire but was not sure.


    He said, ¡°What¡¯s that? Am I imagining it?¡±


    ¡°No, you aren¡¯t,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°It¡¯s a torch. Well, bonfire, technically. The golems use them while traveling at night. It helps them stay active. Otherwise, they become like you¡¯ve already seen ¡ª lump, motionless, and not able to even so much as take a step without falling over.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± Zan queried.


    ¡°I¡¯m a huntress,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°I was right on the border when the invasion happened. I was so scared. I could only hunker down and hide while they enslaved my people. At nightfall, I ran to Thundervale. While running, I saw some groups create the bonfires.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to go through that,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Thanks, but honestly, I¡¯m not giving myself too much of a time about it. It was an entire invasion force. What could I have done? I¡¯m here now, fighting, and have you two strong men with me. What could go wrong?¡±


    As if by providence, a bonfire then came into existence mere paces ahead of them.

 Chapter 29 (Engagement: Border Camp - 1)

    To their backs, another massive light burst into existence.


    Another bonfire?! Zan cursed. Was it a trap or just back luck?


    ¡°To the sides!¡± Jiehong yelled.


    Instantly, Zan obeyed. He ran with Whiskey to the ditch and threw himself in, hoping it was dark enough to evade the enemy.


    On his back, Zan watched the many golems march on the road. What happened? How had the automotrons gotten to their backsides? More importantly, why would the golems have not attacked said backsides even though they had the advantage? Did they not see them? Was there another road to their back they didn¡¯t know about which allowed the golems, in complete ignorance, to build and light the bonfire without their knowledge? So many questions, yet not a single answer.


    Having his eyes adjust to the new half-dark, half-light intensity before them, and seeing no golems come into the ditch after them, Zan pressed his earpiece and said to Jiehong over the communication device to ¡°Keep moving forward if you can.¡±


    Since Whiskey did not have a communication device, he wildly waved his hand, making what he thought was ¡®forward¡¯ motions, urging her on. She understood what he meant eventually, though he had to make himself look like a clown for a while.


    On all four and inching forward through the cold dirt and sometimes mud, they escaped from the golem troupe and gained enough distance to go from merely elbowing their way through the earth to slouching their way through the earth.


    Zan¡¯s heart pounded.


    The automotrons lighting up those bonfires had taken him totally off-guard.


    Then Zan thought: ¡®wait, maybe this is a good thing? It must mean we are getting close to something!¡¯


    But how close, that was the question.


    Advancing along the ditch, Zan and his company made good time despite the soldiers. Zipping along the ditches, easily evading the mobile woodwork, Zan and company saw more bonfires light. ¡°Let¡¯s follow the fire,¡± Whiskey said.


    Zan had no objection, so he followed close, Jiehong in rear-gear as well. With their eyes now well adjusted to the semi-illuminated dark of the shadows and flames, the three Ranger-Knights came upon the perimeter of the border after several hours of travel.


    Reaching the edge of a large encampment, whose borders were mostly of a natural formation, and of iron and steel when nature had no recourse for defense, Zan signaled for the group to pause. Whiskey did not like the stop and said, ¡°Why?! We¡¯re on the camp. Almost home free!¡±


    Shooting back, Zan said, ¡°What do you mean ¡®home free,¡¯ lady? We¡¯ve only just arrived and I am freaking tired!¡±


    ¡°So you want to just haunch on your laurels and rest like pigs?!¡± she said, a venom on her tongue he hadn¡¯t seen before.


    ¡°Take your tone down! The enemy is right over there!¡± Zan said, making a rude ¡®shushing¡¯ sound with his finger to his lips.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    To her credit, Whiskey cooled her temper down.


    Zan continued, ¡°And yeah, I do want to rest! We spent hours grinding on that trail in the middle of the damn night. Give us some credit! How useful do you think we¡¯ll be if we¡¯re keeled over in sweat as the enemy throws everything they had at us?! Yeah! Not very useful, huh?!¡±


    Whiskey chilled to ice right away. Zan got his way and did not feel bad about it. She did not give them enough credit, even though he and Jiehong were giving her everything, despite their lack of knowledge about her.


    ¡°I think we could go¡­¡± Jiehong whispered.


    Zan saw Jiehong do nothing but stare at Whiskey the whole time. He saw the sweat of his brow glint in the moonlight. He wasn¡¯t being serious. He probably only wanted to impress Whiskey with his manliness or some crap like that.


    ¡°You need rest, too. Jiehong. Both of you need to get real. Are neither of you are tired? Seriously? After walking for hours under duress?! Forget me with that,¡± Zan replied in anger, not impressed at the petty politics being played before his eyes.


    Both of his companions needed rest. Whiskey needed rest. And he did too, whether she, and Jiehong, knew it themselves.


    Fifteen minutes was all Zan took for his break. Which was just enough time for a water break and a snack break. Housed down with the absolute minimum, and his attitude worsened by the attitudes of his battle buddies, Zan took every second for granted.


    ¡°Ready?¡± he asked the group. They were tired. But they all shook their heads.


    They were ready.


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s advance and rescue these people before they¡¯re gone forever !¡±


    Slipping into the camp, Zan thought it was easy enough. However easy though it might have been, he did not want to waste their surprise advantage.


    ¡°Guys,¡± Zan whispered. ¡°Be careful. Move only when you know you are not in sight of an enemy. We don¡¯t want to waste our edge; besides, how do you think it will be for us if we get caught and have an entire command post at our backs?¡±


    This time it was Jiehong who responded negatively. ¡°We know, Zan. You don¡¯t have to be so patronizing.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Sorry! I just wanted us to be on the same page. Since we clearly weren¡¯t even with our break times¡­¡±


    Zan did not give his companions time to argue. They wanted such a fast-paced advance? Fine. He would give it to them.


    Signaling they should follow, Zan dashed into the open field and made a beeline for the densely packed interior of the camp.


    Moving, Zan had spotted metallic boxes piled high and many wooden crates besides. It looked to be hand-held weapons and bits of molded iron, presumably for their war engines. Or perhaps for the higher ranked automotrons who, as Zan had seen, required precious ores to reinforce their flimsy wooden bodies.


    Moving through gaps and entryways between the freight, Zan thought they made good time, considering the size of the camp and the many soldiers milling around. Inside the camp, Zan saw several bonfires illuminate. Zan assumed it was the light from these bonfires which kept the golems active; even so, Zan noticed the golems were slow and only barely lumbering around. Still a whole lot of them, though. Zan reminded himself to keep hidden.


    From their hiding place, Zan saw a huge makeshift road. The invaders were sending row after line of troops, reinforced wagons drawn by horses, and other vehicles Zan did not understand. All of which had flanks of (unbearably) slow-moving soldiers. Seeing, finally, an opening between the ending of one massive group and the start of the next, Zan made the decision to run at a breakneck speed. He knew it was dark enough where the shadows would cover their tracks.


    Hearing his team¡¯s footsteps behind, Zan took faith in a sole solace: his team followed him, despite all their whining earlier.


    Thinking it would be safe to cross again on the way out, Zan saw his hopes dashed as behind them, powerful searchlights powered by firepits scanned the road behind them.


    Zan watched as wide-circles scanned all over. If we were to be spotted by one of those, we would be done for¡­


    ¡°Know another way out?¡± Zan asked Whiskey.


    It was hard to tell her facial features, but Zan knew right away, without her replying, she did not know. It was going to be them and, when freed, a bunch of people. People who would be scared, tired, confused. Those people would then look to them to lead them to freedom.


    What was Zan to say? Only lies. Or the truth, which was more terrifying than lies.


    Zan shook his head. They were going to die here. He knew it.


    This camp would be their graveyard.

 Chapter 30 (Engagement: Border Camp - 2)

    Pushing the bad thought out of his head, Zan re-focused on the present.


    The way we came is as good as blocked, Zan thought. So only the way ahead is next¡­


    Looking ahead, Zan saw ¡ª or saw as much as he could tell from such a limited visibility ¡ª a less densely packed part of the camp without large roadways transporting war materials.


    Turning to his companions, Zan kept his voice low. He said, ¡°Any ideas where the prison would be, Whiskey?¡±


    She thought for a moment before replying. ¡°I would wager deeper within the camp, but not so deep as to be on the very edge. They would want to process the prisoners quickly. I assume. If they need manual laborers, they wouldn¡¯t want to risk them escaping and fleeing into the wilderness, possibly to join up with any of the many resistance fighters in the occupied territories.¡±


    ¡°The heart, then?¡± Zan asked. Whiskey nodded.


    It¡¯s a direction, at least¡­


    To their front, the camp flayed itself open to dozens of points of entry. But Zan knew they couldn¡¯t move without first knowing if any more searchlights were near.


    ¡°Anyone see the searchlights? In the darkened areas, I mean?¡± Zan asked.


    Everyone squinted, trying to see what was ahead of them. Yet no one found anything which could be said to be an unlit searchlight firepit. If they lit the searchlights behind us, Zan thought. Then the enemy might already know intruders are in the camp. Maybe they are expecting us?


    ¡®No,¡¯ Zan settled. We have to go, now.


    Zan took off and moved to a position deeper area within, possibly the supply depot? He didn¡¯t know for sure, obviously, but felt there was a lot more war material stockpiled here than in the first section of the encampment.


    Coming upon a tightly defined part of the depot with many winding passages, Zan had to bring himself to a sudden halt. A searchlight lit up in front of him ¡ª literally a foot in front of him.


    Shoving himself backward, his back collided with Whiskey, who grunted at the unexpected crash. Zan uttered an apology but ordered a quick retreat once he saw the searchlight scanning the local area. Ushering his companions back, they tried a new way. But found that way blocked by yet another searchlight.


    ¡°Team, we¡¯ve got to change the dynamic. Where are these searchlights coming from? Do we want to try and split up and take them all out before moving ahead?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong spoke with an energy and said, ¡°Sounds like a great plan¡­ if we want to get killed! You think splitting up in this place is a good idea?¡±


    ¡°Calm down. I only asked if it was a good idea. Clearly it¡¯s not¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think going our own ways is a good plan,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°Zan is right, though. We have to change the dynamic, the plan, the ¡ª whatever you want to call it. We¡¯re at the enemy¡¯s mercy. That is not what we need moving forward.¡±


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°First, let¡¯s get out of the depot.¡±


    ¡°How? An idea?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, by this¡ª¡± Whiskey said, motioning for the team to follow her.


    Zan and Jiehong both did without reservations. She had the fire to lead. Any one of them was as likely as the other to lead the group into a death trap. So, Whiskey ought as well to have her turn.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Leading the party on a bottlenecked chase through the depot, taking sharp turns which were mere feet away from patrolling soldiers, Zan was glad when the march ended. How they didn¡¯t run into anything was beyond him, however. Sheer luck?


    ¡°Look! A clearing within the depot. And a way up to some guard towers. See the pulley-elevator system they¡¯ve worked up?¡± Whiskey said.


    He saw what Whiskey meant. Both he and Jiehong: to their direct front was a space for the automotrons to stack endlessly the cargo of the invasion. Just outside the labor space was a large watch tower. But the bottom of the tower had guards¡­ did Whiskey want to engage them in combat and ¡ª


    To answer Zan¡¯s question before he asked, Whiskey, from her back, took out a hunting bow, then an arrow. Zan saw in the moonlight an armored tip. Whatever she forged her arrowhead from, it was more than a typical sharpened rock or iron.


    Releasing the arrow, it struck true and destroyed one guard while somehow still having enough penetrating power to blast apart the head of another. ¡°Now!¡± Whiskey urged.


    Running on instinct, Zan pushed ahead, his regard to whether it was safe to do so completely gone. Zan moved to position with no need to be asked and slew the two close by guards with swift blade work.


    ¡°I get what ya mean. Jiehong, let¡¯s be real. You¡¯re too big to have the bridge pull you up. The counterweight wouldn¡¯t work. I¡¯ll go up. I¡¯m the leader, right?¡± Zan said. Jiehong remained silent.


    Seeing nearby a basic system of weights and counter-balances, Zan cut the pulley¡¯s counterweight. The pulley fell, thus lowering the center almost slab of wood, which acted as an elevator. Standing on it was an enemy, but a well-placed arrow by Whiskey ended it long before any attempt to call for backup was possible. Once on the ground, Zan stood stark in the center and motioned for his teammates to reattach the counterweights, giving the elevator rise.


    Zan rose quickly within the shoddily constructed wooden structure. Within the center of the tall tower, Zan stood alone. He thanked the gods for that much since if other golems had been stationed atop the watchtower, Zan doubted he would have the room to slay them¡­ which would have meant too much heat for them to withstand.


    Pushing from his mind abstract anxieties, fears for situations he had no control over, Zan searched the encampment for anything which looked like a prisoner¡¯s quarters.


    Frantically, he searched. Not helping matters were the sounds he heard from below. The rumble of horses and other beasts of burden, the grind of wheels and the wind. But more than anything, his party mates clambered for his attention. ¡°Enemies coming!¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Hurry up!¡± Whiskey said soon after.


    He wanted to say, ¡°Yeah, lower me down, I know exactly where we need to go!¡± But Zan couldn¡¯t say that because he was not magic.


    Speaking of: Zan scanned the sky to see if the Slipstream ¡ª the source of magic throughout creation ¡ª had returned.


    It had not.


    ¡®Worth a shot,¡¯ Zan muttered.


    He returned to scanning the horizon, his breath uneven.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be back! Enemy patrol incoming!¡± Jiehong shouted under his breath.


    Now Zan¡¯s heart froze. What if they looked up and discovered him? Then all chaos and the flames of perdition would lap at his soul like a cat¡¯s tongue on cream.


    With the crawling minutes passing, Zan continued his search on the horizon. Then a thought occurred to him: what was he afraid of? How would the automotrons find him? By looking up? With what necks?


    For the first time since the mission began, Zan smiled, genuinely smiled. He felt safe. Or safer than his compatriots on the ground. Where were they hiding?


    Finally, adjusting to the panoramic scope of the camp, turning all which way to get in all the sights, Zan finally found what he figured was the best way forward.


    Toward one direction, lots of stables and construction, the enemy clearly intending on using this territory as the advance base for the furthering of the invasion.


    In another direction, tents¡­ what for and what was inside, he did not know. But many tents meant many places to hide secrets. Prisoners were not secrets and it would not be economical for the enemy to house so many prisoners in tents. Sure, Zan didn¡¯t know too much about how the enemy handled their captives during war, but if they were taking slaves, they would not be handling organic life-forms too well.


    The third direction was merely the way they already had come. So Zan ruled out anything more existing there, though the unfortunate possibility remained they had somehow missed the prisoner pen. Unlikely, though, Zan thought.


    The fourth direction Zan scanned, he found places more likely for place prisoners to be kept.


    It looked to him like an open-air mud-pit but knew it had to be more. From up high, it would have looked that way, which was why it confused him. What use would automotrons have for grazing ground for livestock? They¡¯re wooden machines! Only after considering the entire breadth of the camp did Zan realize, ¡®It¡¯s not a grazing field. It¡¯s an open-air prison covered by a tarp.¡¯


    He had what he needed.


    Whistling to his friends below, Zan was ready to be lowered when, suddenly, a searchlight from a nearby watch tower blasted him full on with light.


    In the distance, an alarm went off.

 Chapter 31 (Engagement: Border Camp - 3)

    A litany of curses slipped from Zan¡¯s lips as the beam of flame-light displayed him to every enemy within the base.


    ¡°Get me down!¡± Zan shouted, stealth in danger of falling all to pieces if they didn¡¯t do something and do it fast.


    Whether they came out of hiding to destroy the patrol or had already destroyed the patrol when they lowered the elevator at his behest, Zan¡¯s platform descended fast.


    Near the ground, Zan didn¡¯t wait and jumped off. Hitting the ground, seeing out the edge of his vision several slain golems, Zan said, ¡°I know where we have to go! Follow me and get ready to finish this!¡±


    Zan led his comrades on a wild chase as all over camp guards mobilized, closed gates, and lit all the bonfires capable of holding a flame. Dashing in and out of roads, paths, and even bramble, whatever it took to conceal them at a moment¡¯s notice, Zan and friends barreled like bulls. Sometimes inches behind golems, so close was their sneaking, Zan thanked his lucky stars the golems were of such a lacking creation when it came to picking up intruders. Deciding against slaying the creatures in these circumstances, Zan encouraged his mates to focus on speed and stealth over primitive and violent instincts.


    But they came upon a point where a friendship with stealth no longer benefited them; thus, on high alert, the golem guards were closing the gate when Zan gave the order to eliminate them.


    Whiskey took one out with an arrow. Retrieving it, she then used the sharpened edge of a combat knife to rip apart the other guard.


    With no more labor rising the gate, the gate fell back to the earth.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go and keep ¡ª crap, searchlights! Get through the gate! Find cover!¡± Zan said as the lights appeared mere feet behind them.


    Rushing ahead at the same time the searchlights moved forward, the lights kept nipping at their heels, always in danger of overtaking their pace and revealing Zan and company¡¯s location for the entire base to see. In the distance, alarms still blared.


    At last, reaching a part of the camp where the searchlights no longer followed, and where the bonfire¡¯s radiance did not reach, Zan and company saw a yard. They did not have time to look thoroughly at their new surroundings, but Zan thought they had stumbled onto a labor pen of some kind. Around them were unfinished construction projects.


    Dispatching several more guards without the alarm being raised any higher than it already was, the Ranger-Knights now had to lower a gate. Like the gate they previously prevented from closing, the ¡®new¡¯ gate had heavy irons or steels as its base. Zan couldn¡¯t tell specifically, nor did he care. It was heavy. That was all.


    ¡°How do we get this raised?¡± Zan said.


    Everyone looked around, hyper-aware of how every second they wasted, the enemy might locate them and flood their area with (for them) endless waves of foes. Seeing troopers lumber their way toward the yard, Zan knew he had little time.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Whiskey found the lever. ¡°Over here! Hidden by the guard¡¯s post.¡±


    She pulled the lever, and like magic, the gate dropped with a heavy clang.


    No one needed encouragement to run through. Whatever their disagreements, they were all in it together. To save not merely their skins but those of the innocents taken prisoner as well.


    The small group entered another labor yard. This one had more enemies than the previous yard and, being closer to a bonfire, the enemies moved at a faster pace than the yard before. This made their dispatching slightly harder; Zan thanked his adrenaline, however, for erasing any sign of tiredness from his veins. Hard to be tired when death was but a moment away!


    But the group did the same: once the enemies were de-activated via their swords, they lowered the gate, then advanced into ¡ª surprise, surprise! ¡ª yet another labor yard.


    The new yard was not any different from the previous. The one difference being more enemies; yet that was, strangely speaking, the positive in the negative: though over a dozen enemies patrolled this yard with a bonfire close-by, through the latticework on the fence, Zan saw the final yard leading directly to the prisoner keep.


    ¡°I see them!¡± Zan shouted to his friends as they wrapped up the remaining enemies who hadn¡¯t yet met their fate in the yard. Peering through the fence, Zan saw a final antechamber-like yard just outside their current yard. Beyond that was a wide, open space filled with wagons and people. And golems. So many golems!


    ¡°But we need to act fast!¡± Zan continued. ¡°They¡¯re getting loaded into huge wagons!¡±


    Hearing grunts of renewed passion, followed by a frenzied clatter of blade on wood, with a couple of curses, Zan did not waste time in continuing to observe while his allies slew the remaining enemies ¡ª he throw himself to the guard¡¯s post and hacked to de-activation the three guards who hadn¡¯t a clue what was going on.


    Pulling the lever just as the others joined him, while waiting for the gate to drop, this gate being the slowest, and perhaps, heaviest, of the gates they encountered, Zan saw to their back''s searchlights. Not one light or two, but dozens. This told Zan the enemy¡¯s means of illumination weren¡¯t only tied to the massive bonfires, but they had other means as well.


    Leaping over the descending gate, Zan heard Jiehong say, ¡°Go! I¡¯ll watch your backs!¡± Zan thanked his friend and landed with a rough start as Whiskey daintily climbed over the slowly descending barrier. With Whiskey by his side and Jiehong soon-to-follow, a short but harsh battle with several gold-golems and red-painted golems followed.


    With dark and light surrounding them in equal measure, Zan¡¯s eyesight had seen better days. Hence, when he ran into the golems, thinking they were but regular automotrons ¡ª as they had been encountering ¡ª and discovered they were not, the discovery came with many blows to Zan¡¯s upper body.


    Whiskey fired off an arrow which incapacitated the enemy, allowing Zan to finish it with a couple more well-placed slashes from his blade; he thanked his lucky stars he got in that one good ambush hit before he realized it was a gold-golem.


    Launching himself at the next golem, the other gold, Zan skidded to the ground and thrust his sword straight up into the golem from beneath, and between, its legs. Strange sounds came from the golem, giving Zan the time he needed to give himself rise to the automotron¡¯s backside, grab his sword, and roughly hew it in two, treating the golem like it was a harvest pumpkin in need of a good cleaving.


    His blade left the golem¡¯s body at its head. Both pieces of the golem fell away, splitting apart like a banana sliced perfectly down the middle.


    ¡°Deal with the red golems; I¡¯ll lower the final gate!¡± Zan shouted, seeing Jiehong join up now that the penultimate gate finished its descent.


    With the final yard nothing but a checkpoint, Zan easily found the lever and lowered the final gate. With his companions at his back, they crossed over.


    Home free, Zan should have known to count his eggs before they hatch, despite his lack of farming knowledge.


    Ready to cross over to the prisoner keep, Zan tripped.


    An alarm went off. A searchlight followed. And smack dab, the light illuminated all three of them, putting them on blast for the whole camp to see.


    This time, there would be no escape.

 Chapter 32 (Engagement: Border Camp - 4)

    Rising to their feet, Zan saw what tripped them ¡ª a tripwire!


    ¡°Shit, shit, shit!¡± Zan swore. Maybe they had gotten lucky, but they hadn¡¯t discovered tripwires anywhere else in the camp. Whiskey missed it as well, so Zan made a mental note for next time: don¡¯t rush over yourself. If there is a next time, he knew with a panic.


    Instinctually, Zan realized they had to hide ¡ª reaching for a smoke grenade and pulling its pin, Zan tossed one toward the wagons. Then he ran for it.


    He didn¡¯t know if he really had a plan, per se, but he figured if he could disorient the enemy, that would mean less heat on them as they moved in and engaged them in combat.


    Searchlight or no, it would mean nothing if the enemy couldn¡¯t understand what was happening.


    ¡®Maybe they think we¡¯re escaped prisoners?¡¯ Zan wondered under his breath.


    Unlikely, but anything to keep the terror away¡­


    While rushing to the wagons and the dozens of golems throughout the field overseeing the loading of prisoners, Jiehong said, ¡°Guys! We¡¯ve screwed the pooch! Let¡¯s destroy these splintery craps, then get the hell out of here with our guys in toe, good?!¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± Zan and Whiskey shouted back.


    Crashing into the first wagon¡¯s golem guard, Zan made short work of the golems while fighting alongside his compatriots. Worried at first about too many of the golems potentially being highly ranked, Zan felt relief when he saw most of the golems were merely the basic grunt model. Wood and nothing more.


    Gaining confidence as golem-after-automotron fell before them, that confidence faded fast as Zan heard the rumble of gates opening.


    Around them soon would be hordes more of the automotron adversary. Zan had to act. He was responsible. He couldn¡¯t let himself and his goals die here.


    ¡°Jiehong, Whiskey! Let¡¯s go! Time to split up! Use those grenades and free up those wagons before the enemy gets here!¡± Zan yelled.


    His team obeyed without question. Like wolves on the hunt, they rushed to their respective sites. All around them were wagons and confused people crying out for help; once the prisoners saw them wrecking house with the golems, a cry went up among some, while others cried.


    When Zan ordered his team to liberate the other carts, they, as a unit, had already slew several groups of wagon guards. Seeing the fallen does weapon glinting in the dimming moonlight gradually giving way to morning, Zan thought of an idea once he had single-handedly liberated another wagon.


    To the crowd, who had gathered behind him in the open space upon their liberation, Zan said, ¡°If anyone has fighting experience, find a weapon and help us control these monsters!¡±


    Of course, Zan could not wait for an orderly response to his declaration. He couldn¡¯t ¡ª more people called out for rescue.


    Rushing hither and there, occasionally receiving aid and giving aid to his fellow fighters as the battle spread, Zan raised his kill count to twenty-seven. As he did so, he kept an eye glued to the other gates surrounding the prisoner loading field. By now, the gates had opened. Entering the field, albeit slowly, to Zan¡¯s comfort, were blocks of tightly packed automotrons. Instantly, Zan knew a truth: even with the fighting labor of a growing gang of freed citizens, he, Whiskey, and Jiehong could not resist the enemy¡¯s assault for too much longer.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Looking at the enemy¡¯s slow advance, Zan reasoned they might have as long as twenty-minutes before the enemy came upon them, but with searchlights highlighting every wagon under allied duress, once the enemy made contact, it would be a slaughter and the prisoners would, under force, return to their pens. What could he do?


    ¡®Where are we going to go? When every wagon is free, are we going to strut out the front gate? Wait¡­ gate? Gate!¡¯ Zan talked himself into looking around more and he saw what he hoped to see. Aways away, he saw the largest yet barrier. It was a way out of the camp, likely heading to the route the invasion force has already taken or plans on utilizing in their assault on the Kingship.


    Thinking, Zan thought with a start, ¡®that gate is going to go down if we have any chance of getting these people out of here. But there are still wagons to free.¡¯


    Making a brash decision, Zan screamed to everyone assembled ¡ª ¡°Fellow countrymen! I, your liberator, need your help! My comrades and I cannot fight everywhere all at once. We need your help! See that gate over there? I must make haste and lower it for our benefit. Do you all see the wagons, the very same wagons which once, moments ago, held you?! Take your arms and kill the golems. Free your fellows, and once the gate is lowered, usher the horses to take you to freedom! Anywhere but here!¡±


    To his surprise, the gathered civilians took to his plea with gusto and stormed, en mass, the remaining wagons and their guards. Zan could not see the carnage, but while he rushed alone to the front gate¡­ so far away, he heard the sounds of rage being taken out on the automotrons.


    Ahead of him was the gate and the many dedicated guards protecting it from being lowered. Zan had no time to waste and removed two grenades. He pulled the pins on both and tossed them as far as his arm could take him. Explosions rocked the night and gave birth to a red afterglow.


    How many of the enemy he deactivated he did not know. But he knew it was at least near a dozen or more. It wasn¡¯t their tactics which led to such destruction in their ranks, Zan knew, but the nature of the grenades to begin with ¡ª clearly, the Expanse had no experience with such weapons before now.


    And that inexperience caused them to pay, dearly.


    Slamming his weight into one golem, then storming with blade in hand to another, Zan fought his way into the center of the defensive line and swung wildly around, as he had done that first day when he and the other villagers had to defend the withdrawal of the town.


    Unfortunately, his attack lacked the slaying power it had back then. Without the magically induced flame on his blade, the sword he had now, though deadly, still required a hefty few swings to take out a golem merely by nicking away at it.


    Which was not the point, however.


    The point, now, to Zan, was to sow chaos within the enemy ranks.


    So, after his spinning twirl of death, Zan (despite his dizziness) continued to slash, hack, stab ¡ª anything, away at the enemy. He tossed another grenade, seeing, as he did, a couple of gold-golems enter the field; but the gold-automotrons weren¡¯t meant for this world and melted to unworkable pieces once the grenades went off.


    Although a few automotrons remained, Zan couldn¡¯t bother in dispatching them back to the earth. He was more interested in the means of lowering the gate.


    Seeing the lever hidden behind bodies of the dead, Zan rushed over the slain golems to pull it.


    The gate did not lower.


    Crap, crap ¡ª why?!


    Rushing all over the limited space of the gate, Zan tried desperately to see what he missed. Then he heard a clicking sound. Followed by a sound of gears turning.


    What is happening? Zan wondered.


    Eventually, after a minute too long of angrily thrashing over the gate, fending off automotron stragglers, Zan heard a noise in his ear. It was his communication device.


    ¡°Zan, the prisoners are free, but we can¡¯t wait anymore. We need the gate open ¡ª NOW!¡± Jiehong spoke into his earpiece.


    Steadily swearing alongside a newfound resolve not to let everyone down, Zan then saw the lever he had pulled. Something had returned the lever to its resting position. I pulled this already. What the heck?!


    Pulling the same lever again, it didn¡¯t take Zan long to see what happened. The lever was on a timer. Why?! Zan screamed internally; and after some debate, externally ¡ª


    ¡°WHY?!¡±


    Then he saw the ¡®why:¡¯ there was another lever.


    On its companion¡¯s side, Zan had not seen the lever right away due to the many dead obscuring it. Heaving the automotrons motionless bodies clear of the lever, Zan grunted with each of the dozens of exertions he demanded of his already exasperated body. One thing was for certain: tomorrow, he would be sore¡­ if he was still alive!


    Having cleared the bodies of both levers, Zan heard the familiar chime of his comm-device in his ear. It was Jiehong again. He said, ¡°We can¡¯t wait anymore! If that gate isn¡¯t down, we¡¯re going to try bashing through the parts of the gate which aren¡¯t iron! See ya soon buddy!¡±

 Chapter 33 (Engagement: Border Camp - 5)

    Cold sweat broke down Zan¡¯s face.


    Darting to the first lever ¡ª which was actually further away from him than his newly discovered lever, not which Zan, in his panic, realized ¡ª he pulled the lever and darted clear to the other lever. Out of necessity, Zan ignored the precariously close golems ascending to his location, their malice-filled intent clear.


    Throwing his weight and pulling the second lever, Zan¡¯s breath caught in nis throat as he waited for the levers to do their jobs and lower the gate. He swore: if there are another gods-damned lever, I am going to lose it and stick this sword through my stomach!


    Relief spread over him as he saw the gate lower.


    Relief turned to panic, though, when he saw the imperiled wagons roll his way. Would they make it in time? Zan wondered as he saw images of wagons torn apart while they crashed into heavy-wrought-iron gates.


    In his reverie, Zan hadn¡¯t realized the enemy forces had positioned themselves within striking range. Dodging suddenly and far too close for comfort, Zan brought his shield up as he waited for either disaster or victory.


    Sidestepping the enemy while lashing out with his sword, the time for battle was over. They freed the prisoners, doing so, however, the enemy mobilized, therefore, the chase begun.


    Everything happened so fast ¡ª the lowering gate, the rush of the wagons, the desperation hanging in the air.


    Whipping the horses¡¯ reins, the driver of the first wagon, seeing the gate nearly lowered but not all the way, urged his horses to jump and clear the gate.


    But the jump wasn¡¯t enough ¡ª though the horses cleared the gate, the huge wagon did not and with a thunderous crash, the wagon careened to the edge of the gate, splitting into two parts, one part to each side of the gate¡¯s fence.


    Screams, shouting, pain. Were the audiovisual aroma which exploded outward in the crash¡¯s wake.


    Zan did not know what to do: he saw behind the many more wagons careening their way forward. Seeing some people hobbled in the middle of the road, enemies abounding, Zan shouted ¡ª screamed at the top of his lungs ¡ª for them to ¡®get out of the road!¡¯ Rushing to save a child from a rampaging death, Zan tossed a couple of civilians out of the way. More roughly than he would have liked, but now was not the time for time-consuming softness.


    Before he could process anything, the next wagon was upon them, and ¡ª blessed be to the gods ¡ª the wagon cleared the gate, which was, by now, fully lowered to the ground.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Joy sprung into Zan¡¯s heart. They had done it! The gates were open; the would-be slaves liberated.


    It was¡­


    Zan wanted to say, ¡®over.¡¯ It was over.


    But it wasn¡¯t over.


    Far from it.


    ¡°Jiehong! Where are you?!¡± Zan said into his comm-piece.


    The response was not immediate, but he said, ¡°Defending the rear¡­ there¡¯s so many of them, buddy, I could use your help. Wait!¡­ check on Whiskey! She was leading the front.¡±


    ¡°That first wagon?!¡± Zan asked, already moving to the site of the crash, a hard move to do when scattered golems gradually converged on his position, requiring his blade to protect the civilians. To Jiehong, he continued, and said, ¡°Did you see or hear the crash? I¡¯m trying to ¡ª crap! I¡¯m looking for Whiskey now.¡±


    Jiehong grunted affirmatively about the crash, but only scattered words. Stress and doing ¡®too much¡¯ with ¡®too little¡¯ infected everyone with an eagle-eyed focus precluding lingual specificity.


    Seeing another cart clear home, Zan rushed across the street, taking care not to put himself into danger by getting run over.


    He found Whiskey buried under some rubble. Clearing the splinters, Zan shook her awake. Zan saw her dazed but otherwise unharmed.


    ¡°Jie! I¡¯ve found her and she¡¯s fine! Use your smoke grenades!¡± Zan spoke into his comm-device.


    To Whiskey, he said, ¡°You need to get up! We still have people to save, Whiskey!¡±


    Recovering with a quickness which surprised Zan, Whiskey said, standing on wobbly feet, ¡°You¡¯re right. Gather the people¡­ find me a horse and I will lead the stragglers to safety.¡±


    Zan did just that. Using his remaining grenades to clear out the foes who dared harass them yet, Zan used the last of his muscular resolve to gather the scattered prisoners of the first wagon wreck. ¡°Everyone, stay on me!¡± Zan yelled as gathered the civilians.


    Although he tried his best to find a horse, none were around. They must¡¯ve run off, Zan thought. Skittish creatures!


    Pressing his finger to his ear, Zan told Jiehong via his comm-device, ¡°We¡¯re dead in the water, Jie! Whiskey needs a horse, and I need a wagon to load these people on!¡±


    Zan did not wait around for his buddy¡¯s answer. He had to be proactive.


    With the smoke from the grenades having cleared and revealed how more of the enemy host were upon them, Zan did the only thing he could do ¡ª he tossed a couple more smoke grenades to either side of the road leading out of the camp. Zan threw the grenades with just enough of an arc to ensure they didn¡¯t obscure the driver¡¯s vision. Now, he had to hope against hope the smoke slowed down the automotrons enough to save their hides.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any horses, bub! Sorry, but I have my hands full rushing in and out of the enemy¡¯s flanks!¡± Jiehong replied.


    Knowing he would have to do something drastic, Zan shot himself into the middle of the road, and wildly waved his hands in the air.


    He screamed, ¡°STOOOP!¡±


    Seeing him, the driver pulled up hard with his reins, bringing the speeding wagon to a rough halt.


    ¡°What¡¯s your problem!?¡± the driver screamed.


    Zan didn¡¯t answer and waved for the civilians to load into the wagon.


    Surprised, the driver attempted an objection, saying, ¡°We¡¯re already full up and¡ª¡±


    But Zan didn¡¯t listen. He said to the civilians, ¡°Cram in tightly! I know it¡¯s uncomfortable, but every inch counts!¡±


    To the oncoming wagon, Zan shouted, ¡°Around! Go around!¡± Over again.


    The wagon got the memo and diverted his path slightly. Hard to do with creatures as willful as these horses, but a skill well earned.


    Rolling out from one wagon as it sped by was a familiar face.


    Zan turned to see who it was. He saw none other than Colonel Winters.

 Chapter 34 (Engagement: Border Camp - 6)

    ¡°Colonel Winters?!¡± Zan said, shocked. ¡°What are you doing here?!¡±


    Seeing the last of the civilians from the crashed wagon enter the stopped wagon, Zan did two things at once: one, he conversed with the colonel; two, he released from its harness one of the three horses pulling the wagon, telling the driver, ¡°I know it¡¯s already impossible, but you need to deal with more impossibility! I need this horse!¡±


    Removing the horse, the driver snarled, but otherwise accepted it. Zan didn¡¯t take the snarl personally ¡ª everyone was under duress.


    To Zan, Colonel Winters said, ¡°I got captured. After your left, we went on a raid. You remember. Point is, that raid went sour.¡±


    If they got themselves captured, ¡®sour,¡¯ to Zan, seemed an underwhelming way to describe the turn of events.


    ¡°Sorry to hear that,¡± Zan said to the colonel. ¡°I take it you are ready to help us fight and to flee?¡±


    ¡°Sure am! Where do you need me? Bring me up to date on the situation,¡± the colonel replied.


    Zan had to think fast. In his hand were the reins to a single horse. To whom should he give the horse? He had thought the horse would be perfect for Whiskey. She knew the land and could lead her people to safety. Yet the colonel¡­ was a colonel. A highly ranked military officer with experience on the battlefield.


    Huffing up spittle after coughing on his own heavy breathing, Zan said, ¡°Colonel, do you know the land? If so, take the horse and get ahead of the wagons. Defend them, lead them anywhere you think is safe!¡±


    Understanding the situation, Winters nodded and took the horse without thinking, and to Whiskey¡¯s dismay. It didn¡¯t require heavy thinking on Zan¡¯s part to understand why


    Whiskey was upset over Zan¡¯s decision, seeing as how these were her people, but Zan was running on fumes. The Colonel had the experience in both horse riding and combat.


    ¡°We¡¯ll find you a horse!¡± Zan shouted.


    By now, the entire camp knew what was happening, and seeing the difficulty they were having in dislodging the intruders, Zan saw the enemy deploy troop carriers, the mobile ones with the cannon in front.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Zan swore heavily. His heart raced. But he had to stop another wagon.


    Standing in the road, the driver again stopped for him, but a touch too late, causing Zan to leap out of the way. ¡°Whiskey, take one of those horses, and help me rescue Jiehong! See! He¡¯s over there all by himself and needs our help!¡±


    Whiskey took the horse and rode headlong to the rear of the field, where the last of the wagons were clearing away from the enemy. Defending the wagon¡¯s rear as they slowly maneuvered into position and fled down the road was Jiehong.


    By himself, Zan scrambled for his own safety. Dashing into the side-field, Zan had thought he would zig-zag and join with Whiskey and Jiehong defending the wagon rear, but a barrage of enemy arrows ¡ª from either machine or golem ¡ª prevented such an action.


    ¡°Watch out for archers!¡± Zan said into his ear-piece.


    Backtracking using his zig-zagging, Zan forced himself to act as rearguard for the fleeing wagons. Checking the sky once more for the Slipstream, Zan found nothing.


    What good is magic if it only comes out during the day?! Zan raged.


    Watching part of the engagement from the other end of the field, Zan saw Jiehong. A one-man army, Jiehong stood defiant as he bashed rows of foes backward, sending them prone. Whiskey then came trotting in to help. She rained well-shot bolts into the enemy ranks when not dashing through their columns, hacking with her own melee weapons.


    Although Zan wanted to stop a third wagon, his nerves wouldn¡¯t allow him. He had risked his life twice already for the horses, so there would not be any point in a third time, not when his allies might need his help.


    ¡®What can I do, what should I do, what CAN I do?!¡¯ Zan grunted as continued enemy fire rooted him in place, a place which, as he saw, was gradually being overtaken by rows of automotrons advancing from places all over the encampment, from gates and passages impossible for them to have accounted for during their infiltration.


    In the distance, Zan saw a bundle of grenades go off and send to the flames several troop carrier vehicles. Such an action refreshed Zan¡¯s spirit, though it only sank again when he saw different troop carriers advance on his position.


    ¡®I have to do something or this really will be the end of me!¡¯


    He had nothing left. No explosive grenades, only one smoke grenade, and he wanted to save the smoke grenade in case he needed it on his own retreat out of the camp. What could he do?


    What Zan could do was an important question, especially with mobile troop carriers bearing down on his position.


    Losing space, Zan acted and took cover behind the perimeter wall, just outside the lowered gate. The wall would give him cover, at least.


    Zan didn¡¯t have to wait and see if the cover would serve him well. As soon as he dived into position, a blast, followed by a booming explosion, raked his position. One of the troop carriers must¡¯ve fired its cannon!


    Others soon followed and small, but deadly, explosions continued to rake Zan¡¯s position, setting small flames to the chunks of wood blasted apart in the barrage.


    ¡®Fire!¡¯ Zan exclaimed once he saw the spreading flames.


    Watching the fire, the flames gave Zan an idea.

 Chapter 35 (Engagement: Border Camp - 7)

    Taking his sword from its sheath, Zan carefully touched it to the flames.


    He had to steady his arms and hands, but with him knowing how much was on the line, he managed, and the blade held firm over the fire.


    ¡®That¡¯s it!¡¯ Zan again exclaimed. The blade caught aflame!


    With a burning sword, Zan plotted his next move, waiting for the reload.


    Suddenly, the cannons ceased.


    Launching himself from cover, Zan dashed ahead and straight between any footsoldiers. Acting as he did when he defended his village¡¯s withdrawal, Zan stabbed his sword straight up into the vehicle¡¯s back pipe. Just like the previous times, Zan saw the wooden machine go up in flames astonishingly quickly.


    Pulling his sword free, Zan staggered his way to the next carrier. Breathing was easy. It was moving, which drove Zan mad. Despite his belabored state, however, Zan managed his way to the next carrier and gave it the same treatment as the first.


    With two carriers and a host of henchmen golems eradicated, Zan figured that would earn him some breathing room.


    As usual, Zan was wrong.


    With the sun rising, the smoke clearing, and the flames having already extinguished themselves, Zan could now see a greater distance than even twenty minutes prior. Aways still even from Jiehong and Whiskey, lumbering in the distance like an angry titan, was another one of the giant four-legged machines Zan had faced down several days ago


    when it was blasting the command center¡¯s way stones.


    Only one word came to Zan¡¯s mind when he saw the large, oak war engine: ¡°Shit!¡±


    With a trembling finger, Zan raised it to his earpiece and spoke. ¡°Jiehong. You see that? Get out of there!¡±


    ¡°On route,¡± was all that he said back, Zan hearing the obvious fear in his tone.


    A horrible sound echoed throughout the whole camp. At once, all the nearby gates which hadn¡¯t already opened, opened. Zan saw what he could only describe as a swarm emerge ¡ª some held torches and Zan saw thousands march directly toward the road they were using to evacuate the civilians.


    Running a fighting retreat to the outside perimeter wall, Zan kept a close eye on how Whiskey and Jiehong fought alongside each other so complementarily; with Jie acting as a shield and she the blade, Jie would slam into golems, thus buying Whiskey time to dice-n-dash the surviving automotrons to pieces. By which, Jie already was knocking back a whole other group of golems. It was like a brutal dance.


    As with all dances, this one ended suddenly, but with grace.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Jiehong and Whiskey had bought enough time for the final wagon to depart. Hitching a ride as it left, the wagon now sped toward Zan and the still lowered gate.


    Seeing the final wagon rush through the gate, Zan¡¯s heart swelled, and not only because of the final wagon¡¯s passage, also came his friends; with an unbeatable sum of foes upon them, Zan knew they had to go now! Zan thanked the gods with how the incoming danger coincided with the end of the operation.


    Seeing the wagon¡¯s approach, Zan prepared himself for jumping up into the wagon once they crossed the threshold. One, two¡­ three! Zan grunted as he hurled himself into the wagon¡¯s caboose.


    Jiehong helping him, Zan managed perfectly well and skidded to a splintery halt.


    Panting, Zan¡¯s breathing couldn¡¯t have been heavier. Out the back, Zan saw the open yard, the one they were just inside of and fighting for their lives, fill with automotrons.


    Behind the golems, the large four-legged engine continued to lumber.


    Did¡­ we do it? Zan spoke softly, as if to himself.


    Next to him, Zan saw Jiehong and Whiskey, both of whom now looked as tired as he knew they must be; whatever protestations they might have once had before this operation began, they now had to admit, they were a short breath away from total collapse.


    Zan¡¯s first instinct was to ask what happened. But he already knew what happened. What Zan wanted to know now was if the wagons filled with people had made it out alright.


    They should have made it out, Zan told himself. I put Colonel Winters in charge¡­


    Content to watching the occupied countryside pass him in the wagon for a while, watching only to make sure the enemy did not catch up to them, since their horde-drawn wagon was moving awfully slow, once he watched for a bit, Zan¡¯s curiosity regarding the enemy¡¯s ability to catch up to them became satiated. As long as they continued their retreat in haste, there would be no reason for the enemy to catch them.


    With one question answered, Zan turned to answering the other.


    I¡¯m not done yet. Zan lumbered to a standing position and told his teammates, ¡°None of us are done until everyone is safe.¡±


    Tightly gripping the back end of the wagon¡¯s frame, Zan stuck his head out from the back. Careening his head, Zan tried to see ahead of the wagon.


    But nothing!


    Although the sun rose ever faster with each passing second, the forest was thick, and the semi-dark of the morning dim dominated all.


    Taking a risk, Zan swung his body onto the wagon¡¯s outside frame. He had spotted on the wagon clear iron-built handgrips; why the automotrons would build their war-wagons with handgrips when none of them had hands was beyond Zan. Nevertheless, he used them and inched his way to the driver¡¯s seat, taking care to announce his presence before his arrival. He didn¡¯t need the driver to think he was some new enemy or a monster, dropping on him from the trees and swatting at him.


    ¡°Hey! Just me! The dude who rescued all of you!¡± Zan yelled, so his voice traveled over the crunch of horses.


    The man did not turn to reply but kept his eyes on the road. Good man, Zan thought. The last thing he wanted was for the whole wagon to shoot off the road and crash. The man shouted back, however, a ¡°Nice to meet you! What do you need?!¡± His words were brief, so Zan did not waste his time.


    ¡°Staying up here to direct us in case danger sneaks on us!¡± Zan yelled, slightly weirdly.


    ¡°I can take care of us if that happens, lad! I am my village¡¯s stable master!¡± the ill-shaved man spoke.


    Hearing the man speak caused Zan to err on the side of embarrassment. He had been so sure of himself only for the seemingly ignorant prisoner to one-up him. Boosting his mood, though, the man said, ¡°Thank you for the offer, lad!¡± Pausing, the man took a breath and said, ¡°Sorry! Thank you for the offer, young sir! You¡¯re no normal kid. You deserve respect for helping us out like that!¡±


    Filled with pride, Zan had no time to enjoy the adult¡¯s kind words. Ahead, he saw his answer to question two: what happened to the other wagons who went before?


    Before them, Zan half-a-dozen or more of the wagons locked in pitch combat with the colonel and his surviving men.


    And the colonel was losing.

 Chapter 36 (Engagement: Border Camp - 8) [New Power: Shining]

    Gazing at the new battlefield before him, Zan¡¯s breath caught in his throat. Pushing the breath back to his lungs, he observed the scene: of the half-dozen wagons locked in battle, only two of them still stood, the people, obviously, on the losing side of an enemy forcing pushing them back, the wagons becoming sites of conflict. The survivors were now huddled between the final two wagons. Zan thankfully saw no human bodies littering the battlefield.


    Observing next, the enemy, Zan watched at least a dozen gold-golems glint in the rising sun. Alongside them, aiding the gold-painted golems in their assault, were dozens ¡ª of which Zan could see ¡ª regular infantry automotrons. More than enough to overwhelm inexperienced fighters. Looking over the scene, Zan felt surprise at seeing the civilians last as long as they did; apparently, Colonel Winters was, in fact, one heck of a soldier.


    Not waiting around anymore, though, Zan felt he took in enough of the scene. Now was the time for action! Jumping off the wagon¡¯s front seat, Zan drew his sword and charged headfirst into the battle. Zan entered the battle with a bang by throwing his final smoke grenade to cover his entry and to put all his remaining energy into a brazen assault on the gold-golems.


    His efforts paid off and after a few good strained minutes, claimed victory over two ¡®golds¡¯ and many of their minion helpers.


    Yet, as grand as Zan¡¯s efforts were, they were for naught.


    At that moment, his body succumbed to exhaustion. Zan keeled over and vomited. He then slid to his knees and then to his side, nearly falling headfirst into his puke.


    Zan didn¡¯t know what happened. It was like his body slammed into a wall. He guessed the only likelihood: he had reached his limit. Prone on the ground, Zan felt a multitude of bleak thoughts cross to his mind. Unlike the times in the past where he thought he had reached the end, this time, Zan felt no such thing. Maybe it was because he had come too far already, but the last thing Zan wanted was to accept defeat. The idea gave him strength, despite it not being able to grant him the stamina to continue the fight. So he felt rage. It couldn¡¯t end here, it can¡¯t!


    Struggling to his feet using every ounce of power which remained in his body, Zan felt his belly burn with purpose. The crystal parasite ¡ª inside him, it was moving! Doing ¡ª something!


    Zan¡¯s whole body swelled with a burning tide. His skin felt crisped, his mind awash in a fiery goo he couldn¡¯t identify. His whole personhood became entombed in a magma-induced shell.


    Inside the shell, Zan saw nothing of the outside world. He heard the lumbering footsteps of automotrons, felt the air punctuate with screams. He had to free himself from the hot cacoon ¡ª struggling, Zan tried to pierce the material. But his limbs were sealed. Then he tried to wiggle out like a worm on its side. Even so basic a movement, however, Zan could not do.


    Gods, please, let me out! I have to save the people; I have¡ª!


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    From Zan¡¯s stomach and heart then burst forth a great power, one which tore the cacoon to shreds.


    Able to move, Zan stood, and felt a renewal of energy, stamina, and something which felt like magic but wasn¡¯t exactly magic. Taking in the whole scene instantly, Zan saw legions of golems advance on the wagon survivors, now huddled behind a single wagon with Colonel Winters valiantly defending the prisoners with a few dedicated men.


    Between the enemy, Zan looked ahead, then back. Enemies were everywhere.


    He turned and stuck his palm toward the golems assaulting Winters. Speaking in an archaic tongue, Zan conjured a powerful, semi-magical current; of the dozen golems, which included a gold-golem and several red, none survived the flames which suddenly engulfed the enemy and burned them to ash.


    Zan then turned ahead and faced the enemy''s oncoming.


    Holding his sword high, a powerful current of fire engulfed it, churning along each itch and groove until the blade resembled a raging firestorm. Bringing the blade down in a wide arc, the fire leaped from the sword, engulfing the two dozen or more golems advancing down to his position.


    The devastation did not end there, however.


    Once the foe and flame engulfed one another, the flames jumped, danced, but did not expire.


    Zan witnessed the flames seemingly come alive as they rose from their victim¡¯s corpses and took form as vaguely humanoid entities. ¡®What the heck is happening?!¡¯ Zan whispered. In their new form, the ¡®flame-figures¡¯ advanced to other golems and engulfed them by merely walking into them in a manner no more seriously than two civilians bumping into each other on the street. Finally, the spectacle ended not even there, for, from the new victims, Zan saw yet more flame-entities be born, who just as casually walked into more golem victims. Minutes passed and the processes repeated, the flames multiplying until, as suddenly as it all began, everything ended. Everything ¡ª the multiplying flame creatures, the power surging within Zan, everything. In a whir of smoke, ended.


    With the spectacle over, Zan felt empty. Inside him, the crystal-parasite creature (thing¡­) no longer churned. It lay dormant. Causing Zan to think, but moreover, fall to his knees. With the strange power no longer relentlessly boiling in his gut, the withdrawal of energy left him as before: devoid of the ability to stand.


    With such excitement upon him as equal levels of devastation among the enemy¡¯s ranks, Zan would have believed the battle over. The civilians safe. Unfortunately, this was not the case.


    Still strong enough to waddle on his knees, Colonel Winters rushed over to help him stand. Standing, Zan saw ¡ª in the distance ¡ª a mighty marching column of enemy soldiers. Whispering in his ear, the Colonel said, ¡°No doubt in my mind, Zan. That enemy is a splinter from a much larger force. What are we going to do? I won¡¯t lie¡­ I don¡¯t have any suggestions myself. If we are to die, I am merely thankful to both the gods, and you, that it won¡¯t be in some forced-labor camp.¡±


    Zan¡¯s face fell crestfallen. Over and over again, he could not catch a break. When he thought he was out of the frying pan, he entered the fire; out of the fire, he found himself within some deeper fire, and a fire yet below that fire ¡ª how many tiers of agony existed to this life?!


    Barely able to speak, Zan said, ¡°We¡¯ll die fighting, then.¡±


    Squeezing his shoulders as the Colonel supported him, the Colonel said, ¡°Darn right we will!¡±


    He would have liked to give a rousing speech, but Zan could hardly mutter, let alone inspire. The Colonel was not much for a speech giver, though he tried to give a few meaningful words about ¡®duty¡¯ and ¡®honor.¡¯ A petty cheer went up, though no one would be under a false impression about what lay before them. Certain doom.


    And this time, Zan knew, there would be no rescue.

 Chapter 37 (Engagement: Border Camp - 9)

    Automotrons made little sound as they marched, fought, and conquered. So, standing before a legion of them now, hardly any sound other than their audio footprints as they marched, felt to Zan a surreal way to die. He expected his death to come with bombast, not silence except for the hardly notable clank of wooden gears within the hearts of the enemy.


    ¡°Here they come!¡± Colonel Winters announced.


    Standing on his own, though barely, Zan held his sword ready. By now, Jiehong and Whiskey stood next to him, Jiehong still imploring him to reveal what happened with the burst of sudden power. Zan would have told, but Zan could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone speculate about the source of his strange power.


    Before the enemy contacted them, all Zan could say as a reply was, ¡°I hope your weird parasite does what mine does, Jiehong. Maybe you¡¯ll live¡­ and get to return home.¡± Zan spoke with tears falling down his cheeks.


    Zan expected a response from his friend. Instead, his honesty met Jie¡¯s silence.


    So that¡¯s how it is¡­ even when we face death, Zan thought. A lost friendship, a lost life. If imminent death could become worse, Zan didn¡¯t want to see it.


    With the enemy now within striking range, Zan prepared himself. The final battle.


    All he wanted was to begin the battle with a last-ditch effort to be brave to those defenders behind him, the normal people of villagers, people like how he had been before the invasion. If he could take out a couple of automotrons before he fell, that would be enough. More than enough.


    With great effort, Zan raised his blade for one last stand.


    Sweat intermingled with his tears and saved some of his honor, but Zan knew in times like these, honor came from within. It was not an external matter of pride; Zan and his final defenders would die with plenty of honor to spare. For, death in the line of defending one¡¯s country always came with respect.


    One step, two step¡­ one more step, another second, and it would be ¡®killing time.¡¯ Zan steeled himself for the grizzly end. He saw the final step. Contact with the enemy.


    He swung his sword, removing a huge chunk from an automotron while taking an aggressive forward step of his own. Digging into position, Zan swung again and ended the golem in front of him before hacking at the golems to his left and right.


    All along the lines, others did the same. Steel met wood, wood met flame; Whiskey rained down the rest of her arrows, then saved the rest for her blades. Jiehong, without the enthusiasm he showed during the camp raid, braced himself as he threw himself into the enemy¡¯s ranks. He hacked away, sure, but Zan saw how tired and slow his movements had become. Then, as Zan parried a blow from an enemy axe, he heard a cry of agony as an axe contacted flesh somewhere along the final stand. Turning his eye quick, Zan saw one defender fall to the ground in a puddle of blood. Zan¡¯s heart would have beat faster if it could, but Zan could not dwell on the death of others, even as he heard more agonized cries. All Zan could do was defend himself until his reaction times signaled the end. Until his muscles let him down and the enemy¡¯s weapons drained him of life and purpose.


    Which happened momentarily.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Parrying a blow and pushing an enemy back with a hacking stab, another enemy with red paint, took the parried foe¡¯s place and launched into a coordinated attack with a golem behind it. Zan staggered backward and brought his shield to bear. Although the shield protected him from many blows, he became worn down to his knees, forced down by the weight of the axes clanging on his shield.


    Gasping for air, sputtering up spittle, but not knowing what else to do, Zan continued to weather the blows. Eventually, even his kneeling position wasn¡¯t enough. His shield cracked, and though Zan repulsed what would have been a death blow with his final feat of strength, he now laid wholly on the ground, shield askew, him no longer able to defend himself. The end was coming. It would crack his skull soon. Then it would end. For better or worse, he would die, and the world would move on¡­


    Zan¡¯s vision blurred as tears obscured everything, but wiping them away, he saw a miracle.


    From the high ridges above, arrows! A flurry of arrows rained down upon the automotron foe! More arrows than Zan could count, arrows whose flight rang true to the foe and marked them as allies to Zan. So many arrows, each one lighting up Zan¡¯s heart with a last-ditch hope.


    He heard screams. Shouting. But Zan couldn¡¯t keep his eyes open.


    He fell asleep. Unconscious? He didn¡¯t know.


    When Zan awoke, an indeterminate time later, it was the high afternoon.


    Sun pierced Zan¡¯s eyelids with a fury. Around him were people. Not only the prisoners and his compatriots, but people dressed in unusual clothing. Bright colors marked the newcomers. Red, blues, and hues of violet glued the new and the old as Zan heard strange accents. He tried to rouse himself and stand, but everything in his body told him otherwise.


    ¡°Someone, help me!¡± Zan groaned.


    By his side came Jiehong and Whiskey. They must¡¯ve been near.


    ¡°I¡¯m here, my friend. Calm. Rest. You¡¯ve earned it,¡± Jiehong said.


    Hearing Jie call him his friend made Zan happy. Hope for their friendship simmered yet! Zan fell back to the ground, which he saw included a sleeping pad filled with soft, feathery materials.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Jiehong began, unsure of how much Zan saw before he passed out. ¡°We were fighting. You were, maybe, the best of us all. Then ¡ª out of the blue ¡ª a volley of arrows!


    Then another volley! From the trees, new fighters emerged and slew the golems with incredible haste. In a few blinks, the battle was over. It was a tense moment, then, as the new combatants surrounded us. Although they were human, among them were life-forms from far-away lands. People did not know what to expect¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, for the love of it all, get to the point!¡± Whiskey said, interrupting Jiehong.


    ¡°I¡¯m getting to it!¡± Jie shot back. ¡°So, yeah. We didn¡¯t know what to expect. But Colonel Winters and the leader of the newcomers talked. Turns out the newcomers are ¡®rebels¡¯ or something battling with the Kingship. Our Kingship. Or maybe they were arguing with the king? I don¡¯t really understand it myself. But the Colonel and them had some strong words once the Colonel discovered they were rebels.¡±


    Zan took in all the new information. Rebels? Meaning, the same rebels, the Royal authorities in Thundervale once suspected he and Jiehong of being? Zan gave Jiehong this ¡ª it was an incredible turn of events.


    ¡°Words¡­ got it,¡± Zan replied. ¡°Then what? Where are we now?¡±


    ¡°Well, they didn¡¯t talk so many words right away. After the arrows volley, the newcomers rounded everyone up, found what horses they could, and over several hours ferried everyone to several hidden camps in the area. We¡¯re in one of those camps now. Once they saved everyone, that was when Colonel Winters and the rebel leader guy had words, and that was when things got heated.¡±


    That made sense, Zan thought. Talking when more of the enemy could come at a moment¡¯s notice wasn¡¯t ideal. Nor was it smart. But talking after saving everyone? Better.


    More logical.


    Thinking of something, then, Zan turned his head to Whiskey and said, ¡°So we did it? We rescued your people?¡±


    Whiskey smiled broadly and said, ¡°We did. With your help, Zan. So thank you. I will always remember and appreciate what you¡¯ve done for me. What¡¯s you and your friend have done for my village. Thank you, so, so much!¡±


    Zan smiled in return. Even the ever-stoic Jiehong had a grin.


    ¡°I guess¡­ we can go home?¡±


    Jie nodded. He said, ¡°That we can, buddy, that we can!¡±

 Chapter 38

    Although the conversation with his comrades was short, it drained him of his petty stamina reserves. Zan napped for several more hours. He woke near evening.


    Jiehong was by his side, reading something which looked like a small book.


    ¡°Where¡¯d Whiskey go?¡± Zan asked.


    Starting from his peace, Jiehong grinned once he saw his friend awake. ¡°She is tending to her people. Traveling between the camps. Making note of the passages between those encampments. Preparing for the next stage of the war. I told her we would leave tomorrow morning. So she will be by then to tell us what she knows of the region¡¯s defenses.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­ good¡­¡± was all Zan could say before he said, ¡°Because that is why we did all this. For that information, and the off-chance, it actually helps in the war.¡±


    ¡°Right? I can¡¯t even say how pissed I would be if she had no actual information to tell us or forgot to tell us,¡± Jie said.


    Though Zan felt a twinge of irritation at Jiehong telling Whiskey they would spend the night in a rebel camp, since he wanted to head back to the command center right away, feeling how exhausted he was merely by keeping his eyes open and making small talk, he had to admit, a good night¡¯s sleep was much needed. Welcomed with open arms, even. Then Zan¡¯s stomach growled.


    ¡°I got you covered,¡± Jie said, grabbing a nearby bowl and quickly heading to a central fire pit with a large black cauldron over a massive fire.


    Jiehong returned and gave Zan the bowl with a spoon. ¡°It¡¯s a stew and boy, is it yummy! I¡¯ve had four helpings myself; go on, eat! I will get you some water!¡±


    While Jie went off in search of water, Zan brought a spoon full of the stew to his lips. Within the single bite appeared to be several kinds of meats and vegetables. Spices and herbs swirled within the bite; Jiehong had not lied ¡ª it smelled delicious and when swallowed, tasted even better!


    Scarfing down another bite, then another, the entire bowl vanished without a trace. Zan licked the bowl greedily as he waited for Jiehong to return.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Hie said upon seeing Zan¡¯s tongue darting over the bowl. ¡°See? It is irresistible, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Jiehong handed Zan a tin cup filled with chunks of ice. ¡°I gathered the ice fresh from a nearby cave. Man, these rebels know the land! I never would have thought ice-bearing caves existed this close to the surface!¡±


    Zan took the cup from his friend the cup and saw more than mere icy chunks. ¡°What is that? Is this¡­ berries?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! Wild, right? They use the ice to preserve the berries, then dice them up, and put them into water. It flavors the water and adds a refreshing snack at the end of the drink. Cool, right?¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Looks like these rebels have it figured out¡­¡± Zan said, pausing to take several large gulps of the water. Jie was right. Delicious!


    Several more bowls of stew and cups of ice water later, and Zan was feeling much better. It was now he noticed someone bandaged his body. Jiehong said it was a rebel doctor who tended him. A kindly old man who looked half his age.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Jiehong had joined Zan for another couple of bowls. With their meal finished, and five additional bowls of stew gone into Zan¡¯s no-longer-rumbling stomach, a newcomer came and introduced himself. ¡°My name is Ming Cato,¡± he said. ¡°I am the leader of this rebel pack. I am told you led the raid on the enemy¡¯s stronghold. You¡¯re a very brave soul, Zan.¡±


    Feeling energized, now he had food in his belly, Zan gave a reply. ¡°Thank you, Ming. I truly appreciate your kindness. And your rescue of our ill-planned raid.¡±


    ¡°Ill-planned or not, you acted from your heart. I can tell you are patriots through and through for your home,¡± Ming replied.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that bother you? As a rebel, I mean?¡± Zan asked, now curious to get to the heart of matters.


    ¡°Does it bother me? HA! Hardly! No, speaking truthfully, it does not. Your home is more than your allegiance to an abstract force of politics. The King, I mean. Your home is your place of birth, your memories of your village and its people. Your home is not merely ¡®this man, this king, rules over me, and I am loyal to him!¡¯ No, it is your life, and your reason for fighting!¡± Ming said with a passion Zan had not seen since first encountering Colonel Winters.


    Taking a moment to consider fully Ming¡¯s words, Zan said, ¡°I never thought of it like that before. But you will excuse me if I don¡¯t become a rebel right away¡­¡±


    Ming laughed, but said, ¡°Worry not! It takes all kinds to move the world. And Zan? You¡¯re among the movers. Consider your place in the world and I believe you and I will be closer one day than you think.¡±


    The idea intrigued Zan. He had never thought about these ideas before, concepts like royal loyalty and how one fits in the world with one¡¯s beliefs. Honestly, the very thought that he, Zan, a nowhere-kid from nowhere¡¯s town, might have an opinion on something as mighty as the world. It was an idea and a half! Could he truly be someone worth listening to? A man of words and purpose?


    ¡°Now, I would love to stay and chat,¡± Ming said, continuing. ¡°But I have places to be and people to check in on. I am happy I could introduce myself, though. Until we next meet, Zan and Jiehong.¡±


    Once Ming had left, Zan, now sitting atop his sleeping bag, turned to Jie and said, ¡°What a curious man. I liked him but we didn¡¯t talk about much. Seems like he was buttering me up.¡±


    Jiehong said, ¡°Yeah. Seemed like that to me, too. I guess it would be his prerogative as a rebel. Words of silver and gold and all that, right? Always having to convince people to join his cause. Makes sense. I¡¯m happy they aren¡¯t kicking us out or taking us captive. I do wonder what happened to the Colonel, though¡­¡±


    Zan hadn¡¯t thought about the colonel in a while. He said, ¡°You don¡¯t think the rebels took him captive, do you?¡±


    ¡°It would be within their right to take him prisoner. But with the war going? Who knows? I know nothing about them or their goals. Not yet. But that is why I am reading this fella,¡±


    Jiehong said, pointing at the small, book-like, reading material from earlier.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Zan asked, thinking of having another bowl.


    ¡°It is a piece of their propaganda,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°It outlines everything they believe in and support as rebels.¡±


    ¡°Cool. Care to read some to me?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong was about to speak but bite his tongue. He said, ¡°Actually, I¡¯m pretty tired. I tried reading it earlier but¡­ lots of big words. I think I am going to turn in for the night.¡±


    It seemed to Zan strange Jiehong did not want to read to him. Back home, during the peace, Jiehong often read to him at night when the two of them were relaxing after a hard day¡¯s labor in the lumber yard. When he awoke, Jie seemed engrossed in the literature.


    Then again, Zan reminded himself, they had barely survived a gruesome, intense battle. Give your friend a break.


    Asking for another bowl of soup and ice water before he turned in, Jiehong brought Zan a couple more of each, giving Zan his own bowl for ease. Zan eat and drank with mirth and once done, having nothing more to do, he slept.


    When Zan again woke, Whiskey was by his side with a concerned look.


    ¡°I have to be honest, Zan,¡± she said, Jiehong beginning to rouse. ¡°You see¡­ I might have exaggerated a bit when I said I had information¡­¡±

 Chapter 39

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Zan said, a heat resembling anger building in his bones.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell us¡­ you lied?!¡± Jiehong said, sharp and fully awake.


    ¡°No! I didn¡¯t lie! I do have information about old defenses in the region. I do! It just¡­ might not be the game changer you are hoping for,¡± Whiskey said.


    Okay, Zan told himself. She has information. Some, anyway. She didn¡¯t lie. We knew this mission was not a fair exchange from the get-go.


    ¡°How about this?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Just tell us what you know, then we¡¯ll decide whether the information is good. Either way, we held up our end of things. Your people are safe. Now it¡¯s your turn.¡±


    Sighing, perhaps of relief, Whiskey said, ¡°Okay, so here goes: as a huntress, I spend most of my time in forests. Forests like the one we are deep within now. Once in a while, I will encounter old ruins. Most of these ruins are not interesting. Just old refuse from long dead societies, picked clean of any value, or the value being deep and dangerous to retrieve, so what¡¯s the point? My occupation keeps me tended to those things still alive ¡ª big game, you know? A few months ago, however, I encountered a building which looked very similar to the design of your ¡®command center.¡¯ Super smooth, black. Both are the splitting image of each other. Since then, I have seen nothing like your command center. Right? That is, until you two and those ¡®wardens¡¯ of yours came along. Food for thought, maybe?¡±


    Trying it over in his mind, Zan said, ¡°So, you think the command center has a twin? You think the building might have weapons for us to use?¡±


    Whiskey was defiant. She said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think, Zan. All I know is this: that building and your command center likely spring from the same cloth. Anything with a sibling ought to be investigated, don¡¯t you think? Hopefully, you will find what you¡¯re looking for. And if not? I gave what I know. Consider us even?¡±


    Maybe it isn¡¯t the grand army hidden in the earth I wanted, Zan thought to himself, considering Whiskey¡¯s words. But darn it! That has to mean something. It has to! The command center emerges, supposedly reacting to my need, and despite the fact this ¡®Ranger-Knight order was once huge, now only the command center is alive? I don¡¯t think so¡­ I bet the Wardens will know more when I talk to them about the possibility. For now, I owe this woman a debt for daring to seek us out and demand help. This information might change everything. IF, and only if, this ruin of hers has a connection.


    Zan reached out for Whiskey¡¯s hand. She extended, and they shook.


    ¡°Thank you, Whiskey. The trail might have been rough, but we made it work. Tell me where this ruin is and we will go investigate. If it is not what we hoped, then ¡®oh well,¡¯ yeah?


    I don¡¯t regret helping your village,¡± Zan said, warmly as he could.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to have pestered you, then!¡± Whiskey said, smiling more brightly than he or Jiehong ever could. ¡°I have to get back to my rounds. Making sure everyone is good. Zan, Jie ¡ª thank you for your services. Considering the war, we¡¯ll see each other eventually, I figure. So, until next time, boys!¡±


    Sharing a group hug, Zan and Jiehong sent her on her way with a pip to her step. She told Zan step-by-step instructions on how to reach the ruins. Not missing a beat, Zan then communicated the information to the Wardens via his communication-ear-device. Responding to his question on whether it was possible for more Ranger-Knight structures to exist out there in the world, Screen Master Simulacrum simply said, ¡°The order has a long and noble history. Not of all it is written. It is possible, although unlikely.¡±


    With Whiskey having set off on her own journey, Zan and Jiehong got back to theirs. Looking at each other, both seemed to agree without even a single word. They had to head back to the command center.


    It was early in the morning when they set out. A full night¡¯s sleep under their eyelids gave them pep not seen since the last time they restored themselves after a mission. Which was good, Zan knew, because for the journey they had ahead of them, they would need all the energy they could gather to make it before the sun set.


    Most of their journey lacked excitement. Jiehong and Zan chi-chatted like old times. Each got along well, the nastiness in the past¡­ for now.


    With ample chattery time and an equal measure of daydreaming time, thinking of the peaceful moments, and how an ideal world would be, Jiehong asked about the elephant on the trail. He said, ¡°So¡­ what was that super-moment all about? I saw you clutching your stomach. Then¡­ wow! You took out all those guys. It was incredible!¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t know what he should say, so he said, ¡°Honestly. No idea. I was getting worked up, thinking about how it seemed too short of a life, and how I didn¡¯t want to die. Then, boom! The parasite-thing in me started grooving all about. I just erupted!¡±


    ¡°Crap on a cracker¡­¡± Jiehong replied. ¡°Think I¡¯ll be able to do that, too?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no doubt. If I can do it, you can do it!¡± Zan said.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Of course!¡± Jie replied in his haughty tone. One which Zan had grown accustomed to in the life he had known his friend. ¡°Still. Good to have an insider¡¯s opinion.¡±


    After a while, Jiehong suddenly asked, ¡°How did it feel?¡±


    ¡°Painful,¡± Zan said without missing a beat. ¡°Painful.¡±


    ¡°Like¡­ painful during the ¡®big power¡¯ moment or painful leading into the big power moment? How did you know something was happening?¡±


    ¡°Both, I guess. Leading into that explosion of power, I felt angry, pained. As I said, I didn¡¯t want to die. Once it encased me in that power ¡ª it was like a fire cacoon ¡ª I went with the flow. Was it painful? Sure. It wasn¡¯t a bad pain, though. Sort of like when you¡¯re stretching?¡±


    ¡°Incredible! And for my biggest question ¡ª do you have a crush on Whiskey?¡±


    Zan laughed. Hard and sudden, he hadn¡¯t expected the question.


    He replied with as much truth as he could muster and said, ¡°No, I don¡¯t have a crush on Whiskey. If you want her, go right ahead. I have my plate enough full as stands without mixing in the female persuasion!¡± Zan laughed.


    #


    Across the highway, bodies lay broken.


    Only a couple of rebels remain, poking the still functioning automotrons. The loyalists have already left for the greener pastures of their fortified towns. Like us, evening is coming, though we are not interested in the automotrons upon the ground or the folk on the road. Our interest lies within the nearby huddle of an imperial engineer¡­


    Let¡¯s enter his mind to find a better understanding of his psychology:


    It is so fecking absurd. Like, really. I am not a soldier. Yet these kids, these freaking children, order me around like I was some mercenary. It¡¯s absurd!


    Yet I obey. Time and time again. I follow orders. Which does not exactly set for me a precedent worth following. What can I do, though? Their paychecks are larger than I expected, their ¡®good performance¡¯ bonuses more generous than I thought. I had children. Children who could attend fancy private schools and receive the best medical care and magical training with the kind of money these clients were paying. All I had to do was take it. Swallow and nod my head like a good boy¡­


    Which put me in the position I was in now. Huddled in some bushes just inside the forest line alongside a highway. Only me. By myself. Armed with nothing but a dagger and a crossbow, I didn¡¯t know how to use. And a strange machine which emitted an unusual smell while it whirred; this was what my clients wanted me to do, actually, take the whirring machine, set it up here, and observe a battle they knew would happen alongside this road. How did they know a battle would happen here? I had no clue. But they knew and though I had been skeptical, it had, in fact, transpired.


    Throughout the battle, I had never been so frightened.


    Not ¡®scared,¡¯ per se. Not fearful of my life. Frightened. As in, anxious and unnerved, worried over my safety some, perhaps, but not mortally unsettled. Hearing the smash of blades on wood, the relentless trampling of the automotron horde, the screams, the warmth as magic blasted through the field. The few who died and their stained blood upon the road, visible from my nest; for how couldn¡¯t it be seen when it was as a red pond in a sea of brown dirt?


    I am better now.


    The battle is over. Who won? The enemy, apparently. Not like it mattered to me. In the end, the enemy always lost. That is how it always was with the military might of the Expanse. Slow to burn, impossible to drench. Once the Expanse has settled on claiming your land, there was nothing you could do about it¡­


    I wasn¡¯t here to talk politics or militarism, though. I put such things from my head.


    Pressing a button on the machine, as the instruction manual on said machine made very clear to do once my time using it was up, I packed the machine into a special protective carrying case. I slugged the case onto my back, made one final check to ensure I left nothing behind, and returned to my clients.


    My clients were inside of a hill.


    They discovered an old ruin left behind by a civilization of the past and promptly took the space over as their base. I use the word ¡®base¡¯ lightly. Inside the structure, they spent all their time sitting cross-legged meditating. I half-figured I would find them doing the typical youth thing ¡ª drinking or smoking.


    These clients were not so youthful, though. Or if there were of the age where such behaviors like substance use seem mature and exotic, it clearly passed through these youths with nary a scratch left upon their supple flesh.


    Why was I talking like this? Supple flesh? Wat? Thank goodness that was all my inner-monologue. If people heard me talk like that in real life, the public would cast me aside as a creep. I think what it is, is I have been spending too much time with these barely human clients of mine. Harsh? No¡­ not to them.


    I walked into the base and set the device down where they instructed me earlier to place it once I finished. They remained sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Swaying back and forth. Chanting.


    Inside the base, the air quality suddenly changed. Like it was a delicious dinner aroma turned repugnant. Nearly ready to hurl, I quick-stepped my way out of the base. In the fresh air once more, I breathed deeply to help purify my dirtied lungs. Deeply breathing several times, encasing my organs in the sweet, earthy pine scent, I remained out there for a good while when the lead client came outside to visit.


    ¡°Sir! Apologies for being outside the base for so long. I needed to clear my lungs. I felt rather unwell all of a sudden,¡± I told the client.


    My client, surely a royal youth, remained dressed in the same garment he had worn since the start of the expedition. Black-dyed leathers with fur-trims. A mask I thought made from porcelain covered his face. He wore no hat other than the hood he sometimes wore while out in the field. His mask strapped to the back of his head and so tangled in his hair were white-dyed leather straps. His hair was a wild and mangled style. I could not tell if his hair was untamed by intent or malpractice. This was all of my client I knew.


    He said to me, ¡°Worry not. You might actually sleep out here tonight. You continue to labor well for us. I know today was hard for you. Which is why you¡¯ll be surprised to learn your term of service is ending.¡±


    An electric shock, like magic, surged across every vein. ¡°Sir? I was contracted for six-months. You are aware, of course, of there being a significant early cancellation fee?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware. You will be paid out in-full. Our aim here is nearly done, however. I have obligations to fulfill once my mission here is over. Therefore, this excursion is ending. Keep notice for your next assignment,¡± the lead client said before entering the base, leaving me locked outside.


    It might have been dark, but at least it wasn¡¯t cold, windy, or rainy.


    Thunder-struck.


    Rain followed.


    And a fierce gale picked up.


    What the shit? I asked myself, cursing for hardly the first time since I set upon this awful adventure.

 Chapter 40

    Zan and Jiehong made it back to the command center in one piece.


    It was early evening by the time they crossed into the camp. Zan wanted to check-in with the village elders. With his tired body, however, he was nearly ready for bed.


    Considering the camp had not burned to the ground in their absence, he figured everyone was good. He would get the lowdown from the Wardens.


    ¡°I need to go check in on my parents,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up with you later.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good. I¡¯ll be in the command center,¡± Zan replied.


    Entering the war room, Sigma-Prime greeted him right away with a warm welcome. Screen Master Simulcrum gave a similar hearty welcome as he entered.


    ¡°We¡¯re back! Holy shit¡­ so much happened!¡± Zan exclaimed.


    ¡°We know. Our machines here gave us status readings of your conditions throughout the mission. We saw some incredible spikes. The power of the Shiv is acclimating well to your body.¡±


    Zan explained everything which happened to him during the mission. Most importantly, he dwelled on the final un-as-of-yet-explained phenomena at the end, where the mysterious cacoon enveloped him within a fiery tomb.


    The Screen Master spoke first and said, ¡°Zan, congratulations. The power you¡¯ve experienced is the core of a Ranger¡¯s abilities. We call such a power ¡®Shining.¡¯ Ranger-Knights throughout times experience the power differently. What each Ranger-Knight has in common, however, is Shining only activates in times of great distress. Until you learn how to master the power, you cannot call on it unless circumstances push you to your limit.¡±


    Shining? Zan repeated to himself. My absolute limit? How do I plan for that?


    ¡°So¡­ what is Shining, specifically?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°It is when the crystal core of the life-form within you heats into overdrive in order to protect you during trying battles. It is an attempt by the crystal within your belly to fully integrate with you and become one with you. However, full symbiosis is impossible. So it will always recede back into you, leaving you autonomous, but at the expense of its power withdrawing. With a great deal of training, you will be able to call on this near-symbiosis anytime you desire. But specialist training will be required before such is a tactic you can depend on in battle,¡± the Screen Master spoke.


    Taking all the new information in, Zan wondered about many things. He wondered about previous Ranger-Knights, what their powers were, and all the more, how many Ranger-Knights actually trained themselves to call upon ¡®Shining¡¯ whenever the fighting demanded.


    Zan did not ask these things, however. He was tired. Such answers would come to him, eventually. When the time was right.


    ¡°Okay¡­ I am pooped. Time for me to hit the hay,¡± Zan said.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Before you do, we have updates on the status of the command center. We also have updates on the status of the civilian population. Which do you wish to hear first?¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°Civilians¡­ I guess,¡± Zan replied. The tiredness hit him brazenly. He really needed to rest, to sleep. Have some ¡®personal time.¡¯


    ¡°Implementing your desires, we sent out a notification to the camp regarding everyone needing to pull together and contribute a small service to the camp. Most people did not have a problem with this, but some did; of those people who took offense to the ¡®tax,¡¯ they have left. We have located a chef for you and for the people who lack culinary talents or who experience medical conditions, making them incapable of preparing their own food. We have ordered your personal chef to stand ready in the kitchen to take your order three times per day. One for breakfast, one for lunch, one for dinner. We have also informed him about your erratic schedule and how, if you do not show, they are to make a dish of moderate consumption appeal for your later consumption. Is this fine?¡± Sigma-Prime asked.


    Sigma-Prime spoke a lot of words. Words which were becoming increasingly hard, irrelevant, even, to follow in his tired state. He shook his head positively, though, and said, ¡°Sounds wonderful. I will expect a full breakfast in the morning, then. How many people left?¡±


    ¡°Approximately two-dozen people,¡± Sigma-Prime replied.


    Two-dozen?! Zan thought. He said, ¡°Where did those people go? Do they have protection, w-what?¡±


    Now it was the Screen Master who spoke and said, ¡°I do not know where they went, but through the use of the center¡¯s security cameras, I saw several warriors among their ranks while leaving the camp perimeter. The ones who left have as much protection as anyone else who dares to wander among the roads of this nation while under assault.¡±


    ¡°Did they seem angry?¡± Zan asked.


    Responding definitively, the Screen Master said, ¡°Yes, they were angry. Of the people who left, many seemed economically well endowed and believed them undertaking labor was an insult to their class. Insult or not, Zan, it is important for you to recognize protecting civilians is not the typically expected function of this command center. In times like now, everyone must band together for survival. Those who refuse the labor of caring for their neighbor have no role, here.¡±


    Hearing the Screen Master speak, Zan thought of Jiehong¡¯s parents. Technically, his guardians. They left as well. Supposedly to some rich eccentric¡¯s bunker, but who knows if that was really the case. Zan had not seen them since the argument. Within, though, Zan knew, and had to remind himself, of how Jiehong¡¯s parents left because he and they had a fight. Not because the Wardens asked them to perform a trivial amount of labor¡­ though Zan knew they likely would have a problem with that as well. His point stood.


    ¡°Okay¡­ well¡­ I guess a couple dozen fewer mouths to feed is never a bad thing, right?¡± Zan asked. ¡°You said you had an update about the command center as well?¡±


    Sigma-Prime took the conversational reins this time and said, ¡°Yes! We¡¯ve made many repairs in the time you¡¯ve been away. Our systems can again access the Backroads!¡±


    ¡°Very cool¡­¡± Zan said, wiping the tired from his eyes, but the tired always finding its way back to his eyes. ¡°What does that mean for us? You mentioned, I think, it was a means of travel?¡±


    ¡°That is correct! The Backroads are an Eldritch form of travel accessible to mortals when certain parameters become fulfilled. Long ago, our engineers devised such parameters, and we gained access to the Backroads. Soon, they will become accessible to you and your budding Ranger-core.¡±


    Nice¡­ was all Zan could say. As he stood, his feet swung from side-to-side. A lame attempt to stave off sleepiness.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to bed¡­ let¡¯s continue this in the morning. After I¡¯ve eaten,¡± Zan said, ending the conversation.


    Accepting his need for sleep, the Wardens acquiesced and Zan wandered off to the barracks to fit in his sleep.


    When he woke, everything seemed ordinary. He stretched, blew his nose, and was ready for a meal when he opened his door and stubbed his foot on something.


    Yelping like a dog, Zan looked to the floor to see what he had stubbed it on.


    In front of his door was a package.

 Chapter 41

    The box had a tag. It read, ¡®Zan, enjoy these speciality teas and coffees¡¯ courtesy of me. They¡¯ve helped me put many peps back into my steps. I know they will also help you.¡¯


    The tag signed only ¡®Whiskey.¡¯


    Taking the box into his chamber, Zan closed the door and locked it.


    ¡®Elated,¡¯ was how Zan would describe himself at the moment. A package had come for him! Him!


    Over the years he lived with Jiehong, they ¡ª as a family of means ¡ª often had packages delivered to them through the use of the Great Silver and Gold Road. But no packages ever came for him, no matter how much his envy grew. So, now, a package, and for him! What a day!


    Alone ¡ª for Zan wanted to be alone so he could savor the moment ¡ª he ripped into the box like a lad on one of the major gift-giving holidays. He opened the box, emptied the strange ¡®peanut-shaped¡¯ materials within, which he knew from Jiehong¡¯s parents had been placed inside to cushion the item during its transport time, in case rough and rumbly motions knocked it silly, and pulled the actual item meant for him out of the box.


    Holding in his hand the actual item Whiskey sent, it was a box of average size. Black, small-ish, and ornate. The material glide upon Zan¡¯s touch, as if its noble design meant it for a lord or a lord¡¯s business partner. Certainly not for him, a nobody boy.


    He opened the box and saw tea sachets. Smooth to the touch, Zan knew right away the materials of the bags: silk.


    Jiehong¡¯s parents often bought tea through the use of the Great Silver and Gold Road service. The teas came in boxes and bags exactly like the one Zan now held in his hand.


    Inside each silk bag was a small amount of tea. Tea which he would steep within a cup of hot water, then enjoy.


    Zan set his tea box on his bedroom¡¯s sole nightstand. With one tea at random picked, he brought the silk bag to the kitchen. He would try his new tea with breakfast!


    Entering the kitchen, Zan found his meal already made and waiting for him at one of the several tables in the kitchen¡¯s small dining space. Lifting himself to the seat, he saw before him a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes covered with cheese. Salted lightly, peppered equally lightly.


    A humble meal, but a delicious one. Zan scarfed the meal down with the gusto of a hungry barn cat.


    Done with his meal, he rinsed the plate off, then set it on a rack to dry.


    Wanting to try his tea, Zan looked at the oven. Said oven had fresh wood in it and was already simmering from ember stones. Zan saw the wood within had markings of the enemy, signaling its salvaging from a battlefield enemy.


    Zan didn¡¯t know why, but the idea of using the enemy¡¯s dead as a resource warmed him. Automotrons were not living in any sense of the word. At best, they were infused with a petty amount of spiritual energy, energy imprinted with a command structure which directed them toward a function. With enough damage sustained, the spiritual seal would break. Once the seal broke and the automotron ceased to function, the spiritual matter of the golem faded, thus leaving the automotron lifeless, and inert as any old tree. Seeing the former enemy now fuel his morning routine gave Zan a resolve: his fighting made a difference.


    Setting the oven¡¯s inside ablaze, Zan filled a kettle with some water and placed the kettle atop one of the stove¡¯s burners. He only had to wait a few minutes for the water to boil. By then, Zan had placed the tea bag into a cup. So he poured water over the bag to steep it, waited for all the flavors to diffuse, then finished his preperation by mixing in a trivial amount of sugar, a surprising ingredient to be found among the refugees¡¯ belongings. Probably from one of the wealthier families who fled, Zan thought.


    Waiting for the tea to steep, Zan stared at the card which came with the tea. All the staring in the world would not help Zan, though. For Zan could not read, though he desperately wanted to learn. He picked up words here and there from Jiehong and his family¡¯s private lessons, but those lessons never extended to Zan. He was not ¡®of blood,¡¯ to Jiehong¡¯s clan.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Feeling enough time had passed for the tea bag to sit, Zan removed it and had a sip. Citrus? Apple? Tart? He let the flavors linger as they passed over his tongue. He tasted more, a flavor like pineapple, maybe? More sips later and Zan tasted for the first time an undercurrent of spice. Nearly like spiced mead, such as Zan at rare times had during a harvest festival or All Gods¡¯ Day.


    He downed the drink and felt refreshed. He had energy. More so than when he woke up. Zan wondered if the drink would give him an energy boost, like it always had given to Zan¡¯s parents when they had their teas. Zan was happy to see he received an energy boost, as he had always been curious about what it felt like. ¡®Good,¡¯ was the answer.


    With his breakfast completed, Zan walked upstairs to the command center¡¯s war room. The Wardens were in the same places as always; Sigma-Prime with her table ¡ª ¡®charging,¡¯ as she called it ¡ª while the Screen Master displayed atop the wall.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready for everything,¡± Zan said, announcing his desire to re-affirm the war effort.


    ¡°Welcome back,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°Update Request: is the one you called ¡®Whiskey¡¯ planning on joining the Ranger-core?¡±


    Zan said, ¡°She has no desire right now. Why?¡±


    The Screen Master said, ¡°She has a right to decline joining. I wish to make one point very clear, Zan: an individual who enters the command center can do so because the center¡¯s holy power has judged them sufficient. In your quest to repel the evil forces threatening your home, you will need all the allies you can muster. Should you and she cross paths again, attempt to recruit her to your cause.¡±


    Zan understood the Screen-Master¡¯s plea. He was right, of course. He remembered those few days ago how the Screen Master said only those people capable of becoming Ranger-Knights could enter the center. Whiskey entered on her own provocations. And as Zan had seen firsthand, she could handle herself in battle.


    I will attempt to recruit her, Zan resolved. Not until the moment is right. I want to show her in as an equal, not as a pestered woman.


    ¡°I understand, Screen Master. I will recruit her when I feel the time is right,¡± Zan said to Simulacrum.


    ¡°Confirmed. Thank you, Zan. Additional update request: did Whiskey inform you of the information she supposedly held concerning the defenses of the region? Before your return, you had contacted me in the field to ask about the possibility of rogue command outposts or similar such archaeological giveaways?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s exactly it,¡± Zan said, explaining the exact information Whiskey told them at the end of the mission.


    ¡°I understand,¡± the Screen Master said once Zan finished explaining everything, along with the location of the structure Whiskey discovered.


    From the Screen Master¡¯s projection came a series of strange noises Zan only could describe as ¡®bobbing.¡¯ Tiny half-noises which always came when the Screen Master considered a subject in-depth.


    Moments later, done thinking, the noises stopped, and the Screen Master spoke. ¡°To learn if this structure is part of the Ranger-Knight family, more evidence is what I require.


    There is information about this subject within the center¡¯s memory-banks. Unfortunately, the center¡¯s memory is damaged. Repairs will not be workable for a long time. Our only recourse would be to investigate the location in-person.¡±


    Investigate in-person? Zan liked the idea, to get out and explore the world he, until now, had not been a participant in, but¡­ there was a war. Shouldn¡¯t his efforts remain toward the war, not chasing threads? Yet, those threads they might be relevant to the war, he had to remind himself.


    ¡°Would you recommend, then, exploring this ruin be our next mission?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I would, Zan. With your successful assault on the enemy stronghold, I have noticed a shift in the invading army¡¯s intent. Our region is no longer being targeted. A neighboring region is now being targeted, as we have seen through the direction of war material throughout the countryside. My hypothesis right now is the commander of the enemy forces falsely believes the assault to have originated from a nearby allied city. One with defenses and better offensive capabilities than our current region, which lacks sites of military and civilian importance,¡± Simulacrum said.


    ¡°Very true. Thank you for telling me this¡­ I only worry about chasing wild geese instead of focusing on the war.¡±


    ¡°I understand. But investigating the ruins will not require much of us and we will return to the war effort before too long. Remember, Zan: an important part of leading a Ranger-Knight Core is understanding how the eradication of evil is a holistic affair. One can no more eliminate all evil with a sword than one can battle wild monsters with words. Our purpose is not to over-militarize. It is to adapt to situations, remove evil intent, and repeat until ¡ª theoretically ¡ª evil within every worldly sector is defeated.¡±


    So many words¡­ it made Zan¡¯s head hurt. But he thought he knew what the Screen Master was talking about. Holistic as in¡­ people and situations from across all walks of life? Such an idea intimidated Zan. He knew nothing about the world¡­ how could he possibly help everyone? Literally?!


    A question for another day, Zan relented. Until then¡­


    ¡°So ¡ª a deep forest. Where few people have gone before. When should we leave for this far-off place?¡± Zan asked, feeling the effects of the team wearing slightly.


    ¡°Worry not, Zan! We mentioned previously how we made repairs to our base of operations? Part of those repairs includes the means by which we accessed the Backroads. Using the Backroads, you will find travel eased. But to understand the nature of the Backroads and how you must care for it, you must first experience it.¡±

 Chapter 42

    Experience the ¡®backroads¡¯? Oh, boy¡­ Zan felt dizzy.


    I don¡¯t have a choice, though. Zan chided himself for his cowardice. It was a tool. He would use every tool open to him. He would do his part to help end this war, he promised.


    ¡°Wonderful! How do I do that?¡± Zan asked, a little stupid, but it was his first time talking about ¡®eldritch creations,¡¯ so what could he do but stumble and laugh?


    ¡°Enter the staircase which leads to the kitchen. Instead of turning into the kitchen, continue down the hallway to the door at the end of the main passage. At the end of that hallway is the Backroads point of access,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum explained.


    Zan followed the instruction and soon found himself staring at the door. Every door alongside the hallway remained as mysterious as that day prior when Zan had discovered them all locked.


    ¡°Uhhh, I¡¯m at the door,¡± Zan said, wondering if the Screen Master would hear him as he did not speak into his earpiece. He was in the base, though. How much did the Screen Master see? Everything?


    Everything: the Screen Master said, ¡°Verified.¡±


    Before Zan¡¯s eyes, the door glowed. An energy filled it, causing strange markings to appear throughout the top half of the door. Reaching a bright crescendo, the door then sparked, as if an electrical bolt from the sky had struck it, and fell open. Pushing his way inside, Zan saw a room doused in white.


    ¡°Whoa, what is this place?¡± Zan asked, overwhelmed by the sudden change of color.


    Normally, the inside of the command center was a sleek black. Zan had not yet thought to ask the Wardens what the material was, but as dark as it is, this white was as intense.


    Was it a different material, a different precious ore altogether? Zan wondered.


    From an unknown space, the Screen Master¡¯s voice echoed. ¡°This is the Hidden Chamber. The entrance to the Backroads. You will find this space is unlike any other space you have encountered.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Answering your question simply, I say this: as you build the Shiv order anew, Zan, and as more bases integrate into the new system, you will find walking through one door will not take you to an exact room. It might take you to a far-away location. I will comment more on this feature when it unlocks for you upon the growth of the order.¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Zan considered the Screen Master¡¯s reply. An ¡®exact room.¡¯ Meaning? What, the space acted as one of those fancy teleporting circles Zan heard the king¡¯s mages had?


    Replying to Screen Master Simulacrum¡¯s reveal, Zan said, ¡°You¡¯ve got me hooked. So, what now? Until you reveal the secrets of the earth, I still need to know what this place is about if I am to use this Backroads thing, right?¡±


    ¡°That is correct, Zan. You are learning fast. Backtracking to answering your original question, this entrance to the Backroads is mandatory for anyone who wishes to enter the Backroads. It is impossible to enter the Backroads without doing so from a room like this,¡± Simulacrum said.


    ¡°Gotcha¡­ can only enter from a ¡®special white room¡¯ like this. What next?¡±


    ¡°An incantation is required to enter the space. Before an incantation can be spoken, however, the room, at its master¡¯s command, must fill the room with concentrated energy. You will need to speak the command, but I can fill the room with energy. Once the incantation is spoken the complex glyphs within this space will use the gathered energy to open a pathway. This pathway is what we typically refer to when Wardens and Ranger-Knights speak about the Backroads.¡±


    ¡°Kewl¡­ so ¡®weird passage door place¡¯ is also the ¡®backroads.¡¯ Got it!¡± Zan said, in a way usually only his younger and more immature self would say. ¡°Next?¡±


    ¡°Next, I will walk you through the basic process of how to navigate the Backroads. The process is easy. However, using the Backroads for a prolonged period takes a psychological toll. You will not need to worry about this, however, Zan. Usage of the Backroads is strictly for the quick transversal of territory. You will not need to be within long enough for the toll to be anything other than a mere drop of energy levels.¡±


    Zan made a quick mental note: small toll, don¡¯t get addicted. Cool¡­


    ¡°Got it down. Next?¡± Zan asked, feeling like he was repeating himself.


    ¡°Once you are inside the Backroads, you will be alone. I cannot contact you inside the Backroads¡ª¡± Simulacrum spoke. As he did, Zan thought it odd. Why? There was much about this order, and their technology, he did not understand. Continuing as Zan mused, Simulacrum said, ¡°Why cannot we not communicate is a poorly understood question.


    The easiest answer I can give is this: the Backroads are another plane of reality. By this regard, it transcends even the Ranger-Knight¡¯s ability to understand.¡±


    Absorbing the Screen Master¡¯s explanation, Zan next asked, ¡°How will I know where to go? Like, once I am inside¡­ do I just go straight along the road?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Finding your way once inside is easy. There will be lights which shine toward your destination. These lights come from lodestones. You have already encountered these stones once before, Zan. They are what you and Jiehong have called ¡®way stones.¡¯ No matter the name you give, however, the real purpose of these stones are ¡ª among other things ¡ª to guide. Their light can act as visual markers when you are inside the Backroads. Shall we test the Backroads now?¡±


    It was a lot of information to take in¡­


    None of it wrecked his mind, however. Seemed straightforward.


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s dip our toes in, yeah?¡± Zan said, feeling the energy pile into the room.


    ¡°Very well. Remember, once inside, you and I cannot communicate. Follow the lights. Stick to the road. Understood?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    ¡°I do. Let¡¯s get this going!¡±


    Becoming concentrated to a higher degree, the energy, the machine effecting the energy, it all reached a zenith, and the light overwhelmed Zan.


    Covering his eyes, Zan felt how, even through his hands, the light intensified.


    Until it broke off, suddenly, and left Zan in the dark.

 Chapter 43 (Discovery: The Backroads)

    Uncovering and opening his eyes, Zan saw shadows.


    However, it was not shadows he had ever known. Before now, a ¡®shadow¡¯ was something he knew only in relation to light. Looking around at where he found himself now, shadows existed everywhere. But Zan saw no ¡®light,¡¯ no sun or large fire. And yet, there was light¡­ just not a kind of light Zan had ever before encountered. Here, both light and dark, seemed artificial. Or like a demon or angel¡¯s conception of light and dark.


    A forest? Zan asked himself. His reflexes caused him to send his finger to his ear, ask the Screen Master. Then he remembered ¡ª no communication.


    Resuming his self-talk, Zan said, ¡®The backroads are a forest?¡¯


    It was a weird forest. The trees were not like a natural forest, planted at odd ends and without order. This forest saw order at its center, arranged. As if someone had taken the effort to plant each tree in a rigid line.


    Turning his attention to the ground, Zan saw a dirt path. No stones, no brick. Just dirt. Scooping a patch of earth into his fingers, Zan wanted to see what the material of this place was, yet found the material to curl from his hand, as if the soil hadn¡¯t ever touched his skin.


    ¡®Weird, weird, and more weird¡­ okay? Time to get out of this place. The Screen Master said, ¡®follow the light,¡¯ but what light?¡¯ Zan thought.


    Taking a step forward, the world recoiled.


    Squeezing his eyes shut, Zan felt like he had to hurl.


    Keeping his lunch down, Zan opened his eyes and took another step.


    Another recoil, but with slightly less impact.


    Taking a few more baby steps, Zan felt each step impact him less and less. Though by the end of a dozen steps, he had to take a genuine break, least he vomit for real.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Restored, Zan continued his walking, now hardly feeling the recoil with every motion. Looking ahead, Zan saw the same ordered forest. The trail ahead of him. But where was the light?


    Coming to a cross-roads, Zan wondered ¡ª ¡®which way should he go?¡¯


    Scanning the horizon, Zan wondered if he had color blindness? He couldn¡¯t see anything like a light Simulacrum described. Maybe he was just stupid?


    Seeing no light, Zan took a right and walked along the road.


    With each step he took, Zan felt no great enlightenment. He felt no wind on his skin, no warmth from any sun, nor even the crunch of gravel under his foot. He walked and walked for what seemed like hours. ¡®I¡¯ve only been here for a few minutes,¡¯ Zan reminded himself several times during his walk. ¡®I gotta keep myself straight. Few minutes. That¡¯s how long I have been here¡­¡¯


    It was then when Zan noticed something different.


    ¡®The trees?¡¯ Zan asked. What about the trees?


    His mind set something off. The trees looked¡­ ¡®closer together, maybe?¡¯


    Zan investigated as well as he could without going off the path. He turned around, walked some back, then returned to the point along the path where he thought the trees were different. ¡®I¡¯m right,¡¯ he concluded. ¡®Here, the trees are planted closer together. Why?¡¯


    Obviously, an answer would not be forthcoming. So Zan contented himself for simply noticing something about the weird place. Then he resumed his trek.


    After several more minutes of passing, which felt like several hours, Zan reached his breaking point. He was tired, hungry. He had to get out of this place. Something was wrong. Whatever was happening, it was not something the Screen Master intended.


    Daring to break into a run, Zan rushed along the dirt road. Feeling an intensity within his heart, his head, and his soul, Zan forced himself faster and pushed himself into overdrive, not caring about the recoil he felt from every step. He would puke ¡ª whatever. He didn¡¯t care. Not if it brought him out of this place.


    Eventually, Zan saw a sight to lift his saggy spirits. A light!


    But at his pace, Zan noticed too late how the light was not¡­ bright, if that made any sense. The light, rather, was bleak.


    Dark, almost. Like, a glimmering rush of shadows had somehow become trapped within a radiant sunbeam.


    Zan could not react in time to this revelation, however, and ran headfirst into the corrupted glint. Light and shadow overtook him. When he came to, Zan found himself back in the real world, but where in the real world? He did not know¡­

 Chapter 44

    He was within an ornate room.


    Zan saw filigree made from gold and silver and other precious metals he could not identify; he saw oak-laid bedframes and luscious curtains; a smell of glorious incense sticks burning laying in the air, causing Zan to remember times at the temple, when the priest talked of duty and honor to the heavens; on the floor were puffy, warm rugs thick to his touch, rugs anyone would not mind sleeping upon; and then the accouterments. Everywhere Zan looked were mirrors, jewelry, lose currencies, and gems, and more yet, which he did not understand; hanging on the walls were elaborate portraits of the most well-dressed people Zan ever saw. ¡®Must be royalty,¡¯ Zan concluded; the final detail Zan saw about the room was a heavy fireplace, overlooking a study nook on an elevated platform; noticing a window, Zan walked over and peeled back the layers upon layers of heavy fabric, keeping the light out. What Zan saw nearly made him fall backward ¡ª before his eyes stretched a massive city which expanded throughout the horizon.


    I¡¯m in a tower! Zan realized. High in a tower!


    Turning away from the sight for a moment, Zan hurriedly tried to think of where he could be. ¡®Was there a city this large in the Kingship?¡¯ he asked himself.


    The answer was ¡®no.¡¯


    Zan knew hardly anything about the economics of the country he called home. From the years he lived and from remembering how the many adults talked about society, he concluded there wasn¡¯t any possibility this place could be within the confines of the Kingship.


    If where he was, was outside the confines of the Kingship¡­ was that even possible?


    Zan recalled the Screen Master¡¯s words. He had said something about ¡®rooms leading to places¡¯ he didn¡¯t expect. Or so and so. He said it made travel faster. So Zan¡¯s question was, ¡®how fast?¡¯


    Pulling away from the window, Zan stumbled and nearly fell into the bed. Pulling back the curtains, he saw a distorted area, like shimmers on a hot summer day.


    Staring at the void, he caught a glimpse inside. He saw shadows, trees. Zan knew right away it was the path back to the Backroads. Simulacrum had said he could only enter the Backroads from one of those white-clad special chambers. Evidently, one could re-enter the Backroads if one of these spaces were nearby. Whether that was a feature of the Backroads or a particularity known only to him, Zan did not know. He would discuss it with the Screen Master in the future.


    ¡®Crap!¡¯ Zan exclaimed. ¡®The Screen Master! He said I couldn¡¯t contact him in the Backroads, but what about now?¡¯


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Zan lifted his hand to the earpiece and nearly touched the button when he heard a voice from the outside hallway. It was getting louder. Zan had the sudden idea of hiding. But where?


    Spotting a closet, Zan ducked inside and closed the closet door back to the state when he found it: partially closed, some clothes littering the gap, preventing the door from fully closing.


    Squeezing himself into the dark end of the closet, Zan felt the many soft, luxurious clothes against his skin. Some had perfumed scents which reminded Zan of well-to-do upperclass persons who sometimes visited his village. Taking his attention away from the clothes was the voices, who now entered the room, allowing Zan to see who the voice belonged to¡­


    Which was a letdown, because the people were not anyone Zan recognized.


    Watching from his spot, Zan saw an older man and a younger teen enter the room.


    The older man spoke, ¡°Young Master, just because you don¡¯t want to do your lessons, does not mean you can treat your tutor with such disrespect. Honestly! Have some shame. If your father could see how you behave in his name!¡±


    Zan saw the teen roll his eyes. He looked about his own age. Maybe a touch younger.


    Done rolling his eyes, the youth said, ¡°Yes¡­ yeah¡­ uh huh¡­¡± He spoke in a methodical way, confirming every half-statement uttered to him like he had heard every line and accusation a dozen times before. Talking properly, the youth eventually said, ¡°I know, Gatson, I know!¡± There was a harsh quality to his tone which ended the conversation, though only for a moment as each side prepared a counter-response.


    Beginning his response harshly ¡ª Zan would guess too harshly, if this boy was anything like himself ¡ª the man the boy called ¡®Gatson,¡¯ said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard all that before. We¡¯ve heard it before, haven¡¯t we?! You need to smarten up, young man, because the council will not tolerate your little shenanigans much longer. Time to grow up and ¡ª¡± but Gatson ended his verbal barrage. Continuing, but now in a softer, albeit still hard tone of voice, said, ¡°Stay in your room. Think about the life you want to lead, young master, and when we try this tomorrow, maybe you will listen?¡±


    Gatson then left the room. He didn¡¯t slam the door, but gently closed it, taking care to make hardly any noise when it shut. To Zan, it would have seemed preferable to endure the harsh yells. With screaming anger, one at least knew where everyone stood. On soft power, the conditions changed. What did it mean when anger mixed with softness?


    With the boy alone in his room, Zan wondered how he would escape. ¡®Why?!¡¯ he rattled to himself, ¡®did I not immediately leap back into the shimmering void of the Backroads? Now I could be stuck here for a very long time. Who even knows if the portal will remain open¡­!¡¯ The thought, the very idea, chilled him; what if he was stuck here, all alone in this tower, with no allies? How long would he last before they discovered him? Surely not long, surely¡ª


    ¡°You can come out now,¡± the boy said, near the fireplace, wiping away tears.


    Zan froze. In body, spirit. Mind. His body refused to react. Who was he talking to?


    The boy did not repeat himself. He surely could not have meant him. As in, Zan. He¡­ no, impossible. Zan had done nothing to disturb the boy¡¯s room. How would he possibly know?!


    Minutes passed, or maybe it was seconds? Who knew? Not Zan, whose heart beat like a lightning bolt. Sudden, hard, and white hot.


    Turning slightly to the closet, the boy again spoke. ¡°Yeah, I mean you¡­ you can come out of the closet.¡±

 Chapter 45

    Words failed Zan. For nothing could describe his absolute fear once the boy spoke about the closet door. The one word which repeated like a siren in his head was ¡®why?!¡¯


    He tried to reveal himself, to give up the ghost. His body wouldn¡¯t allow it, though.


    Instead, Zan¡¯s knees sank further into the closet floor, and he willed everything to be returned to normal. He breathed hard, in, out, like he was an angler fishing for profit on a stormy day.


    Not helping was the boy who said, ¡°I can hear you hyperventilating, you know.¡±


    Still, Zan could not move. He broke out in a sweat.


    The boy took a few more steps to the closet, but turned away at the last moment.


    And then¡­ nothing.


    The boy made no more comment about Zan¡¯s hiding. He instead went around his room performing various activities. He mostly tidied up, making brief comments about how his caretakers gifted to him certain items.


    But such remarks were limited and none of the words spoken meant anything to Zan, who knew nothing about ¡®skilled tailors¡¯ or ¡®nasty but effective seamstresses¡¯ and their skill with various hand-woven crafts. Done tidying up his room, the boy walked to his desk, which was next to the still lit fireplace. There, he opened books, a notebook, and to Zan, looked like he was studying for some class or lesson. Zan recognized the posture and motions from when Jiehong had to do the same for his studies.


    He seemed to study forever. It was not forever, though, and when he stopped, what the boy did now was far more interesting. He stretched, walked over to his mattress, and pulled out a black envelope. He sat down on a half-bench at the foot of his massive bed. Smiling, he opened the large envelope.


    By now, the boy was as close to Zan as he had ever been. Zan was sure how if he moved, the boy could see his movement, so he made extra sure to sit still.


    From the folder, the youth removed pieces of paper heavy with color. Zan saw on the paper figures of scantily clad women, drawn in¡­ interesting proportions.


    Zan saw the figures were hand drawn but edited to include visually appealing stimuli, such as stars, and words, though Zan did not know what the words said. The boy then felt the paper and smelled it. An odd action to Zan, but thinking it over, thought maybe the pages had special ointments on them to intrigue the sense of touch and smell as much as sight?


    Speaking, the boy said, ¡°Want to join me?¡±


    He waited for a response. Finding none, he said, ¡°Okay. Suit yourself. If you don¡¯t want to see a strapping young man like myself go at it, then avert thy eyes, now!¡±


    Zan genuinely had no clue what the boy meant. Until he lowered his breeches¡­


    Like a flash in the dark, it hit Zan. ¡®Self-abuse,¡¯ as some priests said. That was what the lad was referring to. That was what he was doing now.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The impact of someone willing to please themselves in front of another person shocked Zan. He had no choice but to fumble out of discomfort. Trying to right himself before he gave too much of his position away ¡ª assuming any of his secrecy remained, unlikely though the proposition would be ¡ª Zan fumbled further and, after a series of petty bodily escalations, tumbled out of the closet.


    Falling out from his hiding place, the boy stood up, holding his pants up, righting them back on to their proper position using his belt.


    Stashing the fancy images back into the folder, the boy now laughed. ¡°I knew that would get you! Few people can keep themselves composed in the face of sexy time!¡±


    Zan¡¯s faced burned red with the embarrassment he felt he should show for the both of them. What was with this freaking kid?! How unbalanced did he have to be to expose someone to his¡­ body?


    Gross, gross ¡ª what is this place? Zan screamed, whether at himself or him, he couldn¡¯t recall.


    Considering how¡­ exposed Zan was, with being out in the open with this random (unwell) kid, he thought it better to stay longer than he ought. Sputtering out a ¡®sorry!¡¯ Zan leaped ¡ª literally, leaped ¡ª into the bed and made a dash into the rift. He only prayed it would lead him back to the Backroads.


    One moment, bedroom.


    The next¡­


    Shades of gray. Surreal shadows, and the noiseless dirt.


    He was back. He did it. He escaped the libertine!


    Wonderful, he exhaled. Wonderful¡­


    Before long, Zan had re-traced his steps and arrived back at the crossroads.


    Surprising him, the pathway he just came from, which led to the strange ornate room with the perverse youth, erased itself before his eyes. What is happening?


    Zan didn¡¯t know, so he could only watch in dismay as the road he had come from vanished, leaving behind not even a trace. At least I won¡¯t have to deal with that weird guy anymore, Zan told himself. Not as though there were any risk of him coming through the portal, though¡­


    Zan had taken a couple of steps to the other fork in the road, the left-hand side, which was now the only path to take, when he swerved and physically ¡®patted¡¯ the fabric of the ether, the erased pathway. He patted the road, trying even to take a step, but found the passage immovable. His hands found only air wherever he touched them, and his feet brushed against an invisible force intent on forcing Zan to stick to the trail.


    Satisfied he was by himself, and the boy hadn¡¯t followed him ¡ª the last thing I need, Zan thought, is some strange kid following me around far from his home ¡ª and resumed his walking on the trail. Heading to a light, if one such were to appear.


    Zan did not walk for long before he saw a glimmer. Soon, the glimmer became a flare. A couple more steps and the flare evolved to a raging inferno. Yeaup, Zan thought, elongating the pronunciation. This is what I¡¯m looking for!


    Not wanting to risk spending any more time in the Backroads, Zan didn¡¯t overthink how stepping into a roaring fire might be disadvantageous to his health if the fire wasn¡¯t what he was looking for. He just wished for the best, stepped through.


    Finding himself suddenly outside of the command center, just inside the perimeter wall, staring outside at the vast field of rotting wood from the enemy dead killed days ago,


    Zan blinked. Then blinked his eyes more¡­ I am¡­ out?


    ¡°What are ye doing you blasted, dumb little oaf of a ¡ª¡± an elder shouted before seeing who it was. Then he said, ¡°Oh! Zan. I didn¡¯t recognize you there. All I saw was a youngster and, well, I jumped to some conclusions. Sorry.¡±


    Seeing an elderly man act so apologetic to him made Zan feel weird. He had grown accustomed to older adults and their rudeness. ¡°No, you¡¯re fine. I was trying to figure something out¡­ magic stuff, maybe? I dunno. Sorry!¡± And Zan scampered off.


    Zan turned and saw the command center in the distance. But something was off¡­ what was it? Zan only noticed belatedly. It was twilight. He had been away all day!


    The heap of the war engine where it was as ever, just atop and near the command structure, snapped Zan out of his trance.


    Entering the command center, all eyes turned to him as both of the Wardens exclaimed, ¡°ZAN, where did you go?!¡±


    Striking a pose, Zan could only say, ¡°Boy, do I have no idea¡­¡±

 Chapter 46 (Base Expansion: Lodestones)

    It took some time, but Zan explained everything to the Screen Master and to Sigma-Prime. It was a story. Zan wasn¡¯t even sure he yet believed it. And he lived it!


    The Screen Master spoke first and told Zan, ¡°These turns of events are disturbing. When I charged the room with energy to transport you into the Backroads, I only set your destination for just outside of the command center. Outside the center is where the lodestones are and where our perimeter defenses are strongest. By the laws of our order, and by the laws of how lodestones operate, it should have been impossible for you to go anywhere other than the lodestones.¡±


    Zan listened to the Screen Master speak, but nothing he said phased him. Zan replied, ¡°So, what does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means¡­¡± the Screen Master spoke, then suddenly halted. ¡°I do not know what it means. It could mean many things. Each is as unlikely as the last.¡±


    Zan threw his hands up. Just as he thought he was getting used to everything, it all goes up overhead, and everyone is laughing at you. Or, in Zan¡¯s case, lecturing. But the point stood.


    ¡°What now?¡± Zan asked, feeling like monosyllabic words were all he had said to Simulacrum recently.


    ¡°I will investigate this matter further. Regardless of the outcome of this investigation, however, our course of action cannot change, Zan. Even if an outside power has somehow managed the impossible and altered the state of the Backroads, we cannot forego using the Backroads as a tool,¡± the Screen Master replied.


    ¡°Why not? If someone has tampered with it, wouldn¡¯t that mean we are vulnerable?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes, Zan. It would mean we are vulnerable. However, without the Backroads, circumstances would force us to wage our campaign in a traditionalist manner. Which would be costly in terms of both time and life. Think of the time it would take you to only traverse your homeland, let alone if you decide to persecute this war beyond the hallowed borders of your country. Considering the still small nature of our burgeoning enterprise, we cannot risk foregoing a tool capable of multiplying many times over our efficiency. It is a risk we will have to take ¡ª for now.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡± Zan said, tired, and simply over all the back-and-forth.


    Continuing, Zan asked a final question. ¡°While you are conducting your investigation, what should I do?¡±


    ¡°I have an undertaking for you, although I do not believe you will like it,¡± the Screen Master said, already causing Zan to groan in anticipation of some new nonsense finding its way to him.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Fine. Lay it on me¡­ ought to get it done and over with,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°The lodestones are vital to the Backroads. I think I have made this much clear by now,¡± Simulacrum said. Adding, he told Zan, ¡°I mention this because only through the activation of these lodestones, what you have called ¡®way stones,¡¯ will you be able to use the Backroads. Think of the lodestones as guideposts and a seaport rolled into one. Just as merchants need directions while traveling from city-to-city, and just as ships need a dock to port, you need lodestones to travel effortlessly between locations. Currently, we have no lodestones active other than those which surround the command center. Hence my surprise when you took so long within the Backroads.¡±


    ¡°No, I imagine,¡± Zan replied. ¡°You were expecting me to take a tiny, little stroll, and I ended up going on a hike!¡±


    ¡°Correct: hence, in order for your travel means to grow, you will need to locate, and imbue with, a small sum of magic, more lodestones. Once you have imbued a lodestone with magic, you will gain the power to travel to that location from the Backroads. Ergo, while I investigate this encounter you had, you can still advance our cause by locating and building up our lodestone network. Do you understand?¡±


    He thought everything over. Lodestones, the Backroads, the two as being connected; traveling between said locations¡­ yeah, Zan thought he had it all down. It wasn¡¯t a complicated notion. So he shook his head affirmatively.


    ¡°I got it¡­ any ideas where I should begin looking?¡±


    ¡°I do: lodestones emit a frequency when a Ranger-Knight walks near; this frequency comes from a reaction with the crystal within. Hence, this frequency, although not detectable by human ears, myself and Sigma-Prime, can hear the sound. Should you discover a frequency in your travels, Sigma-Prime and I will hear it through your earpiece, and I will let you know and you can investigate an area more thoroughly,¡± Simulacrum said.


    Zan shook his head. Not exactly what he wanted to hear. ¡°So no actual leads?¡±


    ¡°I understand this is not as concrete an answer you would like, but it is the most I can offer you. Remember, Ranger-Knights are ¡®road warriors,¡¯ Zan. As a leader in our order, you will spend much of your life on the road. During your adventures, you will discover many lodestones, if only by chance. For the time being, simply investigate the areas of your childhood,¡± the Screen Master told.


    ¡®Simply investigate the areas of your childhood,¡¯ as if those areas weren¡¯t under military occupation. Zan groaned. So, he had to walk a bunch, at random, while under threat of attack at any given moment? Wonderful, to his safety; but also wonderful to a huge old-time waste.


    ¡°Okay, sure. Sounds good,¡± Zan said.


    Ending the conversation with the Screen Master, it was only the situation which caused Zan to become testy. Less so with the actual filler material they expected him to perform so idly.


    What else could Zan do, he thought? Nothing came to mind.


    ¡®Well, if I am going to explore the region while the Wardens probe the Backroads issue, then I need my best friend. Where is Jiehong?¡¯


    Suddenly realizing the time, Zan said, ¡®Well, he is probably asleep! When did it become nightfall?¡¯


    Which was a good question. Reflecting on his day, Zan¡¯s body lagged behind his mind. It was evening, but only early. His body, though, felt like it had gone through the wringer.


    One thing was sure, there would be no travel tonight.

 Chapter 47

    Zan went to bed. Simple as that: he wandered back into the command center, told the Wardens not to be bothered, and went down to the barracks to sleep.


    He slept well. No dream. Pure sleep.


    When he woke, he stopped by Jiehong¡¯s room and knocked.


    No response came. As usual, Zan stuck his head inside ¡ª Jiehong actually was sleeping on a bed.


    Ducking his head out right away, Zan gave his buddy privacy. After his encounter in the ornate room, Zan knew a rule or two about privacy and bodily awareness. Shuddering at the encounter, Zan bullied off to the kitchen.


    And for the first time since the chef¡¯s hiring, Zan saw his cook!


    ¡°Ah, welcome, monsieur! I am happy we finally have time to meet! My name is Jean Paul-Paul the Fourth and I will be your humble chef this morning. Tell me, garcon, what is your eating desire?¡± the man said with a thick accent.


    Zan thought over what he wanted to eat. Zan will confess: the chef¡¯s unique way of talking distracted him.


    Snapping out of the reverie, Zan eventually sputtered out a simple order. Eggs, bacon? Something like that.


    Once free from his mouth, Jean Paul-Paul (the fourth), snatched up the words and began cooking up his order so quickly, it seemed to Zan, at least for a second, that the chef was making his words become real through some hyper-advanced technique of transfiguration.


    Minutes later, the clang of cooking utensils faded and slated before Zan was a plate of food. Steaming, piled high, and covered with some fatty-sauce, Zan¡¯s stomach growled with fever.


    ¡®Thank you¡­¡± Zan said, almost trance-like.


    ¡°Oh, de rien, you precious! Welp, I will be off to partake of the next culinary adventure! Till the afternoon!¡± Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said, leaving Zan to a defenseless plate of food about to be massacred.


    As usual, Zan finished his plate, burped loudly as any rambunctious child, and cleaned up his plate.


    Stepping away from the sink, Zan rubbed his belly, helping digestion.


    Thinking he should check-in with the Wardens, Zan wandered his way up to the war room.


    ¡°Hey, guys, any news on the weird-thing I encountered in the Backroads?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Unfortunately, no. We have only barely scratched the surface of our investigation,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°Neato, I guess. I am going to head out soon and do some adventuring. Searching for the lodestones, all that good stuff. Thought I should drop by and let you guys know¡­ though now I am thinking of it, I could have just pinged you through my earpiece, right? Right. Yeesh. I am still adjusting to everything,¡± Zan said in a wandering way.


    ¡°Apologize not, Zan,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°It takes every Ranger-Knight time to acclimate to the changes thrust upon them. Neither myself nor Sigma-Prime expect you to understand the nuances and every thread of history our order has had over the centuries. Take this at your own pace. The rest will follow.¡±


    The knowledge the Wardens did not expect him to master everything so soon caused a happy feeling to spread in Zan. Zan did not like being rushed to do anything, let alone master a subject of the mind.


    Stepping outside and breathing in, it seemed Zan had some time to kill.


    He wanted Jiehong to go with him, for safety, if nothing else, but Jiehong remained asleep. Should he wake his friend? Zan considered. He did not consider for long when the answer found him.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    From where, he could not say, but Zan found standing before him one of the younger children of his village. A small lass, Zan thought, whose name she shared with a flower.


    ¡°Oh, hi, there, Jas¡­ is it?¡± Zan asked.


    The girl replied right away and said, ¡°Yea! That¡¯s my name, sir¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t need to call me ¡®sir.¡¯ Just last week you called me ¡®booger-breath,¡¯ didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I want to apologize, sir. Last week I was but a rude little girl. With the war, my parents tell me every man who fights is a hero. No hero can be a booger breath. Plus, you saved me from that big, four-legged meanie!¡± the lass said.


    What should he make of the situation? Zan had no clue. He was not used to younger kids praising him. If adults rarely praised him, his younger peers sure-as-heck never did!


    The world of children, after all, is a strange mixture of inclusion and exclusion.


    Settling on an easy response, Zan said, ¡°It¡¯s fine, Jas. Call me by my name, okay? I¡¯ll like that a lot. Just my name.¡±


    Giving a small curtsey, Jas smiled, then rushed away, off to do¡­ whatever it was which little girls did while in a refugee camp. Least she has her family, Zan thought.


    Zan would have said the chance encounter with the little girl was merely that ¡ª a chance occurrence.


    But he couldn¡¯t, for it continued to happen no matter where he walked.


    Children, the little boys and girls of his home village, came up to him, one-by-one and thanked him ¡®for his service.¡¯ His service? He wasn¡¯t part of the royal army. Thanking soldiers for ¡®their service¡¯ was an honor reserved only for the enlisted¡­ or so Zan thought.


    Wandering around to the part of the camp many newcomers settled near, Zan found much the same regarding his treatment. Many thanks for ¡®his service¡¯ and handshakes.


    These new people seem friendly, at least, Zan thought. He hadn¡¯t many opportunities, he realized, to get to know these people.


    Heck, why not? Let¡¯s spend our time waiting for Jiehong to wake getting to know these people. Why not? If we¡¯re going to be sharing living spaces, we ought to at least know the basics. Zan thought out to himself.


    So, for the next couple of hours, Zan did exactly that ¡ª he made small talk.


    Many villagers told Zan the same thing: they felt threatened while leaving the encampment to hunt. And rightfully so! One never knew if there would be golems about lurking where you least expect it.


    People told Zan how, although they went out with a defender escort ¡ª the same guys Zan had fought alongside during the defense of the village ¡ª those guys were far from being spring chickens. Being of an older nature, they depleted of energy quickly.


    As such, hunts for rabbits, birds, and anything else which was alive and edible, kept themselves short. If they were so unlucky as to encounter an automotron, then the hunt ended then and there.


    Zan understood their plight. He wanted to help them, but didn¡¯t know how he could. Facing down an invasion from an entity capable of sending non-stop a steady stream of soldiers was never going to not be easy. Backwater province or no. Zan wanted to say he and Jiehong would scout and de-activate all the automotrons in the area¡­ but what good would that do when more could show up tomorrow?


    Thinking it over, though, while being compelled to field an answer, Zan said ¡®he would do what he could,¡¯ though he expected the others to call out his inexact answer.


    No one called his vague answer, however. Everyone smiled, cheered, and said they would pray for his well-being.


    Walking back to the command center to stand vigil as he mused, Zan continued to dwell on the issue. Now, if they could find hunting areas still unsullied by the automotrons, that would be handy! Depending on where those places are, Jie and I could clear out the zone every once in a while¡­


    Walking inside the center, Zan asked Sigma-Prime for places which could be suitable for the villagers. Though she was busy helping the Screen Master with his investigation of the Backroads, she dropped everything to help him, which tickled him pinker than the plumpest slice of ham.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ looks like, here!¡± Sigma said while pointing at a nearby zone.


    Zan looked over the map on the ¡®holographic¡¯ table. Looking at the route from the camp to the zone, Zan made careful mental notes of where to go, how to get there.


    ¡°You¡¯re so studious!¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°I have to be¡­ no maps exist of this area. Well, other than the one on the table, I guess. I have to know the land to find my way,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°An admirable quality to have, Zan. Such a quality, it will please you to know, will become enhanced once we repair a certain tool.¡±


    ¡°A certain tool? What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I do not want to say too much more. It will still be a time before this tool is fully repaired. But it will involve the way you see reality itself,¡± Sigma said.


    Obviously, her words intrigued Zan, highly.


    If she would not talk any more about it, though, there was nothing more for him to do. Especially not while he was waiting for Jiehong to get up.


    ¡°Before I leave and do¡­ whatever, is Jiehong up yet?¡± Zan asked.


    Sigma-Prime said, ¡°Checking¡­¡± and spaced out a moment. Then she said, ¡°Yes, he remains asleep. His vitals are normal.¡±


    Zan groaned. Really groaned, loudly enough for the Screen Master to cock an eyebrow¡­ or whatever passed for an eyebrow on his large, semi-translucent face.


    Leaving the war room, Zan went back outside. Gosh, Jie, sleep machine or what? I don¡¯t want to waste the whole day doing nothing¡­ screw it! I¡¯m going out by myself to help the villagers.


    As if on cue, once Zan resolved himself to help, the rain began to fall.

 Chapter 48

    Before he left, Zan had wrapped himself in a makeshift poncho to protect himself from the rain.


    The simple garb was effective. With the rain warm, it fell off his hood with little clanging noises. Zan thanked the gods. The rain was light, warm, and not soaking into the ground too quickly. Thus, Zan could sidestep the worse of the thickening mud.


    Looking to the sky to see if the Slipstream re-appeared, Zan saw nothing.


    Crap. It shows up once a day, minimum, and I miss every appearance. What the heck?! Zan sputtered.


    Zan¡¯s travel was peaceful.


    Mostly.


    Once, he encountered an animal. The animal chittered in its tongue, then ran off.


    He encountered a few automotrons, but Zan dispatched them with haste. Though each encounter was brief, he took each encounter seriously. He was by himself, after all, and the enemy, despite their lumbering nature, could move about in near silence. If Zan didn¡¯t even keep track of the sound of crunching leaves, the dreaded ¡®fake human foe,¡¯ could sneak up and, with a lucky blow, end him. Touching his freshly re-supplied hand grenades, Zan felt the reassured. Should he encounter more than he, alone, could chew, Zan would have a way out. Thanks to the Wardens, thanks to the order.


    Following the path, Zan saw the sun emerge higher into the sky.


    It was late morning.


    Looking around, trying his best to remember the lay of the land he saw on the large rectangular table in the war room, Zan had temporarily lost his way. Several landscapes looked similar to what he had seen in the war room. Taking a wrong turn, he became lost.


    Well, not ¡®lost,¡¯ per se, but disoriented.


    It was true, this part of the land Zan did not know. Like all the environs in the area, though, it was not any different from the landscape which Zan¡¯s home village was native to¡­ the two were literally a few stones¡¯ throw from each other.


    Zan found his way around, easy enough.


    Scuttling down a few drop offs, back on a dirt path for a while, a hunter¡¯s trail, then through a dense path of trees, and down another drop off, and Zan found the dense patch of woods Sigma-Prime had showed him in the war room.


    Pristine, Zan thought. Peaceful. And filled with animals, he noticed. Birds, wild hogs, insects aplenty.


    Zan then spent the following couple of hours scouting the immediate vicinity of the would-be hunting zone. Zan concluded the villagers would be plenty safe if they strained themselves to stick to the little patch of forest. On three-of-four sides, the forest zone had tall bluffs, thus giving any hunter an easy defensive measure should the enemy attack¡­ not that Zan expected the automotrons to attack. Too many trees, Zan saw. They could never lumber between all those trees, roots, and uneven ground without falling to their de-activation point.


    Having found, scouted, and concluded the forest zone would be a good place for the villagers to hunt, Zan just needed to scout the surrounding areas, eliminate any Automotrons he saw.


    As he expected, he encountered no such automotrons. This is good. It means the enemy is not focusing on us as much¡­ good. Proof is in the pudding, and all that. But why? We¡¯re right on the border¡­


    Zan was about ready to ¡®call¡¯ the automotron search when he found something to justify continuing. A weird noise.


    What on earth¡­? Zan thought, hearing a noise which sounded like woodpeckers, but much more bee-like. ¡®Bee-like woodpeckers¡¯ was not an exact description, but it was the only one Zan knew which came to mind and made sense. Needing to know the origin of this unusual noise, Zan pecked his nose into every nook and cranny to find the source. Eventually, after so much searching and rubbed-raw elbows and knees, he found it by climbing a bluff, then crawling through some bushes; parting the leaves, Zan saw an automotron camp.


    No, not a camp, Zan whispered in hardly a pinch to him. It is small. Only a few golems are here. No artillery pieces, either. No crossbow positions. What¡¯s on those small tables? Weird tools; a device with a needle dipped in ink spelling out symbols on a rolled-out parchment scroll. Is this actually some kind of research outpost?


    Deciding he didn¡¯t need to wait anymore, Zan crawled ahead and stood. He pulled his blade free and slew the three automotrons before they hardly knew what was happening. Seeing the three new un-animated chunks of wood laying down, all dead-like, Zan had a quick look outside the outpost, making sure no other golems were nearby. Satisfied he was alone and no other golems were about to ambush him, Zan settled himself near the strange machine with the long piece of parchment attached.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Feeling the parchment in his hand, Zan thought the paper felt thin, too thin for normal parchment, yet somehow durable, thick, even. Zan did not need to look too closely at the ink, for its pungent odor told him it was of a certain quality.


    On the scroll were symbols, numbers, and lines of some meter. Watching the trajectory of the lines, Zan saw how the line went straight for a while, only to become distorted, twisty, zig-zagging all over the place. Nothing about this made sense to Zan.


    But just because it made little sense to Zan, did not mean it was pointless.


    The enemy stationed an outpost here. Why was unknown. But Zan had his conjectures: and maybe ¡ª just maybe ¡ª that reason was the same reason why the enemy didn¡¯t yet fully commit themselves to the region¡¯s submission, despite their proximity to the border? Long shot, yeah. Zan knew that. Still! He took the parchment. Folding it as best he could, he gently placed the intelligence into his satchel.


    The Screen Master might know what these readings are¡­ Zan thought.


    Finding his way back to the command center, the sun now lower to the ground than he would have liked, Zan felt sure of himself. He did good today.


    Jiehong was hanging outside the command center upon his return. He sipped a gently fermented beverage meant for a less-tolerant palate. ¡°There you are! I was wondering where you went off to,¡± Jiehong said, a boy-ish grin peeking across his lips.


    ¡°Yeah. Should have left a note, sorry,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m just busting your chops! I knew you had gone out. By half the time of your arrival, I considered myself off for the day. The Wardens told me you were out doing something, so no harm, no foul. Besides, we have these ear-implant things, so I could¡¯ve just pinged ya,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Oh, yeah. True. I still forget about the earpieces. I know that sounds silly, seeing as how it is stuck to my ear. How it is, though!¡± Zan said, laughing.


    ¡°Let¡¯s catch up later,¡± Jiehong said, excusing himself.


    Zan looked forward to their conversation and entered the war room.


    ¡°Screen Master: I have cleared out part of the forest where the villagers should be safe to hunt. I only encountered a few automotrons during the whole day, so as long as they keep themselves aware, I think they should be good,¡± Zan said, wanting the Screen Master to forward the information to the proper people right away.


    ¡°Confirmed, Zan. Your wish is my command,¡± the Screen Master said, his facial features leaving him for a second as he processed Zan¡¯s request and set it in motion.


    Continuing after a second or two, the Screen Master said, ¡°Done. I dispatched a communication drone to deliver the message via a magically encoded message glyph which communicated the update to them through the means of an artificial voice.¡±


    ¡°Cool. So, you mean, like, the message read itself to the people?¡± Zan asked, wondering what exactly just happened.


    ¡°That is correct,¡± the Screen Master confirmed.


    ¡°Super wicked,¡± Zan said, genuinely impressed at the command center¡¯s level of magic and technology. A combo he knew was extremely rare to see.


    Thinking his job was accomplished, Zan suddenly remembered the other thing.


    ¡°Wait. One last thing,¡± Zan said. ¡°While pushing out the few golems which were prowling about, I found this weird, small camp. It was a research outpost, I think? I found this weird machine and a scroll. Here is the scroll.¡± Zan handed the scroll over to Sigma-Prime.


    ¡°Ah! I recognize what this is!¡± Sigma-Prime exclaimed. ¡°This is an ele-graph result. An ¡®ele-graph¡¯ being the machine you found this on, the ¡®result¡¯ being this paper. This is not good at all¡­!¡±


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t is good?¡± Zan asked, suddenly feeling sick.


    ¡°En ¡®ele-graph¡¯ is the shortened term for ¡®elemental graph.¡¯ This machine purports to uncover the primal composition of local terrain. Devices like these are rare, but they are always trouble.¡±


    Revelation of the enemy trying some new trick filled Zan with anxiety. Fear, even.


    ¡°What could they be doing which requires such devices? What makes them troublesome?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°People with nefarious intent in their souls utilize these devices to help them form complex spells. Spells so complex, even the would-be caster must plan far ahead of when they wish to cast it. Few incantations, Zan, are so complex as requiring one to set-up equipment and study the nature of your target. We would need more information on what the enemy is attempting to discover by setting up these outposts, however, before we can hypothesize what they are planning.¡±


    Taking in every word from the Screen Master, Zan felt stressed. As if the whole day hadn¡¯t been one which boosted his spirit. Sucks, Zan scowled, feeling his mood sour.


    ¡°I understand. I will keep a lookout for anymore posts like these. If I should discover them, I will take them out, grab their special parchments. Good?¡±


    ¡°Good!¡± Simulacrum and Sigma-Prime repeated back.


    ¡°Before I call it for the night, any updates for me while I was out?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°No. We remain on the same issues and problem from earlier, at least regarding your unexpected encounter within the Backroads,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°Okay. Nor rush¡­ I was just curious,¡± Zan said, letting them know they should take as much time as they needed.


    ¡°I know you are idle, Zan. But before we expose you to the Backroads once more, we must understand if an unknown actor sabotaged our way. If we understand this question, we can mitigate any potential damage from an ambush,¡± Sigma-Prime explained.


    Zan did not care, though. He thought having some time off to rest his muscles was fine. He said, ¡°No, take your time. It will give Jiehong and I some time to tend to our community, make sure everyone is okay. We can stand to be a bit more attentive to our friends and loved ones, right? At least until we have to head out again.¡±


    ¡°Your dedication to outside yourself is admirable, Zan,¡± the Screen Master said, breaking into the conversation. ¡°But be careful not to spread yourself thin. Your first commitment is to the order. Do not belittle your mind into thinking it can do everything every day.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, guys, I know how much of myself to give. Speaking of, I am going to find Jiehong to chill for the night. Don¡¯t wait up for us,¡± Zan said, ¡®peace-ing¡¯ out of the war room.


    Leaving the stuffy room with dusty tech, Zan saw the evening sky, stars beginning to peek away through the clouds.


    Seeing Jiehong on the other end of camp, doing some patrols, by the looks of him, Zan found him. Feeling suddenly very youthful, very immature, Zan said, ¡°Want to go get toasted?¡±

 Chapter 49

    Jiehong insisted they go outside the camp¡¯s perimeter to ¡®chill,¡¯ as he put it.


    Excitement flowed through Zan¡¯s blood. Could it really be? He thought. Jiehong was going to share some of his holy herb with him?


    Walking to a dense patch of forest near to the camp, the duo found a nice overturned log and sat down. Both checked for enemies and saw nothing.


    Ever the gentleman, Jiehong placed a blanket over the log, so they did not have to sit on rain-soaked wood. Zan muttered a thanks and sat down.


    Jiehong wore his civilian clothes, aside from the ever-worn and combat-ready attire whose strange silk-like appearance betrayed its tough-as-nails material. Those clothes were luxurious despite their combat quality.


    Taking off his satchel, Jiehong rustled around in his pack.


    ¡°How much crap do you have in there, bud?¡± Zan asked, curious.


    ¡°Way too much¡­ I really don¡¯t need this much. Especially when half the time I am out in the field or checking in on my parents¡­¡± Jiehong replied.


    Mentioning his parents and Zan¡¯s guardians, Zan felt strange on the inside. Jie¡¯s mother and father had left so suddenly. It was hard for Zan not to feel responsible for their leaving, even though they left, supposedly, to stay in some wealthy bunker.


    Finding his little stash, Zan saw Jiehong pull from his satchel a handheld-sized clutch of leather. ¡°This stuff,¡± Jiehong said, referring to the clutch of leather. ¡°Keeps even the most smelly ingredients safe from prying noses.¡±


    Jiehong winked. Zan winked back. Both smiled.


    Jiehong was right, though. Zan did not smell any of the holy herb until he unwrapped the leather clutch. By which, the aroma hit them like a wall, like entering the baker¡¯s shop and smelling the loaves of fresh bread.


    ¡°Daaaank!¡± Jiehong said, uttering a word Zan didn¡¯t truly understand. Slang?


    Zan looked at the herb. Sticky buds covered with frosted tips tinted a crystal blue sat in the clutch. It looked a bit like a pinecone if the pinecone was beautiful.


    Over the next few minutes, Jiehong used a special ¡®grinding¡¯ mortar to render the chunky, thick buds into a fine filler.


    ¡°But we¡¯re not done yet!¡± Jiehong said excitedly.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He next took from his satchel¡¯s side-pocket a small box of papers. ¡°They¡¯re called rolling papers,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°We use them to roll up the dust.¡±


    Zan watched intently. He had never seen this process before and was curious about everything and how to do everything.


    Jiehong sprinkled the ground-up ¡®dust,¡¯ as he called it, into the rolling papers. Deftly defying muscle movements, Jiehong then licked part of the papers and curled one part of the paper around, forming what he said was a ¡®cigarette.¡¯


    ¡°One last part,¡± Jiehong said, quietly.


    He grabbed from the same side-pocket as the rolling papers, a pack of matches.


    Striking a match, Zan watched the flame rise, then fall, as Jiehong brought the light to two ¡®roll ups,¡¯ another of his words for ¡®cigarette.¡¯


    ¡°Here,¡± Jiehong told Zan. ¡°Put this between your lips, like me. Breathe in with your lips. There you go, almost like you¡¯re sucking. Now inhale, exhale. Yeah, you¡¯re doing it!¡±


    Zan followed Jiehong¡¯s instructions and before he knew it¡­


    What did he know?


    Zan¡¯s train of thought faded as the herb took effect. He became distracted. But mostly, Zan became mellow. Relaxed.


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Zan said, not even sure if he was audible.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t it something?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Already in outer-space, so strange Zan felt, he could barely reply to his friend.


    Jiehong and Zan sat on that log spacing out for nearly two hours. They finished their treat, talked, but mostly enjoyed each other¡¯s company. They didn¡¯t worry about surprise attacks by golems or the war or the stresses of looking after the civilians. They were just as two soldiers on some shore leave. They were soaking in their relaxation time and let their minds wander.


    Coming down from the herb¡¯s effects near the end of their multi-hour stint, Zan suddenly asked, ¡°Are they okay? Your parents?¡±


    Jiehong smiled. Made a face. Then smiled again, like he was musing, emotionally, on his parents. He said, ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re fine, bud. You know how they get when they¡¯re challenged on things. So moody, so elite. Eventually, they¡¯re figure out where they went wrong.¡±


    He didn¡¯t know what Jiehong meant by ¡®go wrong,¡¯ but Zan assumed it had something to do with the big fight they had over Jiehong¡¯s role in the newly emergent Shiv Ranger-Knight order. Theoretically speaking, it could be something else, however¡­ Zan knew from personal experience, Jiehong¡¯s parents, his guardians, could be obtuse people when they didn¡¯t want to share their emotions.


    Letting their words mellow, Zan did not pursue the topic. He did not want to ruin a nice evening by demanding answers no one was clearly ready to provide.


    ¡°We should get back to the camp,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°We¡¯ve been out here a while.¡±


    Agreeing, they got up, placed everything back into Jiehong¡¯s satchel ¡ª Jie making doubly sure the holy herb was well-wrapped up to prevent smelly smells from leaking ¡ª and headed back to camp.


    ¡°In the morning,¡± Zan suddenly said, ¡°We should check-in on Thundervale. See if Colonel Winters is back.¡±


    ¡°Oh, why?¡± Jiehong asked, his tone already feeling a much more pleasant disposition.


    ¡°Strategic purposes? If we¡¯re setting up this region¡¯s defenses, Winters will have a big role to play, right? We can¡¯t defend the region by ourselves. Until the Wardens fix the Backroads chamber, we have nothing else to do, so¡­¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ good point. I guess that¡¯s why you¡¯re the leader,¡± Jiehong said plainly.


    ¡°I guess so,¡± Zan said.


    The pair walked the rest of the way in silence. Zan did not think it was an awful silence. Not an awkward one, either. Just a chill silence. One where the boys enjoyed the moonlight and the infinite possibilities of the morning.

 Chapter 50

    Waking up early, as they agreed upon the night before, Zan woke from his bed.


    Feeling peckish, he met Jiehong in the kitchen for a meal prepared by their personal chef. Same breakfast fare as always. But with a cup of herbal tea.


    ¡°Where did you get this tea?¡± Jiehong asked. ¡°You don¡¯t have any coins.¡±


    ¡°It was a gift from Whiskey. For helping her,¡± Zan said. Not wanting to see Jiehong become jealous, Zan continued: ¡°Since it was for helping her, I guess half of it is yours. Take what you want.¡±


    Thinking his words over, Jiehong appeared fine. He said, ¡°Oh! That was nice of her¡­ I think I will take a few choice bags. Thanks. I look forward to seeing her even more now, so I can thank her in-person for the gift. This was very nice of her.¡±


    Sipping their tea in silence, neither of the youths wanted to chat about their interest (or lack of, therefore) concerning Whiskey. Zan thought it a pointless time sink. Jiehong likely thought the same, albeit in a different way, where the term ¡®sink¡¯ had different connotations.


    ¡°To Thundervale?¡± Jie asked. Zan nodded, smiled, and got ready in a hurry.


    Zan felt better.


    There wasn¡¯t any other way to describe it.


    It was a little of everything. The stress from battle, the frustration with Jiehong¡¯s questioning of his leadership, even the situation with the family. As well, the tiredness, a constant companion. Zan did all that and now had a full belly after a long night¡¯s rest. What more could he ask for, especially with his friend by his side?


    Walking to Thundervale, the way seemed shorter. Must be all the walking, Zan considered as he placed one foot in front of the other repeatedly. Forever.


    ¡°Everything looks quiet,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Yeah, it does¡­ surprising, ain¡¯t it?¡± Zan said back.


    ¡°Yeah, actually. I¡¯m not complaining, obviously. It¡¯s weird, is all, you know? I figured this whole area would be under constant assault and we would have to watch out back like it was ¡®life or death¡¯ every time we left the camp. Instead, a week into this full-scale invasion, and the road once clogged with enemy soldiers is now empty. Bizarre!¡±


    ¡°Or maybe it is not so weird¡­ we¡¯ve done our part, haven¡¯t we?¡± Zan said.


    Jiehong stopped walking and looked at Zan. ¡°Yeah, we have done our part. That is a good point. A very good point! If it wasn¡¯t for us, those enemy soldiers would still be here. Would be clogging up the road, still¡­ we¡¯ve done well.¡±


    Looking away but happy, Zan said, ¡°We have done well. But still lots more well-doing to do, with the rest of the country and all.¡±


    ¡°For real. Let¡¯s do it, together,¡± Jiehong said, clasping Zan over the shoulders like they used to do as younger kids.


    With bro-in-toe, Zan and Jiehong approached the walled gates of Thundervale.


    Behind the town, the sun shone, the gods were high in the sky, and the Slipstream, in its incredible glory, shone brightly.


    Banging on the town gate¡¯s giant knocker, a soldier answered their summons.


    ¡°What business do you have with us?¡± the soldier asked.


    ¡°We are freedom fighters opposing the invasion of our homeland. We are recently back from a mission and wanted to do some patrols of the area to ensure everyone¡¯s safety. Mind if we discuss the matter further with your garrison?¡± Jiehong said, ever more diplomatically than Zan thought he could speak.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The soldier thought about it for a moment. Seeing the boys as a non-threat, he said, ¡°Ah, alright. Come in¡­ wait, you guys were here not so long ago, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± Jiehong spoke. ¡°We helped out with your lake-facing siege engine problem. Then rescued a bunch of people from a work camp.¡±


    ¡°It was you!¡± the guard said, impressed, and clearly starstruck.


    ¡°Tis us, for sure!¡± Jiehong replied, looking happy someone recognized them for their heroics.


    The guard opened the door for them right away and brought them inside. Out of politeness, Zan and Jiehong made small talk with him. Only for a few minutes.


    Saying ¡°it was a pleasure,¡± but making it firm, they had to be on their way, Zan only had asked the guard where the rumor mill would be, though Zan and Jiehong both already knew the rumor mill would be the local tavern.


    ¡°Jeesh¡­ finally free of our fan,¡± Jiehong said once they were a distance from the front gates.


    ¡°I thought you liked it? All the attention, I mean,¡± Zan said in good fun.


    Jiehong said, ¡°Well, I do like attention, but only to a point.¡±


    The two shared a laugh but otherwise found the local tavern.


    Being the middle of the day, they weren¡¯t expecting many people inside, yet when they entered, they found dozens within.


    Neither boy had long to wait on why so many people were crammed inside the tavern. Many were on sleeping tarps. Clearly, the tavern had a second purpose during the war as a place to house the displaced.


    Walking to the bar, Jiehong remained the leadman for all conversation. This pleased Zan. Not only did Zan not like the conversation, he found it needlessly draining. Having Jiehong take point on these matters would also give him a sense of responsibility. Zan was fine with Jiehong taking on more to help the team¡­ even if the team right now only comprised them, two inexperienced bungling boys.


    ¡°Barkeep!¡± Jiehong said.


    The man came over right away. He looked happy to see someone who looked different enough to (maybe) be paying customers. ¡°What can I do you for?¡± he asked.


    Jiehong explained why they were in town. He then asked if he had heard anything regarding the war¡¯ odds and ends; things like communities off the beaten path needing help or splinters of enemy forces causing trouble which the main royal army could not handle. Anything which the two main factions of the conflict considered lesser.


    Giving them a face and then another, the barkeep considered their question. ¡°I¡¯ve heard lots of stuff, boys. Really, I wish I could help ya, but there is only so much¡ª¡±


    Jiehong did not let the man finish his sentence. ¡°We get it. Give us each a drink and a portion of stew and bread for lunch. Here¡¯s your coin. Now, words?¡±


    Smiling broadly, Zan thought the man likely hadn¡¯t smiled so cheerfully in a long time, considering the bleak scenario of the town. He now seemed happier than a mule on a labor day. He said, ¡°Eh, yeah, boys, I know exactly what you are talking about! A couple of folks in town have been desperately searching for aid on a couple of projects. I dunno


    if you can help them, but worth a shot, right? Let me get your food ready. While you eat, I can try to find them for you, bring them here?¡±


    ¡°That would be fantastic,¡± Zan now said, cutting into the conversation.


    ¡°Excellent!¡± the barkeep said before heading to the back kitchen to get their meal.


    Finding a table near the window unoccupied by desperate people, it wasn¡¯t long before refugees beset Jiehong and Zan.


    Most of them asked for petty coin or asked for aid for their wounds. Zan had no medical experience, though he did what he could, using the magic he had absorbed from the Slipstream before they entered town.


    ¡°Get away, you dogs!¡± the barkeep yelled to the refugee folk.


    Setting their bread, stew, and drinks on the table, Zan asked the man, ¡°Why are so many of these people still injured? Don¡¯t people here know how to use magic to heal?¡±


    Although he smiled, the barkeep said, ¡°Neigh, young master. City life makes these people weak. Most of them never learned.¡±


    Leaving them be, the barkeep returned to the bar to order the drink bottles. Zan had questions. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Me either,¡± Jiehong replied. ¡°I don¡¯t think that is right. Magic is a free resource given to us by the gods. They expect us to use it. Learning it is not a privilege. It is a right. A spiritual and religious right. We should have words about this with someone, at some point¡­¡±


    Trailing off, Zan said picked up the topic and said, ¡°Not like they would give us the time of day anyway, though, right? We¡¯re just a couple of kids playing soldier. So far, the only people impressed with us are that city guard.¡±


    ¡°True. I guess that means we will have to grow stronger. So, people, everyone, will take us as seriously as we take ourselves,¡± Jiehong replied.


    Turning their attention away from the fair folk of the tavern, Zan and Jiehong eat in peace, enjoying the hearty stew filled with local vegetables and meat, while washing it down with a low-alcoholic mead.


    ¡°Excuse me, young sirs?¡± the barkeep said. ¡°I have some people with me who need your help.¡±

 Chapter 51

    Turning to the barkeep, he now had at his side a couple of women.


    ¡°Boys,¡± the barkeep said, ¡°these are the two ladies who need your help.¡±


    Excusing himself from the conversation, the barkeep returned to his liquor rack.


    Before them were two ladies of moderate age. Early thirties? Zan did not know.


    One lady wore a pretty floral-patterned dress. The other wore overalls with a stench. Zan could tell right away both women had a fierceness to them.


    The lady with the floral dress spoke first. ¡°Thank you for meeting us, young travelers. My name is Jenna. Her name is Brenda. We are sisters.¡±


    Zan spoke first, taking the reins from Jiehong, whose verbiage had already taken them far. ¡°What kind of help do you ladies need?¡±


    Jenna, the flower-dress lady, said, ¡°We each have different problems. But both are intensely important. Thundervale is a small town. We have nowhere and no one else to turn to. If you cannot help us, then we simply do not know what we¡¯ll do.¡±


    ¡°I understand, so tell us,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°My sister here needs help to renovate an old building in town, turning it into a refugee center. I need help caring for my mother while I am out gathering much-needed wound-treating herbs.¡±


    Zan thought it over and said, ¡°Hardships, both for sure. I think Jiehong would be great at¡ª¡±


    Typical for Jiehong, however, he didn¡¯t wait until Zan had finished speaking. Interjecting, he said, ¡°I would love to help with taking care of a mature woman. If she is anything like both of you, she must look dashing!¡±


    Rising from his seat, Jiehong winked at Zan. Though Zan didn¡¯t know what it meant. Did Jiehong think he was going to get lucky? He and Jenna left the tavern.


    Leaving Zan with Brenda, the overall-wearing sister, he stood as well. ¡°Lead the way,¡± he said, finishing the last drink of his mead.


    Brenda led the way to a ratty, musty-smelling building on the edge of town. He wasn¡¯t sure how useful he would be in a manual labor situation, but he figured he should try to provide some help. He really did not expect to get roped into helping civilians with their township hardships when he told the barkeep if anyone needed help with surviving the war.


    He and Brenda made small talk along the way, but what was there to really talk about? The war predominated everything and every subject, no matter how diverse, no matter how far-flung from the subject of war, settled back to the war.


    ¡°Here it is,¡± Brenda said.


    ¡°It¡¯s an old barn?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes, sir. Back from the olden days. When Thundervale used to be primarily livestock.¡±


    Stepping inside, Zan smelled right away the lingering odor of animal dookies.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be hauling out hay by the barrels tainted with waste, are we?¡± Zan asked, really considering ditching the woman if that was the case.


    ¡°Heavens, no¡­ no animals have been in here in years,¡± she said. ¡°Not any longer than a few days, anyway. Once a year we have our harvest festival. During that time, we bring the animals here, but only for a few hours. And we clean up after them. What you¡¯re smelling is the past.¡±


    That was better, Zan thought. Though not by much¡­


    ¡°Okay. Show me what you need me to do. I will help, Brenda, but do not consider me anything more than a temporary day laborer. I am a warrior foremost and will only be here for a day at most,¡± Zan explained.


    Brenda¡¯s face changed. She said, ¡°Oh, gods¡­ I am sorry. I thought you were looking for an extended contract, hence why you were at the tavern.¡±


    Zan straightened Brenda out and corrected her misgivings. He said it wasn¡¯t any issue but simply could not spend all his time partaking in barn renovations, though he told her he was genuinely willing to help. So, with the misunderstandings out of the way, Brenda brought him over to the part of the barn he would work on all day.


    ¡°So, you see all this rotted wood?¡± Brenda asked.


    Nodding, Zan waited. Brenda continued and said, ¡°I need you to pull it up. None of this barn is safe for people to live in at the moment. Not only is the wood rotted, but it is further degraded with years of animal stains. I begged the lumberman to donate some wood to our cause and, after pressure from the guards, he relented. Now we have wood!¡±


    Seeing what he had to do and seeing a new frame was already being erected within the decaying structure, Zan knew what he had to do. He had done much the same work back in his village¡¯s lumberyard. It was hard, slow work, so he knew to get to it right away.


    ¡°One question before I start,¡± Zan said. ¡°You said you had to ¡®beg¡¯ the lumberman to donate the wood¡­ why? There are so many slain golems just outside these town walls. Anyone could easily stroll down and gather up a few.¡±


    Getting in close, Brenda said, ¡°Yeah, we know. But enemies still patrol. Besides¡­ rumor has it the lumberman is bribing certain guards to stifle enemy collecting.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°After I am done here, I will have a word with the guards,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t feel you have to, young master¡­ it is just the way of life, here in little old Thundervale. Little tyrants or big, I¡¯ve found you can¡¯t escape them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind. Really. But for now, the work,¡± Zan said, picking up a hammer and some planks of wood, and getting to work.


    Although Brenda¡¯s stance seemed to remain on the discouragement end of things, she relented and shrugged, letting the newcomer find out the hard way about any tyrants and their ways.


    For several hours Zan labored in the barn.


    His work was not an unusual labor to him. He had undertaken similar labors back home and thought nothing of it, other than the smell! While working, Zan thought of life, his situation, Jiehong and his guardians, Jiehong¡¯s parents, and even other things besides, such as his changing body as a young man, and what the future held for him.


    By the end of the working period, Zan had replaced dozens of planks of rotted wood with healthy, clean newcomers. He felt proud of working himself so well.


    ¡°Okay!¡± Zan gasped as sweat poured off his forehead. ¡°That is all I can help you with, Brenda. Ma¡¯am.¡±


    Walking over from her own working site, Brenda whistled. Impressed.


    ¡°Wow!¡± Brenda exclaimed. ¡°You did a lot! Thank you, Zan.¡±


    ¡°No problem. I am only doing my part. Hopefully, my labors today will give you some breathing room.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it will. Thank you again, young man! I would stay and chat with you more, but I need to continue getting work done on this barn. Every hour I spend lollygagging is another hour our poor countrymen have to sleep in the streets.¡±


    Bidding Brenda goodbye, Zan wondered when Jiehong would be back. He thought he should turn back to the barn and ask Brenda, but he thought better of it. Thundervale was a small town. He would run into him, eventually.


    Besides it all, he had a date with Colonel Winters. If Brenda was telling the truth, and the local lumberman was corrupt, and bribing certain guards to prevent the collecting of some much-needed slain golems for town use, then he had to do something about it.


    Entering the guardhouse, he announced loudly, ¡°I need to see Colonel Winters. I am not taking ¡®no¡¯ for an answer!¡±


    Zan got lucky. The clerk said, ¡°Oh¡­ he is just upstairs. Go on ahead, Zan.¡±


    He deflated. Giving the clerk a shy smile, a touch upset with himself for shouting to begin with, Zan waved as he walked by and climbed the stairs. Stupid Zan! Awkward Zan! Ugh. It was like daycare all over again¡­


    Entering the third floor, Zan saw Colonel Winters bent over a desk in the far-end of the room. As he crossed the open space, Zan wondered why he hadn¡¯t seen the desk last time he was here. He thought. Then he realized the last time Zan was here, he did not because there had been a dozen or more armed soldiers present. Plus, he and Jiehong. So, of course, he wouldn¡¯t have seen a corner desk next to one of the dusty, ill-kept windows.


    Approaching and standing before the desk, Zan waited for Winters to acknowledge him. But he only continued his paperwork.


    Clearing his throat, Zan made himself nearly growl to get the man¡¯s attention.


    Muttering to himself angrily, the Colonel said, without looking up, ¡°If this is about when the rations are going to arrive, I already told you, I don¡¯t know! If you and ¡ª¡±


    Finally, looking up from his oh-so-precious papers, Winters saw Zan.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Winters said, realizing his ire had been unearned. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting you, Zan. How are you? You know, Thundervale might be small, but we ¡ª¡± Winters stopped himself.


    Continuing, he said, more formal than a moment ago, ¡°Sorry! I am sure you aren¡¯t here for a pleasantry tour. What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°Actually!¡­ I nearly am here for a pleasantry tour. Jiehong and I are taking a survey of the area immediately around our base while our allies are looking into something. It¡¯s a whole thing! So, we spent the day helping around in town,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Wonderful. You and your friend are enterprising young people. You both should feel proud for risking your lives and fortunes not only amid war, but right at its onset. Few people would adapt to as well as you guys have. Nor would many have the guts to raid a major enemy camp. I still owe you.¡±


    ¡°You almost seem surprised. Do the city kids in places like Thundervale not help? Back in my village, everyone, regardless of age, are raised to do anything an adult can do¡­ some limitations abound, sure, but a kid and an adult are the same level of person¡­ I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m explaining myself well,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re fine. And Thundervale kids help out, yes. Yet¡­ they are not like you and Jiehong. Maybe it relates to rights? City kids have more limitations placed on them by the adults,¡± Colonel Winters said, then thinking of something, he drifted his gaze to a corner of the room. He appeared in thought, then turned back to Zan and said. ¡°Excuse me! Fascinating differences between our communities aside, although I would love to chat and catch up, I should be returning to my papers soon. You wouldn¡¯t believe what the Royal¡­ no, sorry. I¡¯m jabbering my gums again.¡±


    Not wanting to distract the poor man anymore ¡ª Zan realized he was under a lot of stress ¡ª Zan got to the point and said, ¡°I do have something you can help me with! I spent the day with a lovely young woman, who shall remain nameless, and as we were chatting about wood-based products, she mentioned how people are talking about corruption among the guardsmen. I don¡¯t know how many, but apparently, some guards have been paid off by the lumberman in town to prevent civilians from going outside to gather the resource-rich bodies of the dead combatants. If this proves true, I want you to put an end to it. War is not the time for petty-tyrants to be to be allowed excesses!¡±


    Colonel Winters made a face like he smelled something rancid. He said, ¡°I have heard these whispers before but feared them only as an unsubstantiated rumor. If you¡¯ve heard more talk, then as an owed favor to you, I will investigate the matter myself. Regardless of the outcome, I will order the guards to allow anyone outside if it is for body-collection. Even if I, personally, have to lead the detachment, it will happen.¡±


    Hearing the Colonel¡¯s commitment to his concern, he felt a load off his chest.


    ¡°Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate it,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°You are most welcome, Zan. Honestly, I am happy to do something for the young man who saved my life and the lives of several of my men. Speaking of which, thank you, again,¡± Winters said.


    ¡°Nice. Thank you,¡± Zan said, taking a curt curtsey. Before he left, Zan said, ¡°I will let you be now, but in more peaceful times, we should have a cup of coffee together. A meeting of the minds. Okay, see you later!¡±


    Zan left the building. Looking to the sky, it was early evening.


    High above, the Slipstream, although still visible, was nearly all faded. Having extended much of his magical accumulation throughout the day to keep him going while he helped Brenda, he decided if to restock; typically speaking, it was what most people did, and was only smart. The gods wanted them to use magic, Zan remembered hearing all throughout his life, and again now as a memory. Reaching his hand to the sky, Zan chanted under his breath the holy oath, and found his arm, then body, filled with otherworldly output.


    Tingly, Zan said.


    As always, the tingly feeling wore off as soon as it made itself felt. Leaving Zan feeling relaxed and ready for the next challenge.

 Chapter 52

    The next challenge, as it would turn out, was already ready and waiting for Zan.


    He heard a ping in his ear.


    ¡°Zan. It is I, Screen Master Simulacrum. We are potentially close to answering why the Backroads behaved as they did during your first outing. Please do not wander far away from the command center in case we discover why sooner than expected.¡±


    What a mistake: the next challenge wasn¡¯t ready just yet.


    Speaking plainly, Zan said, ¡°Sounds good. I won¡¯t wander too far. I will be in the area soon, tonight and tomorrow, I think, searching the place for those lodestone things you told me about.¡±


    ¡°A good plan. Thank you, Zan, for picking up this call. Jiehong makes it a habit to ignore many of my calls to his earpiece,¡± Simulacrum said.


    ¡°Oh? Why would he do that?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I do not know. He resists my attempts to encourage him to speak on the matter. Perhaps you could talk to him? As friends, he might listen to you.¡±


    ¡°I will do that as soon as I see him again. No worries,¡± Zan said. The ¡®call,¡¯ as the Screen Master had called their conversation, ended soon after.


    Seeing Jiehong in the distance, at the end of the street, and walking directly to him, Zan suddenly realized he was near the front gates. Good, he thought. I can understand why Jiehong doesn¡¯t pick up when the Screen Master issues his verbal summons.


    ¡°Ready to head back?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s get going. Considering the sun¡¯s falling, we shouldn¡¯t have an issue on the road,¡± Zan said, referring to the automotrons.


    Leaving the town, Zan jumped right into the issue.


    ¡°I was chatting with the Screen Master just before we left town. He said we should expect to resume typical activity soon,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Oh, good. I wish I knew what typical activity meant, though,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°What do you mean? It is about the war. Missions opposing the invasion, and all that? Or do you mean something else?¡±


    ¡°I guess something else, but nothing is coming to mind. Like¡­ there is no history. What have other Ranger-Knight orders done? What are we going to do?¡±


    Jiehong made a good point. To Zan, the moment¡¯s victory was one in the same with what the order would be in the future ¡ª an anti-Expanse initiative.


    Explaining to Jiehong his vision, his friend said, ¡°I guess that is well enough. I want more definition, though. More substance.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Zan replied, ¡°Understandable! I am sure the Screen Master has information on the other orders before us. We just have to wait until those memory ¡®things¡¯ are repaired. I know it will be a wait, but it isn¡¯t like we don¡¯t have stuff to keep us busy.¡±


    With the topic having reached its height, Zan thought it best to change the subject and wading into the communication issue. He asked of his buddy, ¡°Hey. Tell me something. Why don¡¯t you answer the Screen Master¡¯s summons? His ¡®calls¡¯?¡±


    Jiehong did not give an answer right away. Zan knew it was a tense moment.


    Filling the silence, Zan said, ¡°I¡¯m not angry or nothing. As a team, we need to be in constant communication. Especially with our support staff, right?¡±


    Responding, Jiehong said, ¡°I guess I don¡¯t see the point.¡± There was bitterness in his voice. Continuing, he said, ¡°You¡¯re at the head of everything. Why should I even matter?¡±


    Stopping dead in his tracks, Zan looked directly into Jiehong¡¯s eyes. He said, deadpan, ¡°Jie! You are just as much part of this team as me. I¡¯m not gonna to lie, buddy. I am getting pretty tired of this sob-act. I get it! You¡¯re upset you didn¡¯t get to be the leader. Tough shit! I¡¯m leading us to the best of our abilities. It isn¡¯t my fault you don¡¯t help me lead; it isn¡¯t my fault you took to complaining from the backseat the whole time instead of seizing the initiative. What do you want from me?¡±


    Zan had never talked to Jiehong like that before. When this issue began earlier, he had some tough words, yes, but not ¡®tough¡¯ like how Zan currently handled his friend.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that, Zan,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Then what is it? Clearly, some issue has come between us. What changed?¡±


    Jiehong threw his hands up, helpless. He said, ¡°My parents. I really don¡¯t want to get into it right now. I still don¡¯t know how everything is and how to respond.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I can help?¡± Zan asked, curious to see if his best and only friend would let him inside to help.


    ¡°Not now¡­¡± Jiehong said, at first, and to Zan¡¯s disappointment. Saving it, Jiehong said, ¡°But maybe in the future? When I have some breathing room?¡±


    ¡°Okay. That¡¯s fine. I just need to know we are good. Or will be good.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re fine¡­ really. I will answer the Screen Master¡¯s calls. And make more of an effort to help you. On the rest of it, though, we¡¯ll have to be patient.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine with patient. Thank you, Jiehong,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome¡­¡±


    Conversation was a little awkward thereafter. Silences more than talk, but as always, when it came to the deeply personal, some time for inner reflection after the serious words were best.


    Nearly back to the command center, its ¡®electronic¡¯ torches blaring in the distance, Zan said, ¡°What did you do all day in town?¡±


    ¡°Oh, lordy. It was so boring. I was just talking with an old woman all day. I thought her daughter would stay and help keep me company, but she left nearly once my foot was in the door,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny,¡± Zan said, giggling politely. ¡°Why would you think that, bro? She made it pretty clear, I think, she needed someone to watch her family member. Why would you think she would stay when she was the one doing the foraging?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? I have no clue, no idea. I saw a pretty girl and my brain stopped working.¡± Jiehong laughed.


    ¡°Sounds like you, Jie! You figure you would have learned by now!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ faces get the same when the only pool of girls you see day after day are the same ones you grew up with. A new girl? Parts of my body came awake, buddy. Let¡¯s just say that!¡±


    Zan burst out laughing. ¡°So gross! That why you got the hots for Whiskey?¡±


    ¡°That AND she is an incredible woman who clearly has immense potential!¡±


    Continuing to laugh all the way to the impromptu village, neither of the boys talked about anything noteworthy, either about themselves or their futures, let alone the command center. Talk, instead, reduced down to the teenage topics which so enthused generations of youth. Girls, bodily pleasures, and who one would like to share a bed with someday.

 Chapter 53

    The following day, Zan and Jiehong got on bright and early.


    Leaving the command center through the war room, however, the Wardens told them to ¡°Continue to stay in the area; but explore for lodestones. Both of you should have uncovered a couple by now. Please do so before we conclude our investigation.¡±


    Zan apologized for not uncovering local lodestones. He explained how he and Jiehong had been busy helping the locals. The Wardens understood their desire to help, but said the order should always come first, though balancing the needs of the locals and the needs of the order is a balancing act for every order incarnation.


    Saying both he and Jiehong would be ¡®on it,¡¯ they left the command center.


    ¡°Since we need to make up for lost time, how about we split up?¡± Jiehong suggested, already helping Zan take the lead.


    ¡°I love it!¡± Zan said, happy his friend seemed to turning over a new leaf.


    Jiehong took the way closer to Thundervale while Zan ended up investigating the route back toward their old village. Zan knew Jiehong only wanted to head up to Thundervale to check out the two ladies¡­ the hope, vain as it was, being one of them might be outside town or at the tavern. That was fine. Jiehong could take a break in town if that was what he wanted, but his first priority had to be finding the stones.


    Suddenly Zan remembered: had Jiehong stocked up on magic? He would need some to activate the lodestones he found. He was about to ping Jiehong on his headset to ask, but thought better at the last second. Jiehong could take care of himself, Zan knew.


    Walking along the old trails, knowing with every step he would be soon back where he grew up, Zan was excited. Though he knew it made little sense to be excited. He had only left a few days ago!


    It¡¯s the sense of wonder, Zan concluded, thinking over his excitement.


    Coming upon his village, though, Zan saw nothing to be excited over.


    The enemy had destroyed everything.


    Huts, simple buildings, and the primitive, yet functional, village layout which Zan had known all his life no longer existed. Instead, piles of rubble where peoples¡¯ homes once were, and overturned stones, marked the conquest.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Gazing out over the field which used to be his home, Zan let his tears flow freely.


    I¡­I¡­


    Zan tried to speak, but emotion overpowered him.


    Zan had expected something to remain of his past life. Or, failing such a simple expectation, he had thought there would be some enemies for him to smash.


    There weren¡¯t even any enemies, though. Everything was flattened. Or burned husks. Where once families stood, only a clear line of sight to the lumberyard beyond what was used to be the village¡¯s outskirts.


    Walking aimlessly, Zan had too many powerful thoughts and feelings coursing through him. He felt like a rag-doll. Falling to his knees, Zan wept until he felt no more pain.


    Above, the sky cried alongside him.


    Feeling not exactly ¡®better,¡¯ but at least able to move, Zan rose from his knees and stopped his sobbing.


    Enough. I¡¯ve had my emotional moment. Time to get back to it¡­ he chided himself.


    As he chided, he knew he was being unfair to himself. If he wasn¡¯t his own most demanding coach, though, how would he improve?


    Wanting to have one last sentimental moment with his hometown, Zan wandered the edge of town. That was when he heard a sound in his ear.


    A ping from the Wardens? What? Zan answered their call.


    ¡°Heya, did you finish your investigation?¡± Zan asked.


    But there was no typical voice. It was the Wardens who spoke but flatly. Like they somehow recorded their voices for playback. The message simply said, ¡°Alert: nearby is a lodestone.¡± Once the message ended, the call automatically ended.


    Figuring ¡®taking note¡¯ of their own voices was technology well within the order¡¯s grasp, Zan contented himself with saying to himself, ¡®Man, what technology the order has!¡¯ as he went about trying to locate the lodestone. Zan had to remember to thank the Wardens for remembering to give him notice of when he encountered a lodestone.


    ¡®Guess I should probe the area¡­ or something,¡¯ Zan said.


    Remembering what a lodestone looked like, Zan became surprised at how hard it was to locate the stone, although it only was about the size of a large rock.


    Tripping over the stone, Zan cocked an eyebrow when he saw the stone had been in the middle of the town square. Had the automotrons inadvertently kicked the stone up when they were destroying the town? Zan sure as heck did not remember a chunk of rock ever clogging up the town square, so it had to be the golems.


    Bending down, Zan held his hand to the stone. Focusing, slowing his breathing, then breathing in as deeply as he could before gently exhaling, Zan felt a tingling sensation as magical energy flowed from his body and into the stone.


    Zan saw how the stone momentarily glowed. Like a firefly. Before long, the stone fell dormant once more.


    Bringing the lodestone to a part of the (former) village grounds, Zan placed the stone into an unassuming part of the open field he used to play in all the time as a kid. Here, he thought, no one will disturb it.

 Chapter 54

    The Wardens took another day to conclude their investigation.


    During that day, Zan and Jiehong made a good deal of progress in uncovering the lodestones of the area.


    Sweeping out while carefully marking their progress, the two friends swept the whole local perimeter from the command center in the middle. They covered an area of about ten miles. Not the largest, maybe, but enough for them to map half-a-dozen lodestones. Doing it by foot, though, was an exercise for each of them.


    Back in the command center, having been called once their mapping had reached its end, the Wardens announced their discovery.


    ¡°We have concluded our investigation,¡± the Screen Master said on behalf of himself and Sigma-Prime.


    ¡°Fantastic. What did you uncover?¡± Zan asked. Jiehong stood back, letting everything unfold.


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± the Screen Master said, ¡°we could discover nothing.¡±


    Zan let the words hang in the air. They uncovered nothing?


    ¡°How is that possible, Screen Master?¡±


    ¡°In my many years of service to the order, Sigma-Prime and myself never have seen an anomaly like the one your described. We did everything in our power to reverse-track the phenomena, but after all we did, we only could work so far back within the primeval folds of the Backroads to confirm the existence of what you saw for ourselves. However, one discovery made the investigation worthwhile: we could confirm the intrusive path you saw and interacted with is now fully gone.¡±


    ¡°So, does this mean it will come back?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°To answer your question, I would need more information on how the intrusive path formed to begin with. It might come back. Considering this strangeness, however, I will hope the means by which the intrusive path formed cannot repeat itself, and this unusual beginning to our order¡¯s use of the Backroads is merely a quirk of the machinery. For now, I can say this: the Backroads territory so far claimed by our command center has no corruptions inside. As we expand our means of travel with the Backroads, by imbuing for lodestones, we will keep an extra eye on any irregularities.¡±


    The Screen Master¡¯s words didn¡¯t exactly calm Zan. Though they neither excited him. He only heard the response as a big old goose egg. Nada. Nothing. Wasted time.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Jiehong said, stepping in after clearly having seen the topic at hand of reaching its ends. Zan thought Jiehong also saw his growing frustration.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°With our investigation of the Backroads phenomenon concluded, along with the stability of the Backroads itself secure for the time being, Sigma-Prime and myself recommend resuming military operations. Using the Backroads as our staging ground, we have plotted a route to take your directly where Whiskey marked the ruins slated for investigation,¡± the Screen Master said to Jiehong.


    Nodding along, Zan said, ¡°Okay, let¡¯s plan out this mission.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t actually much to plan about the mission. More like the Screen Master telling them the route, the rundown.


    With the basics done, and the basics being as simple as ¡®use the backroads to move toward their home village, then advance into the undergrowth by foot.¡¯ That was it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to show you this Backroads stuff,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Oh, neither can I, buddy,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°You make it sound so wild.¡±


    Entering the white chamber in the secondary basement, Jiehong¡¯s eyes widened.


    ¡°Huh. Smooth white. How¡­ different?¡± Jiehong said of the new locale.


    ¡°First, Simulacrum will fill the room¡¯s runes with power. Watch,¡± Zan said, Jiehong watching intently as he heard the sounds of power filling the room.


    ¡°Next, get ready for a ride!¡± Zan said and could hardly finish before the power reached a certain level of concentration and thrust them into the Backroads.


    ¡°UGH! What was that?!¡± Jiehong spat, feeling, likely, he was about to hurl.


    ¡°That was us slipping into the Backroads, see?¡± Zan said, giving a grand waving motion with his hands to show Jiehong they were in a new place.


    Finally, looking at his surroundings, Jiehong¡¯s eyes further widened anew. ¡°This¡­ is the Backroads?¡±


    ¡°Sure is¡­ weird as heck, isn¡¯t it?¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°You could say that again.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but we shouldn¡¯t gawk too long. The Wardens explicitly said we should move from point-to-point as quickly as possible.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± Jiehong said, his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t really say¡­ or I don¡¯t remember if they did, really. They made it sound like other things live in the Backroads, oh¡­ they also said to stay on the path, don¡¯t wander off it. Not that we can wander off. I tried¡­¡±


    ¡°During the weird encounter?¡± Jiehong asked, the two now getting going to wherever their destination was.


    ¡°Yeah. I can¡¯t describe it too well. But it was like tapping against the glass of a fish tank. I tried to move, but a force repelled me. It wasn¡¯t like I tried very hard to leave the path, though. I wonder if I would have broken through if I really tried. Guess we won¡¯t know! Best to not experiment with forces we don¡¯t know about, right?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°For once, I agree with you, friend¡­¡± Jiehong said, clearly distracted by the strange interplay of light and dark in this new land of eternal twilight and ordered trees.


    Seeing a point of glimmering light, Zan remembered the Screen Master¡¯s words. They were looking for a destination point, and it would be like a glimmering light.


    This must be it, Zan thought, seeing that destination ahead of them.


    ¡°We are heading over there, by the way,¡± Zan pointed out to Jiehong.


    ¡°Oh! Incredible! How did I miss that?!¡± Jiehong exclaimed.


    ¡°This place plays with your senses. Time moves weirdly. Shoot! I forgot to tell you, Simulacrum cannot communicate with us here, so we really shouldn¡¯t linger.¡±


    This last sentence piqued the attention of Jiehong. ¡°He can¡¯t interact with us? Not even monitor us?¡±


    ¡°No, why?¡± Zan asked, not sure where this all was going.


    ¡°Zan ¡ª let me ask you a real question. Do you think the Screen Master is good or evil?¡±

 Chapter 55

    ¡°What do you mean? Of course, the Screen Master is good. Why would you think he is evil?¡± Zan asked, unnerved at the strange conversational turn.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying he is evil, Zan,¡± Jiehong replied. ¡°All I am saying is we know nothing about the Screen Master. We know nothing about this Sigma-Prime. We know nothing about this so-called ¡®order¡¯ of so-called ¡®Ranger-Knights.¡¯ We are small fish in a new and big ocean. We have to consider the possibility we got caught up in something. That¡¯s all I am saying.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ fine. I hear what you are saying. I understand your uncertainty. It¡¯s true. We don¡¯t know anything. I think, however, the Wardens are forces of good. That is the truth I want to believe and believe. Until we gain evidence to the contrary, we should not disbar the Wardens.¡±


    ¡°Fair!¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Totally fair. Let¡¯s make a vow, right?¡±


    What Jiehong spoke made Zan freeze. ¡°A vow?¡± Zan asked. ¡°Don¡¯t you think that is a little extreme, Jiehong?¡±


    ¡°Why would it be extreme? You and I are best friends, right? If the Screen Master is evil ¡ª not that I am saying he is ¡ª but if we discover evidence he and Sigma-Prime are not what they say, I need to know, to have that comfort, you will pull away from them.¡±


    Walking more closely to their destination, the fluttering plume of flame-like light continuing to flicker in the distance, Zan didn¡¯t know what he should do.


    So, he split the difference. He said, ¡°I will make the vow with you, Jiehong. The terms must be fair and balanced. I will not agree to anything less.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Absolutely. Of course! I will write the terms up and then run them by you¡ª¡±


    Interjecting, Zan said, ¡°But I will not agree to anything without proof.¡±


    Sighing, Jiehong said: ¡°How about a basic vow?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°For now, let¡¯s only agree to an elementary vow of solidarity? Something as simple as¡­ if we both see something about the Wardens which are disconcerting, weird, something that makes us think, ¡®geez, that probably isn¡¯t normal. That looks like it is something up to no good,¡¯ then we both make pains to either get out of the order or destroy it from the inside.¡±


    Zan and Jiehong stood before their destination with hardly a step before them for them to re-enter the real world. Zan felt like growling. Jiehong was being difficult.


    ¡°Sorry, Jiehong. Even that is too much. You really expect me to see one strange thing, maybe, about them and then go ¡®aw! Time to get out and-or destroy this technologically advanced organization!¡¯ at the first sign of maybe trouble?¡±


    It was Jiehong¡¯s turn to throw his hands up in frustration, like he was getting nowhere and hadn¡¯t even the pleasure of company to show for it.


    Not wanting relations among them to sour again, Zan said, ¡°How about this? We do an elementary vow. If we both uncover something which makes us go, ¡®nope, can¡¯t have that in our holy order!¡¯ then we will meet and discuss the issue. And that¡¯s it.¡±


    Considering Zan¡¯s counteroffer, Jiehong said, ¡°Okay. Fine. That is a good compromise.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Jiehong. I understand your concerns about the Wardens. We know nothing about them or the order, right? Nothing they haven¡¯t been the ones to tell us. But I don¡¯t share your same concerns. So, for now, this is the best we can do. At least until we learn more about the ¡®Shiv¡¯ order and who the Wardens are as people.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Okay. I like it. Let¡¯s channel some magic and do the vow,¡± Jiehong said.


    Channeling some miniscule sum of magical energy from his body and into his hand, as Jiehong did the same, the two boys then firmly shook their hands.


    Feeling their hands clasp and their magic mingle, a thin ripple of goosebumps spread across their respective skins. Swaying throughout their bodies like tall grass in the wind.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± Zan asked, showing the portal.


    Nodding, Jiehong gave his answer by jumping through the portal.


    About to jump through himself, Zan paused for a moment.


    He thought he heard something behind him.


    Turning, he saw nothing. No one. No thing.


    Must¡¯ve been my imagination, he thought.


    Zan jumped through the portal and landed roughly on the other side.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± asked Jiehong.


    ¡°Still in the region,¡± Zan said. ¡°At least according to the Wardens.¡±


    Around them were strong, tall trees. Each tree tightly packed itself to the tree next to it, which gave the impression of each tree being a jungle in itself, as branches and leaves co-mingled, creating a vast canopy, at layers, within this dense part of the wood.


    ¡°How? It looks like¡­ I guess I don¡¯t know what it looks like. Still. This part is so ancient¡­¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised, too,¡± Zan replied. ¡°We should start our search. Whiskey said the structure she found looked like our command center. Judging from the building materials. Be on the lookout for anything sleek, shiny, and confusing.¡±


    Sticking together, the two boys wandered for a long time.


    ¡°Is that¡­ wait, sorry¡­ I thought that bird¡­ nevermind,¡± Jiehong muttered.


    Zan couldn¡¯t blame Jiehong. As the hours passed, and they encountered no ruins, Zan¡¯s mind longed for anything which fit what they¡¯re looking for. Taking out his note, Zan again reviewed the elementary picture he drew for himself. The picture had all the needed information ¡ª a drawing of a house with lines throughout to signify the strange raw ores of the order; many trees, big and scaly, to denote the old wood; and the bluffs on either side of the ruin.


    Wait, bluffs? Zan thought. I see no boulders or unsteady mountains. Maybe we¡¯re in the wrong part of the wood?


    Taking them to another part of the forest altogether, Zan did not know what they were doing wrong. It was possible Whiskey lied to them. Yet¡­ Zan didn¡¯t think her the type to lie. What did he know, though? Especially in the minds of desperate people?


    Hearing the running water of a stream, Zan brought him and Jiehong down for a break. ¡°Let¡¯s water up and rest, then get back to it,¡± Zan said.


    Sitting on their haunches, the boys emptied their heads, of all things.


    Or at least Zan did. Jiehong¡­ who knew what he thought about? Girls, probably. That or his parents and what sort of life he would have after the war ended.


    In one regard, Zan was lucky. He knew his place after the war. This ¡ª all this.


    He knew it: the Order would be his life. Silly warnings by Jiehong aside, Zan knew the Order would be his life. If he encountered difficulty, he would overcome. He would make it his life. It had called to him. It would be his. He knew it.


    Rubbing his feet and looking over to his friend, Zan worried the stress was getting to him. What else could be the reason for his¡­ difficulty lately? They had never been like this before the war. Sure, Jiehong was doing better, but was he, really? He still had outlandish ideas about both the order and him. Maybe things would be better if he and Whiskey settled down and started popping out babies? Maybe a domestic life was what Jiehong craved?


    ¡®Who knows? He won¡¯t even speak to me anymore,¡¯ Zan uttered under his breath.


    ¡°Time to get going!¡± Zan said after they finished their snack of berries and biscuits.


    Leading them along a stream, Zan contended himself to simply following the river. With woods still closing in on them at all angles, Zan knew the odds of encountering some old ruin with tall rocks or bluffs or whatever it was which Whiskey supposedly saw were not a likely chance. Zan contended himself, though, with one thought: what was likely to happen? They were here to investigate, research, and that was what they did.


    For another few hours, Zan and Jiehong searched up and down. They searched up hills, behind bushes, even little caves. But they found nothing.


    Zan was about ready to call the investigation for the day when he heard an unusual sound. It was water, but louder?


    Looking at Jiehong, Zan said, ¡°What is that?¡±


    Jiehong seemed just as confused. ¡°Uhh¡­¡±


    Walking along several more steps, both came to the same conclusion ¡ª ¡°Waterfall!¡±

 Chapter 56 (Reinforcements: MAC)

    Rushing along the now flowing water, the boys saw it. A waterfall!


    It was no huge sight. Being near the top of the fall did not deafen them. No matter how one cut ¡®it,¡¯ then, the waterfall was of modest size.


    To its side, the boys looked over the precipice to below.


    ¡°Looks like a basic waterfall,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Looks smooth at the bottom. Meaning, no big rocks. Our river-stream, whatever you want to call it, continues straight onward. We heading down?¡±


    Speaking, Zan reluctantly said, ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s get to the bottom, investigate, continue for a bit, then make camp. I¡¯m beat.¡±


    ¡°I hear ya¡­ all this equipment really weighs ya down!¡±


    Finding the safest way down, the boys had to walk for quite a distance to find an even enough ground which would slope at just the right angle to not break their legs. Finding such a ground, eventually, it took them nearly two hours to scale down the hill.


    About halfway down the waterfall, walking, Jiehong said, ¡°You know what would make this easier?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Zan replied. ¡°A bicycle?¡±


    ¡°What? No. What would make this easier would be a freaking ladder! Something we can just nail to the top, then scale down.¡±


    ¡°A portable ladder, you mean?¡± Zan thought it over. ¡°Yeah, that would be super sick.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right? We could keep it furled up in our backpack when we¡¯re not using it and boom! Instant time saver!¡± Smiling heavily at his idea, Zan had to admit it was good.


    Jiehong once again proved why Zan enjoyed having him around.


    ¡°In fact,¡± Jiehong said, continuing. ¡°I am going to let them know right now!¡±


    Jiehong placed his finger to his communication device and pressed a button. ¡°So, I had an idea,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Zan and I are scaling a hill to investigate a waterfall. I had the idea of a ladder¡­¡± Jiehong explained his idea. He said some pleasantries. ¡°Really?! That is great to hear! Thank you!¡±


    The call ended soon after. Jiehong said to Zan, ¡°Evidently, there are schematics within the base¡¯s ¡®Tools Directory,¡¯ whatever that means, for just such a ladder. I am evidently not the first Ranger-Knight to wonder at such a tool. They said they would push the design into production for us.¡±


    Thinking it over, Zan was pleased. He did think the notion of an ¡®instant ladder¡¯ was a little silly when Jiehong mentioned it at the moment¡¯s spur, but after calling the Wardens and chatting about it? Zan¡¯s attitude changed instantly. Jiehong¡¯s ¡®can-do attitude¡¯ not only ¡®got results,¡¯ the results they were hoping for, but also resulted in the Wardens seeing Jiehong¡¯s initiative. Important after his streak of ignoring their calls.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad it went well. Your mind is so sharp, Jie. I¡¯ve always been a little jealous of it,¡± Zan said, by way of giving some ground so his friend would feel appreciated.


    ¡°Oh¡­ ah, thanks. Thank you. I didn¡¯t know you felt that way.¡±


    For the first time in¡­ a long time, Zan didn¡¯t know what to say.


    What could he say? He thought telling Jie of his mild jealous would bring them closer. Have a heart-warming moment. It only made things awkward, though. Zan didn¡¯t know why. As usual. So, he said, ¡°I just admire your mind. Your education. I never had such things, so I was always wanting it myself.¡±


    Jiehong didn¡¯t reply.


    To break up the awkwardness, their jobs as Ranger-Knights came calling. They had finished their descent down the hill and had made it to the bottom of the waterfall when they saw it. Sticking up partially from beneath the muck was a large structure, complete with bluffs to either side of it. Zan knew right away it had to be what they were looking for.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°That is?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I think so¡­¡±


    The boys approached the waterfall to get a better look. Although the fall was not a large fall, and they could examine the area without fear of the falling water crushing them, or even deafening them, they still had to watch their step. What they saw had been clear as day, though, so despite the slippery stones, they made their way behind the waterfall.


    There wasn¡¯t anything like a cave behind the waterfall, but there was a large, house-sized object. Inspecting both the hidden indent behind the waterfall and the structure, Zan said, ¡°This is it. What Whiskey said.¡±


    ¡°But what is it?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Looking it over, Zan shared Jie¡¯s sentiment. ¡°What is it, indeed?¡±


    Content, Zan had scoped out the entire area ¡ª outside the waterfall, inside, all between the earth, and whatever else the structure was stuck within, and so only one thing remained. To touch the structure.


    Zan placed his hand against the smooth material. Nothing.


    Jiehong next touched it. Also, nothing.


    Continuing their investigation, both boys inadvertently pressed their hands to the structure at the same time. This time, the structure activated.


    A bright light briefly shone from within the structure before dissipating throughout its jagged contours. Black as the command center, Zan did not know what material the structure¡¯s base used, least of all how it operated and reacted to external stimuli.


    Not giving him time to think on it, the structure pulsed, light emerging, then fading suddenly, spread over the structure¡¯s exterior. Steam hissed from the structure, causing the boys to leap out of the way and bumble into each other. On the side, each saw a doorway.


    ¡°You first,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Nah, leaders first,¡± Jiehong said, his tone not quite sarcastic, but neither genuine.


    Leaving the tone aside, Zan stepped into the structure. He saw what he expected to see ¡ª smooth, sleek, mysterious black.


    Entering what had to be the core and only room within the structure, Zan and Jiehong found a gently illuminated place similar to the war room from back within the command center. Here was different, though. Smaller, for one, Zan picked up on. With no wardens, it seemed lonely.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ none of those fake torches are active. I can hardly see anything. How do we get the lights to activate¡­!¡±


    Saying ¡®activate¡¯ did the trick. Lights flicked ¡®on¡¯ throughout the room, leaving nothing in the shadows.


    ¡°I guess that did it,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Now the question is, what is ¡®it¡¯?¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t know what any of it was, but they would find out.


    ¡°WELCOME,¡± a voice said.


    ¡°Who is there?¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT. WHAT ARE MY ORDERS?¡± the voice continued.


    ¡°This is going to be awkward without knowing your name,¡± Zan told¡­ the structure?


    But the machine did not say.


    So, Zan said, ¡°Your name is Mac. After ¡®machine.¡¯¡±


    ¡°NAME CONFIRMED: ¡®MAC,¡¯¡± the machine spoke.


    ¡°So¡­ Mac, what is your purpose? We are new Ranger-Knights and still are learning about everything.¡±


    ¡°My purpose is to guide the defensive systems of the Shiv Order. What are my orders?¡± Mac said.


    Zan did not know what to say. What were its orders?


    Jiehong said, ¡°Zan, maybe check in with the Wardens?¡±


    Jie¡¯s suggestion was a good notion. Zan pressed his hand to his earpiece and spoke. ¡°We found a structure. We are speaking with some kind of machine?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure what you found is associated with Shiv order technology?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I could ask¡­?¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Not the best idea,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°If the intelligence is unfriendly, it could kill you where you stand. If it has such capabilities.¡±


    Dying wasn¡¯t something Zan really wanted to do. Yet he also really didn¡¯t want to spend en eternity here playing thirty-questions and then some.


    Going for broke, he asked of Mac, ¡°Are you Shiv order aligned?¡±


    The machine said, ¡°Calculating.¡±


    Noises, like beeps and boops, sounded from somewhere within the building.


    Eventually, Mac replied, ¡°No. I am not. But I am now. Confirmation of Shiv Order interests confirmed. What are your orders?¡±


    Jiehong gave Zan a look born of wonder and malice. He was sure the wonder regarded the machine-thing. The malice from risking their lives (maybe) over getting to the key aspect with this voice.


    Speaking to the Wardens, Zan said, ¡°I just asked it. It said it isn¡¯t of Shiv, but it now is¡­ something about ¡®confirming Shiv interests.¡¯ Ring any bells?¡±


    The Screen Master said, ¡°A strange concurrence of events. Yet it is not uncommon for structures and beings of our make to shift allegiances over the years. The entity you are speaking with might have once been a foe of the Shiv order.¡±


    ¡°That is no good. Should I and Jiehong run out of here?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°No. If the entity has said it is now aligned with the Shiv order and is continuing to ask you for orders, it and we are perfectly united. Ask it for its defensive and offensive capabilities.¡±


    Doing just that, the reply Zan received seemed mix.


    ¡°Regarding my offensive and defensive capabilities,¡± Mac said. ¡°Scanning. Scanning¡­¡±


    As the minutes passed and Mac only continued to say, ¡°Scanning,¡± Zan looked to Jiehong and shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to ask, ¡®what now?¡¯

 Chapter 57

    Jiehong didn¡¯t know the ¡®what now,¡¯ either. He only shrugged his own shoulders and waited alongside his friend.


    ¡°Scanning¡­ Scanning¡­ Scanning¡­¡± Mac said repeatedly.


    Needing to get some fresh air and to escape the mechanically sounding voice, Zan stepped outside.


    It was¡­ late.


    Looking out through the forest, the sun, having set or not, gave them hardly any light. What few beams had gotten through the rustic tangle of nature only possessed a fragment of their vitality by the time Zan saw their faded luminance from near the waterfall.


    Feeling the chill set in from the dropping temperature, Zan knew he had to go back inside soon. Hearing the many forest critters, the hoots of owls, and more, Zan wished he knew how to hunt. He was hungry and wanted to taste a bird. But he would need an arrow and bow to do so. If only Whiskey were here, he said.


    Heading back inside, it was Jiehong turn to head out. He didn¡¯t give a reason besides, ¡°Gotta bleed the lizard.¡±


    It took Zan a moment to realize he meant ¡®urinate,¡¯ and not anything to do with an actual lizard. Where had Jiehong picked up that slang?


    By the time Jiehong came back, Mac said, ¡°Scanning Complete.¡±


    Another ¡®bing¡¯ sounded.


    ¡°Results?¡± Zan asked, impatient, realizing they would have to sleep here for the night.


    ¡°As requested, I have run a full-diagnostics scan. Results show it is highly probable the entire macro-structure remains sound,¡± Mac said.


    Looking at each other, Jiehong and Zan didn¡¯t know what that meant.


    ¡°Please explain from the beginning,¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Within my registry, I discovered several interconnected military installations. These installations date back to several millennia. Through the many years of passing accumulation, these systems have become obscured. Obscured by nature and Life Form interference. However, my scanning of every installation revealed each system is intact and only waiting commands from an authorized party,¡± Mac said.


    ¡°Okay¡­ first question. Who is this ¡®authorized¡¯ party? Us?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes. ¡®You,¡¯ as in you, ¡®Zan,¡¯ and Zan¡¯s compatriot, ¡®Jiehong.¡¯ I learned your names through observing your conversation. I changed security codes while scanning the structure-system: I changed the codes from the previous masters to the new Shiv masters. Once these codes are inputted, and a representative bearing your Order¡¯s power enters the space of the installations, the structures will recognize you as their masters.¡±


    ¡°GOOD TO KNOW!¡± Jiehong said, loudly, clearly impatient. ¡°But what about if our enemies arrive there first?¡±


    ¡°I do not know who your enemies are¡­ unless they bear the power of the Shiv order, they cannot access the systems.¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°That¡¯s good! A positive development! Next question: what are the warfare capabilities of these structures? We are in the middle of a war and need some help in driving the enemy back¡­¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Understood.¡± Mac replied. ¡°Your newly encoded structure-system is a war-built installation. Each installation can defend itself against a wide-array of attackers while also providing field help to local forces. These installations will not be of use during an offensive measure ¡ª such as launching a counter-invasion. They will be of use during a defensive engagement.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Where are these structures?¡±


    ¡°Each structure within the macro-network is a miniature fortress. Typically, these defensive structures protect important regions or zones. With proper cultivation, that is,¡± Mac said.


    ¡°Cultivation?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Correct: cultivation. A complex usage of magical energy and power which, when infused into the macro-system, will enable its masters to both oversee and dominate the local terrain.¡±


    ¡°Is cultivation how we activate the other systems?¡±


    ¡°Incorrect. I have already activated the other macro-structures associated with this local system. You can access their elementary defensive measures by unearthing, and if necessary, making light repairs. Cultivation is an advanced process. Cultivation is impossible under current conditions.¡±


    Jiehong scoffed. He rolled his eyes. Zan did not appreciate how little he took to their situation. It was like he did not even care.


    Zan had to ignore Jiehong, though. ¡°How many structures are within the local system?¡± Zan asked, hoping he was keeping the terminology straight.


    ¡°My sensors pick up eleven other defensive structures associated with the overall macro-system. Each structure is within the region. The local system is a small scale installation only encompassing several hundred miles,¡± Mac replied.


    Several hundred?! Such an idea amazed Zan. Whoever built this system considered several hundred miles small? He really wanted to see what a large installation looked like¡­


    ¡°Mac, can you tell us where the eleven other structures are located?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes. Printing for you a list¡­¡± Mac replied as from somewhere a sound which sounded like a piglet grunting heralded a piece of super thin, white parchment. Although no larger than a letter, it held the whereabouts of the locations.


    Taking the piece of thin parchment from a narrow slot extending from a portion of the interior wall, Zan examined the article. He read the names, then told Jiehong, ¡°Do you know much about history? Or languages? ¡®Cause we¡¯re going to need some help!¡±


    Zan handed to Jiehong the parchment. Reading it, Zan saw Jie comprehend the situation right away.


    Jiehong said, ¡°It¡¯s in the old tongue.¡±


    The old tongue¡­ Zan couldn¡¯t believe it.


    ¡®The old tongue. Does anyone even speak it?¡¯ Zan thought. He believed the answer was ¡®no¡¯ or ¡®musty old academics.¡¯


    Speaking his thoughts to Jie, Zan listened as Jiehong said, ¡°Maybe. No one who is close to us, though. Excuse me, Mac? We don¡¯t speak this language. Can you translate for us?¡±


    Mac replied, ¡°Unfortunately, I cannot. My systems are not inbuilt with your language capabilities. I can communicate with you now only because of evolutionary differences in how spoken language, and the written word.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ what do you mean?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°You speak the same language as my programmers. Of my creators. They built me to comprehend their speech and script. If your people claim descent from my builders, then I surmise your written language has evolved but not your spoken.¡±


    He and Jiehong both reeled from the information. The old tongue and their present tongue were one-in-the-same?! Which begged the question, why the written? How did that evolve but not the spoken?


    Questions to add to the bank of never-ending questions, Zan thought with exasperation in his head.


    Jiehong rubbed his temples. ¡°So where does that leave us?¡± he asked.


    Mac said, ¡°Find a specialist in the language. That is the only advice I can give at the present time.¡±


    ¡°But this list is accurate?¡± Zan butted in to ask. ¡°Meaning, if we translate it, we will know where the locations are? No doubt?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Mac stated.


    Looking to Jie, Zan shrugged and said, ¡°Then we are one step closer to our goal.¡±

 Chapter 58

    ¡°What do you mean, we are closer to our goal? Zan, who do you know who can translate this?!¡± Jiehong shouted, his nerves getting the better of him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± Zan said. ¡°We are closer to our goal once we find a guy who can translate. We might now know who that guy is, but once we find him, we are closer to our goal, since we will find these hidden bases. How does this not mean we are closer to our goal?¡±


    Jiehong grunted. And returned outside. He fired up his pipe and had a smoke. It smelled to Zan of low-quality tobacco. I didn¡¯t know he smoked¡­ I thought it was only the herb?


    Zan didn¡¯t know what he should do.


    Jiehong had been willful and conflict-prone for so long now. Days? A week? It seemed longer, but the strain of war took its temporal toll, making even a day seem like a month.


    He had tried talking to him. Thought he had gotten somewhere talking to him, only for Jie to swing around again to become pissy. What was it with him? Zan thought. Was it only because he couldn¡¯t be the leader? Or were there deeper elements at play?


    Heading outside after telling Mac they would contact them if need arose, Zan stood by Jiehong for a few minutes, waiting for his smoke to finish.


    Seeing his smoke had done and the pipe had been put away, Zan said, ¡°Anything you want to talk about?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± was the plain answer.


    Standing in silence for a while, Zan debated on whether he should try talking, anyway. Deciding it was not worth it, Zan simply said, ¡°If that¡¯s how you feel, fine. We¡¯re sleeping here tonight. Get cozy wherever. I¡¯ll be inside.¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we use this time to get back to the command center?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Zan replied, then left.


    Back inside, Zan felt his emotions torn. Something was truly wrong between him and his best friend, but he didn¡¯t know what. Thinking about it caused Zan to become flustered himself, however. Being the case, Zan did not want to think about the tension anymore. He and Jie were part of an order of warriors. Though the order was new, and they were not exactly warriors, they had their mission.


    Inside the base, they discovered, space was small. Settling his sleeping gear to the side of the entrance, Zan settled in for the night and found sleep quickly because of the day¡¯s stress. Before he fell asleep, he heard Jie come in and do the same on the other end of the room.


    When the morning came, Zan looked at Jiehong. He had seen better times. His hair was a mess. His bones click-clacking from immobility and hungry bellies. Zan was used to sleeping this way since he had always slept on the floor back during the peace, when Jiehong¡¯s family had taken him in as one of their own. Jiehong himself, however, always got the bed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s finish those berries and crackers¡­ plus, I think we have some dried meat? Then we can get going back to the base,¡± Zan said.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Jiehong said nothing. Zan wasn¡¯t expecting him to talk, though.


    Eating in silence, both boys could feel the tension in the air. Though to Zan, he felt a curious sensation in his head. Something like an emotion. It told him to ¡®not give a care¡¯ about Jiehong¡¯s attitude problem.


    I¡¯ve tried so hard with him and I am so tired. We are fighting in a war and yet it feels like the enemy is here with me as much as it is on the battlefield¡­


    Eating as he thought about these things, Zan felt bad for comparing his friend to the enemy. Jiehong might be a prissy man right now, but he was still his ally, and would always be his ally short of him turning coat and aiding the enemy.


    A curt burp later, and the two were ready to head home.


    ¡°Will you be alright by yourself?¡± Zan asked Mac.


    ¡°Affirmative. You and Jiehong are the first life-forms to communicate with me in many cycles. I will be fine. In the event of other Life Forms discovering my location, they cannot enter the structure; when I turned the security codes over to your Order, it also connected to your Power and thus will filter anyone not meant to be here,¡± Mac replied.


    ¡°Okay. Cool¡­ until next time, then!¡± Zan said, heading out the door.


    The boys walked in near total silence as they retraced their steps through the forest. It was a skill they learned over their lives and from people much more experienced than they, both in age and knowledge. Difficult as they had been in the past when the elders attempted to teach them, they both were happy now they paid attention. That knowledge of the woodland path served them well here.


    Figuring he ought to let the Wardens know they were on their way back, Zan said into his earpiece, ¡°Simulacrum, we are on our way back. See you soon-ish.¡± Zan received a confirmation bing, but nothing else. He took the ¡®bing¡¯ as the Wardens shorthand for acknowledging their status.


    Although the trek back still took them hours, this time, they at least knew what they were looking for as they retraced their steps through the murky wood.


    Taking a slightly different way up the waterfall than they had come, one which had looked safer than it actually was, Zan slipped and hurt his ankle. Blessed be to both! They were already near the top when Zan hurt himself.


    Falling to his knees and then legs, resting on them, Zan could only crawl forward on his hands and knees in jagged humps which lurched himself forward. By the time he had reached the top of the hill, Jiehong noticed his position and rushed over to help.


    ¡°You proud donkey!¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you ask for help?¡±


    ¡°I would have thought my agonized ¡®gaaaah!¡¯ was enough!¡± Zan said with hurt in his tone.


    ¡°Well, sorrrrry!¡± Jiehong spoke sarcastically. ¡°I couldn¡¯t hear you over the roar of the fall! ¡­but I got you now. Hold on a minute.¡±


    Jiehong dragged Zan further up the elongated slope to tend to him. Pushing back the leggings up on his pants, he quickly found the wound.


    Gripping the ankle gently with his oversized hand, for it only took one hand, Jiehong closed his eyes and chanted under his breath a holy hymn. It was what Jiehong always did when he used magic, though Zan never needed to recite the hymns when he used his magic. Differences aside, Zan felt the holy energies enter his body. The pain faded. After another minute of concentrated healing, the pain removed itself completely while allowing Zan to stand once more.


    ¡°Thank you, Jie,¡± Zan said with genuine thought.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome¡­ bud,¡± he replied.


    Not wanting their special moment ruined, both continued their trek.


    By the time the midday sun hung lower in the sky than higher ¡ª the many gods of their world fully obscured by the foliage line ¡ª they located their shimmering portal into the Backroads.


    It hadn¡¯t been easy locating a shimmering cloud of air which hung ominously in the bramble, but the darkness provided from the wood helped. ¡°Okay, just through the portal, through the strange wood, and we are home clear.¡±


    ¡°Assuming we don¡¯t get caught in whatever caught you and swept you to that weird place¡­¡± Jiehong said in a deadpan.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ here¡¯s hoping!¡±

 Chapter 59

    The way back through the Backroads was uneventful.


    No conversation, no weirdness, and neither of the boys stood talking for too long.


    In and out. No monkey business, no oddities. Just straight point to point walking.


    Emerging where they had departed from, the path to the command center remained open and as uneventful as when they left. Which was what Zan hoped for since they had departed from the White Chamber, so had they not emerged directly into that chamber, he would have words with the Screen Master.


    Walking up the stairs and into the command center¡¯s war room, it seemed surreal to see how one minute they could be in the woods while, in the next, they were back in a hyper-advanced building. It wiggled the mind.


    ¡°Welcome back, Ranger-Knights! How was your reconnaissance?¡± Sigma-Prime asked.


    ¡°It went¡­ well, I guess?¡± Zan asked Jiehong.


    ¡°Yeah. It did. A lot of effort, though. We¡¯re not used to hiking so much,¡± Jie said.


    ¡°It will not be long before you both bristle with form of muscle and spirit. I promise you both,¡± the Screen Master said, ¡°if nothing else, your work for the order will keep your bodies sharp, in shape, and ready for more.¡±


    ¡°We bet! We have an issue, however. Bodies aside, we need a translator. The entity over in the structure in the woods gave us a list of locations and ¡ª wait! Sorry, I need to catch you two up with what happened. Give me a minute to catch my breath!¡± Zan said.


    Explaining to the Wardens their encounter, how Mac confirmed for them details of the hitherto hidden structure, and how the local system, as Mac called it, were not under their sway. Zan showed them the list of locations written in the old tongue. He asked them for help in translating.


    ¡°Unfortunately, the being you call ¡®Mac¡¯ does not differ from Sigma-Prime and myself. You and your people, your community and Jiehong, and us, Sigma-Prime and myself, can communicate because of our tongue¡¯s verbiage remaining unchanged. But just as Mac said, the written word is another matter. The written word changed. And because of the same people who built Mac programmed Sigma-Prime and myself, our capabilities do not differ from his own. My recommendation would be to search out a language expert in a well-populated civilian center,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum said.


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem, though. The nearest city is over a hilly, messy stretch of ground. The enemy probably controls it by now and there¡¯s no way we have the means to break through. Not unless we¡¯re going to sneak the whole way. Even then! What, we going to sneak some scholar through a war-zone?¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°You make valid points, Zan. Unfortunately, the war binds our hands. Unless you can, by chance, find a local translator, launching an expedition might be the only way to decipher the map.¡± The Screen Master¡¯s voice echoed through the tiny hall. Zan felt discouraged. Not exactly ¡®defeated,¡¯ but like the wind had emptied itself of his sails. He was a captain adrift in the aimless sea.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Jiehong spoke next. He said, ¡°Zan. Let¡¯s take a break. Then we can scour the countryside and meet up again in a day or two.¡±


    ¡°What are we going to do in that time?¡± Zan said, his voice lacking purpose.


    ¡°What else? Look for that translator¡­¡±


    Closing the door to his room, Zan never felt happier to be alone. How could the day had started so¡­ well, then ended so badly?


    Lying down on his bed, Zan removed his shoes and rubbed his feet, already having disposed of his sweaty shirt and pants. He needed to cool down fast.


    Luckily for him, the basement level of the command center allowed for the easy flow of chilled air, so he felt the temperature one did on a slightly warmed fall evening.


    We woke in a sizzle, made up, sort of, when he healed me, then the rest of the walk was fine. Fine day all around. Then we get back to the command center, speak with the Wardens, and it is like all the hope faded. What the heck happened?!


    Zan thought and rethought about the day. And how, somehow, it was only half done. The future still called out to them before the general sleep. Why?


    Although Zan considered his circumstance deeply, there was nothing more to his condition, he knew, than mere emotive soreness. That, coupled with physical exertion.


    However, or wherever he and Jiehong would end up, neither of them had given up on each other. Not yet! If they had, Zan wouldn¡¯t be thinking about Jiehong right now, just as Jiehong wouldn¡¯t have helped Zan when he injured himself climbing the forest hill.


    We¡¯re good¡­ so why am I still thinking about it?


    Falling into a little sleep, Zan had another stress dream.


    This time, the dream was about a castle. It went up in flames just as Zan was using the loo. Realizing the bricks were burning, melting, even, Zan hurried himself up. He clutched at his britches, intending on bringing them up to his waist, but only tripped over himself, somehow, as he hoisted.


    Tumbling, Zan continued to tumble an unusually long time. He tumbled out the door and tumbled down a never-ending staircase, where everyone he knew, plus faces he did not know, laughed riotously at him ¡ª HIM, the stupid water closet boy! The little shit who couldn¡¯t even take a crap without embarrassing himself!


    Zan woke from his nap at a start.


    His heart raged like a damnable war drum.


    Looking around him, Zan realized it was only a dream. He was back in his barrack¡¯s chamber. He had never left his barrack¡¯s chamber.


    I never left¡­


    Realizing his chin and face were wet, he cleaned himself with the rag he kept by his bedside, and sat in the dark, sideways on his bed, thinking of what the dream meant. I should be happy, Zan told himself. Jiehong is finally taking the initiative with his Ranger-Knight work. He proposed we search the nearby places. Yet I know he is unhappy with me on some level. It¡¯s going to be awhile before we are well again. I know it. Zan sighed, for there was nothing else he could do.


    Rising enough and having recovered from his dream to leave his bedroom, the gentle glow of the torches warmed him. He used the toilet, then returned to his chamber. He returned to his chamber not by himself, however. Zan had thought of something while reliving himself: I only feel so low on Jiehong because I don¡¯t have anyone to talk to about it. I¡¯ve only ever had Jie. What if I had someone else?


    Before his restroom revelation, Zan would have objected to such a thought. Yeah, what ¡®if¡¯ he had someone else to talk to about his life? It is not like he had anyone, especially since all the youth similarly aged to him had left for other villages a couple of years before he and Jie came of age. Thinking on his recent adventures, though. Zan realized something. He did have another person his age to talk with.. they were only unconventional. Plus, the very notion of actually befriending them was absurd.


    The more Zan thought about it, though, the more he realized how desperately he wanted another person his age to talk to¡­


    A person like the boy in the ornate room.

 Chapter 60

    Gods, am I really contemplating what I think I am contemplating? Zan thought about it. Yeah, I am. Maybe there is something wrong with me? He tried to¡­ do that in font of me. He was a pervert, unbalanced! He was ¡ª trying to get me to leave the closet so he could talk to me.


    Zan repeated it to himself: he was only trying to talk to me. He was only trying to goad me out of the closet. That was all. I owe him one more chance.


    If I can find him¡­


    Standing in front of his bed, Zan exhaled. He felt silly. He felt desperate.


    But he had to do it. He had to try.


    Leaving his room and finding his lunch sitting on the kitchen sideboard, having been made an uncertain time ago by the chef, whose name Zan had forgotten, Zan eat quickly and found Jiehong.


    Outside, Jiehong was talking to the community, helping to hash out a disagreement between people.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake. I¡¯m guessing you want to begin our little quest?¡± Jie asked.


    ¡°Yeah. I think so. Would you like to search around and in Thundervale while I take the remote places? We can switch, though! I¡¯m fine with either.¡±


    ¡°Thundervale is good! I will head up now,¡± Jie said, leaving to prepare right away.


    He and Jiehong prepared separately for the first time. Zan guessed he must still be feeling weird about things. Normally, they would prepare for an outing together.


    Now, though? Zan already could feel the tension.


    Once more fully prepared to face any threat they might encounter, alone or together, Zan set out at the same time Jie left to Thundervale.


    For a full day, Zan explored the countryside, visiting many green places, both of nature and of modest human dwelling, mostly people, small families, really, hiding out from the war. No one Zan talked to knew the ancient script or could recommend a person who knew the script.


    Defeated, Zan returned to the command center, feeling bummed he hadn¡¯t even uncovered any lodestones to make travel easier. At least a lodestone would have made it all worthwhile¡­ oh well.


    Having returned to the command center, his own chamber, specifically, Zan pinged Jiehong. He wanted to update his (strained) friend on his lack of progress.


    Jiehong answered. Unfortunately, he was not hard at work.


    ¡°Heya, buddy¡­ how¡¯s it¡­ hanging?!¡± Jiehong said, his speech slurred slightly from one too many beverages. Zan heard voices in the background.


    ¡°I wanted to update you on my progress. Nothing. I have nothing, I found nothing. Where are you? I am bummed about still not having anything to show,¡± Zan said.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Bummer! Bro. Bummer¡­¡± Jiehong spoke. ¡°I¡¯m hanging out in a tavern. I was searching for our¡­ guy,¡± Jie continued, hiccuping. ¡°Then, blam, found these wonderful gents! He is getting married! Can you believe it?! MARRIED! Life long bliss. Oh! He is treating everyone to some good spirits!¡±


    Jiehong spoke. Zan felt jealous. Then upset.


    ¡°Okay. Don¡¯t overdue it, bud. Talk to you later, okay? Bye!¡± Zan said, quickly pressing the button to end the long-distance conversation. Zan felt disgust. He wanted to cuss Jiehong out for getting distracted. For now, even looking¡­ but he let his frustration go. He would have at least another day, then, before Jiehong came back. He would be sick in the morning. Then he would know well enough not to come back empty-handed, so he will search and try to make up for his partying. I have time.


    Zan waited a few minutes before leaving. He wanted to see if Jiehong would call him back. After ten minutes, though, Zan dismissed his fancies. He isn¡¯t going to call, he knew. Passing through the command center, Zan asked the Wardens, ¡°Am I free to use the Backroads room as I see fit? I am the leader, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Zan. You are free to use the Backroads entrance as much or as little as you would like. You are in command. I am merely a tool to help guide you. Once we grant you access to a tool, that resource cannot be revoked. My programming dictates no other course. Why do you ask?¡± the Screen Master said.


    Zan explained, ¡°I want to explore the Backroads. Truthfully, I would like to locate the boy I met the last time I was there, you know? If that path is there, again. Which is probably won¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°I understand. Tactically, I would advise against attempting to locate a Backroads path which should not have been there to begin with, but I also understand how the presence of one and its mysteries are alluring to uncover. Especially to someone so young, someone like you. An additional advisement: if you encounter danger while exploring where the path lets out, we cannot help you. Ask yourself, Zan: is the benefit to exploring this place worth risking your life?¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°It is not. I know that already. I have to try, Screen Master. I feel¡­ like it is the only way for me to move forward. I know that sounds weird. But I need someone to talk to, someone my age, and who isn¡¯t a fake person, like you and Sigma-Prime. Sorry, but it is the truth,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°We understand, Zan. It is normal for Life Forms like yourself to experience these changes as your bodies come into hormonal maturation. Our creators have programmed us with this information,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°Good to know,¡± Zan said, slightly awkward, feeling like he was back, years ago, when Jiehong¡¯s parents sat him and Jie down to have ¡®the talk.¡¯ The talk being the thing which parents gave every child in their lives about how weird their changing body would be and how they should never hesitate to ask for advice about a body issue.


    Then Zan ran off, feeling younger than he was; which was strange, considering the Wardens had literally just finished explaining how he, Zan, was the master of the command center castle. Not they, the ¡®adults,¡¯ but he, the child.


    Brushing off as best he could the weird, but biologically accurate, conversation, Zan entered the White Chamber.


    ¡°Simulacrum? Begin filling the chamber with energy, please,¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Understood. Initiating procedure,¡± replied the Screen Master.


    Gradually, the chamber filled, a whining noise following it, not too dissimilar to that of a puppy begging for food.


    Flashing, the chamber finished its task, and propelled Zan into the Backroads.


    Once more in the surreal, stretched out place of the Backroads, where mist and fog seemed too well in supply, Zan searched for his unusual path.


    As ever, temporal flow inside the Backroads ill-matched reality. Zan counted to a number, forgot how far he had counted, then had to restart. Even when he protected his memory from the leeching grasps of this place, he knew the elapsed time was longer ¡ª or shorter? ¡ª than it literally felt to him. What all this meant was, Zan couldn¡¯t figure out how long he searched the Backroads before all sense of time vanished.

 Chapter 61

    Thinking it had been too long since when he had entered, Zan turned back the way he came. The light indicating the command center was close, thus he had wandered in circles. Maybe¡­ Zan honestly did not know. The Backroads had a habit of twisting upon themselves, like a pretzel. Who knew how far he had come? For all he knew, he had stumbled upon a path straight to the command center, but only after he had gotten himself lost.


    Regardless, Zan walked to the center¡¯s light.


    On his way back, was when, suddenly, a path born itself into existence.


    Using the main path as its host, this new path burst out from the main road like a parasite bursting out from its host¡¯s chest.


    Seeing where the path ended, Zan saw a light of flame boasting both light and darkness. It was exactly the same as he last saw ¡ª it was the same fiery light as he had jumped into when he first encountered the ornate room.


    Diverting his attention, Zan walked onto the new path, and sprinted toward the multi-color light.


    Deciding against throwing himself into the flame, like last time, Zan instead gently stepped through the light.


    Emerging from the flame and into the new space, Zan hoped well he was back in the bedroom of that young gentleman he encountered previously. Knowing his luck, he would wander into the chamber of the head executioner.


    Allowing himself to adjust to the new space, Zan saw his vision unite, clear away the wobbly sight, and become real.


    He was back in the bedroom. The ornate room.


    He was standing right on the bed.


    And ¡ª there was a form under the covers, a bulge from beneath the blanket.


    Realizing he had teleported in while the young man was asleep, Zan jumped off the large bed, but forgot about the curtains which surrounded the bed. Becoming tangled as he fell, Zan yelped loudly as his covered form hit the floor. Untangling himself as best he could when it was both dark and he was still processing everything, Zan heard a sound from the bed. ¡°What¡¯s going on?!¡± the voice said.


    Finally freeing himself from the entangled curtain, Zan scurried from underneath the collapsed bedspread. Having enough time to adjust himself to the partial darkness ¡ª light from a dying fireplace simmering ¡ª Zan kneeled his way into the closest space he saw; which, somehow, with some ill-luck, had been the closet.


    Once he was within the closet, Zan heard the sleeping figure now fully awake and moving about outside the bed. He heard, ¡°Who is there?¡± The voice was not loud, though. With his raging heart, Zan thanked the gods for his safe scurrying. And for even the boy not screaming and alerting every guard in the castle. Instead, the youth, using a strange handheld device, set fire to a torch on the far wall.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Facing the brunt of his room, with everything before him and no surprise capable of sneaking up on him, the boy announced, firmly, but softly, ¡°Whoever is there, come out. Come out now or I will¡­ do something.¡±


    Zan¡¯s heart only beat faster.


    And faster.


    Am I going to have a heart attack?! Zan wondered. His mind raced.


    Gasping for air, Zan could hardly breathe. Wild images of being found and executed, of being labeled a stalker and worse, echoed through his mind. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Because he was desperate? Lonely? What had gotten into him lately?


    Crying out, but not with words, Zan made pained noises from his hiding spot as he tried ¡ª and failed ¡ª to calm himself. His head throbbed, he sweated. Calm down, calm down, he willed, but to no avail.


    By now, the person in the room again called out: ¡°I¡¯m serious. Whoever is here, show yourself now.¡±


    Although he felt like he would explode, Zan slowly, with shaking arms, complied.


    Reaching for the door, he gently began to open the closet door.


    Stopping, he realized he couldn¡¯t! Not yet, it was too much.


    ¡°Okay! That¡¯s progress!¡± the voice from the guy in the room said. ¡°Just so I know, are you that same guy from a few days ago or a new fellow? I need to know¡­ for reasons.¡± Seeing his chance to protect his intentions, Zan grunted, ¡°The same!¡± hoping his peer would understand and see him as non-threatening, which he was!, but considering their circumstance, would be impossible to prove.


    ¡°Oh, sweet! So, are you a boy or a girl?¡± the guy asked.


    Zan took in a deep breath. He exhaled slowly. Just as Jiehong taught me, he reminded himself.


    ¡°Are you okay? You sound like you¡¯re in pain?¡± the voice asked.


    Slowly, so slowly, Zan regained himself. Like storm clouds parting after delivering their terrible ruckus, Zan¡¯s sudden anxiety attack faded into the background, leaving its marks on his shaking form. He continued his breathing exercises and focused all his will into breaking the bad thoughts in his mind; the thoughts forewarning him of societal excommunicated for his brash attempt to make a friend.


    Barely aware he said anything, Zan yelped a curt word: ¡°Boy! Guy!¡± He said suddenly, trying to let the other voice know they were of the same age. Young adults. Teenagers, whatever people wanted to call them, as youth aspiring toward adulthood.


    Zan watched through the blinds as the formerly sleeping figure slowly slid down to his haunches. Was he waiting for him? Zan wasn¡¯t sure, but the other guy said nothing. Continuing to get himself together, Zan willed rationality into his thoughts. The boy had not ratted him out. Not yet. Refusing to even consider the idea that the boy was conning him into revealing himself so he could shout loudly for the guards, such as clearly not what the boy wanted, Zan compelled himself back to reality.


    ¡°You doing better?¡± the voice asked. ¡°I don¡¯t hear that nasty, heavy breathing.¡±


    He sounded like a caring guy. Zan blessed his lucky stars. Not only was he thankful for the lad not rushing him into a dungeon cell, he was thankful for his new potential, friend and his empathetic personality.


    Eventually, Zan managed to speak another word, this time without the heavy weight of the universe under his tongue. He said, ¡°Better. Almost.¡±


    Through the blinds, Zan saw as the boy smiled. He whispered to the room, and to Zan, ¡°Good!¡± What a sweet bloke.


    Rising to his feet, Zan saw the other boy rise with him.


    Zan placed his hand on the door and pulled it open.

 Chapter 62

    No more degrees of separation. No more closet doors hiding them. No more fear.


    When Zan opened the door and revealed himself to the other guy, he felt like a bird without its wings. He continued to breathe in slowly, exhale slowly. What would happen?


    Zan now had a good look at the other guy. For the first time, they saw each other without pretense, without the dark or themselves obscuring their truth, their image. Zan wondered what would happen.


    Wanting to take the power into his proverbial hands, Zan stepped out of the closet. He side-eyed the bed to make sure the exit portal remained. It did.


    The other guy stepped toward Zan but only one step. He said, ¡°You look cool.¡±


    The guy¡¯s words took Zan aback. He, the lowly orphan boy, was cool? How so?


    Zan knew enough from watching Jiehong, though, about how to act when people thought you were cool, to not squander one¡¯s coolness. He didn¡¯t ask why another perceived him as cool. He simply went with the flow.


    ¡°Thanks. I don¡¯t try,¡± Zan said, trying to be cooly irrelevant.


    ¡°What¡¯s that stuff you¡¯re wearing? Is it war stuff?¡± the guy asked.


    ¡°Uhhh¡­ yeah. It is. Not because I was planning on using it, though. It¡¯s only a backup in case someone puts my life on notice,¡± Zan said, remembering the truth is the best policy.


    The guy laughed. ¡°¡®Puts my life on notice,¡¯¡± the guy repeated. ¡°Like your life is a landlord¡¯s tenant and the bad guy is the landlord.¡± The youth laughed, clearly amused by Zan¡¯s words, though Zan not understanding yet what was so funny by the way he talked.


    Zan had not noticed as they talked how the other youth had slowly taken a number more steps toward him. Not until Zan had to take a couple of side-steps to the guy¡¯s bed to get some personal space. Seeing him take those steps, the other boy took a step back himself.


    ¡°So, who are you fighting?¡± the boy asked, standing still but focused wholly on Zan.


    ¡°I¡¯m fighting the New Woodland Expanse. Who else?¡± Zan stated, unsure about the boy¡¯s confusion regarding who he was fighting. There was only one evil in the world, after all. So who else would he raise his sword against?


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Zan¡¯s peer look seemed strange to him. Like loyalty and reality tore him in different directions.


    Despite his odd look, which Zan couldn¡¯t parse, the other boy continued to talk. ¡°You sure you¡¯re not here to hurt me?¡±


    ¡°No! I¡¯m not! Really!¡± Zan said, practically yelling.


    ¡°Oh, good. Load off my back¡­¡±


    It was Zan¡¯s turn to be confused. It felt like something had happened without him being informed of it. Was the boy hiding something? Why would he think Zan wanted to hurt him? Was he really such an assassin?


    Look at yourself, Zan, Zan chided himself. Sneaking into some castle at night while armed to the teeth. Who wouldn¡¯t think you were a killer? Especially the kid whose sleep you interrupted?


    Thinking of something, suddenly Zan said, ¡°Here, take one of these. It¡¯s called a smoke grenade. You pull the pin and a ton of smoke comes out. It gives you time to flee from enemies. Or charge them!¡±


    The boy accepted the gift. He turned the grenade over in his hands several times. Smiling. ¡°This is so cool! Thanks! I will always keep it on me!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I have a bunch. Plus, I can get more any time. So, keep it. Use it when you think you¡¯re in danger and it could save your life,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°So¡­ do you want to sit down and talk?¡± the other guy asked.


    Zan looked around at the room. It was so fancy. So nice.


    Remembering Jiehong¡¯s parents and how they would have tea and coffee on their cozy backdoor nook, and how he always wanted to join them, but never could, the idea of maybe having a drink here pleased Zan.


    Unfortunately, Zan¡¯s nerves were getting the better of him.


    He continued to eye the exit portal.


    ¡°I might need to leave¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. What¡¯s your name? When will I see you again?¡± the other asked.


    ¡°My name? It¡¯s Zan,¡± he said, feeling giddy inside someone wanted to know him.


    ¡°Sweet. Nice to meet you, Zan. My name is Luxley!¡± the other said.


    Zan had never heard a name like ¡®Luxley¡¯ before. But he liked it.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Luxley¡­ I gotta go, but when I come back, I might have a way for us to stay in contact. Until then!¡± and Zan leaped into the exit portal, suddenly needing to leave.


    Back in the Backroads, Zan steadied himself, then shot his fist into the air.


    ¡°Duck yeah!¡± he shouted, happier than ever.


    It got off to a thorny start, Zan said while walking back to the command center¡¯s light, mulling over the events. It ended well, though. Next time will be smoother. I can¡¯t wait! I need to ask the Wardens about that thing right away!


    Emerging back into the White Chamber, Zan decompressed, then left.


    He entered the war room.


    Before he could ask either Warden about his request, however, they blindsided him.


    ¡°Zan! Welcome back! We have exciting news. As you were on your solo mission, we tracked the energy signature emitted by the new pathway inside the Backroads. We do not know how the path can form, de-form, and re-form, but this will be a topic of future enquiry. What we discovered today was where the output for the passage is in the real world,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°Oh, so like, where I am when I leave the Backroads?¡± Zan asked for clarity.


    Zan¡¯s interest piqued heavily. He had an idea about who this ¡®Luxley¡¯ boy was ¡ª clearly coming from means or even a royal family ¡ª so Zan also wondered if knowing the actual place where he lived would help him any. He wanted to know, regardless.


    ¡°Correct,¡± Simulacrum said. ¡°The pathway you have taken twice now leads into the New Woodland Expanse.¡±

 Chapter 63 (Advancement: The Horn)

    ¡°It lets out inside the Woodland Expanse? How?¡± Zan asked, befuddled.


    ¡°We do not know how,¡± the Screen Master replied. ¡°In time, we will. I know Sigma-Prime and I told you previously to stay away from this pathway, especially regarding its danger. Now, I am revoking my previous statement. Although this pathway presents danger, it might yet hold a tactical advantage for us if we can properly utilize it.¡±


    It threw Zan for a loop how quickly the Wardens changed their tune regarding the pathway. Not that Zan was complaining, of course. Their new take on the matter suited him well, actually, and made his next question much easier.


    ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Zan said, ¡°I need another earpiece.¡±


    ¡°Query: why do you need another earpiece?¡± Simulacrum asked.


    ¡°I¡­ found a contact where the path lets out. I want to give him one so we can stay in contact,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Only Ranger-Knights can use your earpieces. Sorry, Zan, but your contact cannot use Shiv technology. There is, however, an alternative. Sigma-Prime, if any survived, can you grab for Zan a Honeycomb Horn?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely, Screen Master! Just one second¡­¡± Sigma-Prime replied as she waddled off to fetch something Zan had never heard of before.


    Returning, Sigma brought for Zan a horn.


    A simple, festive horn. Zan thought he knew how it worked: you blew into it. It made a big sound. That sound brought people far and wide, near. Simple.


    ¡°This is not a normal horn, Zan,¡± Sigma-Prime said, as if she knew what Zan had been thinking. ¡°This horn is made from a substance called ¡®honeycomb.¡¯ Honeycomb no longer exists. Or at least doesn¡¯t exist anymore in this part of the world. Assuming your contact can channel basic magic, they¡¯ll be able to use this horn to communicate with you despite the vast distances which divide you.¡±


    Taking hold of the ¡®honeycomb horn,¡¯ Zan felt its strange, mesh-like folds interwoven, folds overlapping. It felt wet.


    ¡°It is supposed to be so squishy?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes. The moisture you feel on the horn is normal. It means the material is healthy. Should the horn dry out, it will need to be re-moistened. This should not happen under normal circumstances, however. If the horn was to dry, do note, please, its repair might not be possible. If it is possible, its repair will not be for a long while.¡±


    Nodding along as Sigma-Prime spoke, he said, ¡°I understand. What a neat tool.¡±


    ¡°It is a very rare tool, Zan. Please treat it well. Be sure to emphasize this to your contact. Over the years, our collection of these horns has dwindled. We have one back up horn and only one. Treat our supply with reverence.¡±


    Zan nodded once more. ¡°I will bring this to my contact right away¡ª¡±


    ¡°Actually, Zan,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°You will have to wait. It takes time for the command center to concentrate power. You recently used the Backroads, so for a few hours you will need to wait.¡±


    Making a hand-gesture to show how the slippage of time evaded his grasp, Zan ate dinner. He was hungry. It was a meal the chef called a ¡®burger,¡¯ and comprised meat and thinly sliced vegetables between two buns. It was scrumptious! Zan eat the whole burger plus the potatoes cut into thin lines and cooked to a crisp.


    So happy Zan was with his meal, he left a note for Jean Paul-Paul, the chef, letting him know how yummy it has been.


    Done with his meal, but still hours away from when he could use the White Chamber again, Zan considered what he could do. A lot, but what did he want to do?


    Remembering he was supposed to be finding someone who could translate the Old Tongue, in its written form, Zan felt the realization not slam into him, but slowly careen into him. He had no luck in the outer wilds, where the war still claimed whole communities, driving them into fear and isolation. As a last ditch effort, though, he went out among the community and asked.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Unsurprisingly, no one knew a lick of spit.


    Approaching near where the Old Man who Zan had fought alongside a few days ago, when they were defending their village¡¯s retreat, he waved Zan over and said, ¡°You look sad. What is the matter?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to find a translator for a piece of Old Tongue script I found, but as you can guess, I am having a heck of a time,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Oh?¡± the man said. ¡°Let me see.¡±


    Zan showed him the list of locations he had received from Mac.


    ¡°Huh!¡± the man said. ¡°Strange indeed. If only I were slightly better in my tongues. All I can tell you about this is it is written in the Fifteenth Declension.¡±


    Zan gave the man an unknowable look. He didn¡¯t need to say, ¡®what do you mean?¡¯ when the sentiment was written all over his face.


    ¡°A declension is a kind of talking ¡ª well, a kind of writing style. Declensions denote what kind of statement is being said. If I am explaining it right. Boy, it¡¯s been a long time since my studies¡­¡± the man sort of explained.


    ¡°Can you read this?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°No. I cannot. Once upon a time I might have been able to read it, but not anymore. I apologize if I raised your hopes. The script seems consistent, if that helps, though.¡±


    ¡°I have no idea if it does or not¡­¡± Zan said, his body still on edge from the excitement boosting his spirit.


    ¡°All the same, if you find someone who can translate, let them know about the consistency. That is important in Old Tongue scripts.¡±


    Zan made another mental note. Though he doubted he would remember. He had lots on his mind these days.


    Having questioned about everyone in the camp, Zan told Sigma-Prime to set up a call out just to make sure they did not miss anyone. The call out would be a bulletin board post, an announcement. However, they did it here¡­ Zan confessed he knew little of how the camp worked when he was away. Then, when he was here, he was only resting. It worked well enough. Evidently. Everyone choose to stay day after day¡­ not there was much of a choice for them otherwise. Considering the war, fear, lack of supplies. Touching his communication piece, then removing his hand, Zan thought twice about contacting Jiehong. He would probably still be drinking with his impromptu Thundervale buddies. He wouldn¡¯t be back to normal until sometime later tomorrow, when his hangover ran its course.


    So, I have time, I have time, Zan thought of the situation.


    He waited in his room.


    He napped. Or attempted to nap.


    He exercised, basic stretching, really. Took a bath.


    A much-needed bath, he reflected. Seeing the dirt and grim wash from his body, he wondered how anyone could stand him.


    ¡®Yeash. I¡¯m sure Luxley must have thought me a slob for barging into his chambers reeking to high-heaven,¡¯ Zan mouthed.


    Killing time doing what he could, Zan discovered along the pathway to Thundervale, in a tiny side path, actually, a lodestone.


    So, he had that going for him, at least, he thought.


    Entering the war room, Zan asked the Wardens a question: ¡°So¡­ I have a question. I get how this horn is magically imbued or whatever which allows whoever¡¯s voice to carry unnaturally long distances. How, though, am I going to talk with him when I don¡¯t have a horn? Like, how am I going to hear his voice?¡±


    ¡°As a Ranger-Knight growing stronger by the day, you have a natural attunement to these instruments. Or the crystal within you does; as the crystal matures and deepens its symbiosis with you, you will find anything capable of connecting to the crystal will connect with you. When your contact speaks into the horn, you ¡ª and only you ¡ª will hear their voice as though they were sitting next to you. This is because the honeycomb horn has an attunement. Therefore, you have one too.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I get it. Thanks. I am going to go and wait in the chamber. Have you guys heard from Jiehong, yet?¡± Zan asked as he final question before he departed.


    ¡°No. Our sensors show elevated blood-alcohol levels. Hence, we have assumed him to be taking a well-deserved break from his Order obligations,¡± the Screen Master said.


    That last bit took Zan for a loop. ¡°Well deserved,¡± he asked.


    ¡°Do you not believe your friend and battle companion is doing enough for the order?¡± Sigma-Prime asked.


    ¡°No, I think he is doing stuff. Same as me. We haven¡¯t blunted the invasion, though. Even as we speak our countrymen are fighting for their lives. How can we think of taking a day off when our very country is being violated?!¡± Zan said with feeling.


    Replying, the Screen Master said, ¡°War is a long game of inches, Zan. Even the best of soldiers need rest. Sigma-Prime and I know you dislike others looking down on you for your age, but we must be clear: as a young person, the powers which be do not expect you to give yourself totally to this war. Your body can only endure so much before it will break. You are entitled to rest, Zan.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ cool. I know I need rest¡­ I just¡­ it never feels like what I am doing is enough,¡± Zan said, letting his walls down for one moment.


    ¡°We know. In time, you will come to understand the duality of your role as a Ranger-Knight. As someone who holds so much power yet must learn the wise moment to use that power for the greater good. I promise you, in time, it will become easier.¡±


    Thanking the Wardens for their kind words, Zan skipped his way back to the White Chamber. He felt so happy. With horn in hand, he entered the room.


    Back in the White Chamber, Zan heard the chamber automatically fill with magical energy. Obviously, the Screen Master had been following him and knew when he was ready.


    Readying himself for the big moment, Zan closed his eyes.


    When he opened them, he was back in the Backroads, and ready to make a friend.

 Chapter 64

    Zan re-emerged in Luxley¡¯s room to find a cleared space for him on the bed, where he typically emerged. That was nice of him, Zan thought. Though to his benefit, too. One of these times I am going to come in and wham, I¡¯m going to step on his junk. By accident, of course. Accident or not, it would be painful.


    Although Luxley cleared an area for Zan, a whole mess of blankets pushed to one side of the bed, thus, Zan¡¯s landing zone was merely an empty bed free of the comforter tangle, Zan did not see Luxley himself. He had only been away for a few hours.


    Evidently, that was enough.


    Looking around the room and not seeing the boy, Zan wondered what he should do.


    Looking at the supremely comfy looking bed, Zan considered taking a nap. He had never been privy to such a gorgeous bed. Zan felt rested merely by looking at the bed, let alone actually sleeping in it, which must be a dream in itself.


    All this idle thinking he did not do seriously.


    Zan knew he had to move, find Luxley, then extract himself from the situation.


    Sleeping in a bed ¡ª ha! Heck, of a good way to get me imprisoned. One snooping maid or butler or slave and Zan would find himself in a dungeon cell.


    Looking at the shimmering portal leading to the Backroads, Zan considered returning home. He did not, however. Not only did he not want to wait another few hours before he could return, which would mean a trip the next day, he wanted to give Luxley the honeycomb horn himself; leaving it somewhere in his room for him to find was not an option. Since Zan did not know how to write or even draw, he could not leave an instruction note, either. His only option was to wait for Luxley.


    How long would he need to wait? Did it make sense to wait all day? Through the night? Now, thinking of it, Zan was becoming sleepy. He had been up for a solid day wrestling with the Backroads, friendship, and dead languages.


    Electing to stay for at least a few hours, Zan had a look around the room.


    Fancily bound books lined a shelf; toys of an incredible design filled an ornate wooden chest; on the walls, maps of unknown intent, filtered over by circles and triangles, and other shapes besides, covered the landmasses of reality, though to show what intent, Zan did not know; and then was wardrobe. Filled with clothes. Fancy clothes! If I took one, he wouldn¡¯t notice, would he? Zan wrested with the thought of stealing.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Though his hand glazed the cozy fabrics, Zan did not take the garment. He wanted to, heaven knows he did, but he would not treat his new friend like so, and steal from him. It would be a bad start to the relationship.


    In his malaise, wandering the room, Zan had not heard the chamber door open.


    Too late, then, for him, a voice said, ¡°Young Master! Sorry I am late ¡ª a seven wagon crash leading into the castle today! You wouldn¡¯t believe the noise from so many overturned bovines! No one was badly hurt, though. So¡­ that¡¯s something.¡±


    Zan turned around right away.


    A woman dressed in a fine, though not overly luxurious dress, stood before him.


    Zan frooze.


    He had been discovered!


    What should he do?!


    What could he do?!


    His fingers moving before he even had the complete idea in mind. Zan hurried off his scabbard and grenades, tossing them to a nearby desk.


    To his front, the woman was busy momentarily grabbing items from her bag. Books and the sort. She must be a tutor, Zan thought. A tutor who thoughts I was Luxley?


    With his weapons on Luxley¡¯s study desk, Zan had seconds before the woman saw his non-Luxley face. What would she do? He was about to find out¡ª


    ¡°Oh! That is unexpected¡­ you¡¯re not Luxley,¡± she said, finishing hauling out her materials onto the storage box at the foot of Luxley¡¯s bed.


    ¡°No! Ma¡¯am. I¡¯m not. Clearly¡­ I-I¡¯m¡­¡± Zan stuttered.


    In all the time he wasted back in the command center fretting, waiting for time to pass so he could re-enter the Backroads, he never considered stealth options, or what he should do if someone found him. Heck, he didn¡¯t even take more smoke grenades.


    ¡°And what are those on the table? Are those weapons yours? Who are you?¡± the woman again asked, this time, though, eying the exit.


    ¡°I¡¯m a friend! Luxley¡¯s friend,¡± Zan stuttered out. ¡°Those weapons were already here when I arrived. I was messing with them when you came in because I was curious. That¡¯s all, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Zan saw the relief on the woman¡¯s face. She bought the lie hook, line, and sinker.


    Whether she saw the relief on his face, Zan felt a tension vanish. No dungeon. Not yet, anyway. What the next minute held was another story, however.


    ¡°Ah! Wonderful. Master Luxley has so few friends. It is nice to see him try,¡± the woman said. ¡°But where are my manners? My name is Miss Maggie Weathers. Private tutoring is my game. Master Luxley must be spending time in the chamber pot¡­ he is of that age, you know¡­¡±


    Not knowing what ¡®Miss Maggie Weathers¡¯ meant, Zan smiled. Shook his head.


    ¡°You know all about that yourself, though. You boys are all the same. Primal needs and all that. Rest assured, young master, gain a few years, and there is more to life, you¡¯ll learn, than your dingus. Okay, I need to finish setting up my books. Out!¡± Maggie said, ushering Zan into the hallway before he realized what was happening.


    With the door shut behind him, Zan for the first time saw a part of this place, this castle?, which was not merely Luxley¡¯s personal room.


    And he was terrified.

 Chapter 65

    What could he do?! Zan panicked.


    The hallway was empty, but that meant nothing. Someone could walk into the hall from a room or stairwell or, heck, even magically teleport for all he knew.


    Which was the thing which got him. Zan knew nothing about the world.


    He didn¡¯t know how this place worked; he didn¡¯t know the history of the order he pledged his life to; and he didn¡¯t know about war or politics or even life! And yet! Here he was, in the middle of a place, possibly a palace, which the Screen Master told him was within enemy territory. The Woodland Expanse for crying out loud!


    Remembering his experiences in this place, and previous blasts of anxiety, Zan walked down the hallway, knowing he had to do something instead of standing around like a tree. Holding his breathing at a steady rate, Zan attempted to calm himself into being nothing more than a fixture. Like he belonged.


    He walked down the hallway, paying careful attention to the doors and whether they opened or if sound came from behind them. Pressing his ear up against each door he passed, Zan discerned what was happening behind each door. He was not spying, an activity he would have been right to do considering the war. What Zan was doing, rather, was searching for Luxley.


    If no other reason than to get him into his room so his tutor could have her way¡­


    And for him to leap into his portal after giving him the horn.


    Calling out gently, Zan whisper-shouted, ¡°Luxley, Luxley ¡ª Luxley!¡±


    This attitude he repeated down the whole hallway, then the other end.


    Thinking he had run his luck, Zan panicked. Showing him the error of his way, though, was fate and the will of the gods. A door opened and Luxley came out, a foul smell following him. ¡°Whoa, my buddy from another mutha; what are you doing here?¡±


    Zan darted over and embraced Luxley for a bro-hug, though the bodily smell emerging from his new friend was highly off-putting. Rifling his nose, Zan had to take a step back. ¡°I came here to give you this,¡± Zan said, pulling out his honeycomb horn.


    Explaining how the horn worked, Zan cautioned against getting the item ¡®too dry,¡¯ not that the Screen Masters had told him what such dryness exactly entailed.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°So, I can talk to you anytime I want?¡± Luxley asked, wide-eyed, wonderful.


    ¡°I think so. Within reason,¡± Zan said, thinking of the Backroads and how Luxley wouldn¡¯t, in all probability, be able to talk to him then.


    ¡°So cool¡­¡± Luxley said, wide-eyed still.


    ¡°Your tutor is here. I met her,¡± Zan said, not knowing what he should say.


    ¡°Oh, crap. Sorry¡­ probably scared the crap out of you, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, a little, mate. I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m here, risking myself like this. It¡¯s all weird and confusing.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to life, buddy. It¡¯s weird and confusing for everyone our age. In fact, it was so weird for me, I had to have a good old ¡®meditation sit¡¯ where I really ¡®spanked¡¯ my ignorance, if you catch my drift¡­¡±


    ¡°No. Sorry,¡± Zan stated.


    ¡°Ah! I will have to enlighten you. Later, though, Mister I-Don¡¯t-Know-Pleasure-Slang. I will get my lesson done. I¡¯m sure you want to head home, huh? You¡¯ll have to wait until after my lesson, I¡¯m afraid. I always have my lessons in my room. I don¡¯t imagine you want to jump through that portal of yours with her watching,¡± Luxley laughed.


    Zan shook his head. On the way back to Luxley¡¯s room, though, he suddenly asked, ¡°Wait. Is there another place to study?¡±


    ¡°I guess we could go to the library¡­ yeah. The library. Don¡¯t know why I didn¡¯t think of it sooner. I¡¯ll do that and you can slip away.¡±


    Entering his room, Luxley had a brief exchange with the tutor. Some back and forth later and with a disgruntled nigh-like sound, the tutor packed up her many books and notebooks, and they headed to the library.


    On the way out ¡ª the tutor not even noticing Zan, for she was so flustered ¡ª Luxley motioned for Zan to slip inside his room. As swift as a cat chasing a mouse, Zan did exactly that and rushed inside. Alone at last, the voices of the tutor and youth growing fainter the further away they got, Zan raised himself onto the bed and slip through the portal into the Backroads.


    Zan took his time in retracing his steps through the Backroads.


    Safe from the prying spies of the castle, or wherever Luxley lived, content to be by himself, Zan took his time in wandering back to the command center.


    Once back, Zan knew the war campaign would resume. Jiehong would return from his venture, and if nothing else, their participation in the war would transition from war-fighting to tactical elements regarding the Old Tongue. They had to find a translator. Everything else was secondary; no individual battle against the invading automotrons would be so important as re-building the defensive network Mac told them about.


    It was not as if Zan now disliked Jiehong.


    Whatever their recent tensions, they would overcome them. In time.


    It was more Zan did not want to handle his friend¡¯s constant snarky words. His sharp tongue, his penchant for drama¡­


    Then the war, of course. Always the war.


    As surreal as the Backroads were, they were peaceful. Strange happenings with unexpected pathways aside.


    Remembering the Screen Master¡¯s words, Zan did not linger. He would like to stay and plot his life, but he couldn¡¯t, for if the Wardens were being true, and there was no reason for them to be untrue, bad things had the potential to happen if he lingered too long here.


    Zan stepped through the light. Any whispers he heard at the back of his mind vanished, and he was back in the White Chamber.

 Chapter 66

    Zan did not make small talk with the Wardens when he returned.


    He explained to them what happened, how he navigated the tutor, then gave the boy, Luxley, the horn.


    ¡°Well done, Zan. While acting as a double-agent in enemy territory, it is important to cover your tracks. Before the next time you visit this contact, however, we would recommend building an alternative identity to blend into the local environment,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    Zan told the Wardens he would think of the new identity later. Before he went to bed, he asked for an update on Jiehong. ¡°His vitals are fine. He appears to be asleep. Likely in a room at the tavern. Of course, however, we do not know for sure.¡±


    Knowing it was fine, and Jiehong was sleeping off his excess, Zan went to bed himself. Dreamless sleep later, a breakfast devoured in full, Zan returned to the war room refreshed.


    Walking up the stairs to said war room, Zan heard a voice at his ear: ¡°Testing. Testing. Can you hear me?¡±


    Zan froze until he could place the sound. Realizing it was Luxley, his nerves untangled. He stuttered for a moment, not understanding how he should reply.


    Going for broke, Zan whispered, ¡°I can hear you. Can you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I can¡­ this is so cool!¡±


    Taking a moment to think through how he would talk with so many people at once, Zan told Luxley, ¡°Listen. Talk to me. Anytime, any day. I might not always be able to respond, but I will when I can, and I will never ignore you. That¡¯s not me. I have responsibilities, though. I just wanted you to know my boundaries.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, dude. No worries. People have said I talk a lot, though, so I might end up talking your ear off and whatnot. Be prepared for a lot of dishing about my daily life and who I find cute and my studies and¡­¡± Luxley went on.


    ¡®What have I unleashed?¡¯ Zan thought to himself comedically. Yet he smiled.


    ¡°Actually!¡± Luxley said, ¡°I need to go! Extra study session. Talk later!¡±


    Resuming his march to the war room, Zan leaned against the wall as he made his talk with the Wardens. ¡°Heya. Anything while I was asleep?¡±


    ¡°The situation remains the same,¡± Sigma-Prime spoke as she hurried herself with tasks Zan couldn¡¯t comprehend.


    The Screen Master said, ¡°My sensors show Jiehong remains asleep. He will probably be gone for the day.¡±


    ¡°I figured,¡± Zan replied. ¡°So why don¡¯t we seize the initiative?¡±


    ¡°Affirmative: what did you have in mind?¡±


    ¡°I was thinking a lot about our situation. Between, you know, all the back and forth with my contact in the Expanse. I think we should try to cross the pass and link up with some royal army guys,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Crossing the pass is unlikely, given the war situation. However, I agree with you, Zan. Locating an expert cannot be left to chance. We need to be direct in our role. This means locating an expert ourselves through the liberation of new territories.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Where you would recommend, we focus?¡± Zan asked.


    Before him, Zan saw the ¡®war table,¡¯ as he called the holographic display of the surrounding area, change. All the ¡®pixels¡¯ shifted and displayed the local terrain at the mid-level bird¡¯s-eye view. Highlighted as a faint golden aura was a space further south.


    ¡°Here,¡± the Screen Master said, referring to the aura. ¡°The enemy has not yet penetrated. For reasons unknown, the enemy is concentrating their efforts through the country¡¯s east. Sigma-Prime and I have monitored the situation around the clock, using both our Center¡¯s capabilities, which are restored more every day, and the flow of the Slipsteam. We¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa. Slipstream?¡± Zan interrupted.


    ¡°Correct. Order technology connects to the magical residue of the gods in ways no other technology is capable. Tapping into the flow of this energy as it travels the plane of reality allows us to map the local region than we would otherwise be able to by only using the lodestones. Although this process is uneven, the magical residue during the last few days has been heavy, and in high enough concentrations to allow even our damaged sensors to pick it up. This allows us to reverse the flow and send echoes to translocate and map areas beyond the center¡¯s domain.¡±


    Zan had to have the Screen Master go over the explanation a few more times. Though he said he understood, he really didn¡¯t, and wanted to move on with the strategy meeting.


    ¡°Alright. So, mapping technicalities aside, the enemy ¡ª you¡¯ve observed ¡ª is focusing their manpower to our west. My guess why would be because that is where the national capital is, so they want that most of all. Clearly. So we have time to build our defenses¡­ so as long as the capital holds and the invaders don¡¯t launch a surprise assault,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Our assessment, exactly. This could change, but with the capital holding firm and the enemy remaining focused on the capital, Sigma-Prime and myself believe we have tactical space. With movement further south now free, unexpected as it would appear, we should take advantage. Gaining allies south while searching for a translation expert should not be the priority,¡± Simulacrum said.


    Once again, Zan agreed with everything the Wardens said. Their logic remained sound. With no counter-strategy of his own, Zan saw no reason against leaving their large, but empty, strategically unimportant, backwater region.


    ¡°Sounds good, you guys, sounds good. Where should be our first visit? Where do you think will be the rallying point for local forces?¡± Zan asked, and as he did so, thought a little dumb. He was the one who lived his whole life in this part of the world. I was a village kid¡­ not like I knew anything about the world beyond the tri-village area¡­


    ¡°Here, or there,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°We haven¡¯t been able to identify large-scale troop movements. However, if your countrymen are moving during nighttime, our sensors could not pick them up even with the Slipstream re-boundary and echo-location in play. Either cities, however, should lend you an ear to the right direction.¡±


    Taking mental notes of everything, Zan became overwhelmed and said, ¡°This is all getting too much to keep track of¡­ do you guys have a map?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We will provide navigational help. We will also provide a map for you at a later date once we restore our manufactory capabilities,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°Cool¡­ I guess we will be fine,¡± Zan said, worried about getting lost out there in the big and wide world.


    ¡°You will be fine, Zan. Anytime you need help, ping the command center and we will provide aid if possible. You must learn to rely on us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You¡¯re right. It¡¯s been a weird few days. For so long, I¡¯ve been a follower. Now I¡¯m a leader¡­ the war, Luxley¡­ gods, its all so much,¡± Zan said, mostly to himself.


    ¡°We understand. But in time, you will learn, Zan, that having teammates you can rely on is the ultimate power.¡±


    Nodding along to everything the Wardens told, Zan asked about the preparations they should bring. To which, the Wardens said, ¡°Rest well. Then report to the war room with Jiehong. Make sure he is recovered from his night out.¡±


    Zan spent the rest of the day in repose.


    He pretended to read whatever was lying around, talked in pieces with the villagers, only to seem polite and take an interest in their lives under pressure, but he mostly meditated on the carnage. Even if the violence, so far, mostly directed itself to the enemy.


    As the sun set, Zan wondered where Luxley had gone off to. An extra lesson? That should have been done hours ago, Zan thought.


    Interrupting his musings regarding his new friend, the old friend returned.


    ¡°Jiehong. Feeling better?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Much. Ugh, I am going to need some good sleep. Any luck finding the translator?¡±


    ¡°Nah., I haven¡¯t given up hope, though. We have a new direction. We go south and we liberate!¡±

 Chapter 67

    The evening was pleasant and uneventful.


    Stepping through his door at the crack of dawn, Zan met Jiehong, who was leaving his room at the same time.


    ¡°On the same wavelength, then. Good!¡± Zan said. Jiehong nodded.


    The two prepared for what they knew was going to be a long day. So, they bathed, eat heartily, and dressed in their best; which, obviously, was their fairy silk war-garb. In the war room before they left, the four of them, Zan, Jiehong, Sigma-Prime, and Simulacrum, reviewed the details once more.


    ¡°Is there anything anyone needs to add before we leave?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong made a reply. ¡°I do like this idea. Going south, linking up with allies. Sounds good. But when do we call it quits? Maybe there isn¡¯t an expert in the sub-region. If so, how do we know when to call off the search, so we don¡¯t over-extend ourselves?¡±


    ¡°Can we call off the search?¡± Zan asked rhetorically.


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t we? We shouldn¡¯t spend our whole effort looking for an academic if none is nearby. We should have a line and if something crosses it, we change tactics.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t exactly just call it off, though, Jie. Normally, I would agree with you. Translating this list could change the war!¡±


    ¡°Could it? We know only a handful of details about this ¡®system,¡¯ Zan. And that was from an entity who is mysterious at best. All I am saying is a backup plan is in order.¡±


    ¡°If I might interject,¡± the Screen Master said. ¡°Jiehong, you are correct. You and Zan should have a back-up plan. Yet Zan¡¯s insistence on maintaining the quest is also correct. Focus your efforts on finding an academic with the prerequisite language skills. If you cannot find them, expand the radius of your search. Do this by looking at your countrymen¡¯s war effort. Fight alongside them to reach new and more populous towns. When you arrive at those new towns, renew your search. Rinse and repeat until you find an academic capable of helping you.¡±


    Zan held no objection to the Screen Master¡¯s plan. It was solid. Though Zan still had one final issue, he wanted to air: ¡°How will we know when to stop our search? Let¡¯s say Jiehong and I search all over this part of the country. We find no academic, then what?¡±


    ¡°That will be up to you. A good Shiv-practitioner knows when to change tactics. Remaining focused on a difficult aim while having the flexibility to bend when the situation deteriorates is the hallmark of a leader. You are thinking too far ahead for the time being, Zan. I recommend advancing on your goal.¡±


    ¡°I understand. We will be on the lookout. Hopefully, both of us will have the grace needed to know when to ¡®bend.¡¯ Where is our first destination? Jie, do you have an issue with us heading to Feathervale?¡±


    The map showed in its highlighted golden aura the town of Feathervale.


    ¡°No, I have no objections. A two day¡¯s journey by foot, though. Not an odyssey, perhaps, but still a trek for us. We will remember to stay on the lookout for lodestones.¡±


    Zan had nearly forgotten about lodestones. More lodestones meant more quick traversal of the environment. He had to find more. They had to find more.


    ¡°Okay. Good. Let¡¯s get ready.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    With nothing more to say, the duo switched the table into rest mode.


    Filling up on grenades, then checking to make sure their blades did not need sharpening ¡ª they never did ¡ª Jiehong and Zan put on a pair of nice hiking boots, which the Screen Master claimed would never wear even a slight for at least a century and headed out.


    Passing through the encampment, everyone seemed to know they were heading to war. How? Zan did not know. Touching their hands as they walked by, people young and old granted them well-wishes of fortune. Zan hoped such intangible things would aid them, though he did not put too much hope on it.


    Leaving the camp and heading south along the main highway, Zan and Jiehong encountered not a single soul.


    Or automotron.


    ¡°This is so weird,¡± Zan said after a couple of hours marching in silence.


    ¡°I agree. Where is the war? I know the Screen Master said the enemy hadn¡¯t yet penetrated into this region, yet, but I sort of expected to see the odd scout or raiding party or something,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Me too¡­ I guess we can¡¯t complain, right? Not having to fight.¡±


    ¡°Sure. Very true¡­¡±


    Continuing to walk in silence, the two had spent the day doing nothing but walking. In his ear, Luxley said nothing. He did not sense the other boy¡¯s verbal presence, which made him concerned. He would have gone to visit him again before he left, but he had not thought of it; Luxley had his horn, after all, so it was up to him to use it. Zan only wondered because of the silence. It was boring in the extreme walking non-stop, knowing you still had a full day¡¯s marching to go. Hearing Luxley¡¯s chatter would have been a welcome diversion.


    Though they saw no foes on the road, Zan still held a touch of anxiety over encountering enemies. Namely, what would they do if a swarm arrived? Zan thought if more enemies appeared than they could handle, they would have no choice but to dash into the bushes. Unless they wanted to exhaust themselves fighting before they even reached the city. With the night¡¯s arrival, Zan¡¯s tiny worry melted. Golems couldn¡¯t operate in the evening, or not well, anyway, as they learned when they raided the prison camp.


    ¡°How much longer do you think we should keep going?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°A bit more. You know we have the advantage at night. Be a shame to waste it¡­ I wouldn¡¯t mind turning in, though. I¡¯m not fully recovered from my excess evening. A full night¡¯s sleep would be amazing. I won¡¯t lie,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I agree. On both counts. Let¡¯s keep going till midnight. Then we can stop.¡±


    Marching along in the darkness, Zan wondered why his life had to turn out this way¡­ war, Ranger-Knighting, his best friend and he at odds more times than not, the strange boy Luxley¡­ he would have preferred to live in peace in his village. Not this.


    Midnight came and went. With it being their agreed upon bedtime, Zan sought a location suitable to camping. It needed to be secluded, away from the road, dry, and had enough space for both him and his large buddy.


    Yet none came to mind.


    Zan searched for any camp site but found none. As the night became longer, and they became more tired, more and more ready to collapse, they found areas only less suitable for camping.


    With the situation becoming bleak, Zan asked, ¡°Do we dare rest in the middle of the road? I think at this point it is the only thing we can do.¡±


    Jiehong did not like the idea and said, ¡°No. We¡¯ll catch our death if we camp in the road. We¡¯ll just have to keep walking and hope we find something.¡±


    ¡°I understand but¡­ we haven¡¯t encountered any person of thing or animal since we left the command center. I think our luck will hold for another few hours. We need to rest.¡± Jiehong considered Zan¡¯s desperate option. ¡°I am so, so tired¡­¡±


    Sitting on his haunches, Jiehong looked ready to collapse into the dirt. Zan took this as a good sign they would sleep for the night.


    ¡°No, we need to keep moving,¡± Jiehong said, reversing course.


    ¡°Are you sure? I remember you saying you weren¡¯t fully recovered¡­¡±


    ¡°I want to sleep, yeah. Badly. Like you. We can¡¯t risk it, though. And besides, a couple of hours of ¡®on the road sleep¡¯ is only going to make us cranky and in an ill-attitude when we wake up. We need proper beds. Or at least a proper camp.¡±


    Although Zan wanted nothing more than to rest, he agreed with his friend.


    Together, they continued on their path and would continue deep into the morning.


    It was sunrise an hour later.


    Rain fell from the sky.


    And in the distance, from some untaken road to their back, a mighty stream of horses galloped toward them.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong squinted. When squinting did nothing to reveal information, he took out his spy lens to magnify the resolution. ¡°I don¡¯t know who they are, buddy. But I don¡¯t recognize the flag.¡±

 Chapter 68

    ¡°Let¡¯s move off the road ¡ª actually, let¡¯s hop on down into the ditch!¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Agreed! We don¡¯t know who these people are, and we really should not wait around expecting them to be friendly,¡± Jiehong said.


    Doing so, Zan and Jiehong saw a steady steam of horse-bound warriors gallop through the road they had just been on. Able to see more of their banners up close, Zan still did not recognize any of them. Not like he would, he reminded himself. He knew nothing of anything in the grand and wide world.


    Minutes passed, and Zan and Jiehong remained in the ditch.


    Any time now, Zan thought with increasing bitterness, his neck tiring from being careened upward.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Jiehong muttered, seeing the last of the riders pass.


    Climbing back onto the road, Zan asked, ¡°What was all that about?¡±


    ¡°I dunno¡­ but if we follow them, we should be able to find out.¡±


    Zan shook his head. With sleep off the table and no other course of action clear, there wasn¡¯t any reason to not follow the riders, though Zan told himself he would exercise caution.


    The two followed the riders further and further¡­ until they couldn¡¯t follow anymore. Long out of sight, the riders only left the imprint of horses. Zan continued to follow whilst the morning sun rose.


    ¡°I¡¯m so tired¡­¡± Jiehong said, not trying to hide anything anymore.


    ¡°You¡¯re in luck. There is a village over there,¡± Zan pointed out.


    And so there was a village. A tiny one of only a few huts, likely an outlying tributary to a larger village network. Zan perked at the thought. People! And where there were people, there were beds! Or at least a safe space to sleep.


    Passing through the village, both following the trail to Feathervale, and, as a bonus, the mysterious trail left by the riders, Zan and Jiehong stopped while they passed through the village. They had to show the locals they meant no harm.


    ¡°Greetings!¡± Jiehong said, going into diplomat mode.


    Jiehong introduced them and the locals¡­ did not seem to care.


    Zan saw little change in their expressions as Jiehong¡¯s overly elaborate introduction fell on uncaring ears.


    Asking where they could sleep, an elderly villagers waved them, vaguely, into the direction of a hut.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Entering the hut, they found it empty of all belongings.


    It was a guest hut.


    Empty with only two sleeping mats of crude make resting on the floor, this hut, Zan noted, did not differ from the guest hut in his own village, before its destruction.


    ¡°Should one of us stand watch as the other sleeps?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°If you want to take the first watch, go ahead. I am too tired to care. These are our people, Jiehong. I really don¡¯t think they are going to rob us,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Maybe not, but what if¡­¡± not finishing his sentence, Jiehong waved himself off. ¡°Nevermind,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s just go to bed.¡±


    Zan and Jiehong slept without issue, and they slept well. Deep, they rose with a few clicks in their bones and pains in the skin. Sleeping on the hard ground, only a thin cotton layer as a ¡®mattress,¡¯ was not ideal.


    With their minds rested, and nothing from their personage stolen, the pair left the tent in the same condition as the village presented it to them. Their accommodations might have been plain, but such was no excuse for rudeness.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Zan said, his morning energy making him more sociable than usual.


    A villager stopped what they were doing, though they were reluctant to meet either Zan or Jiehong¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°We are leaving. Before we left, we had a question. Do you know who those people on the horses were? The ones who passed through the other day, who left the hoof prints?¡±


    The villager did not stop to make small talk. Though he answered. ¡°Rebels,¡± it was all he said.


    Thanking the man, Zan and Jiehong went on their way.


    Not wanting to speak while still within earshot, Zan and Jiehong kept a quick pace to gossip sooner. Ten minutes of cautious travel later and Zan spoke first. ¡°More rebels, huh?¡±


    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°What does this mean?¡±


    ¡°I have no clue. You think I would know because my parents have connections and they seem to know people you wouldn¡¯t expect, but I know nothing about these rebels or what? My parents never talked about a situation like this, assuming they knew about this rebel activity. Maybe they didn¡¯t? I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Jiehong continued to muse aloud. Zan had no interest in his matter, no matter how he cut his mental chunks.


    Pinging his earpiece, Zan spoke and asked the Wardens how much further to Feathervale.


    ¡°Most of a day¡¯s travel, Zan. Continue the pace. You are making good time,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°What¡¯s the verdict?¡± Jie asked.


    ¡°Same as ever ¡ª marching and marching! If we push ourselves, we should ¡ª wait, I am getting a ping from them. Hold,¡± Zan said, pressing his earpiece¡¯s button again and hearing the pre-recorded message which played when a lodestone was near.


    ¡°A lodestone is near,¡± Zan confirmed, releasing his finger from the piece.


    ¡°Shit. Really? Let¡¯s find it, then,¡± Jiehong said.


    Spreading into the wilderness, the two boys searched their surroundings for the lodestone. It was slow work. The lodestone could be anywhere. Under some moss, under a rock, lodged in a tree, or even in the gut of some large creature, though Zan wished upon every star in the heaven he did not have to cut open any predator.


    ¡°Find anything? No. I know. Me either,¡± Zan said.


    Jiehong threw his arms up. ¡°What can we do? Continue to look?¡±


    ¡°I think we have to¡­ those stones are important, right? Without them, we are going to be walking the whole time.¡±


    Thinking over such a fate for as long as he was a Ranger-Knight, Jiehong¡¯s face soured as if he realized the bit of cocoa he eat was actually a weasel turd. ¡°Let¡¯s find that freaking stone,¡± Jiehong said.


    Splitting up again, the two resumed their search for the lodestone.


    An hour of fruitless searching elapsed with nothing to show for it.


    Finding his way to a forest clearing, Zan corrected himself. ¡®No, not nothing,¡¯ he told himself, and thanked the gods.


    Standing in the clearing, claiming a kill, carving it to eat later, stood Whiskey.

 Chapter 69

    ¡°Whiskey!¡± Zan shouted.


    She turned around sharply. A mean look spread across her face, then vanished.


    ¡°You¡¯re scaring away the animals¡­ but I have mine, so no harm, no foul,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Looks like it. Can I help?¡±


    ¡°Do you have any experience in butchery?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Some. The elders in my village taught me to hunt. I know the basics. You can guide me through what I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Whiskey looked at the carcass. Mulling for a moment but knowing she did not have the time to overthink, otherwise, nature would reclaim the carcass and it would go bad, she said, ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s be fast, eh?¡±


    Zan and Whiskey worked quickly together. With his prior knowledge under Whiskey¡¯s guidance, Zan worked as well as he could to carve up the meat. Thankfully, the animal was not gigantic. Whiskey already having prepared salt-encrusted burlap sacks for store the meat, told Zan to toss the cleaved cuts into the storage sacks. With the summer heat, they were working against the grain for time.


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°Normally, I like to carve up more, use everything, but we don¡¯t have time. Thank you for your help. I gotta get this back to my people.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem at all!¡± Zan said. ¡°Jiehong is near. Want to say ¡®hi¡¯?¡±


    Whiskey was already thumping in the opposite direction. Her way of saying, ¡®no.¡¯


    Returning to the main road without a lodestone having been located, Zan sighed. What was he to tell Jie? No stone, no woman ¡ª he clearly had a crush on ¡ª and no escape from the now encroaching shadows of the dimming sun; he and Jie slept through most of the day, he reminded himself. They would have to travel at night just to make it to Feathervale in the morning.


    ¡°Hey, find the stone?¡± Zan asked of Jie when he returned to the main road as well.


    ¡°Nadda. Nope,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Nope. That¡¯s not important, though. You¡¯ll never believe it. I met Whiskey out in the woods. She was hunting an animal. I helped her carve it up.¡±


    Expecting excitement, Zan instead saw Jiehong scoff. ¡°You did not!¡±


    ¡°Did so!¡± Zan repeated.


    ¡°What on this mighty mean planet would Whiskey be doing in the middle of bum-frick south?¡± Jiehong asked, laughing.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°Hunting. She claimed a kill. She must be traveling with some fighters. I dunno.¡±


    Giving it some thought, Jiehong said, ¡°And you didn¡¯t let me know she was near?¡±


    ¡°She was in a hurry. I asked her if she wanted to meet you, but¡­ well, she didn¡¯t even reply. Again, she was in a hurry.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ hopefully we cross paths again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we will, bud. She is our fellow countrywoman. Her blade will be just as useful in the defense of our homeland.¡±


    Together, the two friends resumed their march. But only so fast. They still needed to find that lodestone.


    As a bit of a fateful coincidence, the stone issue resolved itself.


    Walking only slightly further ahead in the road than when the Wardens contacted them, they saw the lodestone plain as day.


    It was stuck in a tree¡¯s trunk.


    ¡°Wish all of them were that easy!¡± Jiehong said, laughter coming heavily from him.


    Zan could only roll his eyes at the stone. We had been searching so minutely ¡ª and it was right in front of us! A drunkard could¡¯ve found it!


    Approaching, Zan touched the stone and imbued it with energy.


    ¡°That¡¯s it for me,¡± Zan said. ¡°No more magic.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen the Slipstream. We might be awash for some time,¡± Jiehong replied, referring to difficulties they might encounter without magic.


    ¡°No matter. We have persevered before, we will continue to persevere. Though I wonder why the Slipstream is so irregular lately. Do you think it has something to do with the invasion?¡±


    ¡°Maybe? I don¡¯t know why that would have anything to do with the gods, though. I doubt the Expanse is so powerful to alter the very refuse of the gods! Seems unlikely¡­¡±


    Zan and Jiehong continued to chat about things for a bit. They did so while moving ahead, though. While on the road with nothing but the future ahead of you, it was easy to slip into idle chatter. With nothing more to do, the chit-chat became the only way to pass the time. Yet, as Zan talked more and more with Jiehong, he eventually developed a distaste for the chitter. Why? It was empty; he told himself. Jokes, stories¡­ what did it mean when there were deeper issues among them worth discussing?


    Yet what could he complain about? Jiehong seemed to throw himself into the Ranger-Knight work, taking it seriously. Maybe this was only because he spent part of his search time intoxicated, but¡­ Zan could only bemoan his friend for so long.


    ¡°I thought it would be colder at night,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Why? You¡¯ve lived your whole life here. You know how it is during the summer.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I mean, like, we¡¯ve moved away from our home some. I thought maybe the local weather might be more chilly.¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s still summer. I don¡¯t think weather works like that.¡±


    Around them, black reigned.


    But guidance of the stars gifted them illumination. The warm and humid night air filled with chirps from an assorted flurry of insects, as in the sky, the distant yet vast shape of one god or another floated lazily in the distance. Zan wished the god would emit some magic for them to use. Oh well.


    ¡°Is that Feathervale in the distance?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°I think? Let me check with the Wardens.¡±


    Zan pinged the Wardens for confirmation. With answer in hand, he told Jiehong, ¡°Yeah! That¡¯s Feathervale. I didn¡¯t think we would already be upon it.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s maintain our pace. No, sorry. Increase our pace. We don¡¯t want to spend all morning giddying about like a couple of young mares.¡±


    So, doing just that, the pair hurried themselves. Gradually coming closer to the town, Zan could not but help wonder what they would find. What was Feathervale like? Were its people friendly? What was the country like when not threatened immediately by war?


    Alas, Zan would need to wait more to find out.


    Approaching the city, Jiehong cried, ¡°Wait. Those are siege engines. And a camp. Horses? Those are the rebels who passed us earlier. What is going on here?!¡±

 Chapter 70 (Complication: Rebellion)

    What was going on? Zan did not know, but the closer they got to Feathervale, the more he thought all was not well in the kingdom.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the Expanse?¡± Zan queried, hoping it was the enemy using a new horse-oriented tactics instead of their own countrymen.


    No.


    Having approached the edge of the city at the crack of dawn, once Zan and Jiehong crossed a line, they saw nothing but rebel soldiers outside the city walls.


    Walking among the rebels, though, none harassed them.


    The city¡¯s front gate remained unbarred.


    In fact, near the edge of a modest moat, they saw the city gates open, and from within, a small caravan of farmers, perhaps headed for the fields outside the city, passed free from molestation. No rebel, in fact, even turned an eye toward the rickey wagons as they passed through the encampment.


    ¡°What is going on here?!¡± Zan wondered aloud.


    ¡°Good point. I don¡¯t know, but we need to find out and¡ª¡±


    Zan interrupted. He said, ¡°Do we?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°I mean, this isn¡¯t our concern, Jie. Our Order is our concern, helping to end the war is our concern. But this? Is this our concern? The so-called ¡®political situation¡¯ of our Kingship?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how it isn¡¯t our concern. As Ranger-Knights don¡¯t we have an obligation to protect and serve? It looks like people here could use some protecting and serving since they have a rebel force hanging outside their walls!¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know that! What we do know, however, is what we have seen with our own eyes. Namely, the people who live here are not in any distress¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve seen one wagon go free ¡ª that¡¯s it!¡±


    Zan and Jiehong continued their face-off.


    Breaking it off, Zan said, ¡°Let¡¯s go inside. Ask around. We¡¯re here first and foremost for a language expert if any exists. Remember, Jiehong¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, yeah,¡± Jie replied, clearly confused already about their purpose.


    Entering the city, the rebels outside the walls were still not so much as bashing an eye-lash at them. Inside, the two youths saw a completely average town.


    ¡°Where is the fire? The destruction and devastation?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong said nothing. Though being fair to him, Zan remembered how Thundervale, despite it being under siege and bombardment from the invading enemy, had not suffered immensely. The town had its issues, sure, but they had liberated it in the nick of time to prevent widespread destruction. A jolt in Zan¡¯s mind told him, ¡®perhaps we will need to do the same after all? Who knows what could happen here?¡¯


    Walking along the city¡¯s cobblestone streets, the evident style of this part of the country for any habitation with so many people, Zan and Jiehong continued to see nothing but a totally average town.


    Until they reached the town square and saw loyalist and rebels screaming at each other. Divided down the middle of the square, all the loyalists were on one side, the rebels on the other, yelling like there wasn¡¯t a tomorrow. Zan focused his attention on the nearest altercation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tolerated your shenanigans long enough! You rebel scum. Take your troops and leave and I won¡¯t call on the king to end you filth once and for all!¡± a plump man dressed in blue attire said.


    The plump man¡¯s interlocutor, an indistinct rebel officer who looked like any other rebel except for a bright feather tucked away in their hat, calmly replied. ¡°Your town is now within the territory of the Democratic Alliance. We will extend your parlay in another couple of weeks. Only for you to engage your citizens and¡ª¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The blueberry wasn¡¯t having it, though, and continued to scream obscenities.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t helping us,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Agreed. Though asking the fellow in blue might point us in the right direction,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Assuming he doesn¡¯t think we¡¯re rebels and has us jailed¡­ like last time,¡± Zan said, remembering when they first entered Thundervale and were promptly arrested.


    ¡°That is always a possibility¡­¡±


    Thinking it over as they watched the argument devolve, eventually, the rebel reiterated his demands and left with his retinue.


    Walking by Zan and Jiehong, Zan tempted himself to ask the rebel if he knew anyone with antiquated language skills but thought better of it. Catching the eyes of the mayor, though, he figured now was better than never. Zan approached the man in mayoral blue and extended his hand for a shake.


    The man, however, only batted his hand away and snarled under his breath, ¡®Bramble¡­!¡¯


    Not knowing what ¡®bramble¡¯ meant, Zan ignored the slight as he and Jiehong went among the dispersing crowd, asking people for help.


    No one offered help.


    The loyalists, apparently only interested in the screaming match, ignored the boys as much as the mayor did. Crowd mentality? Zan didn¡¯t know, as usual.


    ¡°Can someone at least point the way to the tavern?!¡± Jiehong yelled, feeling the pressure himself.


    Someone shouted a name. ¡°The rusty dagger? Is that what he said?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong shrugged. ¡°The town is only so big. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find one.¡±


    Of course, being the golden boy, Jiehong stumbled onto a bar.


    Unlike when they visited Thundervale, where the contents of the bar matched the emptiness of the soul during the war, here in Feathervale, the bar remained full. Zan considered it the luck of a region not yet impacted by the invasion.


    ¡°Do you have any money?¡± Zan asked Jiehong.


    ¡°Some. From my parents,¡± he replied.


    The duo made their way through the crowd to find a stool near the¡­ bar.


    With raucous music blaring from a band of bards, using strange, possibly magically altered instruments to make their instruments louder than normal, Zan had to place his mouth practically next to the bartender¡¯s ear to make him hear what he said.


    After several goes at it, the conversation went something like this:


    ¡°We¡¯re travelers! We¡¯re looking for an academic!¡± Zan shouted.


    ¡°What?!¡± the bartender replied.


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for an academic!¡±


    ¡°You need an acrobat?¡±


    ¡°An academic ¡ª ACADEMIC!¡±


    The bartender rubbed his fingers together. Zan did not know what that meant. Though Jiehong did and handed the man a coin.


    ¡°Library! Old man!¡± the bartender shouted before wandering off to help a customer.


    Zan would have called it there, but Jiehong had other plans, plans which involved alcohol.


    Jiehong wandered over to another part of the main section and ordered a couple of beers. He brought them to a table recently emptied and sat down. ¡°Drink!¡± he told Zan.


    ¡°What are we doing, Jie?¡± Zan shouted, asked.


    ¡°Chilling! What does it look like?¡± Jie said.


    ¡°Like. We. Are. Wasting time!¡± Zan said in fits to emphasize what he was saying over the loud music.


    ¡°Come off it! We spent two days walking. Two days! We can have a beer and a bed, then continue our drudgery!¡±


    Zan did not like the idea, especially since it was early in the morning, which made him consider why the bar remained so busy. Could it be, he wondered, the same party from the night before? Zan didn¡¯t understand tavern etiquette, though. Jiehong somehow did, maybe tales from his parents? Frustrating not knowing anything, Zan thought, his face scrunched with aggravation.


    Not wanting to anger his friend after Jiehong had paid for a couple of beers, plus the information, Zan relented and sipped his beer.


    It tasted bad.


    That was all he had to say about the beverage. It tasted bad and made him feel bad.


    Even so, Zan drank the entire beverage.


    After the beverage, Zan wanted to go to bed. He felt frustrated and wanted to sleep off the drink.


    Jiehong, surprise-surprise, did not want to go to bed, and only had eyes for another beer. Then another.


    About to order his fifth beverage, Zan prevented the sale. He inserted himself in front of Jie and the bartender and said, ¡°He¡¯s had enough. No more!¡±


    The bartender smiled, not thinking anything unusual about the request.


    ¡°What the ¡ª heck, m-man?!¡± Jiehong said, hiccuping slightly.


    ¡°Pay for the beds. We need sleep now!¡± Zan shouted.


    ¡°FINE!¡± Jiehong screamed as he threw down a couple more coins on the table to a bemused barmaid. She clearly had seen similar scenes before.


    The barmaid handed them a room key and Zan pushed him and Jie up the stairs.


    With distance and walls between them and the noise below, the sound crashing against his eardrums faded. Zan found his room easy enough despite the bad-tasting liquor lingering on his tastebuds. Would¡¯ve been nice to have something to eat, Zan thought with bitterness.


    Although Jiehong objected the whole way up, Zan ignored him. Once they were inside the room, he locked the door; he pushed his friend to the bed and told him, angrily, to sleep. He put up some final resistance, but feeling the pull of dreaming after so much exertion, Jiehong fell fast asleep.


    Sitting on his own mattress, looking at Jiehong, Zan only had a single thought in his head. ¡®I can¡¯t do this for much longer.¡¯

 Chapter 71

    Zan woke up before Jiehong. Of course.


    Stomach growling, he wondered what there was to eat.


    Seeing nothing in the room, he wandered down the stairs to see if anything was on the menu. It was about lunchtime, and though it would be a late lunch, Zan hoped to grab a bite to eat before a full day of exploring the city.


    Well, a half-day of exploring, then a night of¡­ something, Zan thought. Though about what, he didn¡¯t know. As long as he and Jiehong didn¡¯t spend the night partying, it would be fine. And what were the odds of that?


    Ignoring the odds, when Zan wandered down the stairs, the barmaid from last night greeted him.


    ¡°You look surprisingly homely,¡± she said.


    ¡°Because I am. I only had a few. Not by choice, really,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t enjoy drinking? Most guys your age do. Not like I approve, but you see how it goes.¡±


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be the focus, now. Not during an invasion. It impedes life.¡±


    ¡°I hear you loud and clear. The drink tore apart my family when I was but a lass. What can I get for you? Your room comes with a board meal. Want some stew? Still hot from the night before. Or maybe if it tickled your fancy, a nice sandwich with cheese in the middle? I can make you just about anything.¡±


    Zan hadn¡¯t been expecting a free meal. His tummy telling him to partake, he decided on the sandwich. ¡°You grill it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Sure do! Two slices of our homemade bread. One slice of our handmade cheese. It¡¯s heaven! You¡¯ll see!¡± the maid said, already in the kitchen throwing the meal together. Minutes later, she brought out a golden brown, slightly burned around the edges sandwich with a gooey flow of cheese at the edges. It smelled lovely. It came with a side of pickled cucumbers and potato slivers.


    Zan took a whiff, then a bite, and immediately found himself in flavor city.


    A sweet, creamy cheese texture followed the soft crunch from the toasted bread. As he chewed, Zan found the bread and cheese mix in an intoxicating blend of simple, yet delicious, balance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the pickles!¡± the barmaid said.


    Not wanting to appear rude, although Zan had no interest in pickles, as he had never had them before, he took a bite from one, and recanted everything; sweet, sour and salty, then the crunch!


    Before he knew it, all the pickles were gone, followed soon after by the sandwich. He cleaned his face with the napkin and burped.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The barmaid giggled, but not offensively. ¡°I¡¯m glad you enjoyed it,¡± she said. ¡°Let me get you some iced water to wash that all down.¡±


    Going outback, she returned with a tall, glass drinking cup filled with ice chunks. She dunked the glass under a fresh spring spigot and filled it to the brim. Temperature difference cracked some ice, making a ¡®popping¡¯ sound as bits of ice shattered.


    ¡°Bubbles?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s a feature around here. No idea what causes it,¡± the maid said.


    Having already tried a couple of new foods, Zan saw no reason to stop now, and downed the iced water with the popping quality.


    ¡°Thirsty boy!¡±


    ¡°Travel works up an appetite.¡±


    ¡°Oh? You and your friend? Where are you heading?¡± the maid said.


    ¡°Nowhere in particular. We¡¯re trying to locate an academic. Someone who can translate the Old Tongue. Know any?¡± Zan asked.


    The maid laughed and said, ¡°Sorry. That¡¯s quite the order. If there is anyone with brains in this bird-brained town, they would be at the library. Though they typically only let scholars older than sin inside. Or university students, but you need a badge. Are you a student?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ my friend, Jiehong, and I are martial fighters. Our village was caught in the invasion¡¯s path. Then we stumbled across¡­ I won¡¯t bore you with the details. We¡¯re fighters with an Order and we need an academic. It could change the tide of the war.¡±


    ¡°Sounds important. If you¡¯re not students, there is only so much you can do to gain entry to the library. I wonder if you explained the situation to the librarian if they would help you, regardless?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± Zan said, lifting himself off his feet.


    ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am,¡± Zan said, turning to see a Jiehong stumbling down the stairs.


    ¡°Our room includes a meal for each of us. I had a delicious sandwich. Get something to eat, then scope out the town. I am heading to the library to try¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, I will go to the library,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°What? Why?¡± Zan nearly stuttered.


    ¡°Because I am the one who has actually had some formal education. I might not be an academic or a university student, but I am nearly there. Plus, as a Goodwill Civilian and a member of a friendly Order resisting the invasion, there shouldn¡¯t be any reason why they would turn me away. So, I will go to the library,¡± Jiehong explained.


    Considering Jiehong¡¯s response, he couldn¡¯t disagree. The logic was sound¡­ he was all of what he said, and he had the private tutoring from his parents. Their guardians. It made sense for him to go.


    ¡°Fine. Don¡¯t forget to really emphasize our needs. All we need is for one academic to glance at the list. Speaking of which, here it is. I know you will be careful with it but I need you to be extra careful with it. Don¡¯t take ¡®no¡¯ for an answer,¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°I know how these things work, buddy. I won¡¯t fail us!¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ good. I will trek around town. If I find nothing, I might snoop outside of the town. Ask those folks outside. Otherwise, meet back here past sunset. If we don¡¯t encounter each other sooner,¡± Zan continued to explain.


    Leaving Jiehong to his meal after giving him the list Mac had given them, Zan wondered where he should begin.


    ¡®Guess I¡¯ll just wander,¡¯ he told himself.


    Zan¡¯s first impression was to find the wealthier section of the city. With wealth often came knowledge. Or at least the access to knowledge. He would begin there.


    Wandering as he did, though, simply straight around the town¡¯s perimeter, he saw no sign of high wealth. He saw large rectangular buildings. Poultry slaughterhouses, evidently. But no signs of money.


    ¡®So much for that,¡¯ Zan sighed. What could he do?


    Asking everyone he saw, no one paid him any heed. He passed the library. Saw no one inside, though that meant nothing, necessarily. Libraries were not exactly cultural hotspots.


    Looking at the sun and its increasingly slow drip to the horizon, Zan had no other choice ¡ª he would have to talk with the rebels outside.

 Chapter 72

    Crossing the bridge with one hand on his sword¡¯s pommel, Zan kept his eyes locked on everyone he encountered. He wanted to be hyper-aware of his surroundings and where others were in relation to him, least they ambush and kill him. Though such a gruesome fate seemed unlikely, considering everything he knew about these people.


    Feet on the ground, the bridge crossed, Zan searched for no one.


    How could he search for something he did not know or understand or existed? Poorly, was how.


    Wandering the rebel encampment, Zan got it into him to ask around for what was happening. He received a lot of answers ¡ª ¡°We¡¯re fighting tyranny!¡± ¡°Battling for a better world!¡± or even more idealistic answers such as ¡°We can envision a better universe than the Kingship conceives!¡± ¡ª yet no matter the response, Zan was not so sure on what was happening and why it was happening. At best, he vaguely appreciated missing a lot of history.


    ¡°Zan? Is that you?¡± a voice asked him.


    Turning to see who spoke, it took Zan a moment to find the voice in the sea of faces. The further he wandered from the town, the more rebels he noticed. Just how many are there? He wondered.


    ¡°Yeah, it is. It¡¯s good to see you,¡± Zan replied to Whiskey, a half-smile on his face.


    They embraced, then released. ¡°What are you doing here? Sorry I did not have the time to ask in the forest.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no. It¡¯s okay. I am here with Jiehong trying to find an academic. Someone who knows the Old Tongue. We investigated the structure you told us about in the woods. It was indeed part of our order. Or close enough, anyway¡­ skipping ahead, we found a locations list which supposedly has more structures. The list, however, is written in the Old Tongue Script.¡±


    ¡°Ah! That¡¯s a bummer. I don¡¯t have a clue myself who could help you with that. I don¡¯t recall ever meeting anyone with those skills. Not like I run in those circles to begin with, even so,¡± Whiskey replied, thinking on the matter.


    ¡°Same. Everyone we¡¯ve talked to has said to check out the library. Neither myself nor Jiehong are students, though. I don¡¯t know what kind of reception we will receive. Jiehong is investigating, though. I hope he gets something out of it for us.¡±


    ¡°Are you two leaving, soon?¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Maybe? I don¡¯t know¡­ I am supposed to meet Jiehong soon. If we don¡¯t have any luck at the library, I suppose we will be leaving. Check out more towns, you know?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°Well, if you need anything, let me know. If I have the power to help, I will.¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure¡­ I have to ask: why not join with us?¡± Zan asked suddenly. He remembered the words of the Screen Master and how it would be fortuitous to recruit Whiskey, considering her ability to enter the command center.


    ¡°I can¡¯t, Zan! I have other obligations. With my village safe and the invasion, now is the perfect time to throw my lot in with the rebels. I had sympathy for them for a long while now. Now, it is the time,¡± Whiskey said.


    Zan thought about the angle he should take. He knew little about history or the rebels. He knew slightly more about his Order, the Shiv, but hardly much. What he believed was this: his cause was greater, at least for the time being, than the rebel cause.


    So he went with that¡­


    ¡°Why the rebels, though? Do you think you can do more good with them than with us?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I do. I wouldn¡¯t be with them if I didn¡¯t,¡± Whiskey said.


    ¡°I think you can do more with us, as small as we are. Consider: your rebel friends did not, could not, help with the forced labor camp. But we, my Order, could help you.¡±


    Zan made a good point. He knew because he could see Whiskey¡¯s face react.


    ¡°You make a good point, Zan. Unfortunately, I have made obligations to the rebels. I cannot simply up and leave.¡±


    ¡°So, they are forcing you to stay?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ well, in a sense. It is not as bad as it sounds, Zan. I knew what I was signing up for when I signed the service contract. Being under contract, then, I have my duties.¡±


    ¡°You could surely leave if you had good cause. Do you think if I talked to the commander, or whoever is in charge of these issues, there would be a chance of you joining with us?¡± Zan asked, more desperate now to snag a new member for the Order after he tasted sweet partial victory from his poignant points.


    ¡°Unlikely. Zan, thank you for your faith in me and your concern, but I am with the rebels. There is not much which can change that,¡± Whiskey said.


    ¡°I had to try,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°I know you did,¡± Whiskey said, smiling.


    ¡°Will you ever join up with us?¡±


    ¡°If you guys survive long enough? Maybe¡­ I think it depends on what will happen with our little rebellion, though.¡±


    ¡°Sure, yeah¡­ good point. Assuming you¡¯re not on duty, would you like to spend a spell chatting with Jiehong and myself? I know he misses you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s awfully sweet of him, but I should really check in with¡ª¡±


    Something caught Whiskey¡¯s attention. Her response trailed, and she spotted in the distance a rider with a white flag.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Zan wondered aloud.


    ¡°It is a messenger. The white flag is the universal sign of a peace traveler,¡± Whiskey explained.


    Not knowing exactly what a ¡®peace traveler¡¯ was, Zan remained interested.


    With the traveler in range, the conversation began. The traveler said, ¡°Ma¡¯am! The enemy has been spotted. A large column is moving through from the adjacent province. Scouts have identified lots of raw resources within the column. We suspect the forces of the Expanse are attempting to set up a forward operations base.¡±


    Taking the news well, Whiskey told the man, ¡°There will be a response. Gather local allies and wait for my command.¡±

 Chapter 73

    ¡°Zan,¡± Whiskey said, ¡°Can we count on you to help?¡±


    Not seeing himself as truly having a choice, especially with their search in town already on shaky ground, Zan said, ¡°Sure. Let me inform Jiehong. It¡¯s about the time when we were going to meet up. Where should we find you?¡±


    ¡°Edge of the encampment. Over there,¡± Whiskey said, pointing in a direction.


    Zan nodded and rushed back into town to find Jiehong.


    Zan arrived at the tavern right as Jiehong approached from another road.


    ¡°You¡¯re in a tizzy. What happened?¡± Jie asked.


    ¡°Whiskey,¡± Zan huffed. ¡°She and her rebel friends spotted an enemy force. The Expanse, they think, is trying to set up a base. I offered our help.¡±


    Jiehong considered. He said, ¡°Is this really our issue, Zan?¡±


    His friend¡¯s response confused Zan. ¡°What do you mean? Of course, it is our problem! It¡¯s our war! Our¡ª¡±


    ¡°But it is not. It sounds like this is a rebel thing to help bolster their image. Rebels are not our friends. Whiskey or no. Let them scrap their blisters on the splintered foe. Then the forces of the Kingship will swoop in and finish the enemy.¡±


    Zan held Jiehong¡¯s gaze. ¡°I already pledged our aid. We¡¯re going. End of story.¡±


    Jiehong returned Zan¡¯s stern gaze and said, ¡°Understood. Sir.¡±


    Rushing back to the rebel camp, Zan found where Whiskey mentioned. It was only moderately tougher with the setting sun casting shadows everywhere.


    ¡°Zan, Jiehong, thank you for coming. We are short on time. We want to strike the enemy before they can organize a response. Zan, ride with me. Jiehong, you¡¯ll have the honor of riding with our weapons master on his super-horse. Hold on tight,¡± Whiskey said to them.


    Zan didn¡¯t waste any time in saddling alongside Whiskey. Though he did wonder what a ¡®super horse¡¯ was and how it differed from a normal horse. He did not have long to wait. He saw from one of the makeshift stables emerge a horse easily three times the size of a normal horse. Whistling, Zan became instantly jealous of Jiehong¡¯s privilege at being able to ride such a beast.


    Settling in alongside and to Whiskey¡¯s back, some rebels made derogatory remarks at them. ¡°Ignore them, Zan. They are small-minded and limited. They think a man should never ride to the back of a woman. Forget it.¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Consider it forgotten,¡± Zan said, truly not caring.


    Whipping the horse into action, although not literally whipping, Whiskey commanded her steed to go.


    Like a cannonball launched from a titan, the steed galloped at dangerous speeds toward the black unknown. Zan held on tighter and wondered how long he would need to grip Whiskey for dear life.


    The answer was about a couple of hours.


    At no time during their ride could Zan take even one hand away from Whiskey. So rough did they trod, had he removed a hand, to, for example, chat with Jiehong over their earpiece, he knew the horse would throw him in the dirt.


    And Zan didn¡¯t want that!


    So Zan held on tight and thanked the gods for his equipment¡¯s functional elemental resistances. Although not every part of his body had coverage, something which the elements reminded him of when he did finally dismount the horse and certain exposed joints felt of ice.


    ¡°Oh, gods!¡± Zan cursed. His body felt strange. Tired, strained. He thanked the gods he wore protective gear for his nether regions.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± Zan asked.


    Around them, other rebels were dismounting. It was high midnight. Visibility was extremely limited. What could they do with moonlight?


    ¡°Over there?¡± Whiskey asked a subordinate.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± the subordinate replied. Zan looked at the subordinate. He was pretty sure he was the man who derided him for riding at Whiskey¡¯s back.


    Whiskey removed from her personage a spyglass and unfolded it to its full length. Peering through, she made several noises as she pinpointed with incredible accuracy enemy movements. No wonder the rebels want her, Zan thought.


    ¡°Okay!¡± Whiskey said. ¡°We will need a two-pronged attack. If our intel is right, we will need to assault the set-up and the supply lines. Obviously, this is only the first batch. High and mighty of the enemy to think they can establish an operations base with full supply lines right under our noises. Conceited little pricks.¡±


    Whiskey¡¯s response pulled subdued laughter from her men. Zan saw despite their social limitations, her troops respected her. It must be strange for Whiskey to be in such a responsibility. One hand, respect. On the other hand, disdain when some abstract gender rules fell to the wayside.


    With Jiehong¡¯s detachment arriving momentarily, Whiskey got to work in assembling the two teams which would assail the enemy.


    Oddly, Zan noticed she placed herself not on the team assailing the enemy by horseback, but on he and Jiehong¡¯s detachment.


    Giving a quick pep talk before the battle began, Whiskey said to the ¡®away team,¡¯ so to speak, the following: ¡°Men, keep it simple, keep it clean. I would ride with you, but I have to ensure this little base of theirs is burned to ashes. We have outside allies, so I need to monitor them. Liver! You¡¯re in charge. I know your skills are second-to-none. Ride hard and slay well!¡±


    Liver ¡ª what an odd name ¡ª rode fast, hard, violently once Whiskey finished speaking. Turning now to Zan, Jie, and the rest of the ¡®home team,¡¯ so to speak, Whiskey said, ¡°We have the honor of removing a stain from the surface of existence. Gather yourself, then meet along the edge. We will assault the enemy from two directions.¡±


    Zan and Jiehong rejoined and offered each other several words of commiseration regarding their unexpected and lengthy horseback ride.


    ¡°I think my man parts are busted,¡± Jiehong said.


    Zan couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°You¡¯re fine, man. The ladies will like you just as well.¡±


    Jiehong grinned from cheek-to-cheek at hearing Zan¡¯s comment.


    The two rested with the other rebels for a moment. Watering down, munching on some smoked and salted meats as a snack.


    Readying themselves for another brutal battle, the boys approached Whiskey and told her they were ready.


    In the distance, a fire ignited.

 Chapter 74 (Construction Site Fight - 1)

    A fire?!


    ¡°Who did that?!¡± Whiskey yelled. ¡°Shet!¡±


    Zan stood, confused. Evidently, the fire in the distance had not supposed to happen. Not yet, anyway.


    Whiskey snapped her reins and sent the horse into a tizzy. The sudden action surprised Zan, and he barely held onto Whiskey. Straining his arms and gripping her as tightly as possible, Zan held out against the forces of gravity as he used every muscle available to him to remain on the horse. Though it only lasted for twenty seconds or fewer, it seemed to Zan such an exertion; it felt like minutes.


    Fully righted on the seat, Zan now nearly cried. His body hurt and his heart thumped. He was in pain and paranoid every little bump would send him flying.


    ¡°Sorry ¡®bout that!¡± Whiskey yelled. ¡°I forgot you don¡¯t ride!¡±


    Zan thought about hiding his pain, telling Whiskey it was all okay. Dishonesty in a life-or-death situation, however, seemed like poor teamwork, so Zan said, ¡°Please warn me before you pull a move like that again! I¡¯m in pain!¡±


    Whiskey was quiet. Long enough quiet, Zan thought she hadn¡¯t heard him. She eventually said, nearly yelling, ¡°I am really sorry! Next time! I will warn you!¡±


    Zan felt good about himself. Now the battle could proceed with both parties knowing the state of the other. They would not be going into battle ignorant of one another¡¯s abilities. It wasn¡¯t long before the base came into view.


    Well, less a base and more the foundation for one, Zan thought as he saw the sprawling construction site unfold.


    Over an area perhaps the size of perhaps half a mile, partially completed wooden structures dotted the distance. Planks of wood, simple machines ¡ª operated by a weight and pulley system, like Zan and friends had encountered in the forced labor camp ¡ª also dotted the base. Zan wished he could see more, but the blackness of night prevented his otherwise eagle-eyed vision from finding every nook and cranney.


    Ahead of the war party was the now roaring fire first sighted minutes ago.


    Throughout an area of a certain size, a battle raged.


    One side was a rebel war party, perhaps a scouting party, and on the other, a group of automotrons. Burning was an automotron structure.


    Whiskey rode hard, albeit only forward over smooth ground. Thus, Zan did not have to worry about falling to his death. She skidded to a halt and even slew a few of the golems before turning her attention to the scouts. ¡°What in every hell was that for?!¡± Whiskey screamed.


    ¡°Hey! It¡¯s fine, lady! We knew you were on your way with back-up. We only wanted to get the attack going!¡± was how the scout responded.


    Both Zan and Whiskey had trouble containing their drooping mouths. So surprised were both at the scout¡¯s terrible, mean response; their mouths lost the fight to gravity. If for only a moment, as they recovered and formed an immediate answer: ¡°I¡¯ll deal with your insubordination later!¡± Whiskey screeched, nearly biting her lips with each venomous enunciation. ¡°For now, press with the attack!¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Is this common?¡± Z asked, trying to make easeful small talk as they rode into the camp.


    ¡°Unfortunately, yes!¡±


    ¡°If you joined the order,¡± Zan shouted to be heard, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have to worry about that!¡±


    Whiskey did not respond to Zan¡¯s comment. She did say, though, that he should ¡°hold on tight! We are making an attack run!¡±


    Zan did not know what she meant until he saw it happen.


    Passing by the golems, Whiskey struck out with her twin-blades; on both her left and right she hacked, throwing to pieces over a dozen of the flimsy war machines who, in the din of darkness, had not expected an enemy attack.


    Looking around, Zan saw no bonfires present. That did not mean they weren¡¯t around, though. With the darkness acting as a blanket and the area large, the moonlight strictly limited Zan¡¯s sight. On the second pass, however, Zan knew what to expect, and he joined in with Whiskey, hacking away at the automotrons.


    ¡°Great¡­ cots!¡± Whiskey panted, happy at the damage they inflicted.


    ¡°How much time do we have, you think, before the enemy lights up one of those bonfires? Remember, from the camp?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ not long!¡± Whiskey continued to pant, catching her breath.


    Ahead of them were the trigger-happy scouts. Systematically working their way into the camp, the scouts cut down the surprised enemy. The darkness had left their mechanics drained of the much needed fuel to keep them moving at full speed during the night. Whiskey whistled and recalled the scouts.


    Seeing Jiehong¡¯s horse arrive with the other rebel leader, Zan forgot his name. In fact, he did not think he was ever told it.


    No matter.


    Directing Jiehong¡¯s horse, Whiskey yelled for about half of the wayward scouts and the other leader to ¡°circle around the left side of the camp. Jiehong! Toss those ¡®grenade¡¯ things you used during the camp raid if you have ¡®em! We¡¯ll do the same from the righthand side.¡±


    Zan picked up the strategy right away. He thumbed his belt for the grenades.


    ¡°Be sure to tell me when your riding hard! I can¡¯t hold on and threw at the same time!¡± Zan cautioned.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it!¡± Whiskey shouted and took off with her small retinue of scouts. ¡°We need to be quick about this! I want this base in flames before the others arrive so we don¡¯t hit them in the crossfire!¡±


    ¡°Understood!¡± Zan shouted. His voice worn, Zan tired of doing nothing but yelling. He could not help it, though, as it was the only thing he could do to ensure Whiskey heard him over the heaving galloping of the horse.


    ¡°Coming up first!¡± Whiskey shouted. ¡°Get ready to throw!¡±


    Zan hurried. Or not hurried¡­ carefully. He detached one hand from Whiskey¡¯s waist only to reapply instantly. He did the same motion two, three times. He wanted to get the flow of the terrain, the pace of the horse. On the fifth attempt, he quickly reached down to his belt. Holding on even tighter, Whiskey even slowing down some, Zan detached one of the tiny, bulbous weapons and brought it to his face. He used his teeth to pry the pin off; then, wanting it gone right away, he chucked it as far as he was capable, ensuring it was well-away from any of the rebel scouts he thought he saw glide through the night.


    Moments later, the grenade exploded. It shook the night air with a bloom of fire.


    Whiskey rode hard again. She did, in fact, warn Zan, but it was a tiny bit too late, and he nearly got bucked off. He didn¡¯t have to strain his whole body this time, however, to remain on the horse, so that was he good.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± Whiskey shouted. ¡°Also: coming up!¡±


    Hurrying himself to recover faster, Zan¡¯s heart raced.


    But he managed his breathing, always remembering the techniques Jiehong had taught him to control his panic mode. It did not help him in this situation any more than a touch, but that ¡®touch¡¯ was enough for him to repeat the throwing process from the first grenade and roughly toss it once he pried its tab free.


    Like the first, the grenade exploded to great effect and set a fire.


    It was on this second explosion Zan saw a bonfire roar to life.

 Chapter 75 (Construction Site Fight - 2)

    ¡®Shet!¡¯ Zan cursed. ¡®Had he set the bonfire off?¡¯


    Did not matter, he grit his teeth.


    With the bonfire lit, Zan saw just how many automotrons languished inside the camp. Hundreds¡­


    Zan continued his streaks of curses.


    Although Zan would have liked nothing better than to curl up in a fetal position at the absolute numbers of the enemy, weakness wasn¡¯t an option. He had to be strong to get through his pained body and win this battle. Defeat could not be an option when his freedom was at stake!


    ¡°Coming up!¡± Whiskey yelled.


    Repeating the process again, Zan tossed his third grenade. Now his right arm blared in agony. He felt every jolt the horse made, every trodden trudge their hoove made upon the ground. Tears formed, but Zan let them fall away.


    From the other side of the camp, Zan could see Jiehong do the same process from the back of his super-horse; he felt grateful he was not on that beast as even from a distance it looked like it could buck for miles.


    Six grenades. Zan and Jiehong tossed only six into the enemy encampment. Zan still had three left, same as Jiehong. Looking across the width, even with the bonfires energizing their enemies, the damage inflicted by their hand-held weapons sent dozens, likely at least a couple hundred or more, to their wooden graves. Why the Expanse would so pack in their builders, Zan did not know.


    ¡°Coming up!¡± Whiskey shouted. Zan groaned.


    With the greatest effort he reserved in his life, Zan forwent the process of slowly inching his way to the grenade and instead snatched it from his bet. He pulled the pin, tossed it, and cried out in agony.


    Whiskey slowed down to check on Zan. ¡°Are you okay?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No! I¡¯m falling apart!¡± Zan screamed.


    The pain in his limbs had grown. Now, to unavoidable levels of suffering. Had he pulled one or several muscles? Torn a ligament? Zan could only wonder and claw at half-remembered names of body parts learned from the village medicine man.


    Whiskey pulled her horse to a stop. Pulling out a small capsule, she said, ¡°Here! Swallow this.¡±


    Zan took the pill and eat it.


    ¡°Good! That is a mild painkiller. Let me see where your body hurts,¡± Whiskey continued.


    Whiskey turned around in her saddle. It was an impressive shift, as she never left the horse. Zan pointed out where his body hurt the most ¡ª mostly everywhere, but especially in his upper leg area and right arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m no healer, but I can thread a needle, if you know what I mean,¡± Whiskey said. Zan did not know what she meant.


    Whiskey laid hands on the parts of Zan which hurt. She muttered an incantation and, like the magic it was, a soft light came from within her hands and warmed Zan¡¯s muscles. His bones, even his essence.


    ¡°Feel better?¡± Whiskey asked.


    ¡°Some. I no longer feel like dying,¡± Zan said with a bit of dark humor.


    ¡°Good! We still have a battle to win!¡± Whiskey said, turning back in her saddle and driving her steed forward.


    Reattaching himself to Whiskey¡¯s back, Zan again felt the vibrations of the horse as it trod along the ground. This time, the vibrations did not hurt nearly as much; although they still caused him discomfort and he knew with repeated strain the damage would reappear to terrible effect, for the moment, Zan felt good.


    ¡°Coming up!¡± Whiskey again shouted.


    This would be Zan¡¯s fifth grenade lobbed.


    Able to sufficiently repeat the motion of gradually reaching for the grenade without losing his balance and falling, or without becoming sick, Zan lobbed off his penultimate grenade.


    ¡°I only have one more grenade left!¡± Zan shouted.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    After the explosion, now behind them, Whiskey replied. She brought her mare to a halt and told Zan, ¡°Perfect run, then! I figured five from each of you and Jiehong would do it. Look!¡±


    Whiskey turned her horse around so Zan could see what she meant.


    Zan saw the construction site in flames. Buildings, automotrons, even the pits with flammable material were all up in flames.


    With her spyglass out, Whiskey observed the battlefield, allowing Zan time to rest on his still weary body. Zan panted when Whiskey said, ¡°On time. Our fellows have arrived!¡± she said.


    Zan took several minutes before he understood what Whiskey meant. He saw, eventually, the outlines of many figures advancing into the site and by the sides.


    ¡°Looks like our job is done!¡± Zan said.


    ¡°I think so! I need to check in with my second-in-command,¡± Whiskey said as she drove her horse to the other end of the construction site.


    Hailing her subordinate, Whiskey asked for an update on the battle. ¡°As you can see, my expedition went well,¡± Whiskey said, indicating the burning construction site behind her.


    Her subordinate said, ¡°I wish I could say the same.¡±


    ¡°Concerned, Whiskey asked, ¡°What do you mean? Did you not slay the oncoming columns? Their reinforcements?¡±


    ¡°Worry not about that. We slew those reinforcements. While doing so, however, we discovered a greater enemy force some miles away. Simply told, the enemy has been setting up dozens of smaller camps throughout the countryside,¡± the subordinate said.


    ¡°Shit! What does that mean?¡± Whiskey asked.


    ¡°It means the camp you torched was a distraction or an attempt at a larger impression upon the land. Either way, maybe they got full of themselves. After setting up so many smaller camps, who could blame them?¡±


    ¡°We have to go after those camps!¡± Zan stated.


    ¡°Of course!¡± the subordinate yelled. ¡°But we can¡¯t now. We came prepared to fight an enemy host. A host concentrated in a specific area. We need to pull back for now. Find more men to help us.¡±


    ¡°B-but¡ª¡± Zan tried to say over the chill of the night causing his teeth to chatter.


    ¡°No!¡± Whiskey interjected. ¡°My second-in-command is correct, Zan. We have done enough for now. And these smaller bases are no threat to us right now. Left unchecked, they will become a threat. Not currently, though. Not now. For now, we should withdraw, rest, and find allies for the next operation.¡±


    Neither the subordinate nor Whiskey allowed Zan to have any say beyond this. Whiskey pulled her horse away from the other rider, Jiehong on its back, and rode away from the construction site.


    It was not long before the flames of the construction site turned to only an ember in the distance. By the time they returned to Feathervale, both Whiskey and Zan were exhausted. The sun was rising. In time for another glorious day.


    Dismounting their ride, Whiskey and Zan¡¯s feet landed on the ground. Zan felt a tough shock fly through his system as his feet, unaccustomed to moving by his will, felt the fullness of the earth when they struck the ground. ¡°Ugh!¡± Zan groaned.


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s a tough acclimation¡­ at first. You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Whiskey said.


    I hope I never have to get on another horse, so as long as I live, Zan thought.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s where our joint-mission ends,¡± Whiskey said.


    ¡°Wait? Why?¡± Zan countered.


    ¡°You can¡¯t ride a horse. I only invited you on this mission because I knew you had those hand-held grenade things¡­ those outposts my subordinate told us about? They are over the Western Path. Spread over miles. You¡¯re such a new rider, Zan, you had issues tonight with simply holding on. There is no way you could keep up with us experienced riders as we spent the day kicking out the invaders.¡±


    Zan could not argue with anything Whiskey said. It was true.


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad, Zan! You did really well for such a greenhorn. Learn how to ride a horse. That should be your top priority right now,¡± Whiskey continued.


    ¡°I will¡­ do something. Hard to do when I don¡¯t own a horse,¡± Zan replied, letting his response linger as Jiehong and Whiskey¡¯s subordinate came over the horizon¡¯s ridge.


    ¡°Good point¡­ jeez. That really sucks. I forgot how expensive a horse is. We rebels¡­ we appropriate from the loyal administration. Ah! Wait, I have it! Go to a peasant assembly. They should be able to give you a horse if you explain your situation and your actions during the war. You might have to do some chores or whatever, but it would be well worth it. Trust me on this!¡±


    ¡°I will consider. Isn¡¯t the nearest association place¡­ well, far from here?¡± Zan asked, recalling imprecise conversations years past, which included meeting halls for the association.


    ¡°Shit¡­ it gets worse and worse. Seriously, I should teach you myself. I don¡¯t have the time, though¡­¡±


    ¡°If you joined the Order you would have time¡­¡±


    Whiskey stared at Zan. Not angrily, simply amused. ¡°You really don¡¯t quit. I love that about you. Your passion. Never lose it, Zan.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t. But what about you? You need more men for this attack?¡±


    ¡°Sure do¡­ we¡¯ll find them. Might take a few weeks. But we will get the guys we need. Why? Think you can learn a horse at that time?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Zan said, pausing for dramatic effect. ¡°Or how about some loyalists? I am on good terms with a Colonel Winters from Thundervale. If it is for the sake of the war, do you think you could work alongside him?¡±


    Whiskey burst out laughing. ¡°I highly doubt any rebel would be fond of that idea! Abominable as it sounds, I would even worry about a dispassionate or psychotic rebel, maybe even trying to take fate into their own hands¡­ not like that is likely, though.¡±


    Not paying attention to the possibility of a rebel making an attempt on the colonel¡¯s life, Zan said, ¡°Would you consider it?¡±


    Ruefully smiling, Whiskey said, ¡°Sure. I would consider it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do, then,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Okay. But I am not expecting much or promising anything from our side. Understood, Zan?¡± Whiskey stated, her facial expression being so blunt even Zan could read it and know she meant business.


    ¡°Understood,¡± Zan said right as Jiehong¡¯s horse came to a thudding halt.


    ¡°Another successful mission,¡± Jiehong said, stretching. ¡°What¡¯s on the agenda now?¡±


    ¡°Sleep,¡± Zan replied. ¡°But we have something to do first.¡±

 Chapter 76

    Zan and Jiehong stumbled into town after the mission. This time, the guards at the gate, seeing them return from some rebel activity, side-eyed them fiercely. They still did not stop them from coming inside the city, but Zan officially considered himself on notice with them.


    ¡°Funds for a room?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°A bit,¡± was all Jiehong said.


    Zan knew he had more. He probably wanted to save a few coins for drinks.


    Paying for a room, which came with a basic bowl of gruel, Zan told Jiehong about the rebel discovery, the many outposts along the Western Way.


    ¡°Sounds like shit creek,¡± Jiehong said, crudely.


    ¡°Yeah. We¡¯re in that creek, remember?¡± Zan reminded him.


    ¡°Okay. Your point?¡±


    Zan finished his gruel and replied: ¡°We need to go back to Thundervale. Ask Colonel Winters for help.¡±


    ¡°Colonel Winters?! What are you on? You really think a high-ranking officer like him would really lend us troops?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He said he owed us and whatever he could do for us in the future, we shouldn¡¯t hesitate to summon him,¡± Zan stated.


    ¡°He was being nice, Zan. He owes us nothing for saving his hide. It isn¡¯t like we launched that operation just to save him.¡±


    ¡°It is our only shot¡­¡±


    Finishing his bowl of gruel, both of them ready to turn in, Jiehong said, ¡°Even if that was the case, Zan, we wouldn¡¯t be there with them. We can¡¯t ride, remember?¡±


    The memory struck Zan. Jie was right. They couldn¡¯t ride.


    ¡°Would that really matter?¡± Zan asked. ¡°As long as the rebels have allies they can call upon to drive out the invaders, why would it matter if we were there with them?¡±


    ¡°Because it isn¡¯t our fight. Aren¡¯t we these ¡®Ranger-Knight¡¯ Order adherents now? Isn¡¯t our task to eradicate evil, whatever that means? Not fight by the side of rebels?!¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But this invasion concerns us, and our future. We should do everything in our power to ensure our allies have proper reinforcements. Rebels or no, we can''t be picky when picking our allies.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t our job, Zan. That¡¯s the king¡¯s job. That is the job of the king¡¯s generals. Our job is to eradicate evil. I¡¯m going to bed.¡±


    There, the conversation ended.


    Zan would have been more upset with his friend¡¯s limited view of things, but he was too exhausted. He collapsed to his bed and slept like a baby.


    Woken up by the housekeeping lady who needed to clean, Zan saw Jiehong had already left. Which was fine. Glancing at the window and seeing the low sun, he had slept a good part of the day.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Heading downstairs after dressing ¡ª and avoiding the curious glances of the housekeeper ¡ª he was about to head out to town when the barmaid said, ¡°Going home?¡±


    ¡°Nah. I need to find my friend,¡± Zan replied, taking a few steps to her.


    ¡°He went out a couple of hours ago. Paid for stuff. Bought you a meal, if you want it,¡± the barmaid said.


    Feeling his stomach unhappy, Zan relented. He ordered up a classic breakfast spread. The keep recommended an egg-heavy, chicken-heavy meal, which she prepared so fast it made his head spin. Zan practically inhaled the food. It wasn¡¯t anything special; just lots of eggs prepared different ways with chicken similarly prepared different ways. On the side was a gravy and diced and fried potatoes.


    ¡°Damn fine meal!¡± Zan exclaimed, finishing the whole hefty plate.


    ¡°If I am ever back in town, I will drop by for more of this cooking!¡± Zan continued, wiping his mouth. The barkeep giggled and sent Zan off on his way; the business picking up with the setting of the sun.


    Outside, Zan saw the fading remnants of the Slipstream. He reached for the sky, incanted the simple, holy prayer, and found himself charged, slightly, with the otherworldly radiation. Better than nothing, Zan mouthed.


    Outside and partially charged, Zan began his search for Jiehong.


    Then he thought better of it.


    Tapping his finger to his earpiece, he said, ¡°Jie. Where are you? We need to be leaving.¡±


    He got a response right away. ¡°On my way back to the tavern. I was¡­ just looking for any leads on the translator.¡±


    ¡°Awesome. I will wait,¡± Zan said, not asking for details. He clearly heard the slightly slurred speech to his friend¡¯s tone. Too many darn bars in this town, Zan said.


    Jiehong found him twenty minutes later. By then, Zan wasn¡¯t happy.


    ¡°Oh, wild scene in this town, buddy ¡ª wild!¡± Jiehong said, perhaps forgetting about his supposed excuse of having looked for a translator.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go. We have a walk ahead of us,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°We heading back to the base?¡± Jie asked, still smiling.


    ¡°No. As I said, Thundervale. We should at least try to find allies for Whiskey.¡±


    Although Zan did not see Jiehong roll his eyes, he felt his displeasure when he spoke. ¡°Seriously?! You¡¯re still going on about that?¡±


    ¡°Just because you don¡¯t think it is a good idea doesn¡¯t mean it isn¡¯t!¡± Zan yelled, attracting the glance of a guard or two.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t like that, Zan. I KNOW it is a bad idea. It is a bad idea on the surface, it is a bad idea at its core! Heck! It is even a bad idea at the level of an idea! That¡¯s how bad it is, that is how much of a time waster it is!¡± Jiehong yelled back.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t, and I am shocked you would so go out of your way to turn your back on your fellows! Because they have different ideas than you, you think it is okay to cast them out and wash yourself of them. It¡¯s sad!¡±Zan retorted.


    Passing by the guards at the town¡¯s gate, Jiehong stepped close to one and asked him, ¡°Hey, buddy? Let me ask you a quick hypothetical: if you were asked to fight alongside rebels to defend this country, would you?¡±


    The guard considered. He said, ¡°No. They would stab me in the back.¡±


    ¡°See!¡± Jiehong said. ¡°SEE!¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s the fucking problem ¡ª for both of you!¡± Zan yelled.


    Jiehong and the guard were shocked into silence.


    Zan continued: ¡°We¡¯re trying to beat back an invasion, and both of you are so focused on the forest, you don¡¯t realize the trees are trying to kill you and take over! You each would rather sit back and face oblivion independently than work together and live, thrive?! Screw that! Screw both of you! And forget ever having my respect! Now Jie, as your commanding officer, let¡¯s fucking go!¡±


    Zan could not see the guard¡¯s reaction. Not through his visor.


    Jiehong looked shocked. Genuinely.


    Zan had actually never ¡ª or at least, very rarely ¡ª seen Jie with such a look on his face. He fell into line but remained silent.


    Hours passed on the road. Jiehong still did not talk. Zan talked neither.


    What was there to talk about, really? Their disintegrating friendship? Their war-philosophical differences?


    That was when, buzzing in his ear like a fly, he heard a whisper.


    ¡°Test, test. Can you hear me?¡± a soft-spoken voice queried.


    Letting the voice repeat itself so Zan knew he wasn¡¯t going crazy. On the third asking, he replied. ¡°I hear ya. Luxley? Is that really you?¡±

 Chapter 77

    ¡°Yeah, bro! Sorry it took me so long! I was¡­ uh¡­ actually, I am still dealing with it,¡± Luxley said.


    By now, Zan was smiling broadly. He felt his mood lifted. Just when he thought things had gotten too dark, the sun parted.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Zan asked, talking low.


    ¡°I guess little-miss Maggie Weathers, my tutor, blabbed about you visiting me. Well, not blabbed, that makes it sound like she ratted us out. Or dislikes me. Sorry, I mean, or I guess what happened was she was talking with one of the castle staff. Word spread about me having a visiter, since it doesn¡¯t happen often, and people got curious who it was so they looked in the guest sign-in lodger. They didn¡¯t find anyone. Then my dad forced everyone to turn the castle over and find out who it was¡­ aye, what a mess!¡± Luxley said at length, seemingly never intending on stopping his verbal spillage.


    ¡°Sorry. Didn¡¯t you say you knew me, though?¡± Zan asked, feeling weird about potentially getting his (almost) friend in trouble.


    ¡°I tried! I really did! They never listen, though. Not to me. My dad thinks I am only some stupid asshole. You know how parents are¡­ or maybe you don¡¯t? Your parents must be cool. You¡¯re fighting in a war, right? They¡¯re letting you fight, I mean,¡± Luxley again said with the quickness of a duck¡¯s quack.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have parents. They abandoned me,¡± Zan said softly, to ensure Jiehong didn¡¯t hear him talking about his past.


    ¡°Oh¡­ gods. I had no idea. I need to go ¡ª bye!¡± Luxley said strangely curtly before ending the conversation.


    Stupid Zan, stupid! Zan muttered to himself. He came on too strong. He still didn¡¯t know who Luxley was or how his mind worked. It was too much personal information too quickly. He should have played it cool. Mention fewer details about his rat parents. Gods, why am I so awkward?!


    ¡°Who were you talking to?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Busted. Crap¡­ well, wait. Not busted. Jiehong was going to find out about Luxley, eventually. I should come clean. Be honest. Direct.


    ¡°I was talking to Luxley. He lives beyond that branching pathway in the Backroads,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Oh, that whole thing. What is he like?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°He is about our age. I think. His family has lots of money. More than your family. And he lives in the Expanse, of course. He seems kind.¡±


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°Yeah, I remember some stuff from the Wardens. It is only a tactical thing for you, then? Befriending this guy, I mean? As soon as he has served his purpose, you are going to cut him loose?¡±


    Zan couldn¡¯t reply right away. Jiehong¡¯s statement took him aback.


    He had intended on playing his hand some with Jiehong, playing the friendship head game some so Jiehong would not become jealous and therefore even more of a bean-turd to work alongside.


    He couldn¡¯t, though. He had to be honest.


    Hearing Jiehong speak so lowly of another person, whatever their station in life, turned him off in a way he did not appreciate. No mind games. Just the truth.


    ¡°No. He is, or will be, possibly, a friend,¡± Zan stated. Simple and clean.


    ¡°You want to be friends with the enemy?¡±


    ¡°He isn¡¯t our enemy. He is a civilian who lives in the country waging an unjust war against our country. HE is not our enemy, HE is not on the front lines killing our countrymen, and HE is not the one talking about using and discarding people like they are your soiled ¡®flogging¡¯ tissues!¡± Zan said with more oomph than he intended.


    Fully expecting one of Jiehong¡¯s rancid rebuttals, or maybe a response which simply missed the point, Zan braced himself.


    He said nothing.


    Not a word.


    Or sound.


    Quiet.


    In their silence, Zan and Jiehong made good time to Thundervale.


    Returning early evening, Zan knew as soon as their business was done, here, they would need to either rent a room or return to the command center.


    Or the third, radical option: stay up through the day.


    Reaching Thundervale, the sun had risen to an early morning height. Zan felt tired of always being between days. Between days was why he rarely had magic anymore, because the Slipstream does not come out at night and Zan and Jiehong were always traveling by night or fighting by night because of the enemy¡¯s power-levels then.


    I should stay up, Zan told himself. I¡¯m already so tired, though! Ugh!


    Walking into town, the guards recognizing them and waving them on through with a smile ¡ª high tidings away from their first visit! ¡ª Zan knew he couldn¡¯t do anything before he met with Colonel Winters.


    Strolling to the guardhouse, Jiehong behind, though still unhappy looking, Zan entered and asked to see the Colonel. The clerk waved him up, not bothering to have him sign any guest-book. Or even to look up from a missive they were reading. Zan smiled and went up.


    Past the clerk, Zan let his smile back down. He hated smiling. It was a social custom, and he did not know why everyone was so gun-go about it. It made his face feel weird. He found Winters like he had last time, stooped over his desk with a parchment pile high. ¡°Hiya,¡± Zan said, while still crossing the large third-floor. ¡°I will keep things short: the enemy is advancing into the region around Feathervale. I found some rebels who said they can put their differences aside with the loyalist and attack together. IF the loyalists will work with them; this is important, Colonel. Dozens of outposts have already been established.¡±


    ¡°Nice to see you again, Zan,¡± the colonel said with a sigh.


    ¡°Nice to see you again?¡± Zan replied, unsure if the Colonel was joshing him or not.


    Silence. After a bit, Zan reiterated, ¡°So, about those riders?¡±


    ¡°Rebels? Really?¡± the Colonel asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re taking up arms to defend our country. We should be at least willing to work with them,¡± Zan repeated. Behind him, Jiehong rolled his eyes. Zan glimpsed Jiehong¡¯s behavior just as he turned to re-introduce him.


    Eyes fixed on Zan, Colonel Winters groaned as only a seasoned military officer could. ¡°Can¡¯t it ever be easy with you?¡±

 Chapter 78

    Over the next hour, Zan and Colonel Winters hashed out the support he could spare to the rebels. Every step along the way, Winters went through pains to ensure Zan knew had the boy not saved his life, this outlandish, wild idea would not be entertained in the least. Zan nodded and said, ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± a lot.


    ¡°Good¡­ well, it looks like we have our deal. As part of my blood oath to you, I will lend the rebels myself and a few good men. Together, we will route the foe. Help drive back the invasion some,¡± Winters said.


    ¡°Excellent! I am happy we could reach an understanding,¡± Zan told the Colonel. ¡°Our differences aside as politically engaged countrymen of arms, we should always be willing to set aside our differences for the greater good. Even if we feel icky inside.¡±


    At hearing Zan used the word ¡®icky,¡¯ the Colonel burst out laughing. ¡°I think so as well! Ickiness be damned!¡±


    Zan joined with the Colonel and laughed. Why the Colonel found his word choice funny, however, Zan did not know. Maybe it was how he said it? Had he maybe mispronounced the word?


    Cutting into the fun, Jiehong spoke. ¡°Speaking of war-fighting, is there any word from the king? Can you tell us anything?¡±


    Getting serious, the Colonel said, ¡°There is too much word from the King. He writes missive after missive. Yet the substance is strange. He is under pressure, I can tell. The enemy has made a push straight to the capital. Defenses seem to be holding, for the moment, though. Although, for how much longer we cannot know.¡±


    Zan saw Jiehong become crestfallen. Yet livened, too. ¡°So there is hope.¡± He said.


    ¡°Of course there is, boy! Why wouldn¡¯t there be hope? You think your homeland would roll over and take it like a whelp?! Neigh!¡± the Colonel replied.


    ¡°No¡­ of course I knew we would put up a fight. I only didn¡¯t know how much of a fight we could put up. It is not like I am privy to the armament budget¡­¡±


    Colonel Winters laughed again with mirth. ¡°Very true, lad. Oh, so true! Worry not for now. The capital holds and will continue to hold. Talking about the situation with you boys has helped me; I will confess, before you arrived, I was in a melancholy, but as youth tend to do, you snapped me out of it by your directness. If there isn¡¯t anything more you boys need, however, I must prepare for the mission. I will not leave for another day ¡ª perpetrations, you know; finding volunteers, you know ¡ª but once I do, I will head straight for the location you told me.¡±


    With the conversation ended, the three of them split.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired¡­¡± Zan said to silence when they were outside.


    Jiehong said nothing, admiring only the dirt. He kicked at rocks with his shoes.


    So this is how it¡¯s going to be, is it? Zan thought.


    Hearing a ping in his ear, it took Zan several moments before he pressed it. So long it had been since he last spoke with the Wardens, the ping took him off-guard.


    He touched the tiny button and said, ¡°Zan speaking.¡±


    ¡°Zan!¡± Sigma-Prime said. ¡°When you have a lull during your mission, please return to the command center. We have a new development ready for use.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®development¡¯?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Like a tool. Do not get your hopes up: the development is not a weapon. It is a tool. A companion tool to the Backroads.¡±


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Okay. Sounds good. We will be along soon. We found nothing in Feathervale except for Whiskey and an assault,¡± Zan said, proceeding to fill the Wardens in on what they had missed.


    ¡°Unfortunate. Do not give up looking. We will see you soon, that is all,¡± Sigma-Prime said before ending the conversation.


    Turning to Jiehong, Zan said, ¡°Back to the command center! We go¡­!¡±


    Jiehong remained unimpressed.


    Knowing the command center was a good way away from Feathervale, Zan figured they should leave right away. Being already in the town, though, Zan asked Jiehong if they should get something to eat.


    ¡°With what money?¡± Jiehong stated coldly.


    Zan considered whether he wanted to go at it with Jiehong about his attitude.


    He did not.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get going,¡± was all he said instead.


    Making it back to the command center uneventfully, Zan practically collapsed once he passed through the doors. He hadn¡¯t even heard the many well-wishes people gave him upon noticing his return.


    ¡°Wardens! Sorry. Jiehong and I need something to eat, or we will die!¡± Zan announced once inside the war room.


    ¡°Factually incorrect,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum said. ¡°I understand your point, however. Your vitals indicate you need both food and rest. See us when you replenish your bodies.¡±


    Zan did not waste any time. He scurried on down to the kitchen. Was half-surprised to see Jiehong with him.


    ¡°Have you ever had our cook¡¯s cooking?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°No. If I did, I clearly don¡¯t remember, so it couldn¡¯t have been too good,¡± he said.


    They entered the kitchen and must have been in perfect time for lunch¡­ dinner? Jean Pual-Paul stood at the oven wearing his chef whites and fancy hat.


    ¡°Oh, there you boys are! It had been so long since my mouths made an appearance. I was thinking maybe you met an untimely end? Or perhaps a timely end with some lady parts? Eh-eh?¡± Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said.


    Zan was going to reprimand the chef for his dirty insinuations, but Jiehong laughed like old times at Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth). ¡®I can let bygones be bygones,¡¯ Zan swallowed, letting, for now, the chef¡¯s rather strange mentality go free. ¡®For Jiehong.¡¯


    ¡°You¡¯re my kind of man,¡± Jiehong said as they got settled into their seats.


    ¡°Oh, ze, me?¡± Jean Pual-Paul (the Fourth) asked. ¡°In what way?¡±


    ¡°Nothing obtuse. Worry not. Your personality. Zan here has been my best friend since youth, but our personalities are day and night. Usually¡­ you, though, have a humor inside you,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Mon father was a funny man for a living back where we used to live. He rubbed off on me, yes?¡± Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said.


    Jiehong laughed again. He said, ¡°Maybe he did, Jean. Maybe he did,¡± with a wink.


    Zan didn¡¯t know what they were goofing over. Probably nothing. Humor was something he had to work at understanding.


    ¡°What would you recommend, mister chef?¡± Zan asked, actually hungry.


    ¡°Ah, zthe food eater shall be prepared food. Yes. yes¡­ we have so little in the way of supplies. Although ze campers are happy to pay their modest tax, vegetables only grow so fast and meat only dies so slow. I can make you each some hearty cheese sandwiches with an assortment inside. I will prepare some fried potatoes stalks to go alongside it.¡±


    ¡°Magnificent!¡± Zan said. ¡°I¡¯ll take a double!¡±


    While Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) cooked, Jiehong continued to make small talk with him. Mostly about his cooking style, where he learned. It wasn¡¯t anything Zan didn¡¯t already know. He let them both go on in peace. Zan had his metaphorical plate full of keeping his eyes open.


    Finally, the meal, done cooking, Jean placed it before them. Jean excused himself and had to rush to what he described as his ¡®other job,¡¯ though Zan had no clue what other job he had¡­ cooking for other people? Hunting with the other campers?


    Irrelevant, the lives of others ¡ª though Zan didn¡¯t mean what he thought, he was only tired ¡ª he dug into his food. Three slices of cheese fit between three slices of bread, which were then fried alongside potato slivers. Touched with salt and pepper, Zan and his empty belly never felt a meal more filling.


    Finishing their food and cleaning their dishes, Zan told Jiehong, ¡°We have to go to the War Room. The Wardens have something for us.¡±


    ¡°Fine. But they need to make it quick. The energy from our food is only going so far!¡± Jiehong replied, which Zan agreed with. He was tired too and didn¡¯t want to remain flustered with Warden explanations for too long. Zan only understood the Wardens, at the best of times, as one understands an incoherent professor on the first day of classes on a tough subject. Clearly, today would not be a ¡®best day.¡¯


    In the War Room, Zan and Jiehong plopped in front of the Wardens, slouching against a wall. Talking directly to the Screen Master, his blue-ish hues still, as always, projected on the far wall, said, ¡°Okay. What have you guys discovered? Or made? Can we make it quick? I need to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Sigma-Prime, please bring out the prototypes,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°Right away, Screen Master!¡± Sigma-Prime said and then scurried off, her legs, golem-like, pattered away to a table covered with a white sheet.


    ¡°Behold!¡± she said, pulling the cover away. Revealed was¡­


    A pile of crap?

 Chapter 79 (Advancement: Power Bike)

    Zan did not actually say ¡®crap.¡¯


    He did say, ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°What you see before you, Ranger-Knights, is the fruits of our labors over the past couple of days. Well, longer, actually¡­ we began building this before the Command Center went to sleep and we only remembered it recently. The timeline is not important! What is important is this is a transportation device. If properly used, it will act as a reliable means of transportation both inside of the Backroads and outside of the Backroads. Though using it inside the Backroads will be pointless unless you discover more lodestones,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    Approaching the table to get an up and close look, Zan saw the ¡®pile of crap¡¯ gain definition. The ¡®crap¡¯ were, in fact, bikes!


    Looking the bikes over, they were blocky. Thin. And shiny.


    ¡°Why are the bikes so¡­¡± Silence. ¡°strange?¡± Zan asked, but Jiehong finished.


    ¡°Good question,¡± Jiehong followed up. ¡°Nothing like the bikes my family has ever seen. Not to nitpick but these are not the most fashionable pieces.¡±


    Laughing in good spirits, the Screen Master said, ¡°You are correct. These bikes are not fashionable. They are tools to assist you in your martial prowess. Their unique appearance is due to their unique construction. Unlike a typical bike, which is cumbersome to transport and store when not in use, this bike ¡ª as you can see by its block-heavy design ¡ª can fold in on itself. When not in use, you can easily store the bike on your back through a handy storage strap.¡±


    Zan and Jiehong looked over the bike again, but even more closely.


    Both boys grabbed a hold of their respective bikes and tested them out. They folded in up, unfolded, then re-folded. Sigma-Prime urging them on to practice several times to ensure mastery. It was as the Screen Master said. The bikes were easy to use, easy to fold, and Zan thought these bikes were just the thing they needed to really move.


    ¡°I think these are just what we need, right, Jiehong? If we can¡¯t ride horses, we can ride these, right?¡± Zan asked.


    Picking up on what Zan was referring to right away, Jiehong said, ¡°We can¡¯t use these bikes in place of horses! We could never keep up with the rebels. They are bikes!¡±


    Unsurprisingly, the Screen Master spoke up: ¡°You should know by now, Jiehong, these are no ordinary bikes. Created from ever lasting minerals which might not even exist anymore, these bikes will last for life and beyond. These bikes are also magically recumbent. Meaning, you can augment their speed and control using a small but steady input of your magical energy.¡±


    Looking at one another, each boy had the same idea and whistled, impressed.


    ¡°What is the typical speed?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Because of its unique construction, the bikes will be faster than your average bicycles. However, not by much. A fraction of a horse at a gallop. Which is by half, if not more, of your average bike. With magical input efficiency, something not yet mastered by you and Jiehong, unfortunately, you will gain speeds, at least on par with a horse. Does this make sense?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    Considering it ¡ª Zan finally shook his head after one too many ignorant noises.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The Screen Master explained it again.


    At last, Zan said, ¡°Okay. Got it. Sorry¡­ I am so tired!¡±


    Running the Screen Master¡¯s explanation through in his head once more, Zan understood the bikes. He genuinely was tired. It slowed down his processing. The bikes were easy, though. And Zan grew the inclination in him how, even without magic, the bikes would serve them well enough in their mission to help the rebels attack the series of enemy outposts near the Western Way.


    More receptive to the physical output needed for a mission like this, Zan now had a conception in his mind for the toll of war on his body. Zan thought of how he would need to do a lot of pedaling to keep up with the horses. Which would hurt his feet and cause even larger blisters than he already had; which would necessitate magical use to help heal his feet, which would mean by extension less magic to use on his bike. Zan thought it exhausting just to think about! I can¡¯t help the rebels without seeing the Slipstream, Zan told himself. Otherwise I and Jie will done for.


    ¡°I need sleep. Can we finish this chat another time?¡± Zan asked.


    The Wardens said nothing against breaking off for the day. Zan and Jiehong returned to their respective quarters and slept a profound while, not waking until the late morning the following day.


    Partaking of their usual routine, they eat by the hand of Jean Paul-Paul, then reported to the war room to continue their conversation with the Wardens.


    ¡°Shall we continue our conversation from the night before?¡± the Wardens asked.


    ¡°Yes. You were saying?¡± a much better rested Zan said.


    ¡°Regarding the bikes, I only had one point left to make. With these bikes ready for use, we will expect a higher level of engagement.¡±


    ¡°Engagement?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Correct. Both of you are doing great in your new roles. Improvement is to be made with both of you, however. Examples of these improvements: Zan, a higher focus of long-term goals. Jiehong: a higher retention to the chain of command. With the introductions of these bikes, we will expect both of you to continue using the Order¡¯s technology in a comprehensive way. Otherwise, the life-forms within you will expire and with their deaths also come your deaths.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± both Zan and Jiehong shouted.


    Stepping forward, Jiehong raised his voice and said, ¡°Neither of you ever told us about our performance being linked to our lives! This is bullshit!¡±


    Zan was not happy either and said, ¡°You know, Wardens¡­ maybe my decision to join this Order would have been different had I known my life would be tied to this ¡®performance¡¯ stuff.¡±


    The Screen Master replied calmly. ¡°We know this is upsetting for you to learn. In Sigma-Prime and I¡¯s defenses, however, we only recovered the information about the crystalline life-forms recently. At the time of your initiation, we did not know because of memory damage.¡±


    Everyone argued for a while. Shouts, curses, but it all gradually went away. Once the boys realized the Wardens were truthful, what more was there to be done? Especially if the Wardens were telling the truth, then if they didn¡¯t give it their all, they would die. What else could they do but resume their normal flow?


    Ending the conversation, Sigma-Prime said, ¡°I don¡¯t know if it helps, Ranger-Knights, but consider this: you are already fighting in a war. You have said repeatedly, you do not intend to stop your participation in the war until the enemy is driven out. By itself, this is dangerous. Really, as long as you continue to fight for your homeland, the crystal lifeforms within should not pose any more a threat than the automotrons you battle. The creature inside of you is not hostile. It wants to help you grow.¡±


    Cooling down after their justifiable dramatic outburst, Zan and Jiehong did find a degree of comfort in Sigma-Prime¡¯s words. They were fighting in a war, right? Their lives were on the line every day.


    ¡°That helps some, Sigma, thank you,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I will continue to improve myself as the leader. We have only been at this for what, a week? Slightly longer, if that? Lots of improvements still left to do,¡± Zan said, defending his leadership.


    Jiehong stepped forward with words of his own. ¡°I will improve as well. I have been off-putting of late, I fully realize. Not anymore, though. I will put as much effort into my commitment to the Order as I have with other aspects of my life. That¡¯s a promise.¡±


    ¡°I am glad to hear this, Ranger-Knights. Once more, do not take my criticisms as hostile. They are anything but. My role as your advisor and artificial life form is to help guide you on this journey, whatever course the journey takes. What is your next step, Zan?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    With all eyes turned to Zan, he said, ¡°How about lunch?¡±

 Chapter 80 (Power Bike Training)

    They had lunch to fill their bellies but were back at it right after.


    Zan was happy. For today, at least, he felt like the old Jiehong had returned to him. The friend he had met when he was little and seemed so composed and put together. The Jiehong who could do anything when he put his mind to it. A far cry from the Jiehong he had known lately who did hardly anything other than argue and drink.


    ¡°A strategy session, then?¡± Zan asked of everyone.


    ¡°I think a strategy council is good,¡± Jiehong replied.


    Already inside the war room, they got to it right away.


    ¡°Am I correct in assuming this strategy meeting is an update to the one we had previously?¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°Correct,¡± Zan replied. ¡°Previously, we had decided we would search the south in an effort to locate a translator for the Old Tongue Script. We found none in Feathervale. We only discovered there tensions between a rebel faction and the pro-king royalists. We encountered Whiskey again ¡ª she has sided with the rebels. I attempted to recruit her to our cause, but she refused. To this end, I and Jiehong joined with the rebels to raid an automotron construction site. The mission was successful. However, at its end, we heard word of scouts discovering a series of Expanse bases further near the Western Way.¡±


    Jiehong stepped in and talked of the rest concerning horse riding and the bikes.


    ¡°So my thoughts,¡± Zan continued. ¡°Was to use these bikes to take part in their raid. If Jiehong and I leave now, we should still make it in time.¡±


    ¡°What about the script translation? Is this not a focus for the time being?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    ¡°Not right now. No. It is on my mind. I will keep my ears open. We gotta be realistic, though¡­ we will not stumble by an expert in this language by searching town after nobody town. These defensive bunkers Mac told us about need to be uncovered. What can we do, though, when the knowledge is lost? I figure focus on the war for the moment, then resume the search.¡±


    ¡°Wise words, Zan. I will trust your judgement in this matter. Every Order begins with an uncertain future. This is the nature of Ranger-Knights, of the Shiv,¡± the Screen Master replied. ¡°Considering your goals, I would suggest a familiarization period with your new bikes. You do not want to learn on the fly in a live-fire scenario.¡±


    Like a flame igniting, the idea to practice using the bikes before the missions was beautiful. Zan had not thought of it because, in his mind, he knew how to ride a regular peasant bike. Therefore, why wouldn¡¯t he know how to ride this fancy-smancy bike?


    ¡°An excellent idea, Warden,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Shall we take this outside?¡±


    ¡°Before you leave, take these,¡± the Screen Master said, a portion of the wall opening to reveal¡­ something.


    ¡°What are these?¡± both boys asked at the same time.


    ¡°Those are called elbow and knees pads. They will protect your bones should you fall off the bikes at high-speeds,¡± Sigma-Prime explained.


    Removing the pads from the extended drawer, Sigma-Prime told the boys how to put on the strange looking and stranger feeling protective gear. Zan was no stranger to wearing protective layerings when he rode his peasant bikes, informal as they were. Tightly bound layers of cloth and cotton didn¡¯t provide the best protection, but it still was better than scraping half your leg off in a bad collision. These pads, though, they looked like bulbous ticks hugging his limbs once Sigma told them how to wear them.


    Zan and Jiehong took the bikes to the outside of the camp¡¯s perimeter defenses.


    ¡°People are starting to live beyond the boundary?¡± Jiehong asked, seeing some basic tents erected near the forest¡¯s treeline.


    ¡°I guess so,¡± Zan replied, wondering if they should allow such practices with the war unpredictable in its spread.


    Chiming in, Jiehong said, ¡°I don¡¯t think we should worry about it. We have enough on our plates as is. If they need to spread out a bit, fine. I¡¯ve noticed more people have come lately. Few, but more. We should allow the refugees free rein as long as it doesn¡¯t interfere with our projects or the social peace.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Zan said. ¡°Besides, how many of them are likely to listen to a couple of kids?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re hardly normal kids anymore, Zan. We¡¯ve taken part in battles, helped end sieges, and you¡¯ve grown magical powers outside of the norm. They would listen.¡±


    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right. Amazing how much has changed in so little time.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I wrestle with it every day. I don¡¯t think we should dwell on this. The refugees know their limits. And will be gone when the situation improves. We need to try out the new bikes the Wardens gave us. You really think they are going to keep up with horses?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out, eh?¡± Zan said, already unfolding his bike.


    Jiehong unfolded his bike, the same as Zan.


    Fully unfolded, Zan did not have to click into place any levers or mechanisms to ensure the bike remained folded properly while in use. All he had to do we unfold each piece systematically and pull until he heard a click. Zan straddled his bike. ¡°Let¡¯s see what this baby can do!¡±


    Kicking himself off to a flying start, the force was too great and Zan fell headlong into the earth.


    ¡°Ouch¡­¡± Jiehong said to his back.


    Getting himself up from the ground, Zan saw Jiehong laughing. ¡°I¡¯m glad my pain amuses you, bud¡­¡± Zan said, looking his body over to ensure nothing was out of joint.


    ¡°Oh, it was. Highly amusing!¡±


    Learning from his mistake, Jiehong put only a little pressure on the handles. What he could not account for, however, was his own oversized body. Being naturally of a larger disposition than the average man, let along for a youngster, Jiehong took a single pedal and fell similar to Zan. Face met the earth. Gravel met tastebuds.


    Now it was Zan who laughed. ¡°Miss something?¡± he said.


    ¡°Laugh it up, buddy. Laugh it up!¡±


    Zan took Jie¡¯s advice and laughed it up. Verily up!


    Although the joviality was a much-welcomed change of pace compared to their usual dull and grim epic adventure of late, it was time to get down to business.


    Each boy began testing pedal pressure, where to put their weight ¡ª how to allocate their weight while on the bike ¡ª and a flurry of other variables, such as terrain, speed, and turning ability.


    Hours passed. Something caught Zan¡¯s eye above ¡ª the Slipstream!


    Zan¡¯s magic from the previous Slipstream appearance already dissipated from his body. He reached toward the sky and uttered the holy prayer. Soon, Zan¡¯s body filled with divine energy.


    ¡°Jie! The Slipstream! Magic!¡± he yelled.


    Looking up, causing another wipeout, Jiehong repeated Zan¡¯s process. His body filled with divine energy momentarily.


    Testing out more ways to use the bikes, the boys met for a snack and water break. Grapes, cheese.


    ¡°I think it is time we try the ways the bikes interact with magic. We both just fully restored our mana reserves, so when would be a better time than now?¡± Zan asked.


    Jiehong complied and thought their present training session was the best possible time as well. ¡°It is already half-noon,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Considering our lack of mastery, maybe we should depart tomorrow? Give ourselves more time before the big mission.¡±


    ¡°I only worry we would be too late¡­¡± Zan replied, eating several bunches of grapes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. You said, Whiskey said, it is going to take them a while before they find cohorts willing to attack so many enemy outposts. It¡¯s only been, what, a day and a half?¡± Jiehong said, shoveling another couple of cheese slices into his mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯re right on that¡­ and I imagine it will take Colonel Winters some time before he arrives with his men. He, too, said he had to find some willing to undertake an unusual mission. So we can continue training today. Maybe even part of tomorrow. Break. Then shove off. Sound good?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I love it! Okay!¡± Jiehong said, taking a huge gulp of warmed water. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to it and bend these bikes to our will!¡±


    The boys returned to their training.


    In the setting sun, the cooling heat allowed the boys to continue to practice with their new tools without interruption. Sweat and exertion may have eroded their energy, but they continued at it for many hours. When the sun crested the horizon and each boy returned to the command center, Zan thought they had accomplished a lot.


    ¡°How do you think we did today?¡± Zan asked as he and Jiehong shared a bath in the overly large communal pool.


    ¡°Not bad. It was rough going at first. I won¡¯t lie. I wasn¡¯t expecting these bikes to be so¡­ tricky. Finicky. Powerful, even, I guess. At a point today I even thought maybe I wouldn¡¯t get the handle of it,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I felt the same,¡± Zan replied. ¡°It was like¡­ I dunno how to describe it. It was like riding a bike while running, while also acting like a messenger? If that makes sense.¡±


    ¡°I think it does.¡± Jiehong poured water over his back and scrubbed vigorously. He liked a clean back, Zan noticed. ¡°While riding, you have to look ahead of yourself a certain space because the bike goes so fast, so you are like a messenger riding long distances. Running makes sense, simply speaking, because your legs are constantly in motion.


    Really, it is more analytical than I would have figured. I never felt this way with a regular, simple bike. Do you think the magic makes it easier?¡±


    ¡°It makes riding easier, I think. Magic. I using the bikes is brain-heavy, too. Which is why we shouldn¡¯t allow magic to sway as into using magic on the bikes by default. We should strive to master as much as we can, using our own muscles, bodies, and minds. Magic is a last resort or a strategic advantage,¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°I agree. Fully. I¡¯m surprised we¡¯re on the same wavelengths about this,¡± Jiehong said. He turned around now to wash his privates. And Zan did the same.


    Conversation died down once the magic usage as a topic broached and the youths focused on cleaning themselves with the dainty smelling soaps provided.


    With towels around their waists, Zan felt great as he and his friend returned to their respective quarters for the rest of the evening.


    Tired, wanting bed, and ready for nothing else other than rest, it was, of course, then when Luxley spoke in Zan¡¯s ear.

 Chapter 81

    ¡°You there, Zan?¡± Luxley spoke.


    ¡°I am,¡± Zan said right away.


    ¡°Sorry for leaving you so suddenly. I had¡­ issues. My dad is still being a dick!¡± he said. Zan consoled him and asked him what the issue was, but he said it remained, shoring up security, busy-body stuff resulting from Zan¡¯s last visited.


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated¡­¡± Luxley said. ¡°Anyway, I just wanted to reach out and reassure you we are still good. And I am still alive!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear. I was wondering what happened. Are you all good? Later today, or maybe tomorrow, I am heading into a battle. So I need to be fully prepared.¡±.


    ¡°A battle?! That¡¯s SO cool! What¡¯s it like?¡± Luxley implored Zan to say.


    Zan took a few minutes to explain to Luxley what it was like. He seemed impressed.


    ¡°So, nobody actually dies?¡± Luxley asks.


    ¡°I have seen no one die ¡ª yet! It happens, though. I¡¯ve seen the enemy control massive war machines with huge legs and big cannons. I¡¯m always afraid how the next battle with be the one with death.¡±


    Luxley said nothing. One of those awkward, mysterious silences came between them. Luxley, eventually, said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. It is not what I signed up for when I was born, but what can you do, right? It is merely the circumstances of my birth¡­¡±


    Another silence. Zan thought he heard from the other end a soft sobbing noise, like Luxley was crying. He did not know how to bring that up without sounding too overly concerned when he and Luxley were still getting to know each other. Plus, Zan did not want Luxley to lose ¡®face.¡¯ Good way to drive friends away, he knew.


    ¡°What are you going to do after the battle?¡± Luxley asked with great strain, signaling to Zan he had been crying.


    ¡°Oh¡­ I have no clue. I guess resume our search for the academic,¡± Zan yawned as he stripped down his battle gear and clothes.


    ¡°Academic?¡± Luxley asked, his tone changing.


    ¡°Yeah. Oh. So¡­ without going into too many boring details. We found this list of locations where defensive structures from a super long time ago are buried. If we can gain control of these structures, we might be able to turn the course of the war. Only problem is the list is written in the Old Tongue Script. Which we don¡¯t speak. So, I bet you can figure the rest,¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°Oh, yeah. That would be a bummer. Sorry. Is there not anyone nearby who can read the script? Do you know?¡± Luxley asked.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°If there is, we don¡¯t know of them; that¡¯s why we¡¯re searching. Of course, it¡¯s hard to search when there is also a war going on. Lots of interruptions. Especially when we don¡¯t know how to ride a horse¡­¡±


    Changing his intonation to that of a songbird, Luxley then announced something which changed the course of their budding friendship. ¡°Guess what? I can¡¯t hold it in anymore! I know the old tongue!¡±


    Zan shot up in his bed. His heart beat. He felt excitement again.


    ¡°Dude¡­ you being real right now? Do you really know the Old Tongue Script? You can actually read it?¡±


    ¡°Barely. But yeah. Plus, I have books about it. And an old teacher I could call upon. We¡¯re going to get that list of yours translated, buddy. So¡­ the sooner I have it, the better.


    The sooner you will know about those bunkers. Do you think you could run it to me now?¡± Luxley asked.


    Zan wanted to rush the list to Luxley. But he couldn¡¯t, he realized. Though he had gained a burst of energy upon hearing Luxley knew the language, just thinking about getting to the White Chamber after re-dressing, then walking the Backroads, then handing it to him, possibly having to deal with unexpected issues¡­ it all made him tired.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Zan said. ¡°I would love to, but I can¡¯t. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so tired, Luxley. I want to sleep. Then in the morning, I need to train a bit on a new tool, bike, thing I got.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ after the battle?¡± Luxley asked.


    Zan continued to think. ¡°How long would it take to translate?¡±


    Luxley began a response, then stopped. ¡°Not super long. But potentially a while?¡±


    ¡°Potentially?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Uh¡­ as I said, I am not a master in the script. I can only read it. Poorly. So, depending on the accent types and the dialect, it might take me a while.¡±


    ¡°How long is ¡®a while¡¯?¡± Zan asked, though this time with faux-fear.


    ¡°Maybe a week? More?¡± Luxley replied.


    A week? That was ¡®a while.¡¯ What other option did they have? Zan thought it it was going to take Luxley a full week to translate the piece, then there was no reason not to run it up to him after the battle. Between now and the battle¡¯s end, it would be three days, tops. So what was a week plus three days?


    ¡°I will run the list up to you after the battle. This time, though, before I come, I need you to do something for me,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Oh? What it is?¡± Luxley asked, his tone curious.


    ¡°Last time I¡¯ve been up to your place, being in my war-fighter gear has presented issues for me. Work out a disguise for me, please. An excuse. Something which will not set off alarms if I am seen¡­ last thing I need is to get into a desperate life-or-death battle where you live and potentially end up killing your castle guards or whatever.¡±


    ¡°Good point!¡± Luxley said. ¡°I will start working on a disguise or excuse or something as soon as we stop talking! Yeah. Good idea. Your whole deal has caused so much grief in the castle. Yeesh. One guy is sighted, one time, with no explanation and chaos from top to bottom. Not like I can intervene without giving away my position. I feel bad for the good workers who were fired because of it¡­¡±


    Now Zan felt bad. People lost their jobs because of him?


    ¡°Luxley! try to do something for those people. If you can. I feel terrible they lost their jobs over me,¡± Zan said, nearly on the verge of tears.


    ¡°I will. I am sure they¡¯ve found better jobs by now. I will check in on them and offer what I can. Maybe talk to whoever is in charge of security here.¡±


    ¡°Awesome. Thank you, bud.¡± a pause for thinking. Then Zan said, ¡°I really need to go to bed. I will run that list up to you the soonest I can. Okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay. I will get to work on that disguise so there won¡¯t be anymore drama. Sleep well, buddy. Talk to you soon. Over and out.¡±


    ¡°Over and out, buddy. Over and out.¡±

 Chapter 82 (Additional Power Bike Training)

    Zan woke up early. He did not think he got much sleep. What he got, though, was more than enough. He had a lot to do today and wanted to get it done.


    He went into the kitchen for breakfast but found nothing. Jiehong remained asleep. Looking outside through one of the tiny basement windows, he saw the lightest touches of daybreak.


    Confused where his breakfast was, Zan asked to the ceiling, ¡°Screen Master? You there? Where is the chef?¡±


    ¡°Good morning, Zan. He is on his way now. Apologies for the interruption. There was a big argument in the camp last night and it created some disturbances for him. The issue has since found a resolution,¡± the Screen Master replied.


    Zan didn¡¯t know what to think about an altercation in his camp. ¡°Is the altercation because of people spreading away from the camp?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Partially, yes. Some want everyone to stay within the defended perimeter. Others wish to spread out and risk travel to more plentiful zones.¡±


    Just as the Screen Master finished his sentence, the chef came into the kitchen. ¡°Sorry I am late, mis ami, traffic, you understand!¡± the chef, Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said jokingly.


    Zan placed his order, and Jiehong¡¯s order, and made small talk with the chef.


    ¡°So¡­ ¡®the fourth,¡¯¡± Zan asked. ¡°Are you close to your father?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, no,¡± Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said. ¡°he and I are as different as can be. He is a man¡¯s man, and I? Well, the culinary arts are not what he would consider a ¡®real job,¡¯ as he likes to say.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I never knew my parents, if that helps,¡± Zan said.


    Finishing egg-slipping, Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) said, ¡°You know, boo. It does help. A little, anyway. Okay, here is your breakfast and here is another for your friend. I have to get going to my other jobs! Have a delightful day!¡±


    The chef left the kitchen and Zan soon after, as he scarfed his food down with his typical ¡®young male¡¯ energy way. Leaving the kitchen, he encountered Jiehong, who had only left his room.


    ¡°Morning, buddy!¡± Zan said. ¡°I just finished my breakfast. I had the chef prepare you a plate as well. I am heading outside to begin however much familiarization we have left with our bikes before we shove off for Feathervale. Oh! And before I forget, big news! I won¡¯t keep you, though. Come out when you¡¯re done eating. I have to go get dressed.¡±


    Still tired, Jiehong nodded. He entered the kitchen as Zan entered his personal chambers. He stripped off his belabored bed ware, changed into a clean pair of undergarments, only his second pair in all of his possessions, and dressed his skin in his war-ware. Prepared for the day, he left his room and exited the command center.


    Outside, everything looked the same. Unchanged from the previous night where, supposedly, there had been a major altercation between the denizens of the camp.


    Zan walked slowly through the camp. It was early in the morning. Few people were up, let alone out and starting their day. Aside from Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth), evidently.


    With the camp, then, the same as ever, no one to talk to, and nothing left to do except go outside the camp¡¯s limits and practice with his bike ¡ª attached to his back ¡ª Zan did just that. He walked to where he and Jiehong practiced yesterday.


    Removing the bike from his back, Zan unfolded it, locking all the mechanisms into place. He didn¡¯t know what would happen if all the pieces weren¡¯t in place when he tried to use the bike, but nothing good, surely. Not that it mattered, he thought. I doubt this thing would even function if the pieces weren¡¯t where they needed.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Starting out on flat ground, Zan rode.


    A nice and smooth ride. By now, the speed of the bike was something which, although would still take a while to fully adjust to, Zan was well on his way to such a change.


    Naturally higher by a great deal than any community bike, Zan found the speed pleasing. It had taken his brain a while to adjust to the speeds, as it meant he had less analyzing time while on the bike. But the experience came quick to Zan.


    At least on flat ground.


    Riding to the rougher terrain, the moment his bike crossed the threshold between ¡®smooth and flat¡¯ to ¡®rough and uneven,¡¯ the bike nearly threw Zan to the godly earth.


    But he was not thrown. Zan remained seated and remained peddling, though at a slower rate than before. Which was the point of the practice yesterday ¡ª to become better.


    Zan continued to practice biking in circles and other shapes for over an hour.


    Jiehong eventually came to the practice field.


    ¡°Took you long enough,¡± Zan shouted, though not angrily.


    ¡°Sorry. I was really hungry, so I had to call over the chef guy for another round of food. Then I bogged myself down with talking to people. Some kind of fight last night? Anyway, I¡¯m all business now.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Zan said, surprised at Jiehong¡¯s good answer. ¡°I heard about the altercation from the Screen Master. I don¡¯t have the details, though. He said it is finished, now, though, so I don¡¯t think we need to worry over it.¡±


    ¡°I agree. I was only getting snippets and shit from people. Sounds like a few guys might have had too much of the homebrews and talked some crap. Whatever. Happens to everyone,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Not me¡­¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Not you, sure. But people aren¡¯t you, buddy! So, what have you been doing? Just practicing?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah, no. Just practicing. I¡¯m getting better at the rough ground. Still tricky,¡± Zan said, thinking over Jiehong¡¯s comment about not everyone being him. What was that supposed to mean?


    Whatever it meant, Zan was sure it meant nothing. Anyway, the issue could not continue. Jiehong went off in his own space to continue practicing with his own bike. Zan did not want to interrupt him by talking through his earpiece.


    So Zan returned his attention to his own training.


    Biking: and the practice it demanded.


    An hour and ninety minutes later, Zan thought he had gotten in enough of his relentless riding back and forth on rough ground. He might not have mastered uneven ground, but he learned enough muscle memory to know when to speed up and when to slow down, along with, for the time being, how fast he should go when the going got rough. With still a good deal of the morning left before they needed to prepare on their journey back to Feathervale, Zan biked further away from the command center. He wanted to train on the roughest patch of ground still close to the command center. Here, the ground¡¯s unevenness led to ditches and gnarly barbed plants. Pebbles, rocks, and even puddles dotted the surface, which sometimes led to harsh wipeouts, where the weight of Zan¡¯s incompetence flung him off his bike after the wheel hit an unusually deep puddle.


    It was here, Zan knew, where his mastery of the bike would happen. Well, here and on the battlefield, Zan added.


    Zan practiced. Which, as he found out, was less ¡®riding¡¯ of the bike and more looking at where he was going. Essentially, Zan had to look ¡®ahead¡¯ so many seconds, which encapsulated so much distance, and then look around, plot a path instantly in his head, followed by carefully, and at a certain speed, biking to the destination. And then do the whole process again. And again.


    Practicing intently, as was Zan¡¯s default state, he realized after only twenty minutes how mentally draining it was. It took a lot for him to process so much of the surrounding stuff, understand if it would throw his biking off, which often necessitated biking through it to gain first-hand experience on the matter, and then correct his course, his actual use of the bike.


    Doing this was also slow. Real slow.


    Zan tried to stick to the relatively more open spaces of the land so he could easily peddle, but every so often, he dipped his toes into the difficult sections. A huge time-sink in itself since this section, filled to the brim with thorny plants, was nearly unpassable. Though Zan still tried simply to improve himself. Which all took slow practice. Patience, Zan thanked the gods, was a strong suit of his.


    A ring in his earpiece. ¡°I¡¯m going on a break. You said you had news for me?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Yes! I am going on a break now, myself. I will tell you about it in person. Where should we meet?¡±


    Meeting over by the perimeter ¡ª the smooth ground ¡ª Zan felt immensely better about his practicing once he felt the transition between hard, rough, and smooth ground. Oh, yeah, it¡¯s all coming together! Zan thought at feeling the change in his body¡¯s demeanor once he crossed over to the ¡®rough¡¯ ground and found much less trouble than even earlier in the morning.


    Skidding to a halt, though by mere accident, Zan hopped off and met Jiehong for a much-needed water break. Gulping-Down-Swigs-of-Water later, and Zan told Jiehong, ¡°So! I found a translator!¡±

 Chapter 83

    ¡°What do you mean, you found a translator? Where?!¡± Jiehong said, surprised, curious.


    ¡°My new long distance friend, Luxley. Evidently, he knows. Some of it. I am going to run the list up to him after the joint operation,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Huh¡­ your contact is paying off already. Good. We needed that translated. I guess we should get this operation done with sooner rather than later, eh?¡±


    ¡°I think so¡­ I think I am going to practice a bit more, then go inside and get cleaned up before I dirty myself again. I would recommend you practice a bit on the roughest patch of eath. Over there, by the prickly fauna,¡± Zan said, pointing out where he had come from.


    Jiehong shook his head, and they each went back at it.


    Finding a satisfactory end to his familiarization with his new tool, Zan halted his peddling and decompressed the bike, putting it on his back.


    In the bath, Zan felt peaceful.


    Just him, the hot water, and his body soaking in the tub.


    Amusing himself with fanciful images, building to releasing the inbound stress, Zan felt elated during its peak. Good thing Jiehong isn¡¯t here. What a mess. Wiping away his soapy mess so as to not make the bath floor even more slippery, Zan dried and dressed himself for success.


    Zan then eat a well-prepared steak with a side of roasted diced potatoes. Zan knew Jiehong would appreciate such a meal, simple as it might be.


    Spending some time in his room while Jiehong bathed himself and then eat, Zan looked around his personal quarters. ¡®It¡¯s so empty,¡¯ he remarked. He thought back to Jiehong¡¯s parents. Their bedroom had been small. Yet trinkets, books, clothing, scrolls, sentimental items, souvenirs, and more had filled the tiny space of theirs to the brink. Looking at his chamber¡¯s sparseness, Zan thought he should find some trophies to put inside. He made a note to bring back some pointless stuff the next time he visited a place.


    Leaving his room after his thinking and rest, Zan saw Jiehong leave the kitchen. He burped and thanked the non-existent chef.


    ¡°War room time?¡± Jiehong asked, seeing Zan.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°War room time,¡± Zan confirmed.


    Before the Wardens once more, Zan said, ¡°I have an update on things. One, today, very soon, we will depart again for Feathervale. With any luck, during the next couple of days, we will link up with rebel and loyalist forces to destroy a series of automotron outposts along the Western Way. Secondly, I have located a translator for the Old Tongue Script list we found. My contact in the Expanse, Luxley, knows the language and has offered his services. I will go to him after the mission.¡±


    Sigma-Prime spoke first. ¡°Excellent updates, Zan!¡±


    Then the Screen Master spoke. ¡°Excellent indeed, Zan. You are coming into your own. This is exactly what we meant when we said to take command of the order. Continue with this course of action.¡±


    Discussion over the course of the mission then transpired. The Screen Master pulled some images of the Western Way outposts. Zan didn¡¯t know how he received the images¡­ something to do with the magical echolocation ¡®pinging¡¯ thing he told Zan about previously. Bouncing specialized magical waves off the Slipstream to receive an image or something. Zan only knew the big idea, not the little.


    Stocking up on both types of grenades and ensuring their blades and defensive gear were in working order, Zan and Jiehong were about out the door when Screen Master Simulacrum stopped them. ¡°I nearly forgot, Zan. I have an announcement myself. As you know, or might have forgotten, our command center was under the earth for a very long time. During this time, damages were sustained. These damages effected the command center¡¯s ability to generate from memory most of our tools. Slowly, Sigma-Prime and myself have been repairing the damages. This is where your new bikes have come from. We are telling you this again because we are on the verge of a major breakthrough. With any luck, a new tool will be ready for your exclusive use in a matter of weeks.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I remembered,¡± Zan lied. He had not remembered. He barely knew the deal with the command center, to be frank with himself. With their mental jogging, though, Zan¡¯s memories of the first explanation came back to him. ¡°What is the nature of this breakthrough? And why am I the only one who can benefit from it? Is it impossible for Jiehong to use as well?¡±


    Simulacrum replied, ¡°Jiehong can use it ¡ª eventually. When the Order grows and more adherents and followers are granting the order boons and resources, material circumstances will change. Then, Jiehong will use this tool. As for its function, I cannot say for certain, yet. I know this: it will be a war-fighting tool. It will help you organize the battlefield.¡±


    Zan glanced over at his friend. He seemed to take the news fine. He was worried his friend would take offense to not being allowed to use this tool.


    ¡°Awesome-sauce. I guess we will wait and see what the fuss is about? Thank you, Wardens, for your continued aid,¡± Zan said, bowing slightly, then leaving with Jiehong.


    Outside the command center, Jiehong said, ¡°I wonder what this tool is? Color me intrigued.¡±


    Zan replied he too was curious, but they should remain focused on their upcoming mission. ¡°So, walk or ride?¡±


    Jiehong mused. ¡°Lead the way, leader. But lead on that bike of yours!¡±

 Chapter 84

    With training under their heels, Zan and Jiehong made easy work of the dirt-laden roads which led to Feathervale.


    It was high noon when they reached the half-way(ish) point in the day. They stopped for water and a snack of berries and cheese.


    ¡°I¡¯m tiring of berries and cheese,¡± Zan said. ¡°Make it hard to ¡®go,¡¯ you know?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know. Like trying to squeeze out a couple of rats,¡± Jiehong said, crudely. Zan still laughed, though. As immature as Jiehong¡¯s humor could be, Zan always appreciated his bluntness. He also appreciated how he would let his ¡®real¡¯ side show when they were alone. To his knowledge, Jiehong did not show anyone else his rude comedian self.


    They finished their snack and returned to their bikes.


    Straddling his bike, Zan looked ahead. Road. Burned husks of slain golems. ¡°We¡¯re making good time.¡±


    ¡°We are¡­ I was skeptical about these bikes, sure. They¡¯re getting us places, though. I don¡¯t think we will have any issue with these bikes during the battle. Assuming this operation you are trying to get going actually works.¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s war. Everything is unpredictable.¡±


    Zan nodded. Jiehong was right on that. War was unpredictable. Just because it was unknowable, though, did not mean they could rest on their laurels and stop trying.


    Taking off again, the boys made a beeline for Feathervale. The way for them was mostly clear. A couple of time they had to ask the Wardens for directions. Otherwise, they knew where to go, mostly from memory.


    With the road to Feathervale composed entirely of dirt, Zan considered it easy-going terrain. Maybe not the smoothest, but really, the smoothest he would see up here.


    They arrived in Feathervale at sunset.


    Two days travel by foot cut to one day by bike. Incredible speed, Zan knew.


    ¡°So, we find Whiskey, I take it?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Nodding, Zan looked around. The situation looked the same as ever. Rebels outside the town but otherwise nothing of note happening.


    Or so it seemed.


    Shouting, once a dim verbal glimmer, turned riotous.


    A rebel shouted, ¡°Loyalist raid!¡±


    Across the drawbridge suddenly came over a dozen rushing men in armored suits. Although these men carried weapons, they did not clutch them in their hands. Clutching instead rods and planks of iron and wood, they used these staves as crowd control weapons.


    The armored men who rushed the rebels did not violently whack the rebels.


    Instead, the men pushed the rebels ¡ª hard.


    Using their staves, several would gang up on a single rebel, push them away, and destroy some tent or campfire. Systematically, they went from tent to tent. Before the rebels organized a counter, the guards had destroyed some half-dozen or so tents and fire pits.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    When the rebels responded to the guards¡¯ attack ¡ª a ¡®raid¡¯ as one rebel had screamed ¡ª they used similar staves. These staves were more bulky, however, than the guards¡¯s pole arms. Zan glimpsed why: larger accouterments attached to the pole ¡ª which gave the appearance, Zan thought, of blooming flowers ¡ª gave the owner more whacking power. Thus, it made it easier to push back against the guards. Zan suspected the rebels might be using magic to assist in their counter-pushes since he thought it unlikely a few poles with bulbous attachments at either end were likely to shove the guards back so well all by themselves.


    Still a way from the town and camp proper, Zan and Jiehong watched the whole affair from the safety of the road.


    The struggle continued for nearly an hour, each side grunting and yelling, screeching. After a few combatants suffering a few good whacks, the altercation simmered down. Retreating to the town, the guards fled and left the rebels as they were.


    ¡°What the heck?¡± Zan mouthed.


    Looking at Jiehong, Zan wondered if his friend knew what was going on.


    Jiehong shrugged. ¡°No idea. Obviously, a conflict. I just thought¡­?¡±


    His trail ended, Zan shared his confusion. He finished his friend¡¯s thought process. ¡°You just thought¡­ there would be death? That the loyalists would come out, swords drawn, and kill the rebels?¡±


    ¡°I mean, yeah! What else would happen?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Holy law? Maybe?¡±


    Zan knew nothing about any so-called ¡®holy law.¡¯ With the spectacle over, normalcy and the need to do what they came for re-entered his head. ¡°We should find Whiskey. I didn¡¯t see her during the raid, as they called it. Maybe they already left for the mission?¡±


    ¡°I doubt that bud,¡± Jie said. ¡°She is probably scoping out recruits. We¡¯ve only been away for a couple of days. Let¡¯s ask around, then find a bed in town.¡±


    So Zan and Jie did just that ¡ª they asked the rebels if they knew where she went. Most said she did not know. Eventually, they encountered someone who said, ¡°she left for an inter-faction recruitment run. She should be back soon.¡± Zan took this ¡®recruitment run¡¯ was recruitment for the operation to drive the many enemy outposts from the land.


    ¡°Good,¡± Zan said to himself. ¡°We haven¡¯t missed it yet.¡±


    ¡°Satisfy your worry?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°For now. Yes. Let¡¯s go into town. You found some money for beds?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°A bit. We can¡¯t go hog-wild,¡± he said.


    ¡°As if. Mr. I-Got-Drunk-More-Than-Once!¡± Zan replied with a laugh.


    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t knock it till you try it!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s save ¡®trying it¡¯ for after the war. Or at least until the night I lose my innocence,¡± Zan said, his over-the-top joke about his sex life already regretting.


    Jiehong laughed like a boar on shrooms at Zan¡¯s joke. It was why he said it.


    Hand on shoulder, Jiehong laughed and said, ¡°Let¡¯s get us some fine mead and a nice meal!¡±


    Entering the town, the guards side-eyed them. One of them muttered something under their breath. Zan thought he said, ¡°Watcher¡­¡±


    Not wanting to get into it with a guard, though, Zan ignored him.


    Together, he and Jiehong went straight to a tavern called the Rusty Cluck.


    ¡°A couple of meads and a platter of finger foods,¡± Jiehong ordered at the busy establishment.


    ¡°Everything seems normal, still,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be? I doubt the Expanse, even with their outposts, will mount any assault soon. Not after we destroyed that large fort they were building,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°True. I just always expect trouble.¡±


    ¡°I do, too. I¡¯ve always expected trouble, though. You haven¡¯t expected trouble until recently. With the war.¡±


    Zan thought about what that could mean. Before the war, he and Jie were normal kids. What sort of trouble could he have been expecting?


    He wanted to ask, but the barmaid with oversized features brought them their pints of drink. Jiehong drank deeply. Zan only a single mouthful. Zan really didn¡¯t feel like drinking, but the loudness of it all drove him to it. He wanted to numb the chorus of shouting and music.


    Feeling uncomfortable, Zan couldn¡¯t do anything other than fidget uncomfortably in his seat. When the barmaid brought them their food, Zan said, ¡°Jie! Pay the tab! I want to go somewhere calmer!¡±


    Jiehong did as requested and they went somewhere quieter while they munched on little sandwiches and fried cheese bites, washing it down with a swig or three of mead. Closer to the city gate than they realized, Zan heard a commotion near the front.


    Wandering over, Zan saw the guards harassing a woman.


    With a start, Zan realized the woman was Whiskey.

 Chapter 85

    ¡°Hey! Leave her alone!¡± Zan shouted.


    The guards turned to see Zan and his lumbering mate stride toward their position. Realizing from their attire and size (though the size bit was mostly Jiehong), they were at the losing end of the proposition, so they back off.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Don¡¯t get your kicks in while smashing up some tents? Gotta get up in the face of a woman to prove your manliness?¡± Jiehong said, heating with each word.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get it twisted! We weren¡¯t harassing her because she was a woman. She¡¯s a rebel. Fair game,¡± the guard said.


    ¡°Your trouser snake says otherwise¡­¡± Zan pointed out the man¡¯s crotch.


    ¡°I¡¯m a man. I¡¯m allowed to become aroused by a pretty lady,¡± he said.


    ¡°Maybe. But while harassing her? Poor form, my man,¡± Zan said, putting his arm around Whiskey and escorting her past the guards.


    Giving the guards the stink eye as they walked by, the altercation ended.


    Walking out of earshot of the guards, Zan said, ¡°What creeps!¡±


    ¡°I am used to it, Zan. You didn¡¯t have to come to my rescue. I could have handled them easily. I handle men like those two every day,¡± Whiskey said.


    ¡°Oh. I didn¡¯t know that. I guess maybe I did? I saw you in action¡­ sorry.¡±


    ¡°We meet again,¡± Jiehong said, talking directly to Whiskey for the first time.


    ¡°So we do¡­¡± Whiskey said, not knowing how to reply.


    The three of them found an even more quiet place to talk. A garden. Public? Either way, they were sitting and talking. So it was public now.


    ¡°How was your luck in finding men?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Honestly? Not the best. Few rebels will work with the enemy, countryman or not. I found a few good souls, though. With your Colonel Winters and his men, we should have enough. Might be an uphill battle, though. Not including the literal hills, you know?¡±


    ¡°I know. Yeah, up hill. I am happy you found some guys and will help us out,¡± Zan replied.


    Whiskey kept quiet momentarily. ¡°Did your colonel say when he would be around?¡±


    Speaking up, Jiehong only did, Zan thought, because he wanted Whiskey to pay attention to him. He could be such a child sometimes! Jiehong said, ¡°He did not say. He has to collect his own men and is facing difficulties. The same difficulties you face. Not surprising. Few Loyal men would be dare seen working alongside rebels. Might get people talking in the wrong way¡­¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t that the point?¡± Whiskey said in an unfriendly way.


    ¡°Let¡¯s avoid the acrid political conversations for now, shall we, you two?¡± Zan intervened before the arguing became potent.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Whiskey said, used to it.


    Jiehong repeated the sentiment.


    ¡°I take it you and Jiehong will be with us during the battle? Rather short time to learn how to ride a horse. You savants or something?¡± Whiskey asked.


    ¡°Not savants. We found another means of travel. Bikes. Not ordinary bikes, though. Special bikes made from ultra-weird material,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Bikes? Really? Bold. You both are the boldest men I know, so I guess it works.¡±


    ¡°Men?¡± Jiehong asked with a smile.


    ¡°Fine. Boys, if it will make you happy!¡± Whiskey laughed.


    ¡°You two have a room at the tavern? If so, then I guess I won¡¯t have to set you up with cots. Let¡¯s meet tomorrow. By now, we¡¯re only waiting on your colonel.¡±


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Agreed. And yes, we have rooms. We will see you tomorrow, Whiskey,¡± Zan said, standing to shake her hand. She found the gesture amusing, though Zan did not. It was a handshake. Was she not accustomed to shaking hands?


    With Whiskey gone, Zan took a sip of his drink. The three of them had finished the platter, Whiskey taking an extra strong sip of Jiehong¡¯s beverage while she was at it.


    ¡°You can have the rest of my drink since Whiskey took her toll on yours, but we should get to bed soon. Sounds like we¡¯ll have a busy day tomorrow,¡± Zan said to Jie.


    ¡°For once, I agree. Thanks,¡± Jiehong said, taking the offered pint and downing it.


    The boys returned to the tavern and fished themselves into their room.


    Night sped by and dawn confronted them before long.


    Stretching, yawning, Zan quickly dressed ¡ª mostly equipping his weapons ¡ª and left with Jiehong in toe.


    Leaving the city, the guards averting their gaze as they passed, Zan and Jie found Whiskey some ways from the limits of the camp. To his surprise, Colonel Winters was there and he was talking with Whiskey.


    ¡°Is everything all the right?¡± Jiehong said, striding once more toward Whiskey with a powerful glide in his step.


    Zan was next to Jiehong. He caught eyes with Winters and smiled.


    ¡°Everything is fine¡­ now,¡± the Colonel said.


    ¡°Now?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means,¡± Whiskey said, ¡°there was an issue earlier in the morning. My rebels saw an armed detachment of Loyalists approaching and thought the worse. There was a stand-off. Lots of shouting. No one got hurt, though.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. We should be able to work together fine, then?¡± Jiehong asked.


    A tense round of stare-offs begun. Zan thought for a moment fighting would break out. Yet such a fate did not come to pass.


    Colonel Winters said, ¡°Yeah. No. My men are as ready as I am, and we are here to help liberate our country from the grip of the invaders. Simple as that.¡±


    Whiskey said much the same.


    Moving around to get a better sightline, Zan saw Colonel Winters had maybe a dozen men with him. All armed with impressively forged long-spears, it was a wonder they could even carry the weapons, let alone use them on the enemy.


    ¡°Shall we go over the battle plan?¡± Zan asked. ¡°Speaking of which, do we have a battle plan?¡±


    Whiskey nodded. ¡°We do. I spent the better part of our time apart thinking of one. Here is what I have¡­¡±


    #


    As the winds of destiny whirred between Zan and Whiskey, plotting another facet of their fate, close, we find the imperial engineer Rictus Dawson:


    ¡®We have what will probably be your last or next-to-last task,¡¯ the lead client had told me. He took me aside, explained what he needed, and said, ¡°Go to Feathervale. Enter the town, search, set up these special devices. Then return and do the same to the rebel camp.¡±


    I nodded my head and obeyed without question.


    What were the ¡®special devices¡¯? Objects known as ¡®cameras.¡¯


    I did not know the full capability of a camera. Let alone how unique these cameras could be. I knew enough to understand these were spying devices. Meant to get the ¡®deets,¡¯ as my kids called it, on the enemy. Information, in other words.


    My nation, the Expanse, is busy invading this woodland country. Of course, spying would be in top demand. I had no moral qualms over that; even if I had moral objections, I knew enough to not to give voice to them. Objections ended careers¡­


    What confused me was why spy on this nowhere town and this no-where rebel camp? Over weeks, my contract demanded I stay in this country. During this time, I had grown more familiar with the locals in their day-to-day lives. I learned their habits and routines. Enough about them to report back to my client about the general situation. This went for both the town-folk, who seemed by and large loyal supporters of the embattled-king, as well as the rebels who dominated the spaces outside of the townships. I knew better than anyone how this whole region was worthless. The targets they kept up on, those two farm-boys, were here, though. So I guess they were the real target of these spying devices? Who knew? I kept my mouth shut, regardless.


    My big break came when I was within the rebel camp and close enough to my client¡¯s target, I heard a war-meeting. I inched closer to hear, being careful not to make my presence too obvious. Under the cover, as someone enjoying some nearby spirits, I carefully noted everything of value discussed within the meet. When they broke off to ride to war, I did the same, except I rode to my masters.


    ¡°I did as you asked, milords,¡± I told them upon my return.


    ¡°We are already retrieving data from them. You¡¯ve done well, engineer,¡± the leader said to me.


    ¡°Thank you, sir,¡± I told him. ¡°A point of clarification. Now that my mission is done, is this the end of our contract?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s save it for a couple of nights. You¡¯re on standby until then.¡±


    Another couple of nights? ¡°I could do that¡­¡± I told myself.


    So, for a couple of more nights, we waited.


    My clients seemed happy. Was it hard to tell? Sure was; especially as they kept me outside like a dog. From the inside, I commonly heard laughter. Usually healthy, non-demented. So the devices clearly were doing what they wanted them to do.


    Inside, my clients remained all day, feeding on the data. Discussing it. I never heard more than a whisper.


    Which was the thing. I heard them talk¡­


    Talk like normal people. Why let themselves speak so plainly? Are they dropping their guard around me? Treating me worthy of their respect?


    Honor aside, at the start of the third day, the leader came back to me. He was going to speak to me about my employment. I took a deep breath and addressed his approach like I always did. He dismissed my formality with a wave of his hand. He said, ¡°We need you for a little while more. Hold tight.¡±


    I barely had time to get out a response when he was back inside the base, giving me not the sparest shred of attention.


    Okay¡­ more time. Fine.


    More time suits me well. More time to look at my kids¡¯s portraits. Remind myself why I was fighting.

 Chapter 86 (Outpost Assault - 1)

    Freaking crazy plan ¡ª crazy to the top! Zan cussed at himself.


    Whiskey ¡ª she really expected everyone in the troop to single-handily take out a dozen outposts?! EACH?!


    ¡°Remember to bring your torches,¡± Whiskey told everyone. The torches were a vital part of the plan. Zan grabbed his while still in numbed shock.


    Do I have a better plan for dealing with hundreds of outposts, though? Zan asked himself. Obviously, shit-for-brains, you don¡¯t¡­ you didn¡¯t even know just how many outposts there were. You were too busy playing hero to ask questions!


    Sometimes, ¡®actually, most of the time, this was what war was,¡¯ Zan reminded himself. Terrible odds against terrible odds.


    The group continued to strategize for a while, but there was only so much one could do before a battle and when intelligence was low. Lots of small bases, each base had a few automotrons. What else could be gleamed?


    Colonel Winters and Whiskey took to the front and led the combined rebel and royalist force. Zan and Jiehong remained just behind on their bikes; as the journey progressed, however, the ¡®just behind¡¯ they enjoyed at the start of the journey turned into a lagging ride near the end.


    Ahead, Winters and Whiskey stopped.


    Zan rode ahead to see why. Jiehong by his side, too.


    ¡°See?¡± Whiskey said to no one in particular.


    Zan saw what she spoke of: using his eyeglass, he spied outpost after automotron outpost. Each was visible because of a little smokestack rising from the site.


    ¡°Why are there fires?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Dead burial?¡± Zan answered, unsure himself.


    ¡°Unlikely,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°And irrelevant. They weren¡¯t burning material when our scouts discovered them. They might be simply clearing the area in preperation of a larger force coming through.¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­ but we split up here?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yes. Colonel Winters, Take your men and drive down the middle. You are the best armed and have the better, more well-fed horses, I will reckon. Care for the honor?¡± Whiskey asked.


    ¡°Of course. It is only fair and logical. I will bring my men into position and await your signal,¡± Winters said, not staying for further conversation, he and his men taking off like bats from a cave.


    ¡°Zan and Jiehong: take the far east ride. Over there. See?¡± Whiskey said, pointing out a series of smokestacks which gradually increased in their incline because of a hill-heavy formation. Great, how lovely that will be to bike up¡­ Zan bemoaned to himself.


    Zan turned to Jie, and they each nodded. ¡°We see it.¡±


    ¡°Split them up, take them down. Myself and my volunteers will be on the far side doing much the same. See?¡± Whiskey said, indicating where she would be.


    ¡°We see. Okay¡­ we will get into position.¡±


    Zan and Jiehong biked hard to get into their position. Took around fifteen minutes. Zan was happy he and Jiehong spent a while practicing on their bikes, because the terrain here was rough-patch mixed with rougher patches. It would be a struggle.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°At least it is a mild incline,¡± Jiehong said once they were in position and waiting for the signal.


    ¡°One mercy, I guess,¡± Zan said, still worried about being able to keep up.


    ¡°Worried?¡± Jie asked.


    ¡°Of course! Aren¡¯t you? If we can¡¯t keep up and need help and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Buddy! Calm yourself. This isn¡¯t some village game. It¡¯s war. If we need help, we need help. Winters talks a lot about honor, but this doesn¡¯t apply to us. We¡¯re not soldiers, remember? Let¡¯s focus on clearing out the enemy, one outpost at a time. Then we can worry about how the others are doing.¡± Jiehong argued.


    It was the old Jiehong shining through. The wise Jie. The Jie who once had been the undisputed leader of them. Zan cooled himself down. He was ready.


    One leg on the ground, the other on the peddle, Zan looked to the sky.


    ¡°Well, look at that!¡± Jiehong said. ¡°The Slipstream is coming out!¡±


    Waiting for Whiskey¡¯s signal ¡ª a bright firework ¡ª Zan saw what Jiehong meant. Somehow, despite the slagging day, the Slipstream appeared. Both boys reached to the sky, prayed, and became filled with energy.


    A loud ¡®sparkling¡¯ explosion later ¡ª the signal ¡ª and the boys launched themselves forward, peddling as hard as they could. For the battle had begun.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ride ahead and attack every second outpost!¡± Jiehong shouted. ¡°Good?!¡±


    ¡°Good by me!¡± Zan shouted back.


    Zan liked Jiehong¡¯s tactical outlook. Taking every other outpost would allow them to stay within range of each other in case one needed emergency help, and it would allow a constant ebb and flow to the battle.


    Approaching the first outpost, Jiehong rode on past, leaving it to Zan.


    Drawing his sword while still riding his bike, Zan peddled then brought his sword in for an attack run on the shocked enemies.


    Or enemies¡­ as golems, Zan doubted these lifeless husks which only had a bit of spiritual essence inside them, motivating them to action, had any sense of emotion.


    His blade wrung true and sliced clean through the one golem¡¯s head and another¡¯s mid-section. Biking around the basic structure of the outpost, which was merely a ramshackle hut with a pathetic fence built around, Zan then made another attack run and killed the two golems.


    He temporarily got off his bike. He dragged the two golems to the firepit they had prepared and saw the flames consume them. He then found a torch which Whiskey had given to everyone before the battle began, while they were still at Feathervale. He lit it, then set fire to the primitive structure.


    Satisfied it was in flames to his liking, Zan hopped back on his bike, inserting the flaming torch into a groove on the bike of his bike, and set off for the next base.


    First outpost down¡­ at least eleven more to go¡­


    Back on his bike, Zan passed the next outpost. Jiehong had the right idea and had also torched the outpost. Though he did not drag the slain enemies into the firepit.


    Biking past, Zan waved to him, and egged him on: ¡°Don¡¯t let me overtake you!¡±


    On his own bike and catching up to Zan, Jie said, ¡°One for one, baby! Don¡¯t let your early victory go to your head!¡±


    They did not jabber for long. Already upon the next outpost, Zan broke off and made for an attack approach: slice, dice. Two enemies he wounded. Instead of going around the structure, however, like last time, Zan simply stood his ground while still astride his bicycle and slew the two golems in front of him.


    Dragging the two slain golems into the firepit, Zan belatedly realized he did not need to actually drag them into the pit. Not since his torch had been lit. Maybe Jiehong had the better idea. Conserve energy.


    Zan torched the outpost and moved on to the next outpost. Then the outpost after that one. How many is that? Four? He asked himself.


    Then something happened he hadn¡¯t expected.


    While peddling, his bike slipped, and Zan tumbled to the ground.


    ¡®What the crap?!¡¯ Zan cussed.


    Looking around, Zan saw the issue. Slick on the ground, Zan saw a strange goop.


    Dousing his finger in the goop and bringing it to his nose, it had a strong pine-like smell coming from it. Rubbing it between his fingers, Zan found it so viscous, even his fingers slipped.


    Tapping his ear piece Zan asked Jiehong, ¡°You finding any weird slippery goop on the ground?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. Wait ¡ª shit!¡± A pause. ¡°Just found it. Thanks for that.¡±


    Zan rolled his eyes at his friend. He knew Jie did not mean it and was not actually blaming him, but it was a classic deflection move for him. Suddenly, through the comms, Jiehong said, ¡°Try burning it with magic.¡±


    Letting the goop drop to the forest floor, for although it was a slippery substance, it was not a sticky substance. Zan stood up and pointed his open-palm at the earthy goop. Saying a brief chant, a fiery magical radiation expanded from his hand and connected with the goop, exploding it.


    The explosion sent Zan back, flying. Singed hairs aside, ego bruised, he was otherwise unharmed.


    Seeing wisps of flame around, Zan then heard a chime in his ear. ¡°Was that you?!¡±


    Choking on a reply from his crisp throat, Zan said, ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s me. Fire is effective.¡±

 Chapter 87 (Outpost Assault - 2)

    The existence of the goop presented Zan with an unexpected problem. He had at least eight more outposts to torch. Even if every outpost did not have the goop surrounding it, like the first few he had burned, he would need to slow down on his approach regardless, just in case the outpost had goop. Otherwise, the slippage would toss him from his trusty bike.


    Seeing the next outpost up ahead, Zan slowed down. Which was the problem. He was navigating rough terrain. Slowing down in this thick, bramble-heavy landscape meant he was practically waddling his bike to the outpost.


    Examining the ground and finding no goop, however, Zan brought his bike back into a higher gear as he sped again directly at the outpost.


    Yet there was an obstacle he did not expect ¡ª goop beyond the perimeter!


    Skidding to the ground and bruising himself, Zan was thankful for the special clothing he wore to protect himself. Had he not been wearing it, Zan could have only imagined the huge gashes which would have graced his skin.


    Seeing the automotron foe already heading his way ¡ª and a gold-colored one to boot ¡ª Zan scrambled to his feet.


    Drawing his blade, he quickly drew the blade over the fire, setting the weapon ablaze with lethality.


    Two golems. One gold, one normal.


    Zan charged the regular golem and got a running start. With his momentum, he slam-kicked into it, causing it to crash into its companion.


    Righting himself right away, Zan dived behind the gold golem, cut away its weakly protected legs, which were no match for his flaming sword. Rolling out of its way while it collapsed to the ground with a thud, Zan hopped upright and brought his blade in for the killing blow. Then another blow for the second golem.


    Pressing his earpiece, Zan said, ¡°Careful. That goop can be within the outpost as well. I learned that the hard way.¡±


    ¡°Roger-roger,¡± Jiehong said over the communication line.


    ¡®Roger-roger? What was that?¡¯ Zan asked himself with a laugh. ¡®He must¡¯ve heard it from the Colonel or something.¡¯


    Back on his bike and going slow, Zan passed by a Jiehong tangling with two gold-colored golems. ¡®Yeesh!¡¯ Zan said. Zan wanted to help Jiehong, but passing by, he saw Jiehong had the situation handled. He had tangled with multiple gold-golems before and though he could not remember off the top of his head if Jiehong had, if he had not, now was his time to tangle. Zan passed his friend by with a wave and spoke into his earpiece, ¡°Losing ground?¡± he said with a friendly laugh.


    ¡°Not for long!¡± Jiehong yelled as sounds of punches and yowls punctuated the air.


    On his way to the next outpost, Zan saw trouble on the ground.


    Not ¡®goop¡¯ trouble. More unevenness and root vines sticking out.


    By now, Zan could maintain his speed while turning in and out from the obstructing roots jutting up from the earth. With pressure, Zan made hard turns, which frequently nearly made him fall. His finest hour ahead of him, though, Zan gleamed a practical moat of goop shoring up the next outpost¡¯s perimeter.


    Nearly slowing down, Zan instead got a bold idea.


    He sped up.


    Then, speeding up further, he got an even bolder idea.


    Gripping tightly his bike handles, Zan released a modest sum of magical energy into the bike. He had not yet attempted any magical imbuing, whether in the battle or before during his practice.


    The effects of magical infusion Zan saw right away.


    Speeding up dramatically, the bike flew through the goop like it was nothing.


    In fact, tumbling toward the outpost like a cannonball, Zan realized in horror he could not stop the bike. He and the bike smashed into the golems and the outpost with a thunderous clash, sending bits of golem and fortifications everywhere.


    Panting, though probably more hyperventilating than anything, Zan stumbled to his feet after pulling himself from the wreckage. The golems were dead. ¡®Good,¡¯ Zan muttered.


    He was hurt, though. Zan again thanked his lucky stars for the protective fairy silk garb he wore.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Dragging his bike out from the wreckage, Zan then set fire to the outpost.


    Compounding issues, however, caused the outpost¡¯s nearby goop to explode in a fiery curtain of pain.


    Trying to find his way out to the next outpost, Zan couldn¡¯t. The explosion, the crash, both disoriented Zan. With the flames climbing higher, Zan tried to find an opening in the wall of fire.


    Thinking this might be his end, Zan struggled heroically until Jiehong came rushing through the wall of flames, protected by a simply created magical barrier. Zan could see the barrier¡¯s blue-ish hue tent and bend the air around Jiehong.


    ¡°Toss mud and grit on the fire! It works!¡± Jiehong shouted.


    Both Zan and Jiehong began to frantically threw oodles of earthen matter atop the fire. To Jiehong¡¯s credit, he was right. The flames settled down instantly; though the effort wasn¡¯t something they could have ignored, not if they wanted to prevent themselves from being burned alive, the effort took the better part of twenty minutes. On top of his already sustained injuries, Zan was now well and tired.


    ¡°Hold still. Let me heal you a bit,¡± Jiehong said, laying hands on Zan.


    Zan felt the healing warmth spread through his body. Healed of his minor burns and muscle ache, not to mention his low energy levels, a few tears of grace came from his eyes.


    He thanked Jiehong. ¡°Buddy. You¡¯ve depleted a lot of your magic. Is the Slipstream still up?¡±


    Both boys looked to the sky. The Slipstream still was up there. Not for long, though.


    ¡°For now,¡± Jiehong said, who then reached for the sky and uttered the prayer. Zan saw how a gentle glow came from his body after the prayer recitation.


    Sharing a smile and the will to keep going, Jie helped Zan up, and the battle resumed as though nothing had happened.


    ¡°You really do always find a way into the most dangerous situations,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°It¡¯s a habit of mine,¡± Zan said. ¡°A skill, you could say.¡±


    Jiehong laughed and got on his own bike. ¡°Till the next outpost!¡± He yelled as he peddled like a madman and was gone before Zan knew otherwise.


    Back on his bike, Zan peddled like a madman himself. ¡®Note to self,¡¯ Zan said. ¡®Be careful when using magical bike acceleration¡­¡¯


    With a body as fully restored as anyone could expect in a violent situation, Zan rushed ahead, giving little thought to the surrounding terrain. He had time to make up and didn¡¯t want a thing like ¡®landscape¡¯ to eat away at his time. Ignoring such a thing as where he was traveling on went as well as one would imagine. Zan fell over himself twice from the upstanding root structures. With many curses, slowed his pace while biking.


    Reaching the next outpost in record time¡­ slow time, that is¡­ Zan didn¡¯t feel like the slug-it-out approach. He threw a grenade and instantly destroyed both gold-golems protecting the outpost. He slowly biked the rest of the way, torched the outpost, then resumed his trek to the next outpost, happy to gain speed again as it meant smoother ground.


    ¡°On your right!¡± Zan said to Jiehong as he passed.


    ¡°Oie! Making good time, are we?¡± Jie said. Sweat flying from his face.


    ¡°You¡­ know it!¡± Zan said, panting like never before.


    ¡°Your stop!¡± Zan said, indicating the outpost.


    ¡°Lucky me¡­¡±


    Zan could still hear the friendliness in his voice. Despite the exertion of the situation, Jiehong always kept a good attitude. When things were going his way, Zan added with a hint of gloom. He remembered Jiehong¡¯s angst earlier and had to steel his opinion with the truth he saw firsthand. But Zan shrugged it off. People came in shades and hues. Jiehong was no exception.


    Coming up on another outpost, Zan considered going in all old-fashioned like with blade in hand. But seeing the efficiency of the grenade from the previous outpost, he unlatched another grenade and gave it a toss.


    A thunderous explosion. Two more dead golems. Both of which were red-golems.


    Zan torched and went on his way.


    Not seeing Jiehong behind him, Zan knew he had gained the edge. He pushed himself a touch faster, but did not feign ignorance with the road, and maintained his careful speed. His impatience had gotten the better of him earlier. Not anymore! He kept his eyes on the road ¡ª what little there was ¡ª and focused on the changing terrain from ¡®rough¡¯ to ¡®roughest¡¯ to ¡®somewhat rough.¡¯ Adjusting instantly for each terrain, Zan thought he was getting the hang of it. Though he remained on the lookout for more of that strange ¡®goop¡¯ he encountered. Thankfully, he had not yet encountered anymore, which at least told him the enemy did not heavily rely upon it in these outposts.


    Coming up on another outpost, Zan considered using another grenade, but he had already used two grenades of his six total. He could not discount the possibility of greater threats coming upon him. So he took this outpost with his martial prowess.


    Footing the kickstand so the bike would remain upright, Zan withdrew his sword. He ran his blade over the torch at the bike of his bike, after he reignited said torch using magic.


    Just like that, he was good to go.


    He came upon the enemy like a storm and gave the red golems no quarter. Red golems had only slightly more than the lowest grade of golem when it came to protective layers. With his flaming blade, there wasn¡¯t too much they could do to prevent their demise. Zan did not bother to dodge behind them; with his fire blade, he simply hacked away at the red golems like they were expendable pieces of cloth.


    His blade did what he knew it would do, though.


    The golems and their heavier armored plates were no match for his magical fire which cut through their defenses and send heavy slags of scrap metal to the ground.


    With torch in hand, Zan brought the flame to the outpost but stopped at the last second. ¡°Hello?¡± he said. He waited for a response. Then he said, but much more loudly, ¡°Hello? Is anyone there?¡±


    He heard a response. He heard, something.


    Returning the torch to his bike, Zan investigated the rudimentary outpost.


    He was sure he wouldn¡¯t find anything, but he had to be sure. He thought he heard someone. Though he had never known the Woodland Expanse to take prisoners outside of a large-scale battle ¡ª such as when they abduct whole villages ¡ª Zan tempered his knowledge by telling himself, ¡®I do not know how the enemy functions. Caution, always.¡¯


    Battering his way into the outpost proper, Zan saw nothing behind the rudimentary wooden fence surrounding the single room building. So he kicked down the only door and entered the building. Not knowing what he expected to find, Zan steeled himself for anything. Good thing he did, too, because what he saw inside shocked him.

 Chapter 88 (Outpost Assault - 3)

    Wrapped up in a strange paper-like cocoon, Zan saw a hostage. A prisoner?


    Seeing Zan, the prisoner made lots of effort to be noticed. But Zan was already cutting him down. ¡°Crap,¡± Zan said. ¡°How do I get this off of you?¡±


    The material stuck on the man was sticky like webbing. Zan considered using his dagger, but thought better. Settling on the tried-and-true approach of magic, Zan summoned within him only the image of gently dissolving whatever material was stuck to the man. Feeling the magic burn and leave his body, flowing gently into and around the bound man, Zan sighed in relief. It worked! Zan did not know the exact definitions of how magic functioned, but his use seemed valid as he watched the disgusting-looking goop dissolve.


    ¡°Thank you, lad ¡ª you saved my life!¡± the man yelled, crying in relief.


    ¡°Oh, no problem, my guy!¡± said Zan, not sure what he should say.


    The man only hugged on to Zan tighter. He felt bad, but Zan didn¡¯t like people touching him. So, he lightly pried the man away from him, ¡®oohing¡¯ and ¡®ahhing¡¯ in relief himself at having his personal freedom.


    ¡°Say, what happened? How did they capture you?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I am a Viceroy Gallant¡¯s messenger. His fiefdom is under terrible strain from the invasion and needs help. He dispatched me to take word to all nearby allied lords. I was on my way to visit viceroy Talent when the automotrons ambushed me¡­ I feel so ashamed. How could I let dolled up tree branches ambush me? A human messenger!?¡±


    Not knowing what to say, Zan ¡®winged¡¯ it and said, ¡°Hey. It¡¯s war. We¡¯re all being pushed to the ledge. You were in a hurry. No reason to beat yourself up too bad.¡±


    ¡°I will be better about myself in the future, that is sure,¡± the man said. ¡°Okay! Enough about my failure. Who are you, young lord? From how you are dressed, I imagine you are the son of a vassal lord?¡±


    The man¡¯s comment took Zan for a loop and he laughed well. ¡°A lord? No! I am a commoner. Through whimsy, fate¡­ whatever you want to call it¡­ I discovered the location of a lost martial order of Ranger-Knights. Long story made short? I¡¯m the new commander guy and I am fighting evil by helping defeat the invaders. It¡¯s a whole thing¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah! The other great calling in life, then ¡ª the holy affairs! Thank you for your help, young master. I suspect in due time, you will be a lord yourself. War makes fortunes as easily as it breaks men, remember lad. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I should be returning to my task and delivering my lord¡¯s message. Is the way clear?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°Yes, the way is clear. Or should be. You will find yourself in the middle of an operation; why the enemy captured you be because they have laid claim to this whole stretch of forest and erected a series of outposts. The Order, some rebels, and even some loyalists have joined to clear them out. I would imagine the way back is clear. Watch your back, though,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°I will! Thank you again, mister Zan,¡± he said at final breath before running off.


    Letting Jiehong know about his encounter right away was easy. Once he left the hut-of-a-building, Jiehong stopped on his bike to say ¡®hello¡¯ while on his way to the next outpost.


    Zan shouted him over and explained to him about the freed messenger.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Truly? Perhaps we should look inside the structures before we burn them,¡± Jiehong said. He had a perplexed, or perhaps disturbed, look.


    ¡°From now on, I will. I admit I did not even think to look. In my defense, I do not think anyone other than that man would be likely to have been captured. You know how finicky the enemy is on this issue. I¡¯m not worrying about accidentally having killed anyone, anyway,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°No. Me either. All the same, let¡¯s look, just in case¡­ speaking of which, turns out the enemy has more outposts than we thought. Whiskey sent a messenger pigeon. They¡¯ve discovered a lot more beyond the bend,¡± Jiehong explained.


    ¡°Shit? Seriously?¡± Zan bemoaned.


    ¡°Unfortunately. Yeah. We¡¯re going to be here a while¡­¡±


    And ¡®a while¡¯ they were there.


    The battle continued to drag. It was early evening when the battle became desperate. By then, Zan had stomped out over two dozen. Yet more remained.


    ¡°How can there be so many?!¡± he asked himself in the blazing dance of yet another outpost hut to the torch.


    Slouching himself over his bike yet again, Zan peddled with all the lagged saunter of a sun-soaked dog after a sledding race.


    Approaching the next outpost, the flow of the land now so natural to Zan, he hardly had to glance at the ground to adjust his biking style. Zan fingered the last grenade on his belt. ¡®So tired¡­¡¯ he moaned.


    It was his last grenade.


    He depleted his magic hours ago.


    Tiredness again set in, wracked his fragile frame.


    ¡®One more outpost, one more later¡­¡¯ he repeated. Zan was close to his limit. He needed a reprieve, by any means.


    He picked up speed, pulled the pin, and tossed it true.


    The golems melted like slag.


    Stumbling off his bike and nearly collapsing to the ground like a piece of slag himself, Zan took the torch in hand from off the back of his bike. Inspecting the outpost to ensure no prisoners were outback and jailed, but finding it clean, Zan put the hut to the flames.


    He biked to the next outpost.


    He destroyed the golem guards.


    He inspected the hut.


    He burned the hut.


    Over and over again.


    He biked to the next outpost.


    He destroyed the golem guards.


    He inspected the hut.


    He burned the hut.


    Over and over¡­


    He biked to the next outpost and (literally) bumped into Jiehong.


    Surprised, Zan apologized and asked, ¡°What is the wrong, buddy?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Zan. It¡¯s you! Phew. Gave me a heart attack!¡±


    The sky closed and storm clouds formed. With darkness overtaking the realm, rain then fell. Zan thanked the gods for the rain only being but a pattering.


    ¡°Actually feels good¡­¡± Jiehong said as the rain washed over his skin, soaking into his clothing and gear.


    ¡°I know it¡­¡± Zan agreed, closing his eyes, the flickering flames from their bike torches providing an oasis of light in the dark forest.


    Neither spoke while they allowed mother nature to soothe them.


    Jiehong said, suddenly, he was ¡°So tired. I¡¯m so tired, Zan. I don¡¯t like to admit it, but I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Zan placed his hand on Jie¡¯s shoulder, but only for a moment. He said, ¡°I¡¯m exhausted. I need to rest, eat. Find that bed and some iced tea¡­¡±


    Using one another to commiserate, minutes passed before the boys felt the renewing flow of the wind blowing against their skin. Sweat blown away, their breath caught, Zan said, ¡°We¡¯ve had our rest. Let¡¯s get back to it.¡±


    ¡°Together?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Together.¡±


    United, the boys surged toward the outpost. Working together, they made short work of it ¡ª Zan slew the regular golem with hardly a twirl of his sword while Jiehong bashed his armored fist straight into the heart of a red-golem¡¯s inner-gears, his knuckle-dusters causing severe damage and sparks to jettison wildly.


    When Jiehong removed his fist, Zan picked up the slack, finished the golem off with a well-placed hack first to its head, then abdomen-area. It fell to the ground in pieces. Undefended, Jiehong made a quick search of the premises, then let Zan burn it to the ground. Getting in another quick rest, the boys watched the little fire claim the outpost.


    ¡°Okay ¡ª let¡¯s get back to it,¡± Jiehong said this time.


    United, the boys took on another half-dozen outposts. Pacing themselves, they took each outpost without flair, perhaps, but with a soldiery resolve.


    Coming upon another outpost in the distance, their legs aching with but a single demand ¡ª rest ¡ª the boys instead came upon a hectic scene.


    To the side of the forested path was an open space. Zan thought it led to the major roadway known as the Western Way. Maybe another enemy group had come from there because Zan saw dozens of automotrons in the open space fighting no on other than Whiskey and a couple of her rebels.

 Chapter 89 (Outpost Assault - 4)

    ¡°We have to help!¡± Zan yelled. Jiehong agreed, and both boys set their bikes to high-intensity; which meant using magic, whatever tiny sum they could usher from deep within, to use on their bikes. Tiny though it might have been, even such a small sum brought the boys to Whiskey and her two defenders in a mighty curt time. Crashing into a couple of golems as a bonus, Zan had the foresight to launch off a couple of smoke grenades to give them an edge on their entrance. Using the smoke and the dimming night to their advantage, yelling all the while to Whiskey and her defenders on how to use the smokescreen to its absolute efficiency ¡ª namely, use the smoke to evade the golem¡¯s front and strike from behind ¡ª in a short time they made great strides. Any golem in the vicinity found itself laid to rest while the other golems, perhaps half of the remaining total, looked on unawares.


    With some breathing room secured, Jiehong yelled to Whiskey, ¡°You good?!¡±


    Whiskey was wild.


    Her long hair curled and frizzed over itself in wild tangles. From what Zan could see, these tangles were half-mud and half-sweat. Her face and body fared no better, which belied not so much a deadly warrior but a wounded predator boxed in. Both boys picked up on the hurt she had endured; her armor was in tatters, same as her blades, which looked bent, dented, obviously by the churning gears of the golem foe.


    Still, Whiskey managed to huff a response. ¡°Yeah. Fine,¡± she practically growled.


    Desperate to buy Whiskey some time, even a minute or two, to rest and collect herself, Zan and Jiehong charged into the remaining half, one of Whiskey¡¯s guards charging with them. Jiehong tossed off another smoke grenade. It was the only thing they had at this point.


    The battle became frenzied. If only because Zan and the rest were at their wit¡¯s end. Their muscles and stamina included in such wits. Though tired, Zan held his own in combat, if only because the nighttime chill brought the golems to a slow-moving state, which severely limited their abilities.


    Seeing ahead a couple of the automotrons¡¯s troop transport vehicles, the enemy soldiers themselves nearly at the breaking point, Zan wondered what he should do¡­


    He could spend a lot of energy he did not have and slowly grind his way behind the transport with the help of another well-placed smoke grenade; though to do that, he would first need to fight his way back to the bike, hope his torch remained lit ¡ª fat chance! ¡ª and then make his way, slowly, to the transports.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Just thinking about it made him sick.


    Then Zan vomited for real.


    ¡°I can take those boys, get on back to your bikes and resume the offensive!¡± Whiskey shouted, her micro-break over.


    Not wanting to argue with her, Zan and Jiehong did exactly as she ordered. It really was her operation, after all, so it made sense she should be in the commander¡¯s seat.


    Taking curious glances back to see what Whiskey had planned, Zan saw her light an arrow on fire using her spectral magic. Firing the arrow from atop a large nearby boulder, it flew true and slammed into the side of a troop transport. Zan knew it ¡®slammed¡¯ because he could hear the impact from all the way to where he and Jiehong were standing.


    On their bikes once again and already moving toward where the next outpost was, Zan couldn¡¯t help but look back several times. Before losing sight of Whiskey and her defenders cutting a path of destruction through the remaining automotrons, he saw both troop transports consumed by fire, their plumes jutting into the evening sky like a war god¡¯s angry middle finger.


    ¡°Shit¡­ really gets a man going seeing a woman like that,¡± Jiehong said.


    Zan had no response. He was too tired to be hard-up, let alone thinking about how she was in relation to¡­ Zan couldn¡¯t even finish the thought. He was too blasted. Too tired and ready for the long sleep.


    Leaving Whiskey behind, Zan wondered if Colonel Winters remained safe. If he faced an encounter as deadly as the one they saved Whiskey from, or if he was as tired as they were. It was only an idle idea.


    Zan shoved such idle thoughts from his mind when he came upon the next outpost. He and Jiehong put the blade and torch to it. Same for the next outpost. They each fought robotically. Moving only to the advantage the night gave. By the end of burning another three outposts, Zan wondered just how many of these freaking outposts the abominable enemy built. Individually, or as a unit, however one counted the total, he and Jiehong destroyed way more than a dozen each.


    ¡°Jie! I¡¯m¡­ at my limit¡­ I¡ª!¡± Zan gushed. He fell to the ground on his knees.


    ¡°Me too, buddy. Me too¡­¡± Jiehong replied, falling to his knees with him.


    Haunched over on their knees, panting for breath and feeling, Zan and Jiehong wondered if they should withdraw. Leave the rest to Colonel Winters.


    ¡°Wait¡­ what on the earth is that?!¡± Jiehong gasped.


    Grabbing his eyeglass and unfurling its parts, Zan tried to pick up on what Jiehong saw. Seeing nothing except the indistinct shapes of the enemy roving in the dark, Zan grunted his frustration until Jiehong used his glass to find the shape himself. ¡°Okay, now look!¡± Jiehong said, pointing exactly at where he saw the shape.


    Looking through anew, Zan saw, with some effort, what unnerved Jiehong.


    In the distance was a war engine. A massive one.


    One with four legs and a heart of burning coal.

 Chapter 90 (Outpost Assault - 5)

    Zan saw the smoke from the war engine clear as day despite the darkness. Whatever coal the engine was burning, it was enough to stand out even at midnight.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Zan felt weak and low. He was going to ask Jiehong that same question.


    ¡°How would we even fight it?¡± Zan said hopelessly.


    Jiehong shrugged, though Zan only say his buddy¡¯s gently moving shape.


    ¡°Do you remember anything about the last time you fought a war engine like this?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Zan thought back. Though only a week or a little more ago, it felt much longer. Zan probed every frame of his memory from then to discern a weakness. Something he saw back then which, perhaps, made no sense, which might make sense now, with his relative wealth of experience.


    Nothing came to mind.


    Head filled with blank, Zan was about to order their retreat when he said, ¡°Maybe there is a hatch?¡±


    ¡°A hatch?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Like how¡­ so the troop transports? They have behind them that handy little weak point we target when our swords are on fire, right? The exhaust pipes. Maybe these things have something like that? Or maybe a service hatch we can climb up and use to infiltrate the command pod?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have any magic left¡­¡±


    Jiehong was right on that regard. He didn¡¯t have any magic left. Jiehong didn¡¯t have any magic left. No grenades¡­ maybe one or two smoke grenades, if that.


    ¡°True. We are running low on resources,¡± Zan admitted. ¡°But we have one thing working to our advantage. The grand old cover of night!¡±


    Zan and Jiehong moved swiftly through the dark.


    Though the dual darkness of both the forest and the forest at night would cause anyone else to fumble in front of them like a slug on salt, by now, Zan¡¯s eyesight had adjusted; they could see in front of them, but only just so. Only enough to move with relative ease through the forest. Emphasis on the relative¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m back up, then?¡± Jiehong asked Zan.


    Zan didn¡¯t need anytime to consider it. ¡°Yeah. It is too dangerous. I have the idea in my mind what needs to happen. Only I should need be put in that kind of danger with so little to go on. You can risk your life to save my ass if it comes to that. So, I will count on you, you hear?¡±


    ¡°Loud and clear, bud. I¡¯ll be here, crouching low behind you, waiting for the signal.¡±


    Zan wasted no time in pursuing the large invention. Why was a war engine here? Zan had no clue. The last time he had encountered one of these, it had been when he discovered the order and the buried command center. So, why was one here, of all places? Thinking back, the valley where he discovered the command center was well out of the way of anything noteworthy in a military situation. Could something precious, like the command center, be buried here?


    Thinking such thoughts as Zan stalked the war engine, Zan didn¡¯t really have the energy to think about the logic of the enemy. Not when, with every step closer to the war engine, he found the earth shook alongside every step it took. Zan¡¯s consciousness rattled in his body like a loose stone before long.


    Just behind the war engine, Zan had to plan his next step well.


    Right behind the machine, Zan observed its patterns. Its movement.


    It did not appear to be doing anything complex. It only was walking forward. Not under trees or over trees. It wasn¡¯t taking side-diversions to support the nearby outposts. The one and only thing it was doing was barreling on through the forest, trampling anything and everything underneath.


    ¡®Makes it easy for me,¡¯ Zan said to himself.


    Rushing ahead without regard for his own safety, Zan charged into the undefended space beneath the war engine. Crashing sounds; stomping; the rattle once more of Zan¡¯s soul with each thunderous step.


    Flung on more than a few steps as he prowled underneath the dreaded enemy machine, Zan righted himself without delay, and was back in his stalking mode before long.


    Though feeling beyond the pale, Zan had no choice but to push himself to his absolute limit. He focused his attention and tried to shove away from his concentration all those worrisome thoughts, like if the machine would unexpectedly step on and kill him. Those thoughts weren¡¯t productive, so he did not dwell upon them.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    More or less, notwithstanding those moments where he had to scramble and avoid certain death, Zan stood underneath the exact middle belly of the engine. He stared high above, trying to discern anything like a service hatch. With a machine this big, it had to have golems inside operating it. Those golems surely had to enter the machine through some door, some mechanism. So, where was it?


    It was useless. Zan found nothing like a hatch. It was too dark to see anything.


    Except for one thing.


    He gleamed something in the nick of time. Though faint, Zan saw, or thought he saw, a faint, ever so faint glow coming from inside the bulbous core of the war engine.


    The furnace! Zan exclaimed.


    ¡®Thank you eyes for finally adjusting!¡¯ Zan said to himself. ¡®But how to get up there? Boy, was that not a question I want to answer¡­¡¯


    Then Zan remembered from his last encounter.


    Ladder-steps. He had seen handholds, a rudimentary ladder going along the interior legs the previous time he encountered this invention. It would be hard to work his way to a leg and not become flattened, yet he had to do it.


    Once Zan was underneath the machine, the issue was simply keeping up.


    The walker took giant strides. After only a couple of steps, Zan had to run straight ahead to keep himself underneath its ¡®belly.¡¯ To get to the leg, but without getting himself killed while doing so, Zan slowly inched his way toward a leg. This took patience. And running. Some adjustment after so many steps were required as the path of the walker was not always straight. After an hour or less, Zan could not tell how long he had been slugging it out with this walker, trying his hardest to not become squished, Zan finally got close enough to the walker, at just the right time in its movement, to launch himself with all his remaining stamina, and grab hold on to a ladder rung.


    Turns out, holding on was even harder than running.


    Well, Zan thought, maybe not harder, but still damn hard. Zan held on as tight as he could, but the huge swaying motions of the legs as they walked were a force he hadn¡¯t prepared to endure. For reasons unknown even to him, Zan had assumed he would have a much easier time once he was on a leg and moving up toward the belly.


    Feeling the sway of the leg he was on as it prepared to move, Zan braced himself.


    A giant whoosh, and a lunge, later and the leg was off.


    Then with a crash, reverberations sending his bones into near shock, the leg was down, placed firmly into the ground. Around him, creaking and groaning from the engine¡¯s other legs. The fire pit above.


    Zan knew by now he couldn¡¯t waste time.


    With the leg he was on planted firmly in the ground, he had to climb. His limbs were shaky and like that of a spider trying in vain to make a web in a roaring waterfall.


    Zan climbed and climbed. Yet he was slow, methodical.


    If he heard the machine move, he planted his body firmly close to the ladder, entwining his limbs within the ladder¡¯s rungs for extra stability. Once the danger passed with a fading of the sharp, agonized motions of strained wood and metal, Zan resumed his gradual climb.


    He didn¡¯t know how long it took him to reach the top.


    All Zan knew was by the time he reached the top, the climb had become slightly easier, with the upper portion of the leg not demanding so much movements as the lower half. Strange construction aside, Zan was thankful for the engineering decisions taken. Right near the top, Zan now was at his final challenge. How to enter the cockpit?


    His current position was at the very top of the leg. No more ladder points existed above him, only to his back, planted above the leg, embedded into the walker¡¯s hull. Although movement was much easier above the mechanisms of the lower leg, he still had some gravitational forces to contend with. If the leg segment he was on was moving, these forces, Zan could tell, amplified and caused more of a shock to reverberate through the structure ¡ª and him.


    Looking back, Zan saw the rung, the piece of metal, he would have to make a leap of faith toward. If he miscalculated, he would fall to the ground. If he was lucky, he would only break many bones. If he was unlucky, he would die.


    Going over the bodily motions he would need to make, Zan repeated the motions to himself as he waited for the ¡®step cycle¡¯ to finish, which he counted as every leg being planted firmly on the ground before the next leg reared itself above. Running the physicality over in his mind, Zan thought his process out: turn my waist, reach for the sky, extend my body, gradually letting my entanglement on the ladder fade, and then grip ¡ª tightly! ¡ª the new rung. Then, fully detach once both hands are on the run. Should I curl my legs onto the rung as well? Is there space?


    Zan didn¡¯t have time to contemplate this issue further.


    With a powerful thunk, the war engine completed its step cycle. Which meant all four legs were on the ground.


    Knowing he couldn¡¯t waste time, psyche himself out, and go any further into the energy negatives than he already was, Zan launched himself. Without thinking, he turned, grabbed, and with a split heart¡¯s decision, hurried himself along the handgrips like a spider scurrying from a bird. Seeing at a glance there wasn¡¯t any room for his legs upon the ladder rungs, Zan contented himself to have his legs flow freely in the air. Zan resisted the urge to look down and see how far he dangled in the night; he wouldn¡¯t see anything, anyway. Though he would know, of course, the only thing between him and a grisly death was his two hands holding onto pieces of rusted metal for dear life.


    His scurrying having been successful, Zan now found himself directly below the hatch which led into the cockpit. He could feel the heat from within waft through the side cracks of the cockpit.


    Zan had a new problem, though. How would he enter?


    If he had magic, a lot of magic, he would channel it all into his fist and attempt something like a powerful blast which would destroy the door. If he was more well-rested and had grenades still on him, he would plant one on the door, scurry off, and let it explode. But he had neither of the important bits for that plan to work, no grenades or resolve or energy. With magic drained as a slaughtered pig at harvest time, Zan¡¯s options were dwindling fast. Hearing the groans of the war engine as it prepared for another walking cycle, Zan knew he had to act fast.


    Suddenly, a crazy idea came to mind.


    Zan knocked on the hatch. Yes. Knocked.


    On the door.

 Chapter 91 (Outpost Assault - 6)

    When the knocking failed to gain the attention of the enemies within, Zan pounded the door mercilessly.


    Was he truly expecting the soldiers within to open the door? Not really.


    Yet¡­ maybe?


    His banging caught their attention, though.


    From beyond the stained-glass window, which was featured as the sole port in or out, Zan saw golems shift themselves while operating the many levers and buttons within. How did they know what to do? Zan wondered.


    Continuing to bang mercilessly, eventually, Zan forced them to do something about him. At first, they tried to maneuver the machine and ¡®scrap¡¯ him off, for lack of a better term.


    This proved ineffective. Zan easily held on by the handles right before the door and remained a pain in their wooden asses.


    To his bliss, the automotrons did what he hoped! They opened the door!


    After opening, they attempted to strike him with spears, but he expected such things to happen in war. What else would they do? Throw him a tea party?


    Dodging the strikes, Zan contented himself to making an entry. Harder to do than someone might think: Zan had to hold on for dear life, dodge the spear strikes, AND draw his sword ¡ª while still holding on and dodging ¡ª and then wait for an opening to strike and enter the cockpit. Zan needed a gap in it all. One gap. That was it and he would fling himself into the driver¡¯s seat, enduring many bodily indignities.


    Zan found his gap. Whether it be a wayward calculation in their spirit-stone mind or mere mistake, eventually, the striking golems were slow enough in their strikes, Zan took up the lagging time for himself and instead of parrying a blow, dodged it and thrust himself into the cockpit. He swung his sword, did a slash, a stab, hardly thought about such trite motions, really, and before him laid two slain golems.


    Elation spread through him. He felt lightheaded, but the good lightheaded.


    ¡®He had done it!¡¯ His mind sang his praises repeatedly in a sing-songy way. He had taken down a walker all by himself! He could finally take a seat and rest.


    Zan was not in the cockpit for any longer than a moment before the panic set in; odd sounds went off in the command pit. Clearly, the machine wanted input from the drivers to maintain something in its systems.


    Crap! Zan realized. How do I drive this thing?!


    Obviously, he did not know, and clutching odd buttons didn¡¯t help.


    Failing multiple times to stabilize the war engine, Zan did the only thing he could do: he let it fail.


    Through the simple view port, Zan saw the sun crest the horizon. The operation had lasted all night. Alas, he could not focus on the viewing port for long. Not with the treeline coming in hot and the ground hotter!


    Zan braced for impact!


    And boy, did that impact come with a crash.


    His world spun; a chorus of broken tree limbs; his own screaming; the holding on for dear life; then Zan¡¯s split-second decision to evict himself from the machine, flying from the war engine like a bolt in the blue; his crashing overshadowed by the siege weapon¡¯s crash, which, in a blur, Zan saw had sent a great plume of debris. Then it was over. Audio after ripples ¡ª fragments of trees destroyed settling in the chaos; animals fleeing the devastation ¡ª spread and settled into calm. Then silence came.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Zan evicted himself at the right moment. The War engine had tumbled close enough to the ground where once he evicted himself, the fall was merely tough bruises and pain instead of broken limbs and agony. Which he would take any day.


    Slowly, Zan moved his body. He twitched his toes, fiddled his fingers. Blinked.


    ¡°Holy crappola¡­ wicked,¡± Zan said, slowly rising.


    A chime in his ear. ¡°Zan, are you okay? We¡¯ve been picking up elevated heartbeat and hormonal outputs,¡± the Screen Master whispered.


    Zan pressed the tiny button to send a reply. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m fine. I am now¡­ had an encounter with one of those giant four-legged walker war engines. Like the one over the command center before it was uncovered. It¡¯s destroyed now. All gone.¡±


    ¡°Excellent to hear. Continue to do well and be brave, Zan.¡±


    The message ended and Zan returned to thinking of what he survived.


    Turning, Zan saw a figure in the distance.


    Darkness still consumed everywhere despite the rising run. Squinting, though, and walking a bit toward the figure, Zan figured the figure was Jiehong. Who else would it be?


    Letting the figure gain distance, Zan saw the man was, in fact, Jiehong, but he had in toe¡­ Whiskey? Or maybe¡­


    Returning in the direction he came, Zan sought his bike while his battle buddies caught up to him. Not like he expected to find it so easily, of course. It had to be further back, Zan reasoned. He did not know how long he spent climbing the walker. With the rising sun and the allies returning to him, Zan reasoned it had to be at least an hour or longer before he was aboard, trying to fell it.


    Before finding his bike, his companions caught up with him. It was Jiehong and Colonel Winters, with none of his men.


    ¡°You¡¯re a crazy son of a gun, son!¡± Colonel Winters exclaimed with the vigor of a man half his age.


    ¡°I could say!¡± Jiehong joined in on the praise. ¡°I thought you were crazy for even attempting it. Or said so as a joke? No, though! You actually did it! Wild, buddy ¡ª wild!¡±


    Taken aback with the praise, especially from Jiehong, Zan blushed. ¡°Thanks, guys. Just doing my part.¡±


    ¡°Please, boy! Don¡¯t be so modest. What you did tonight is extraordinary! Take pride in it and use your victories to your advantage,¡± the Colonel said.


    Zan continued to blush. He said, ¡°Sure. Force of habit,¡± then laughed. Lightly.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Zan said, continuing. ¡°What is the status? Where is Whiskey?¡±


    Colonel Winters picked up the slack and told Zan, ¡°Whiskey is back with her deplorable rebel camp. Worry not, lad. The operation was a success. My men are clearing out the final outposts now. I won¡¯t lie ¡ª when I saw that walker, I thought we would have to withdraw, send a pigeon for help. I should have known no such thing would need to be done with you on our side! Incredible, Zan! Just incredible¡­¡±


    The Colonel continued to sing Zan¡¯s praises for the duration of the way back to their operations camp. While walking back, Zan found his bike. On his transportation, the way back went a lot faster, though he rode on the back of the Colonel¡¯s horse for a while. It felt good for Zan to let his legs rest. Although his arms ¡ª holding on tight to the Colonel ¡ª had no rest.


    Back at camp, the Colonel asked, ¡°Is there anything I can do for you boys before I return to Thundervale? Escort you anywhere?¡±


    Zan and Jiehong looked at each other. Shrugged. Zan said, ¡°I think we¡¯ll be fine. I am going back to Feathervale. Have unfinished business with Whiskey.¡±


    ¡°Trying to get her to join your Order?¡± Winters asked.


    ¡°Trying. She ain¡¯t making it easy,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Keep at it. Women are fickle creatures, Zan. Remember that!¡± Winters said with a laugh. Jiehong rolled his eyes. Zan didn¡¯t believe that himself, but what could you do when a member of a certain generation just had to share their strange thoughts on women with you?


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡± Remembering suddenly the messenger, Zan said, ¡°Oh. Before I forget. While on operation, I discovered a prisoner.¡±


    ¡°A prisoner? What do you mean? The Expanse took a sole prisoner?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. A messenger. I found him huddled in some strange goop in one of the huts. I freed him, of course. He went on his way.¡±


    ¡°It is rare for the Expanse to take individual prisoners. They like taking whole communities as prisoners. More bargaining power¡­ did the messenger say why he would risk the journey alone?¡± Winters asked, highly intrigued by what Zan had to say.


    Zan made a motion like he did not know. ¡°Something about taking a letter from one noble to another? Gallant to Talent? Or maybe it was the reverse? Something like that¡­ he said his lord direly needed military help.¡±


    Watching as Colonel Winters became agitated, Zan wondered what he could do to help. Realistically, though, the answer was ¡®nothing.¡¯ What could Zan do to help? Besides, not every problem was his problem.


    ¡°Thank you for telling me this, Zan. I must be off to Thundervale right away. Excuse me!¡± the Colonel spoke, then sped off.


    ¡°Odd man,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think ¡®odd.¡¯ Just frazzled,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Regardless, what now? I need to sleep. Shall we return to Feathervale or get back on our bikes and ride to Thundervale and catch up with the Colonel?¡±


    Zan thought about it, but the decision was clear. ¡°To Feathervale.¡±

 Chapter 93 (Discovery: Holy Law & Eraferaw)

    The boys returned to Feathervale as victors. They had won not only a battle but destroyed a heavy siege engine. Which said nothing of the many units of war material destroyed in the process or the hundreds of automotrons put to the blade.


    Yet Zan, walking into the rebel camp, did not feel like a victor.


    He felt like a loser.


    No one ran to greet him or Jiehong; the rebels went out of their way to avoid them ¡ª Zan saw how they watched them approach and then avoided their gaze; even the sky, normally awash in colors and the many gods far above, cast itself in shadow.


    ¡°Did something happen?¡± Zan asked Jiehong.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally, Zan. We¡¯re not rebels,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ we fought with Whiskey twice now. Doesn¡¯t that mean anything?¡±


    ¡°I am sure many of them have their suspicions about us regardless of Whiskey¡¯s vouching. She is not the end-all commander of the rebels. From what I¡¯ve seen, a fair few of these rebels don¡¯t even like Whiskey as a commander.¡± Adding almost as an afterthought, Jiehong said, ¡°I wonder how she even made the rank?¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t know. Per the norm.


    ¡°I¡¯m too tired to care right now. Let¡¯s just find a bed somewhere.¡±


    About to cross over into town, Jiehong said, ¡°Actually, let¡¯s find a cot with the rebels. Or a place near the rebels.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡± Zan asked, getting somewhat upset over his dreams of a nice bed being interrupted.


    ¡°We should keep our sleeping schedules as normal as possible. It is early morning now. If we get a bed at the inn, we¡¯ll be asleep all day. Then, when we awake, it will be night.


    As tempting as it is to make our battles at night, that isn¡¯t realistic for us. Not when everyone else is fighting by the day and especially not when the enemy fights by day. So instead of getting a room, we should opt for a nap to bring us to the early afternoon. Then we can return to the command center and plan the next step in our campaign. You said you needed to drop off the list to that contact of yours, right?¡± Jiehong explained at length.


    The thoroughness of Jiehong¡¯s response caught Zan off-guard. It was so unexpected; he had nothing to say about it. He nodded and said, ¡°True. All true. I do have that list to give to Luxley. Nearly forgot¡­¡±


    ¡°Great! See? There is logic to my madness. Upper class or not. We should see about finding Whiskey for a bed.¡±


    The two searched but found nothing in the immediate camp. Zan groaned. ¡°Where is she?¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ where are the rebels?¡± Zan asked.


    Standing in the morning gloom, neither boy realized they had seen any rebel since several strong minutes ago. It was as though each had slid away to the dark spaces hidden in plain sight. Looking around at an empty encampment, Zan thought, ¡®Did the rebels abandon their camp?¡¯


    The answer to ¡®what happened?¡¯ to the rebels came as a thunderous bolt.


    A scream pierced the veil. ¡°CHARGE!¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t know what to do or what was happening. Were they under attack? Did the automotrons learn how to speak? Why would they shout ¡®charge¡¯ if they learned how to speak? These and other more irrational thoughts jumbled together in his mind.


    Jiehong had to take over executive command for a moment. He grabbed hold of Zan and brought them to the tree-line and into the bunch. ¡°The trees will keep us safe,¡± he said. Zan was practically a doll; he allowed things to happen to him because of the clouded mental state forced on him by the exhaustion. His mind raced. Yet rarely did anything of importance come out of his mind when he got this way.


    Dazed or not, this did not stop the altercation.


    Ahead of them and to the side was the town gate. The boys could see a mass of rebel figures storm the bridge and overwhelm the posted guards.


    It was difficult to see from their vantage point, but it did not look as though the rebels had any bladed weapons drawn. Jiehong, creasing his head, muttered, ¡°are those pole-arms fitted with shovelheads?¡± Zan didn¡¯t know and concentrated instead on what was going on¡­ which wasn¡¯t much he could see from the treeline.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think we should help?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®help¡¯?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°You don¡¯t mean help the rebels?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Zan paused. ¡°Maybe? Maybe not¡­ more like, help make sure the situation doesn¡¯t spiral out of control?¡±


    It was Jiehong¡¯s turn to pause and consider. A minute or more passed before he spoke. ¡°Not a bad idea. But not our conflict either, Zan. Shouldn¡¯t we be getting to Thundervale? If Feathervale is not an option, then Thundervale is our next best bet.¡±


    Jiehong made a good point. Plus, he was tired as crap on a shit an animal left to bake in the hot sun. How much help would he really be in a high-intensity situation like this?


    Little, he reasoned. And yet, Zan found himself propelled forward.


    ¡°Really, buddy?! Really?!¡± Jiehong yelled behind him.


    ¡°We can act as peacekeepers if the fighting gets out of hand,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Peacekeepers. Right!¡±


    Sarcasm aside, Zan meant what he said.


    Rushing through the gates, they saw many instances of situations needing a peaceful hand. Rebels had taken the royal guard by surprise and given them an old-fashioned whooping. Melee brawls were taking place everywhere they turned.


    ¡°Looks like tame fighting to me,¡± Jiehong said, observing a few fistfights.


    ¡°I guess,¡± Zan reluctantly admitted. Jiehong was right. The fights, although violent, were not looking like they were lethal. In fact, observing the several nearby altercations, Zan heard much more screaming of opinions than the exchange of fists. Taken together, the fighting and the screaming, it looked worse than it actually was; one expected blood. Instead, Zan saw mud.


    ¡°Let¡¯s mosey on by,¡± Zan said to Jiehong.


    Carefully, the two avoided the battles taking place in the street as they slid through the battling parties. No matter where Zan and Jiehong went in Feathervale, they saw the same sight as at the front gate. Plus a few game birds who were wandering.


    As soon it seemed, as their foray into this incident began, it ended.


    Led by Whiskey, a group of rebels flew past them on the street. They were carrying many chests and things which looked like weapons. Pursued by royal guard, Whiskey¡¯s troup did not stop to make small talk with them. Although, once they passed, I saw the pursuing guard group ambushed by several cloaked figures from an alleyway. The cloaked figures tactfully unbuckled the guards¡¯ suits and weapon attachments, causing their fan-like ¡®spear tips,¡¯ blunted and non-lethal as they were, to fall to the ground.


    Nearly naked and without defense, the guards fled.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Zan said, directing Jiehong back outside the town.


    ¡°What in the heck was that?!¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Is it¡­ a counterraid?¡± Zan said.


    Jiehong thought. ¡°What?¡± he said, unable to place it.


    ¡°Before the construction site raid. Remember? The city guards raided the rebel camp. Remember a rebel screaming, ¡®RAID!¡¯?¡±


    It took Jiehong a moment. He said, ¡°Oh, yeah. I do. A counter-raid, then? Makes sense. Whiskey leading a counter-raid. I doubt she will be joining our Order any time soon, then, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Probably not. But she will. Eventually¡­¡±


    Back within the rebel camp again and searching for Whiskey while fighting continued inside the town, it did not take them very long to find the woman they were looking for, seeing as how her admirers surrounded her, gleefully boasting of their efforts.


    Needing to speak several times before their notice was caught, Zan said, ¡°You¡¯ve been busy¡­ what¡¯s all this?¡±


    Whiskey gave orders to her men. Some of the joviality broke, though Whiskey remained in a good mood. ¡°Nothing you should worry yourselves over, guys. Let¡¯s speak over here.¡±


    The trio went to a nearby shelter away from the limits of either the town or camp.


    ¡°Geez! You guys look awful. Haven¡¯t you gotten any sleep since the operation?¡± Whiskey asked, deflecting.


    ¡°No¡­ we were on our way back. What is happening, Whiskey?¡± Zan answered and asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening? A rebel action is what¡¯s happening. The royal guard raided us recently. We raided them back,¡± Whiskey said.


    ¡°But¡­ why?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Because it is a civil dispute? Do you not understand the idea of a conflict? Of civic warfare?¡±


    Zan attempted to understand, but he did not. ¡°We only wanted to help. Make sure things didn¡¯t get out of hand.¡±


    ¡°Why? Things are very civil here, everything considered,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°Are you worried about death? Killing?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah. Why wouldn¡¯t we be?¡± Zan replied, Jiehong shaking his head alongside.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you guys know the basics? Holy Law?¡± Whiskey asked.


    ¡°Basics¡­?¡± Both boys asked.


    Zan found it increasingly hard to focus. His eyes were heavy with gravity, with falling desire. Zan talking to Whiskey, now, did nothing to help his lids, which only grew more desperate now they had seen the extent of the fighting and proved it was no huge matter. Not for them, anyway.


    ¡°You guys need a run-down on the basics of holy law? What did you learn in that humdrum village of yours? At least my tiny home had a priest. Frick¡­ sorry, guys, but I don¡¯t have the time to tell you the whole story.¡±


    ¡°Give us the quick facts, then,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Okay. I can do that. Essentially, it is like this: the gods rule the world you guys live in and have a family in. These gods are the same gods you see floating in the sky, right? Gods set up what they call ¡®holy laws,¡¯ which all life-forms must follow. Grave consequences follow for life-forms which do not follow the law¡­ but that is totally irrelevant right now. And besides the point. Life-Forms usually cannot break holy law, anyway. Point is! One holy law is that we cannot kill ¡ª by any means ¡ª another living, breathing person. Therefore, if we have differences with those who lord over us, we cannot kill them, just as they cannot kill us. The sort of thing you guys have been seeing, with the raids, yes, is part of a kind of conflict resolution called Eraferaw. Using this method, people and governments can make their wills be known while still adhering to holy law. Get it?¡±


    ¡°I guess¡­¡± Zan said. ¡°I have so many questions, though¡­¡±


    ¡°I am sure you do. I can¡¯t stand here and answer your questions, though. I have my rebels to attend to and my own missions to do.¡±


    Not giving Zan a chance to respond, Jiehong said, ¡°We understand. Thank you for talking to us. We will talk to you again hopefully soon, okay?¡±


    ¡°I will look forward to that. Until then, boys,¡± Whiskey said and then walked back to the rebel camp.


    ¡°Feel tired?¡± Jiehong asked, alone again.


    ¡°Yes. But also no. Let¡¯s find a rebel cot and get a nap in. Then¡­ back to the command center.¡±


    ¡°I love the sound of that,¡± Jiehong said.


    Sleeping unwell in a cot on a ground was not the best way to rest. Though Zan did fall asleep for a couple of hours, once he was up, he did not bother going back to sleep. With Jiehong in the same boat, they made their march back to the command center, somehow feeling more lethargic than before.

 Chapter 94

    By the time the boys returned to the command center, they felt never felt as drained as they had before. Zan had some familiarity with the level of exhaustion missions took on his body, but this recent mission was beyond the pale. He made a mental note to truly be on the lookout for lodestone so he and Jiehong could quickly travel to more places and quickly return. Otherwise, what was the point?


    ¡°Zan! Before you leave for your next mission, we must talk. I know you are tired, however, and need rest,¡± Screen Master Simulacrum said the moment he walked into the war room.


    ¡°Okay. Noted!¡± Zan said, moving straight to the kitchen.


    Zan hoped there was something waiting for him on the table. It was about dinner time by the time he got back. Luckily, Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) came through for him. For Jiehong and him both, large plates of pasta, topped with a meaty sauce, and a side of garlic buttered bread abounded on large plates. The boys eat with a fury unseen since the last time they had one of Jean¡¯s meals.


    Burping like normal boys, the two friends finished their meal with a side of water ¡ª lots of water ¡ª and turned in for the night soon after, though not without having a quick puff of a certain plant to help them ease to sleep.


    Having went to bed very early in the evening and sleeping into the next morning, by the time Zan and Jiehong woke, they had gotten at least eleven hours of rest.


    Yawning like a bear emerging from a cave, Zan woke and encountered Jiehong.


    Staring at each other dumbly, both were still fighting their morning sleepiness when Zan thought to say, ¡°Day off. I need to run the¡­ thing, the list, to Luxley.¡±


    ¡°Cool. Sounds good¡­ you will be back before tomorrow?¡± Jiehong asked, stretching and yawning like a bear¡¯s mate.


    ¡°I should be. I hope I will be. I am only going to visit and drop the list of places off so he can translate. With any luck, I should have the translation in hand when I return, but I might have to leave him be for a while as he translates. I don¡¯t really know what¡¯s going to happen,¡± Zan explained, waking up a bit more now, and having his mind leave his warm-up state.


    ¡°I gotcha¡­ anything you want me to do while you¡¯re gone?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Jiehong asking him what he should do in his absence was a welcome change of pace. It meant he, like himself, was taking the job seriously. Zan found in him the desire the be friends with Jiehong once again, not purely ¡®on record¡¯ friends but genuine associates of fate.


    Replying to Jiehong, Zan said, ¡°Do whatever¡­ take a day off. I shouldn¡¯t be gone any more than a few hours, if that. A day at the most if I have to stay while he translates.


    Should I be gone for longer, though, hold tight. Continue practicing with your bike. Practice sword fighting. We¡¯re still just clubbing the enemy with whatever works, so it would be nice to have an actual trainer¡­ but that is irrelevant, I guess. Nothing you can do about it. I¡¯m running my mouth. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Nah. It¡¯s fine. I know what you mean. I remember a Warden talking about educational classes somewhere in the center? I will look into that,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Sounds good! Now, before I wet myself, I need to hit the head,¡± Zan said, rushing off to bleed his lizard.


    Emerging from the restroom with an empty bladder, Zan returned to his chambers to dress. As he slowly pulled on every piece of clothing he had, wincing at some of the smell which lingered, he received a ¡®word¡¯, a message-in-his-ear from Luxley.


    ¡°Buddy. You there?¡± Luxley said. Zan heard the words like sweet air.


    Talking gently, Zan said, ¡°I¡¯m here and read you clear. I am actually preparing to head your way to give you the list.¡±


    ¡°Awesome! Does that mean your mission went well?¡± Luxley said, his eager levels increasing.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°It did. It went well. Still tired from it all, though. I¡¯m hoping our visit today goes uneventfully. Simple day, lounging around with a bud. Did you think of some disguises for us so we don¡¯t have to stalk around and get innocent people in trouble?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I think I did! I made it myself and I can¡¯t wait to show you!¡± Luxley said, refusing to elaborate.


    ¡°Sounds cool. I can¡¯t wait to see it,¡± Zan replied, wondering what he had in store for him and wondering if he should come prepared.


    ¡°Speaking of which¡­ today is a good time to come, right? If I can¡¯t come today, I really do not know when I will next be able to visit.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. Today is great as any. I can¡¯t wait to see you again. Hurry soon! Bye!¡±


    The conversation ended there.


    Zan smiled. Then finished putting on his clothes.


    Entering the war room, Zan said, ¡°I am going to prepare for my excursion to Luxley. As I restock on grenades and the sort, did you guys want to chat?¡±


    Simulacrum told Sigma-Prime to begin. Recently charged, she stepped down from the charging table and approached Zan. ¡°Yes, we did. Zan: you are growing into an exceptional leader and warrior. As such, we feel it is time for you to consider accessing the on-site training programs we have uncovered in the base¡¯s memory banks. These training programs are in-depth and feature instruction from masters in the subject at hand. They are well-worth the time in viewing.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I can¡¯t read, so I can¡¯t do any of that¡­¡± Zan said awkwardly.


    ¡°Worry not! This training material is not written. They are visual with audio materials. So it will be like someone is standing before you, talking to you, even though it is merely an imprint from another time and place.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ huh. I¡¯ve never heard of something like that before. Strange magic?¡±


    ¡°Something grander, Zan. Its nature can be discerned later, however. The other thing we wish to talk to you about relates to an experimental tool the Screen Master and I are close to completing.¡±


    ¡°Great. Shoot. What is this tool? You mentioned something about it last time, right?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°We did! As you know, the nature of the Order and of the command center as the nerve center for the order depends a great deal on what emphasis the local leader of the order wishes to see. Before we put the command center into emergency hibernation, the Screen Master and I nearly finished researching an invention which, if had it the time to come into its own, would have turned the tide of the conflict we originally built it for; although the details of this conflict are now lost to time, the Screen Master and I, with immense luck, we have rediscovered the blueprints for this technology deep within the code of the command center. We believe this technology will immensely help you on your journey as Order-Master-in-Training,¡± Sigma-Prime explained.


    ¡°It sounds wonderful. Do you need my permission to dig it up or something?¡± Zan asked, curious about why they were so keen on him understanding something he had no clue about.


    ¡°Yes, and no. As leader, you can countermand any effort we choose to make. Of course, we will always clear with you first what special project we work upon. For that reason, however, we like to clear with you our labor-intensive projects. We mention this experimental project to you now because it will be both labor and resource intensive. Until now, our efforts while you have been away fighting the war have focused on repairing the command center; mostly, its internal structures, with its physical body taking a less-intense focus. Should we devote all of our time to this project, we cannot begin any other research projects. Is this fine by you?¡± Screen Master Simulacrum asked.


    Zan thought it over. ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t see why not. Sounds exciting, this experiment of yours. And you said it would help me in the war?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It should be a major advancement in how you interact with allies on the battlefield. We have noticed more and more Jiehong and yourself are allying with fellow freedom fighters. Once this technology reaches fruition, it will allow for instant communication and location between allied units, among other wondrous advancements.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. I look forward to testing it out. So, yeah. You officially have my permission to devote all your time and resources to this endeavor. With that said, anything else? I should get to Luxley.¡±


    ¡°That is all, Zan. Thank you for your time.¡±


    Zan bowed and went straight to the White Chamber.


    Closing the door behind him, he heard the chamber activate right away, the ever-watchful eye of Simulacrum present and aiding before Zan even needed to ask.


    Flash, bang.


    Zan was back in the Backroads.


    Zan did not dilly-dally.


    Heading straight to the pathway he knew led to Luxley, he wanted to visit his friend, drop off the list ¡ª maybe visit for a moment if possible ¡ª and head on back. He wanted to limit the time which weird, unexpected crap could happen.


    Nearly to the pathway, Zan froze in place.


    Zaaaaaaan¡­ Zaaaaan¡­


    He heard his name. Zan searched for where the voice came from. He saw no one.


    Unsettled, he searched his immediate vicinity. Listening carefully, he heard nothing. ¡®Maybe I imagine it?¡¯ Zan told himself.


    Unlikely as it seemed, Zan remembered the Screen Master¡¯s advice: ¡®don¡¯t stay too long in the Backroads and stick to the path.¡¯ Wise advice indeed, it now seemed to him.


    Resuming his march, Zan headed straight back to Luxley¡¯s pathway. Finding the shimmer, he stepped through, leaving the unsettling realm of the Backroads. Though not before hearing his name one final time.

 Chapter 95 (Luxley - 1)

    Luxley waited patiently for Zan to come. He sat in a chair at the foot of his bed, patiently awaiting the time when his long-distance buddy would appear on his bed.


    Next to him was an elaborate outfit he had spent many hours feverishly working on. He hoped his friend appreciated the effort.


    Seeing the air distort, curl in upon itself, like the hot summer heatwaves suddenly forming a whirlpool, Luxley saw Zan step out from the mystifying portal.


    ¡°Hey, bud!¡± Zan said. ¡°Ain¡¯t it different? Me not huddling for fear in your closet?¡±


    Luxley smiled. ¡°Maybe a little.¡±


    Stepping onto the floor, Zan didn¡¯t waste time. He removed his satchel ¡ª a nice personal bag made from strange leathers, Luxley observed ¡ª and removed a sheet of paper.


    ¡°Here you are, my friend,¡± Zan said, handing Luxley a sheet with odd letters.


    Luxley examined the sheet. It was the Old Tongue Script all right.


    Zan continued, ¡°Do you think this is something you can do? Now that you have the actual script before you, is a week still a good estimate?¡±


    Luxley parsed his lips, thinking. ¡°I think so. This list is not a poem or a piece of literature from that time period. It is only a list of locations. Translation can be a tricky affair, but considering the list, and how badly you need it, I will ask for help from one of my tutors if something comes up.¡±


    Smiling brightly enough to warm Luxley¡¯s heart, Zan¡¯s face belayed his emotion with nothing hidden. Luxley liked it when he could make people happy. Thus, he was happy.


    ¡°I¡¯ll put this at the top of my agenda, then,¡± Luxley said, placing the paper over on his desk.


    ¡°Awesome! Where should I be?¡± Zan asked.


    Be? ¡°Oh, you aren¡¯t going back home?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Oh! I¡¯m sorry. I assumed I would stay. Watch you translate¡­ but then again. If it is going to take a week, you probably don¡¯t want me hanging around for a week. Saying this out loud, I can¡¯t spend a week here, anyway. My allies and friend would have a panic attack wondering what happened to me!¡±


    ¡°Understandable! On both your ends. If you wanted to stay for a while, you could,¡± Luxley told Zan.


    ¡°I would like that. I¡¯ve been doing nothing but campaigning, so letting my hair down would be sweet.¡±


    ¡°Hair¡­ down?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Just an expression. It means ¡®to relax,¡¯¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°Cool¡­ oh! Before I forget. Costumes! I finished your disguise,¡± Luxley said, suddenly thinking of the one means he figured would give Zan some cover.


    ¡°Cool. What did you settle on? You seemed pretty excited when we last talked about it.¡±


    Luxley brought Zan over to the trunk by the foot of the bed, the same trunk he had once attempted shock humor upon to draw a hiding Zan away from the closet. Opening the trunk, he withdrew a colorful outfit with many festive icons, patches, and even a bell-looking contraption or two stitched into its fabric.


    ¡°Whoa, what is it?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°This is the garb of a Mid-Born¡­ a Mid-Born with a fashion sense.¡±


    Zan looked confused. ¡°Mid-born?¡± he repeated.


    Luxley explained: ¡°Mid-Borns are the middle class of my country. Well, the middle class within the aristocracy, anyway. Humble people, everything considered. You posing as one of them makes the most sense. Mid-Borns often act as specialized tutors to the High-Borns. People like me. Hence, you will be my tutor.¡±


    Looking over the garment, Zan looked impressed. Many an ¡®ooh!¡¯ and a ¡®ah!¡¯ came from his between his lips. Rushing into the closet to change in private, Zan then asked, ¡°If I am going to act as your tutor, what am I going to tutor you in?¡±


    Before Zan asked his question, Luxley thought he knew his plan.


    Now, he didn¡¯t know his plan.


    ¡°Oh¡­ actually, I didn¡¯t think of that part. Crap. Crap!¡± he replied, frantic.


    Zan said nothing more until he came out of the closet. ¡°How do I look?¡±


    Looking at his friend¡¯s appearance, Luxley said, ¡°You look like a royal strawberry.¡±


    ¡°Is that good?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s excellent!¡±


    While Zan spun, showing off his whole body like a youth at a dance, Luxley thought of what Zan could be his tutor at: ¡°How about you teach me what it is like being from your country?¡±


    Instantly, Zan¡¯s expression soured. ¡°I couldn¡¯t actually tell you.¡±


    ¡°Why? Don¡¯t you trust me?¡± Luxley replied.


    ¡°No. I do. It¡¯s just¡­ well, I don¡¯t really know much about my home. I¡¯ve spent my whole life in a village. I hardly know anything about how my country is run or who runs it. There is a rebel faction causing issues and I, for the life of me, can¡¯t understand what the issue is or why they are bad. I just don¡¯t understand things.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand things either and I am, well, me! We¡¯re just two ignorance peas in an unknown pod¡­¡± Luxley said while continuing to look over Zan. He looked good. Shapley, even. Like a boy, one could take to a dance.


    Zan said little. He smiled, looked about the room. If Luxley had known none better, he would have thought Zan intoxicated. But he knew Zan wasn¡¯t. Zan was thrilled to be here, taking in the sight of Luxley¡¯s room once more. Both of them enjoyed one another¡¯s company. Luxley patted the side of his bed and invited Zan to sit.


    Acquiescing, Zan sat down. ¡°So comfy!¡± he said with the eagerness of a child.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°It is cozy. You don¡¯t have anything like this back where you live?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Feck no! My bed is a mattress in a weird basement with a rusty metal door.¡±


    ¡°Sounds awful.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t as bad as it sounds. Wanna know what is bad? That bed is the best bed I¡¯ve ever had!¡±


    Luxley couldn¡¯t even comprehend. ¡°If that is the best bed you¡¯ve ever had, then you¡¯ve must¡¯ve slept on a blanket on the floor! This can¡¯t be, Zan. Someone of your stature.


    Surely, you¡¯re pulling my chain!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a lowly born kid, Luxley. Had it not been for Jiehong¡¯s parents, I would have spent my life outside. Probably dead.¡±


    ¡°Jiehong is your other friend? Your first and best?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Yeah. Why?¡±


    ¡°Does he treat you well? His parents clearly didn¡¯t if they never gave you a proper sleeping area; and, of course, sometimes it is tough taking in an unexpectant mouth. Did they treat you and he the same?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ they didn¡¯t. We actually had a fight over this not so long ago. Now they¡¯re living in some underground bunker with other rich people. Or something. I don¡¯t know if Jie is telling the truth. It all seems to weird.¡±


    ¡°Sounds weird¡­¡±


    Continuing to sit in silence, Luxley wanted to provide as much aid as possible to his new friend. It was really his first proper visit. He wanted everything to go right.


    Yet¡­ what could go right when he had forgotten the most important part of the disguise?! How could things go right when Luxley didn¡¯t even have the first and most important, obvious, layer of why Zan would be he, what Zan would tutor him in?!


    Luxley continued to dwell on the matter. ¡®Zan would not need to know an immensity,¡¯ Luxley thought. Luxley knew Zan would need to know only enough to surmount the limited scrutiny thrown his way. Questions from aides, inquiries from other tutors, his family¡¯s nosiness. Luxley became lost in thought; so lost, he hardly noticed Zan¡¯s drooping head coming to rest on his shoulders.


    Noticing suddenly the intense smell of his buddy, Luxley shook off Zan¡¯s sleepy body and said, ¡°Sorry, but at the risk of sounding disrespectful ¡ª oh boy, you stink!¡±


    Zan shot right up. ¡°Stink? Like, smelly?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. When was the last time you bathed?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I guess it has been a while.¡±


    ¡°I have a private washroom. Strip out of the disguise and get yourself cleaned up. Our efforts to disguise you will come apart right away if the people here take one whiff of your gross odor; Mid-Borns are not dirty people, Zan. I will continue to think of something you could theoretically tutor me in as you bathe. We can speak through the door,¡± Luxley said, directing Zan toward his private washroom.


    Luxley got the water going for Zan and showed him all the fancy soaps and cleaners he had known throughout his whole life. It all took aback Zan, and he asked a million questions about everything. Luxley answered dutifully, surprised repeatedly at what Zan did not know. Though, why should it surprise him? If he was Low-Born, then of course the many things he would take for granted Zan would not know. They came from two different social classes, two different worlds.


    Finally, though, the questions ceased. The bath water finished drawing, and with bubbles and pleasant scents filling the air, Zan lowered himself into the tub ¡ª or dived in with a splash; being on the outside of the door, Luxley only heard the ¡®splash.¡¯


    Throughout the duration of Zan¡¯s cleansing, they made small talk about a number of topics. None of the topics were anything more than basic ¡®what do you like to eat?¡¯ types of questions. And even then, Zan¡¯s responses centered on ¡®whatever is put in front of me by my Order¡¯s chef.¡¯ Vapid conversation gave Luxley the time he needed to muse more on what pretend occupation Zan should come from, what he might pull off as a disguise.


    ¡°So, buddy¡­ thinking on what you could teach me, are you good at math?¡± Luxley asked of Zan.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. Never been taught it. I know the basic numbers, if that¡¯s what you mean¡­¡± Zan replied, a gentle sound of scrubbing heard.


    Luxley crossed that off from his list.


    ¡°How about religion? Surely, the priest of your village taught you something? Maybe old folklore or some-as-such?¡±


    ¡°Sorry. We didn¡¯t have a full-time priest. There was a traveling priest who went among the many small communities of the area, including my village, but he only ever preached the generic codes on how to live. He hated folklore. I only recently found out about Holy Law and the no-killing stuff.¡±


    Grunting softly, Luxley crossed out another potential from his ever-shortening list.


    ¡°How about¡­¡± Luxley wanted to say ¡®martial matters,¡¯ but would anyone believe him? And besides, if Luxley wanted to learn skills of self-defense and offense, there would be many professional tutors available to him, tutors who could actually teach him things of note.


    ¡°Okay, what do you know, man?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°I uh¡­ am a good person?¡± Zan said.


    A good person? Was anyone truly good?


    ¡°Do you think you could wax eloquently on that on a wide matter of subjects you barely know about and only from the thinnest context?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°W-what?¡± Zan said, stopping his scrubbing.


    ¡°Like¡­ could you roughhouse your way through whatever questions were asked of you pertaining to ethics and morality if you had a little bit to go on?¡± Luxley attempted to clarify, but to little end. Luxley had to dumb himself down a little for Zan to understand his position. Yet it amounted to ¡®can you bullshit your way through a conversation?¡¯


    Eventually, Zan said, ¡®yes.¡¯


    ¡°Great! That¡¯s one problem solved, then. So, if anyone asks, I will say you¡¯re my ¡®Homespun Ethics Tutor,¡¯ good?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°I guess? I don¡¯t know what that means, but I will follow your lead.¡±


    ¡°It will amount to something like this: someone will ask you a question ¡ª a question probably nothing to do with what you¡¯re going to reply ¡ª and you will provide an answer to their question using your experience as a normal Low-Born person. Just give your opinion on things, essentially. Try to dress your answer up with needlessly puffy terms. The more abstract, the better.¡±


    ¡°Got it¡­ I think. Should we practice stuff like that?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Normally, I would say ¡®yes.¡¯ But we are cutting close on time. Finish your bath and meet me in my room.¡± Luxley walked to his desk and cleared his workspace of all non-essential materials. He placed the list to be translated at the center of his now clean desk. With a writing quil at the ready, Luxley thought he was missing something. ¡®My books!¡¯ The idea came to him suddenly. He had forgotten to get the books from the library! How could he be so careless?! ¡®Ugh. I was too focused on the outfit. I forgot about the rest,¡¯ Luxley concluded.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Zan exited the washroom. Unfortunately, Luxley was so taken aback with his misgivings, he did not hear Zan speak. Zan repeated himself, slightly sarcastically. ¡°Whoa, what¡¯s that?¡±


    Luxley looked at where Zan pointed. It was his desk.


    ¡°That,¡± Luxley said, about to explain. ¡°Is my techy-mag board.¡±


    Luxley remained unsurprised when Zan said he did not know what that meant. ¡°It¡¯s okay. It is a pretty new technology. So, you know what machines are, right? Techy-mag boards are the artificial spirit of those machines.¡±


    ¡°Whoa. All machines? Even the automotrons?¡± Zan asked, suddenly serious.


    ¡°The automotrons? That¡¯s a complicated question. I don¡¯t really have the answer.


    ¡°Alright, that is really cool. Are you going to study that at a fancy academy, then?¡±


    Luxley found it hard to find the right words to respond to Zan. He wanted to study it, but how could he when he knew its one purpose would be to spread evil?


    ¡°I am on the fence about it. I guess we¡¯ll see what the future holds¡­¡± Luxley said.


    ¡°I think it would be cool. Be on the cutting edge of the world. More than I could say,¡± Zan said, uncharacteristically, it seemed to Luxley.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find something eventually, dude. Give it some time. Now, we should get to work on this translation. I need to run to the library super-quick. I forgot to pick out some books on translation. Ugh¡­ but you can come with me. Just keep to my back, understand?¡± Luxley asked of his friend.


    ¡°Sounds good. I wouldn¡¯t want to get lost. Make for us a lot of problems¡­ so did you sign my name into that register book or whatever the issue was before?¡± Zan asked.


    Once again, Luxley groaned. The bedroom door Luxley had partially opened when Zan spoke. Luxley closed the door and bent his head against the wall. He said, ¡°Feck, feck, and more feck! I totally forgot about that, too! Shit, oh crap, oh¡ª¡±


    ¡°LUXLEY! Stop it. Stop swearing. I get enough of that on the battlefield,¡± Zan said, gently shaking his buddy out of it.


    ¡°You good?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Yeah. I am,¡± Luxley said. ¡°Okay. Ummm¡­ stay in my room. I will head to the library, be back as soon as I can ¡ª literally ¡ª and we can go over the list together. Then I will give you an estimate on how long the translation should take.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll just hang out in the closet, I guess. Hurry back, okay? I don¡¯t enjoy being here without you,¡± Zan said, opening the closet door, stepping in, and sliding shut the only way in or out of the closet.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can. Promise!¡± Luxley said, leaving his bedroom and encountering, who else, but Gatson and Miss Maggie Weathers.

 Chapter 96 (Luxley - 2)

    ¡°Crap! Sorry¡­ I didn¡¯t expect you¡­¡± Luxley said, completely taken by surprise.


    ¡°You have a tutoring session today, young master,¡± Miss Maggie Weathers said.


    Luxley couldn¡¯t see his own face, but he knew he had a blank expression. ¡°We will need to reschedule. I¡¯m sorry, miss maggie.¡±


    Gatson spoke next. ¡°I assume you want to reschedule my meeting as well? Young Master, you¡¯ve already rescheduled this meeting three times now. What am I to tell your father?¡±


    ¡°Why do you have to tell him anything? He¡¯s conked out on wine all day and night, anyway. Just make something up.¡±


    ¡°I do not lie, young sire!¡± Gatson said in his usual unbending way.


    ¡°Fine! Then tell him the truth. I didn¡¯t feel like talking about fecking military careers! Tell him I¡¯m anti-war or something. That will get him off my back.¡±


    ¡°That is a terrible idea, Master. I will do no such thing¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think. Tell him I am anti-war and if he has a problem with that, he can talk to me at the dinner table like a normal fecking father. ¡®Kay? Sounds good. Now get lost!¡±


    ¡°Watch your tone!¡± Maggie scolded. ¡°You might be your father¡¯s son, but that is no excuse for¡ª¡±


    Luxley was not listening to Miss Maggie Weathers, however. He had already left the two snooping advisors to their problems and left down the hall to the library.


    ¡®Why were they outside my door?¡¯ Luxley thought. ¡®Something is amiss. I need to keep my guard up. They¡¯re up to something.¡¯


    Luxley entered the library. Though the library belonged both to the denizens of the castle and to him, personally, it doubled as one of the largest libraries in the empire.


    Easily the size of a small town, the library spanned several floors, demanding a full-time staff to maintain. In the winter, roaring fireplaces serving fresh hot chocolate and wafer cookies were a staple, while, in the summer, iced tea with fruit slices and salted jerky from around the world ¡ª not to mention cheeses galore ¡ª attracted visitors far and wide.


    Personally, what Luxley most enjoyed about the library was its calming scent. Aged history and memory.


    Luxley sped to his private section of the library. To get there, he had to cross through a fine wire-mesh barrier sealed around his whole reserve. The lone security guard passed him through without notice or incident. The guard knew who he was, obviously, as he had been coming to the library since his birth. The guard himself had been employed since his birth. Hence, they knew each other like family.


    ¡°I know we get little time these days, young master, but how is your day?¡± the guard, Finger, asked him.


    ¡°Wonderful, actually,¡± Luxley told the man. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone, but a special friend came to visit me today. I am so happy and excited!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great, sir! Truly! I envy you. Your youth. The future ahead of you. Get to my age and all that is there to greet you in the morning is weird new aches in your body,¡± Finger said, laughing it off.


    ¡°Sorry¡­ someday I will build my own library, and you can come to work there for me and will get paid enough to build your own village!¡± Luxley said, not sure what he should say in a situation with an adult complaining about un-changing things.


    ¡°Mighty fine of you to say, lord; have a great day, sire!¡±


    Luxley nodded and went into his private section.


    Normally, the library was well lit with windows aplenty. With Luxley¡¯s secure section, though, heavy drapes and specially tinted glass, imbued with wonderful, light-dulling colors featured, making the space much more study-friendly.


    Finding the books he needed quickly ¡ª Luxley knew practically every title on the shelves ¡ª he gathered them in his arms and quickly ran over to the check-out desk.


    ¡°Hello. How are you today?¡± Luxley asked the librarian, Jayne, whose age he was never sure of and who he had known for too long now to ask directly. Her age was only relevant because Luxley had known the woman all his life, yet she never aged a day. Highly unusual.


    ¡°I am fine¡­¡± Jayne said.


    ¡°I¡¯m good. If you¡¯re wondering¡­¡±


    ¡°I was not wondering.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡±


    Jayne resumed, noting the books Luxley placed before her. She marked the inside of their library card, closed the covers, did the same for the next in line. This was what she did all day, every day. If she was not working for Luxley¡¯s reserve, she was working for another section of the library. Luxley knew her and the library as one. Although none of the workers had lodgings within the castle, Luxley had seen her in the library, doing something, many nights. Even after she had spent literally the whole previous day laboring, helping guests. Whenever he asked the Castle Master ¡ª essentially the labor lead for every worker in the castle ¡ª they never knew what Luxley was talking about. So, he stopped asking.


    Jayne finished marking his books and returned them to his grasp. ¡°Will you be needing use of your private study chamber, my lord?¡±


    ¡°No thank you, Jayne. I am returning to my personal chambers.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Have a pleasant time, milord. And tell your friend hello.¡±


    Luxley didn¡¯t have the energy to consider how Jayne knew about his ¡®special friend,¡¯ meaning Zan. She always had strange circumstances about her. ¡®She is probably a mutant,¡¯


    Luxley told himself.


    With plenty of books in hand, Luxley rushed back to his room. Although he was a special individual within the castle, everyone knew, even the strangers, to not gawk or stare.


    He didn¡¯t like the attention. Hated famemongers, forbidding them from the castle grounds.


    On his way back, Luxley hoped no one had entered his chambers. He didn¡¯t like people entering his room. It was his space. No one else¡¯s space. Why should they feel so empowered as to intrude upon his living quarters?


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°I thought I told you guys to beat it!¡± Luxley said, seeing Gatson and Maggie hand around the end of the hallway like phantoms in an exorcised mansion.


    ¡°We have business in the castle not related to your situation, my lord¡ª¡±


    Luxley didn¡¯t care and cut Gatson off. ¡°Again, refer to my previous comment. Get out!¡±


    This time, that did the trick, and the two wandered off, though much too slowly for his taste. Luxley considered asking the security head to refuse them entry to the castle. Then he thought better of it. His father would pitch a fit if he did something like that without first asking him. As much as he hated to admit it, both Gatson and Maggie were closer to ¡®High-Born¡¯ end on the Mid-High-Born scale than most. He couldn¡¯t, at his age, act without his father¡¯s permission.


    Still, the two weirdos gone, Luxley could safely re-enter his chambers and resume his hangout with his friend.


    Or he could if there hadn¡¯t been a disturbance and the maid ¡ª the door open, full on hysterical fit ¡ª was having a yelling match with Zan.


    Luxley groaned. ¡®One problem after another,¡¯ he muttered. He entered his chambers to sort it out.


    The maid was a nice young woman named Hilda Primrose. Disfiguring scars covered her face. Originally a refugee from a faraway, conflict torn land, Luxley¡¯s father took her in as a measure of mercy and gave her employment here in the castle. Since then, she had proven herself as a hard worker and someone with a pleasant disposition, even with the times got rough. Why she was screaming now, then, he could only guess.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?!¡± Luxley yelled.


    Hilda was hysterical. Clearly, she had discovered Zan in his closet.


    Speaking of Zan, he was on the other side of the room, dodging nicknacks thrown his way by Hilda.


    Once Luxley entered, Hilda stopped her rampage and turned to him. ¡°Sire! Please, get away from here. There is an intruder in your chambers!¡±


    ¡°That is no intruder, Hilda! He is my¡­ tutor! My tutor, Hilda!¡±


    The realization slowly dawned on Hilda. ¡°Your¡­ tutor?¡± she said, her handle of the local language much better than it was years ago, when she first came to live amongst the castle¡¯s denizens, but still troubled.


    ¡°But why was¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m weird, okay! I like closets!¡± Zan said, no other way out of the situation.


    ¡°Like, closets? Oh! I understand¡­ very sorry! I will return tomorrow and clean from top to bottom!¡± Hilda rushed out of the room and bowed low to both boys.


    With Hilda gone, Luxley had to leave, too. He had to rush over and¡ª


    ¡°Mater Luxley, what is this commotion about?¡± a voice said. Gatson.


    ¡°Shet!¡±


    ¡°What is happen¡ª¡± Zan started.


    But it was too late. Gatson, likely already nearby with Maggie when the commotion started, turned a corner. Luxley tried to insinuate to Zan he should hide, but flapping his arms wildly toward the closet or washroom only communicated so much information.


    Gatson and Maggie approached once more. This time, they had the gall to enter his room. Of course, they saw Zan.


    ¡°Who is that?!¡± Maggie said, shocked.


    ¡°I have never seen this young man before. Is he a friend of yours?¡± Gatson asked.


    Luxley¡¯s heart raced. He calmed himself, though, by reminding himself it was okay; well, not ¡®okay¡¯ but hardly the end of the world. Luxley had planned (originally) on Zan accompanying around the castle, hence the tutoring disguise. The only loose thread was the guest sign-in sheet.


    ¡°He is my¡ª¡± Luxley said, almost saying ¡®friend.¡¯ He relented at the last moment, however, and said, ¡°Tutor. He is my tutor.¡±


    ¡°In matters of what, might I ask?¡± Gatson said, glaring at both boys.


    ¡°In matters of Low-Born Philosophy and Ethics!¡± Zan said, striding toward Hilda, Luxley, Gatson, and Maggie from across the room.


    Zan stood before them, head held high. Luxley thought for a moment he passed well for an authentic Mid-Born.


    ¡°Why, pray tell, milord, would you ever need to study something so blase?¡± Gatson said, full of elitism.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? Can¡¯t I have hobbies?¡± Luxley replied.


    Gatson had nothing immediately to say, though Maggie did: ¡°Is this why you¡¯ve been dodging my lessons? Because you¡¯ve been full up on this humanistic drivel?¡±


    ¡°Maybe? Maybe not? Maybe I just don¡¯t like you?¡± Luxley said, intentionally going for shock humor, though Miss Maggie Weathers likely didn¡¯t interpret it as such.


    With a gasp, Maggie recoiled and left the room. ¡°Get the feck out!¡± Luxley told Gatson. Harder than Maggie, Gatson locked gazes with Luxley. But he broke. They always broke before him.


    Chasing them out of the room and making sure they were truly gone, Luxley popped his head back into the room just to say to Zan, ¡°Stay put! I have to add your name to the registry, or we are fecked-on-a-shet! I¡¯ll be right back!¡±


    Luxley gave up the ghost of timidity ¡ª he bounded down the castle, unsurprised to find Gatson heading in the same direction he was going.


    Passing by Luxley shoved himself ¡ª gently, but enough to trip up Gatson, causing him to stumble ¡ª and spoke low and fierce to him at the moment¡¯s discretion between their passing: ¡°Don¡¯t play with fire, Gatson!¡±


    Not waiting for a response, Luxley shot straight into the main stairwell at the center of the castle. He bounded down the stairs when he couldn¡¯t ride down the handrail¡¯s freshly waxed and slippery surface. It was dangerous to do so, considering the immense hurt he would suffer and never recover from should he fall. Luxley was desperate. If Gatson was heading to the guest sign-in office, like him, then he already snuffed out the possibility of Zan¡¯s forged identity. Which meant, possibly, he knew Zan was the same intruder from before and something highly unusual was happening with him and Luxley both. ¡®Leave it to middle managers to wreck the most havoc!¡¯


    Bounding into the lower offices for the many clerks and feather-pushers employed by Luxley¡¯s father, Luxley made no excuses and behaved as he knew Gatson ¡ª being an adult of employ and simply an adult in general ¡ª would not behave: leaping on and cross tables, Luxley sauntered his way straight down the middle of tables, flimsy space dividers, and crates full of ink-pustules and more, causing untold havoc as he spat out apology after apology.


    Leaving chaos in his wake, knowing as well Gatson, being a senior member of staff, would need to slow down and address the chaos, Luxley continued his raid until he reached the front-end security office.


    ¡°Oh, young sire, how can I¡ª¡± a guard asked him before Luxley moved with aggression toward the registry kept inside the central office. Snatching the book out of a man¡¯s hand, and running to a nearby mop closet, Luxley said, ¡°I will be right back! Need to, uh, read it real quick!¡±


    Slamming the closet door behind him, Luxley was thankful this tiny operations closet had a little, itty-bitty window at the height of the room, letting in sunlight. He flipped through the book until he reached today¡¯s sign-in sheets. Using the attached ink-quill pen, he wrote a name ¡ª Zenny Bowlder ¡ª into the space between two more recent guests. It was the first name to come to mind. Not the most original, considering it was only a ¡®take¡¯ on Zan¡¯s actual name, but it was the best he could do under-pressure. Same with writing it between two other names. Luxley doubted the Guard Consul would typically allow a person so sign so slapdashedly, but for the fine arts, maybe Zan¡¯s persona was lowly educated? So that could be an excuse.


    Whatever the particulars would be, Luxley would confront such hanging elements when the time came. For now, he left the mop closet and handed it back to the office clerk. ¡°Sorry. Had to make sure it wasn¡¯t poisoned.¡±


    ¡°P-p-poisoned?!¡± the man stuttered.


    ¡°Worry not. It is fine. Report any unusual behavior, though, okay?¡± Luxley said, slowly leaving the security office as though he hadn¡¯t cut a disorderly swathe moments ago.


    Returning to his chambers, Luxley took the way back, which, although slower, avoided the clerical office he had partially decimated; he would have to remember to apologize profusely the next day. Though he avoided the office, he poked his nose inside, just to see: what did he see? Gatson in a tizzy, attempting to placate a dozen laborers. Luxley laughed and returned on his way, taking the scenic route.


    Back, finally, Luxley entered to find Philipe ¡ª the butler ¡ª in his room, arguing (somehow) with Zan about whether he would join them for dinner. Luxley had forgotten the time.


    Yes, it was time for the evening meal! Once again, he yelled at himself, ¡°how could you forget the time?! You stinking buffoon! You little¡ª¡±


    ¡°I need to ask¡­ ¡®master Luxley,¡¯¡± Zan had said once Luxley entered. How many times had Philipe interrogated Zan about dinner?


    ¡°He will be¡ª¡± Luxley was about to say he would escort Zan out of the castle after dinner. Before he could, who else, but Miss Maggie Weather made an appearance. This time, she was not alone, however. Luxley¡¯s father was behind, a scowl practically of storm clouds raging.


    ¡°Son!¡± Luxley¡¯s father said. ¡°What in every pit of damnation is going on here?! Tell me now, you worthless baboon!¡±

 Chapter 97 (Luxley - 3)

    Luxley froze with fear.


    What¡­ how¡­ why was his father here? Usually, he took dinner in his estate room.


    ¡°Come now, boy ¡ª speak!¡± his father roared. Remembering the price of being a mute, Luxley found his courage and said, ¡°Father! I am sorry. Ever so sorry! The lad you see before you is my new tutor in matters of peasant philosophy! His hiring was a sudden affair for me and as I am forgetful, I neglected to follow procedure when inviting him into the castle. This neglect came into conflict with the wonderful Miss Maggie Weather and senior Gaston; both were only doing their jobs. But I, in my rush to rectify my disrespect for authority, only broke more rules by causing a ruckus. I am so very sorry! Please forgive me, my beloved, wondrous, wonderful and wise father!¡± Luxley spoke, then bowed, literally, as low as he could bend.


    A full minute of silence passed; the tension so thick it choked Luxley¡¯s throat. He expected blows. Alas, none came; silence and more tension yet filled the atmosphere. It gripped Luxley and threatened to make him squeak like a mouse.


    Mercy reigned, finally. ¡°I forgive you, son. Looks like my lessons on discipline are finally kicking in since you at least know when to come out and admit your lack. Escort your tutor out of our home. Then, come to dinner. We have your future to talk about.¡±


    Fear as thick as stone came over Luxley. Until his father had left, his bow remained low. Seeing his father¡¯s footsteps at the end of the hallway, he lessened his bow, caught his father¡¯s eyes, then broke attention, his father leaving for the dining room.


    Looking to Miss Maggie Weathers, who had a smirk of absolute triumph on her face, and then to Zan, who merely looked positively uncomfortable. Luxley shook lightly from the conflict. What did his father mean? They had his life to talk about? What could that possibly imply? ¡®A great many things,¡¯ Luxley told himself.


    ¡°Come, Tutor; I will escort you out of the castle,¡± Luxley told Zan, not sure what he was actually doing. Not yet. He would form the plan on the way down.


    Following his every move, Maggie kept a close tab on Luxley.


    Just as a bit of payback, Luxley mused on taking the long way out of the castle. Heavens know he could use the time to think of a plan. Thinking of his father¡¯s displeasure, however, precluded Luxley from taking such an action. He wanted to go straight to dinner. Otherwise, his father might ¡®express¡¯ displeasure with his son¡¯s lollygagging.


    Taking the most direct route, then, Luxley had little time to consider. He passed by the confused office clerks of the office he had trashed, Gatson still there helping to repair the mess, and felt like a prisoner being shown off to enemy forces. ¡®He had caused a mess to get his way and now look at him!¡¯ his situation seemed to shout. He caught Gatson bearing the same smug smile as Maggie.


    Passing through the office, down the staircase, and through the guest entry-wing, they were outside before Luxley knew it. He still didn¡¯t have a plan. So he did what he always did in these situations. He winged it.


    With Zan a certain arm¡¯s length away from him and across the drawbridge, Luxley had to pretend for the both of them while also giving Zan indistinct, yet direct, orders. Hopefully, Zan would pick up on what he was insinuating. Speaking politely, as one of his rank would to a Mid-Born tutor, he said, ¡°Mister Zenny! Thank you today for the most excellent lesson on the philosophies of the common man! I honestly dare to say it inflamed my mind. I know you are new in town, so I will recommend the Father Floater Inn and Tavern in town here. Another lesson? Bright and early. Till then!¡±


    Looking more confused than ever, Zan nevertheless complied and walked down the road leading to town with the swagger of someone who lived in town all his life. ¡®Good,¡¯ Luxley thought. ¡®He will at least fit in¡­ sort of.¡¯


    Luxley wanted to monitor Zan, of course, but he couldn¡¯t, not with his father waiting for him. Turning his back much sooner than he would have liked, Luxley walked back through the castle, his indignation burning ever hotter. ¡®Let¡¯s just get dinner over with and then I can think about how to get Zan home,¡¯ Luxley finally, at a mental breath, decided.


    Near his room, Gatson and another guard were searching and talking. Seeing Luxley, they stopped their activities. ¡°Out of my room, please. Sirs.¡± Luxley said.


    Obviously, they refused. ¡°I need to search for substances. Your father suspects¡ª¡±


    Luxley did not stick around the hear the dribble coming from their mouths. Really, father? You suspect me of being lose with the substances? Cretin of a man!


    Maggie took off toward the long-term tutor¡¯s private wing. Her presence was neither expected nor wanted by Luxley¡¯s father during dinner. They had the leftovers from the main meal. Same as the rest of the generally employed.


    Alone, except for the honor guard before the kitchen doors, same as every day since his birth, Luxley caught his breathing. Flustered, but needing to go through those doors quickly, he struggled to get his heart rate under control. In, out; in, out. Deeply. He held his breath. Slowly exhaled. Who had taught him that?


    Not exactly ready to face his father, Luxley entered the dining hall.


    #


    Everything happened so fast, Zan¡¯s heart never stopped fluttering, not for a single second. The arguments with Maggie, with the butler ¡ª the confrontation with Luxley¡¯s father?! By the end, Zan survived by going with the flow. It was like being in the middle of a dozen fights at once with a rusty dagger. That was how Zan felt in the middle of it all. And now? He was walking toward a village he never had heard of in a distant land. A land he still didn¡¯t know where exactly was; somewhere in the New Woodland Expanse, but other than that? Nada.


    Zan had an orientation, though. Luxley had told him ¡ª not directly, sure, but still ¡ª to go to the ¡®Father Floater Inn and Tavern.¡¯ Zan supposed this was to be the meeting spot later in the night when he was free. Otherwise, why would he tell him to head there? Surely not because a room had already been paid or reserved? That would stretch the imagination.


    Approaching the end of the long bluff leading to-and-away from the castle, Zan took one last look at the place he had come from. It was impressive. Tall towers scratched the sky as gargoyles etched in stone ringed every terrace and balcony Zan still glimpsed. Forged in the middle of a tall plateau, the castle lacked any means of entry or escape other than the sole drawbridge leading in to the castle.


    Is Luxley a prince? Zan asked himself. I feel like a prince would be better composed than Luxley, though, right? I mean, he forgot a lot of crap today. Then when his father came out, he broke down. So odd.


    Searching the sky for the Slipstream while he was gazing at the castle, Zan found nothing. It was a dim evening. Clouds darkening the sky. It is going to rain soon.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.Resuming his march to the town, Zan was curious about what an Expanse settlement looked like and who the people seemed. He expected something like pictures of gray-tinted prison camps where no one had any freedom and insect-derived gruel was all they eat.


    Instead, he found a perfectly normal town.


    A fine mesh of cobblestone streets, hardly unlike what Zan had seen in his own country, lined the layout. Thatched tile roofs and chimneys. Window-sill gardens. It all seemed very normal. Except for one thing: sticking out of the street like thin, artificial trees, were something Zan had never seen before. Hard and cold to his touch, it felt like iron, but it culminated in a bulbous glass tip containing light.


    Looking further ahead, Zan saw how these thin iron poles with lights attached lined the streets. Wandering down the streets at a tourist¡¯s pace, fireflies congregated around the poles, creating beautiful scenes of tranquility. Children played around some poles trying to catch the bugs. ¡°Beautiful,¡± Zan whispered.


    Beautiful or not, Zan couldn¡¯t gawk at the splendor of the place forever. He had a tavern to find.


    The tavern, when he finally found it, after nearly an hour and more of wandering, was much smaller than he expected. Finely made, for sure, with many festive trinkets adorning its facade, attesting to the fine craftsmanship, drawing the eye like a strange picture.


    Entering the establishment, Zan found himself a table. Taverns and bars were not his forte, but he liked the inside of this one. A lone bard fiddled with an instrument Zan had never seen while youthful attendants cleaned the tables and hummed merry tunes. A scent of cooking meats and wine filled the air, though somehow never overpowered the natural aroma of the building¡¯s fine oak.


    Sitting at his table, waiting for service, Zan noticed everything, even the tables, was of solid oak. There was a heft to them unseen in cheaper productions which attempted to use the veneer of quality wood. ¡°Hey, what can I get for you, sir?¡± one busboy said once he got close enough to Zan¡¯s table.


    ¡°Oh. My apologies. I do not have any money. I am new in the area and waiting for a friend to join me,¡± Zan said, seeing no reason to be dishonest, not while he was a guest in a strange land.


    ¡°That is alright, my fine sir! I will bring you something ¡ª on the house, of course ¡ª once I am done with my rounds. In town looking for tutoring work?¡± the busboy asked.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± Zan asked, surprised someone asked the exact reason he posed for.


    ¡°It is your outfit. You academics all dress the same ¡ª not like I mean that in a bad way, of course! I am only saying it is very noticeable,¡± the worker said with a laugh.


    In the tumult of everything, Zan had forgotten he still wore the outfit Luxley had given him. Luxley had said it was the suit of a Mid-Born. Mid-Borns, Zan continued to remember, were often tutors to the High-Borns. This busboy mistaking him for what in his country might amount to an aristocratic academic seemed on the nose.


    ¡°Oh, yeah. Worry not. I wear this thing so often, I forget I am wearing it. But please, don¡¯t let me distract you from your rounds! I wouldn¡¯t want to get my new friend in trouble with his boss,¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°Well! Aren¡¯t you just delightfully considerate! I will be back. Enjoy the ambiance,¡± the busboy said, returning to his work.


    Phew! I think I handled that interaction well, considering I am not even from the country, let alone the area, Zan thought.


    The busboy did not return for a while. As he expected.


    In the meantime, he followed the recommendation from the busboy and ¡®took in the ambience.¡¯ Between the scent of food, oak, and the mellow music of bards, Zan was feeling extremely relaxed. Though not so relaxed, he felt like he was ¡®off¡¯ his edge; Zan glanced repeatedly at the windows whenever someone passed by in the street. ¡®Come on, Luxley, where are you? I can¡¯t stay here twaddling my thumbs forever.¡¯


    ¡°Sorry for the lateness! I had to help a bit in the sink by cleaning up some dishes. We¡¯re a laborer short today,¡± the busboy said, returning with a pleasant-smelling rag draped around his shoulders.


    ¡°Oh, I am sorry about that. Always harder when not everyone is pulling their weight,¡± Zan replied. Hoping his overly pleasing intent was well read.


    ¡°Not your fault, my good sir. Now, let me get you those freebies I promised! I will be right back, so hold tight!¡± the busboy said, leaving again.


    When he returned, the busboy came with a platter of goods. Way more than Zan expected when he heard ¡®a little something on the house.¡¯ Four, in total, the busboy placed before him: two drinks, two little plates.


    ¡°Sweet-on-heat,¡± the busboy said, likely a local expression. ¡°Allow me to explain the dishes before you. Here, in the standard wooden mule-mug, is water with ice. Some mint and cucumber flavors it. In the tankard is a local beer made from honeydew-hops. Please understand it is a very weak beer. Family friendly. On to the platter. A small selection of local cheeses supplemented by locally made crackers, berry-dominate spreads, and salted and smoked meats. If you are absolutely taken with any of these products, please know we make them right here in town and available for purchase. Questions? Concerns?¡±


    ¡°No, no ¡ª all this looks scrumptious! Incredible, really. Thank you so much for your hospitality¡­¡± Zan said, waiting to use the busboy¡¯s name but realizing he actually did not know it.


    ¡°What is your name? I¡¯m not sure I ever got it,¡± Zan said, drooling over the plates.


    ¡°Oh, me, sir? My name is Leon No-Father,¡± the busboy replied, baffling Zan.


    Zan¡¯s confusion must have been clear, because the busboy then exclaimed, his pitch high, ¡°Oh! Sir! Are you a foreigner? I only thought you were from out of the province. I am so sorry! Of course, you are from afar; you are here to help us with an advanced technology, perhaps? I am so sorry. If I knew you were from away sooner, I would have been much more hospitable!¡±


    Hurrying to defend the busboy, Zan said, ¡°No, no, no! You have been wonderful, Leon. I am from a way, hence my confusion at your last name. Genuinely, my fine young sir, your hospitality has been exquisite!¡±


    Looking relieved, Leon said, ¡°Wonderful! We pride ourselves on our service here. I would feel bad if you weren¡¯t having as good a time as possible!¡±


    Again excusing the busboy, the two chirped at one another for a moment, making niceties. Really, the whole idea of small talk before a big talk just consumed Zan. He didn¡¯t like not being direct. But the busboy was being accommodating, so he would not make a fuss out of it, especially when free food and drink had been proffered.


    Getting to the water first, Zan was thirsty. He drank it down ¡ª ignoring the strange and hollow bendy-pylon the busboy had mysteriously stuck in his drink. It was delicious! Ice cold, as if they had pulled the ice directly out from a cave, filled the drink and kept it cool despite the impressive heat of the area.


    Next, Zan tried the crackers and berry spread. Incredible was the short of it. Equal parts sweet, tart, and bitter, the crunch of the cracker, mixed with the berries, formed a new texture in Zan¡¯s mouth as if by magic. He swallowed them well.


    Then Zan tried the beer. Like spiked water with honey mixed in ¡ª a treat at the end of the day, Zan thought.


    Finally, he tried the cheeses and salted meats. Only a couple pinches of each, but everything he tasted was beyond like anything he had tasted before.


    Finishing his beer and water as he eat the remaining crackers, Zan felt nice and happy with the guest platter consumed; as small as the snack had been, it filled him up surprisingly well. Not that he wouldn¡¯t eat a small feast¡¯s worth of food when he returned to the command center, but now, it would be slightly less so.


    ¡°Was everything to your liking?¡± Leon asked, coming back after leaving to attend to the other guests.


    ¡°It was all amazing, Leon. Truly. Some of the best food I have ever had!¡± Zan said.


    ¡°I am so glad to hear you say that! You¡¯ve just made my night! Your friend¡¯s still not here?¡± Leon asked.


    Zan had been so focused on the food, he actually forgot why he was here in the first place ¡ª to meet Luxley! Oh, man, Zan said to himself. What is Luxley can¡¯t sneak out and meet me soon? How long will I last up here? How long before the local authorities figure me a bum and toss my ass in jail?


    As bad visions and worse paranoias fled into his mind, Leon brought him down to the earth. ¡°I am only curious! Spend as long as you need here. It is our slow time of year, so you¡¯re not using up a table of anything. If your friend doesn¡¯t show by an hour-passed midnight, I will need to toss ya out! But you could come to my family¡¯s home if you needed. We always have a spare cot.¡±


    Leon again touched Zan¡¯s heart. What a generous and kind soul!


    ¡°Thank you very much, Leon. I appreciate it. I do. I am sure my friend will be along any moment now,¡± Zan said, a wide smile beaming across his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear that! Okay, I gotta go do my job. It was nice meeting you, Mister Zenny!¡± Leon said, backing out and returning to his labors.


    Truly, I again told myself. What a nice people.


    Speaking of nice people, Luxley walked through the door minutes later.

 Chapter 98 (Luxley - 4)

    The table could easily hold four dozen people. Probably more.


    So, it easily filled Luxley¡¯s family.


    He and father.


    No other family lived in the castle. Not anymore.


    After Luxley¡¯s mother died, his world ended. His sister moved to another castle, marrying a suiter who suddenly came into royal status. And the aunts and uncles? Fled, knowing the lord¡¯s temper.


    Through it all, no one asked Luxley if he wanted to leave. Or even if he would be fine living with his father. Alone.


    Luxley thought of taking the seat furthest from his father. The idea of his father needing to speak up to tell him whatever inane horseshit livened his attitude. Much like during the hallway moment where he escorted Zan out, he thought better of it; he wanted to end this dinner quickly. Not drag it out with pointless theatrics.


    He instead took a seat several seats away from his father, on his father¡¯s lefthand. Looking at his father to the right, his seating choice reflected a social reverence for the head of the table. Not as though such notions were anywhere near his consideration, Luxley would reason.


    Luxley sat straight, his back to the chair, hands in his lap. He would dine tonight as his father always wanted him to dine. Overly formally and with nary a hint of selfhood.


    Philipe entered the room through little trumpets, announcing him. ¡°Dinner is on the way from the kitchen now,¡± he said, before slinking into the shadows.


    Music from a small band played while they waited. His father hummed while another butler affixed his bib.


    In Luxley¡¯s family¡¯s social circles, to speak while dinner was on the way was rude, even apish. This moment before feasting was for quiet contemplation of both the self and of dinner conversation. A certain class of people widely thought softly strung music useful to stimulating such intellectual endeavors.


    When the meal arrived, Luxley had hardly an iota of an appetite. Too much stress destroyed his nerves. He would eat, though. He would finish the entire plate and then some. For his father had a dim view of little boys who did not eat their vegetables¡­


    Luxley did not register what the actual meal was¡­ some kind of animal meat over-sauced with a dry wine. Crunchy vegetables. A dessert of flan.


    ¡°Now, what is this bullish behavior about, son?¡± his father asked, ripping into a choice leg of lamb.


    ¡°I¡¯m experiencing growing pains, father¡­ I¡ª¡± Luxley said. Or was about to say. His father cut him off, interrupted by saying, ¡°Is this why Gatson tells me you are anti-war? Forgetting the fact that war is our primary export?! It is why you have this life?¡±


    Luxley froze. ¡°Regardless, father. I do not agree with it.¡± He held his ground.


    ¡°You don¡¯t agree with asserting your genetics and your self?! Worthless shit, aren¡¯t you? Fairy kissing queen of a runt is all your are, you stain of lad.¡± Luxley¡¯s father went on, describing him in many colorfully hateful ways.


    Almost as a ghost, Luxley then saw something he had not expected to see again. The Cursive.


    Words, as though carved with and into the very surface on which they materialized, whatever that surface might be appeared; an outsider looking in might see the words etched into the room by some higher power, curled around everyday objects like a tilted force of nature. ¡®Outsider,¡¯ was what came to Luxley¡¯s mind whenever he thought of how The Cursive manifested, because Luxley knew for a fact only he could see the special words of The Cursive.


    What were they? He did not know. All he knew was for a time, when he was little, he had trusted the words of The Cursive with his life. Yet they ¡ª it? ¡ª betrayed him. Since that horrible night, nothing had ever been the same.


    After that treacherous night, The Cursive left him to bear the world by his lonesome. He managed, but barely.


    Now, it seemed, The Cursive returned to him. It¡¯s manifesting shocked Luxley to the core and made an already scarring meal more horrid yet. did he dare look at the words?


    What was Reality trying to communicate to him?


    His father still ranting against him, only taking the slightest diversions away from his hate to praise family members long since buried, Luxley nodded at his father while he pretended to listen. His eyes glanced over to the magical-like words carved into the layer of reality just beneath the common reality anyone could see, that ¡®extra¡¯ dimension where the Words in the World manifested. Through one of the drooping chandeliers, across the table and dishes, through even the waving, moving hands of his father, Luxley slowly identified words coming into being. Words only he could see.


    ¡°Tell¡­ him¡­ mag¡­ board¡­?¡± the special, magical words read.


    ¡®Feck!¡¯ Luxley cursed internally.


    ¡®The Cursive wants me to tell my father about my techy-mag board? Why? He is only going to use it to berate me more. Maybe it will betray me again and I will get¡­ no, snap out of it, Luxley! Snap the feck out of it!¡¯


    Clearing his throat, Luxley decided.


    ¡®Fine! You want me to tell him, whatever you are, Cursive?! FINE! But if you stab me in the back again, I will¡­ I can¡¯t. Not again.¡¯


    ¡°Father? If I may speak?¡± Luxley said. Examining him, wholly unexpecting his son to speak, the father did, in fact, close his mouth, and motion for Luxley to speak.


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t approve of my opinions or studies, generally speaking. I am sorry for that, sorry for being a disappointment. I must say one thing, though. I have been studying the peasant way of thinking because it is a nice distraction from my primary studies.¡± Luxley said, building momentum. ¡°I am taking up techy-mag board development again.¡±


    His father stopped eating. Luxley was unsure he had ever seen him stop eating once a meal had started. A man prone to strange moods, Luxley¡¯s father often eats only a single meal a day, thus, his moods were all over the place. One dinner started, only a might stop his gnawing.


    Putting his leg of lamb down and cleaning his face on the bib, Luxley¡¯s father looked right at him and said, ¡°Oh? You are now? Interesting, son. Why?¡±


    What had gotten into his father? He never, ever spoke that way to him. In that tone, almost of respect. Nearly like he didn¡¯t hate his guts. Where he had otherwise told him he was a failure of an abortion.


    ¡°I want to be useful. I would like a career someday. One day, maybe even own a business. I cannot be a child forever. I have to plan for my adulthood,¡± Luxley said, the sick which nearly came from his mouth, almost betraying his words.


    The Cursive had vanished. Like it always did whenever Luxley had followed its command.


    ¡°So, you do¡­¡± his father continued, his tone still the same nearly respectful voice he could not remember since he was very young. ¡°And it is about time, too. You¡¯ve spent long enough on the bumbling and stupid parts of academe. If this gruel study is only entertainment, then fine. From now on, however, I expect results from your actual study. Am I understood?¡±


    ¡°I understand. Father. I will re-summon the tutors I banished when I decided against the techy-mag course.¡±


    ¡°Excellent. You have a knack for this, son. Don¡¯t waste your brain on the irrelevant.¡±


    ¡°I will not. Not anymore¡­¡±


    Then something happened Luxley had fully expected to only to happen in his dreams in an alternate dimension: dinner passed peacefully.


    Once the tense opening salvos passed, and once Luxley overturned his distaste for continuing a line of study he felt was toxic, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time.


    The future held who knows what, yes, but for now, his father did not seem to mind him or what he would do. In fact, using the prod of techy-mag to his advantage, Luxley thought there was a lot of could now get away with for his real purposes ¡ª Zan and his own beliefs. He just had to pretend. How hard could that be?


    Dinner finished. Luxley returned to his room well-fed. He even had a little glass of wine, an indulgence he typically rejected as it reminded him of worse times.


    He closed his chamber door and slumped against it. ¡®What a freaking day,¡¯ he said.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Before Luxley could escape his room and find Zan, he made a curt ¡®To Do¡¯ list. It related to what he would need to do for his upcoming study renewal. Re-summon the tutors, check out the techy-mag books from the library, create new research binders using his old as the basis, review his old notes¡­ and so on.


    Although Luxley disliked the study of techy-mage technology, it was not because he found it difficult or because he found it tedious. His problem with the study was how his society used it outside the academic. War.


    Frankly, he enjoyed the subject and the study of it. He liked the challenge of building a better board, what went into improving existing boards ¡ª the process of research, that is ¡ª and simply the philosophy underpinning everything. Advancing the field was something Luxley knew he could do ¡ª with proper study, of course.


    So¡­ if he liked it, ¡®how,¡¯ he thought, could he use it to his advantage despite its lowly use outside of the ivory halls?


    Pushing his ink well and writing utensil away, Luxley nearly lost track of the time; thinking as much as he had after the dinner about his future, he quickly faded out as his mind became inundated with possibilities and career paths. Warm it would be outside, so Luxley skipped the jacket.


    The fire ran low. Which meant, as he knew it meant from many experimentations, that the workers of the whole castle over had either left or were now, as demanded by his father, not to leave their chambers. Rules which applied to everyone except the guards and the royal family. Luxley knew his dad did not care what he did. So as he had done many times before, Luxley walked out the front gates.


    Before he left his chambers, Luxley took a few coins from his personal stash on top of his horn-thing Zan had given him for communication. Before he spoke into it, Luxley made sure he was out of eyesight. Then he said, ¡°Zan? Do you read me? Where are you?¡±


    No response.


    Crap!


    Luxley composed himself. Zan not responding did not mean something bad had happened. Heck, maybe the horn did not work when the two elements ¡ª the sender and the receiver ¡ª were so close together? Knowing Luxley¡¯s luck, that was exactly what it meant. It was not as if Zan could have known such a thing, but Luxley found the idea repellent. Long distance only communicators? They had their limitations¡­


    Busted or not, Luxley would go to the tavern. His friend was surely there.


    Entering the tavern, Luxley saw right away his new buddy.


    Sitting on a table recently cleared of dishes ¡ª Luxley could see the sheen of the table glistening in the aftermath of a busboy¡¯s wash ¡ª Zan sat, happy at receiving some refreshments. Luxley knew that was the case as he understood the local hospitality customs.


    Luxley sat down at Zan¡¯s table. He was about to apologize. Touching his friend¡¯s shoulder, Luxley said, ¡°I am beyond sorry for how things turned out tonight, Zan. Please forgive me. I did not know I was missing so much of the plan to make you invisible¡­ I thought your disguise would be enough. Things just snowballed. I dunno.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not like you intended for any of that to happen. I know you would have liked it to go much smoother than all that. I¡¯m just happy you¡¯re here now. I was worried for a moment you wouldn¡¯t be able to come and get me. But the busboy here is extremely nice. He offered his family¡¯s spare cot,¡± Zan said, relating to Luxley an unremarkable story of a socially formal interaction.


    ¡°I am not surprised. People in this princeling hamlet are extremely nice. It is how it¡¯s always been,¡± Luxley said.


    ¡°Prince¡­ hamlet?¡± Zan asked. ¡°W-what?¡±


    ¡°Sorry. It is just the name given to an area where a member of a royal family lives. Nothing more. An actual prince need not live here. Or anywhere with the designation,¡± Luxley explained.


    ¡°I get it. Does that mean it is a better town than other towns?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Maybe not ¡®better,¡¯ per se, but a touch on the well behaved side.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Cool. I will keep that in mind if I am ever traveling through the place. What now?¡± Zan asked, perhaps feeling the tiredness from the situation.


    ¡°Now? We get you back home.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t say no that getting back where I belong. But what about the translation?¡±


    Luxley didn¡¯t know what he should say. Considering the notions he had contested lately, he had forgotten about his favor to Zan, his offer of translating the paper.


    ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s get back to my chamber. I will try quickly to make sense of the paper. If I can¡¯t, you¡¯ll just have to go home empty-handed until I can sort it out.¡±


    Luxley left a couple of coins on the table and waved himself out of the tavern. Though he was much better today at socializing than he had been earlier in his life, he still didn¡¯t like it. He preferred avoiding the lights and noise if he could help it. Luxley heard the busboy chirp a goodbye their way, though. So that was nice, even if he knew it was mostly a formality.


    Halfway up the hill leading to the drawbridge, Zan asked, ¡°Is it going to be another whole thing getting into your room?¡±


    Luxley politely laughed at the idea. ¡°No. We can just go straight there. No one is up or working. Not at this time of night. We have the whole castle to ourselves! Well, us and the core security team who prowls the night. They won¡¯t bother us, though. We would only be in shit if my father was up and about. And he wouldn¡¯t be up for anything. He swill spend the night as he spends every night: watching the bard make up silly stories, then drinking himself into a stupor with his whores.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± Zan said, not knowing what else to say.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I hate the bastard anyway.¡±


    Luxley wanted to say something more, but there wasn¡¯t anything ¡®more¡¯ to say.


    That was the truth. Simple and pure. He despised his father.


    Passing the hill in silence, Zan stood facing him before they crossed the bridge. Zan faced him and said, ¡°You can talk to me about anything. I won¡¯t judge.¡±


    Not knowing what to say at such a sensitive thing, Luxley smiled. ¡°I know,¡± he said.


    ¡°Good. And I do mean it. Really.¡±


    Crossing the bridge, they entered the castle proper. Though Luxley locked the door, he saw out the corner of his eye a member of the core security rush over and double-check his locking abilities, his fine arts fingers and their skill at sliding the bolt into place. Luxley knew they were only doing their job. They should have some faith in him, at least wait until he went up the first flight of stairs before they get all paranoid.


    ¡°It¡¯s so quiet¡­¡± Zan said. ¡°Peaceful.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It is my favorite time of the day. I practically used to live during the night.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so cool.¡± Zan wanted to ask why he stopped living at night, but the answer was clear: his father, who else, stopped him?


    Walking back, Luxley felt less stressed. No servants were out, Gatson and Maggie were back in their respective homes. Luxley liked this point of night because it gave him peace of mind. He wasn¡¯t expecting a new enemy at every corner.


    The two silently entered Luxley¡¯s chambers. ¡°Excuse the mess,¡± Luxley said. ¡°I haven¡¯t the time yet to clean up after Gatson¡¯s rampage through my belongings.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. That¡¯s a thing you do a lot, you know. Worry,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Well, there is a lot to worry about,¡± Luxley said, moving to his desk and searching for the books on translation.


    Luxley found his translation books quickly. Though the room was messy, the desk area was at least neat. He had tidied it after dinner while waiting for the castle to empty. It was always good to have at least one sector of your room neat and ordered.


    ¡°Alright. Lie down on my bed or pull up a seat next to me while I work. What I am going to do is this: right now, I am only going to make a quick stab at the translation process. If we are lucky, this will be written in an easy-to-understand form of the Old Tongue Script, and I might translate the whole list for you right here and now. That¡¯s a BIG ¡®if,¡¯ though¡­¡± Luxley explained.


    ¡°Not a problem. Take your time. We¡¯ve come this far, so we ought to finish it right.¡±


    Nodding, Luxley opened his books and went about his work.


    The act of translating was not an easy process. One had to think of literal meanings between two language sets, but also the context for the words, and what word (or words!) could replace a convoluted phrase in the original. Include different dialects, which could wholly transform meanings, and thus contextual clues for the translation process, and the difficulty skyrocketed.


    Twice, Zan moaned, ¡°Are you done yet?¡± But Luxley ignored him.


    For the course of two hours, Luxley remained fully intended on translation.


    ¡°Crap¡­¡± Luxley said.


    Zan perked up. ¡°Yeah? What happened?¡±


    Sliding away from his desk in his inventive seat with wheels, Luxley turned toward his friend and said, ¡°We did not strike gold¡­¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Sorry. I mean, is whoever wrote this list wrote it in a difficult, antiquated, even for the time, dialect. I should¡¯ve noticed the accent marks earlier. Only the hardest dialect of this language has such accent marks. It has been a while since I¡¯ve done this.¡±


    Zan did not make an issue out of it like Luxley had feared. He said, ¡°Not your fault¡­ it¡¯s been a full day. I can¡¯t even read.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? You can¡¯t read? Not even basic?¡± Luxley asked.


    ¡°Nope. Nothing. ¡®Low-Born,¡¯ remember?¡± Zan said, using his fingers for emphasis.


    ¡°That is surprising. In my country, even Low-Born are educated to the point of basic reading comprehension. Are you sure your country doesn¡¯t suck?¡±


    Zan broke out laughing. ¡°I have no idea, bro. I honestly don¡¯t know¡­ it sucks. I know nothing and everyone always seems too busy to teach me.¡±


    Feeling bad for Zan, Luxley did something he shouldn¡¯t have done, considering his situation, and all, but did anyway. He said, ¡°I could teach you.¡±


    Refusing to meet his gaze, Luxley wondered if he said something wrong.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it¡­¡± was all Zan said.


    ¡°Sure¡­¡± Luxley replied.


    Moments passed in awkward silence. Luxley didn¡¯t know what made them awkward. Zan not taking him up on private tutoring right away, maybe? The fight earlier? The tavern encounter? There was a lot to dwell upon. Luxley threw it from his head. Zan was tired. He wanted to get home. Rest in his own bed.


    Placing a bookmark in one of the translation books, Luxley stretched. ¡°I¡¯m beat, dude. I really need to turn in for the night.¡±


    ¡°I need to go home.¡± Zan sighed. ¡°You will contact me the moment the list is done? Not a second later?¡±


    ¡°I promise, Zan. The very second I am finished with the list, I will speak into the horn you gave me and summon you forth! Promise!¡±


    ¡°Okay. Good. Good¡­ how long do you think? Vague estimate.¡±


    ¡°A week. Minimum. If so much personal crap didn¡¯t happen tonight, then sooner, but with my hands tied, I can only do a little each day. My father expects me to resume my techy-mag study, so that will take up a lot of my time.¡±


    ¡°I get it. Do what you can. This is a favor to me. Don¡¯t run yourself ragged trying to get it done as fast as possible. I will have my plate full, one way or another myself. There is always something to do on my end, too.¡±


    ¡°Our lives, huh?¡± Luxley stated, morose.


    ¡°Yeah. Our lives¡­¡±


    Embracing his friend, Luxley sent him off with a clatter through the portal, the bed squeaking an awful lot as Zan lumbered on top of it and passed through some portal only he could see.


    Alone once more, Luxley felt low on energy. Sad, even.


    He was alone. Totally alone.


    Luxley tried to return to his translation work but accomplished nothing. He familiarized himself with some translating basics, but that was it. A bedrock for future re engagements.


    Shutting the book, Luxley turned to tidying up his room. Getting everything back into order after his father¡¯s associates wrecked it up. Another couple of hours passed, and Luxley righted the wrongs. He was tired, beat by the end, though. He prepared to sleep himself.


    Lying in his bed, Luxley lazily turned his head to where Zan¡¯s portal let out into his room. He let his arm lay lazily in that area, wondering if one day he would wake up to find Zan¡¯s boots squishing his fingers. What a way to wake up, Luxley laughed.


    Gradually falling asleep, the first techy-mag board he had ever made hanging on a plaque behind his bed¡¯s frame, Luxley fell asleep. He would need his energy. The future was coming toward him at full speed. If he was to survive ¡ª and thrive ¡ª he would need every advantage he could get. Even if it was as simple as sleep.

 Chapter 99

    When Zan returned from his whirlwind encounter with Luxley, he found no rest.


    Traversing his way back through the Backroads and then into the White Chamber, Screen Master Simulacrum took notice of his presence right away.


    ¡°Zan! It is good to feel your energy once again. Are you okay?¡± Simulacrum asked.


    ¡°Yeah. I am okay. Just some delays in getting the list translated. My contact has a lot on his plate. Family issues. Social issues. One thing after another. He said he would need at least a week ¡ª probably longer, I am guessing ¡ª before he can translate it for us. I will not worry about it, then. Everything good in my absence?¡± Zan asked, already on his way to the war room.


    ¡°Yes. Everything is fine. However, Colonel Winters made an appearance yesterday asking for you. Sigma-Prime met him outside. He said he needed aid in an expedition beyond the Western Way. I would recommend visiting him in Thundervale to see what is happening.¡±


    ¡°Very well. I will do that once I rest and eat. Anything else?¡± Zan again asked, now standing in the war room before the large, translucent and blue-tinted face of the Screen Master.


    ¡°Jiehong is away visiting his parents. He said he would be back shortly, but that was also a day ago. Colonel Winters appeared agitated when he visited. For operational saftey, my suggestion would be to wait until Jiehong returns before you visit the colonel. Yet, the issue might also demand an immediate visitation. We do not know when Jiehong will return, after all,¡± the Screen Master said.


    Zan shook his head in agreement, thinking it over. Sigma-Prime woke up from her charging table and greeted Zan. Greeting her back, Zan told the both of them what had transpired over the course of his venture.


    ¡°Astonishing. You are receiving a firsthand look at the complexities of imperial culture within the Expanse. Please pay close attention, Zan. What you gleam here from your contact could mean the difference between victory and defeat,¡± Sigma-Prime told.


    ¡°I know, I know¡­¡± Zan said.


    Finally, waving the Wardens off enough to grab a (cold) bite to eat from the meal Jean Paul-Paul (the Fourth) had made for him and left out, as stipulated in his contract, Zan relished his meal. He hardly had anything during the day long visit with Luxley.


    Peeking out the window, Zan saw it was nighttime here as well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zan wondered about the time difference between where he and Luxley lived. If Luxley lived within the Expanse and he lived here, quite far from the Expanse¡¯s capital, how could it be night in both places? Zan didn¡¯t know and refused to waste time dwelling on it. Though he would like to ask a learned man about it sometime.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Zan rested in his personal chamber. Staring at the ceiling. He thought about how empty his chamber was when compared to Luxley¡¯s chamber. Luxley had wealth, of course, so Zan knew the comparison wasn¡¯t fair. Yet he still noticed the stark difference, how his room said nothing about him as a person. Was this important? No, but it still formed in Zan a core, something like a passion to explore the world. Perhaps then, after a lifetime of exploration, he would find his home filled with color?


    Zan fell asleep. He rested for a couple extra hours than he normally would sleep.


    Waking up, he asked the Wardens, but Jiehong had not returned yet. ¡®No matter,¡¯ Zan said. ¡®I will ping him.¡¯


    Pressing his communication device, Zan said, his voice low and soft, ¡°Hey buddy. You there? I am back. Colonel Winters paid us a visit recently, and we need to head to Thundervale. Are you going to be back soon, or should I go by myself?¡±


    Zan waited a while for a response.


    While waiting, he had breakfast. Sleeping in as he did, he missed by the thinnest of hairs, the chef¡¯s visit. A shame, Zan thought. It would have been nice to speak to him. Jean was always a happy guy to speak with and it boosted his spirits to speak with someone so bubbly and happy.


    Even so, Zan eat the egg-heavy meal and got to work.


    Hearing nothing back from Jiehong, Zan figured he would head to Thundervale by himself. ¡®This should be fine,¡¯ Zan told himself. ¡®Thundervale Path hasn¡¯t been infested with golems since we helped end the siege. Should be nothing more than a stroll.¡¯


    Yawning as he entered the war room and prepared himself for the battle, Zan changed out of his fancy clothing the night before; he praised himself for having the peace of mind to grab his combat gear before leaving Luxley¡¯s place. How inconvenient it would have been for him to have to return all the way to Luxley¡¯s space, interrupt his life at a potentially dangerous time, and all to grab hold of his shirt, pants, and blade. Embarrassing is merely one word which Zan would use to describe the situation. Luckily, Zan remembered. So, he had that going for him.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from Jiehong yet¡­¡± Zan said as he prepared. ¡°But this is fine. I will go by myself. I don¡¯t want to keep the Colonel waiting. If he was desperate enough to come all the way here by hearsay ¡ª since I do not recall ever giving him exact directions to the command center ¡ª he must be desperate,¡± Zan told the Wardens.


    ¡°Very well. Remember, Zan. If you ever need help, Sigma-Prime and I are but a mere button press and talk away. More of the command center we repair every day. Our functions grow. Aid from afar is not so silly, not anymore,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°I will keep that in mind! And sorry if it seems like I am ever unappreciative of your support. I try to be self-sufficient while out on mission or recon or with Luxley, you know? If I get too reliant on help, I won¡¯t know what to do when that help isn¡¯t there,¡± Zan explained.


    ¡°We understand,¡± Simulacrum said. ¡°True leaders attempt to not only not become a burden but lessen the burden for others. Please realize, however, that a responsible amount of aid from us will only strength you. Not weaken.¡±


    ¡°I will attempt to learn that lesson. Thank you, Screen Master. Thank you Sigma-Prime.¡±


    Zan made a curt bow, merely out of his desire to show his willingness to learn and how much he respected the Wardens, even if his words sometimes didn¡¯t match up. Then he went off; the road to Thundervale wide open.

 Chapter 100

    Zan¡¯s march to Thundervale was quick, efficient, and uneventful.


    Just a time sink, really.


    He recharged his magical reserve, though, as the Slipstream was in effect, so that was good. He walked. And walked.


    By himself. He felt lonely.


    Zan wished he could talk with Luxley. Luxley might be a weird, slightly unbalanced royal, with dubious loyalties, but he was a real friend. He was kind enough, anyway. He got in trouble with his father. That had to say something.


    As if by nature, he heard Luxley¡¯s voice in his ear.


    ¡°Hey buddy, can you hear me?¡± Luxley said.


    ¡°I can hear you. How are you doing, mate?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Oh, not too bad. I fixed my room. I only just started, but I am on my techy-board stuff again. Evidently, Miss Maggie Weathers confirmed to my father I was studying it again, and he seemed happy. Even sent a study platter up to my room.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s cool. And you¡¯re good at it, so seems like things are going better?¡±


    ¡°I guess? My dad¡¯s still an A-hole¡­¡±


    ¡°Why do you hate him?¡± Zan asked, wondering about the story behind Luxley¡¯s animosity.


    Luxley momentarily said nothing. Suddenly, he said, ¡°No offense, but I don¡¯t want to talk about that¡­¡±


    ¡°That is okay. I shouldn¡¯t have asked. Just being nosey. Sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Listen, I actually buzzed you to say I did a little more of your list. Half-way through one line! I am on a roll. With my renewed techy-mag studies, I don¡¯t think this list is getting done for a couple weeks. Minimum.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely fine. Take your time. I really meant what I said yesterday. I understand how you had a life before I crashed into you.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Cool. You feeling okay?¡±


    ¡°Me? Of course. I am actually over-happy. At finally having someone who can translate this list for me. I don¡¯t know what I would have done without you, Luxley.¡±


    Another moment of silence. ¡°Geez¡­ you¡¯re making me blush, Zan. Alrighty, before my whole body turns red, I¡¯ll let you go. Stay safe, Zan. Talk soon. Over and out.¡±


    Although Zan enjoyed the update on the list¡¯s translation, he wondered if he needed Luxley¡¯s update. Zan already knew it would be some time to finish the translation. Perhaps he is simply astute and organized? Zan wondered.


    Not long after the update, Zan arrived in Thundervale. The city looked busier than normal. Perhaps a circus was in town?


    Walking down the main thoroughfare, Zan saw no clowns or beasts of an exotic nature. ¡®What a shame!¡¯ he thought. He always wanted to see a circus.


    Ignoring the busy street as it held no interest for him without the circus, Zan made a straight shoot to the guardhouse. ¡°Is Colonel Winters in?¡± Zan asked the secretary. She took only one glance at Zan before she waved him up.


    Climbing the stairs to the third-floor office attic, Zan mused again on how far he had come since he and Jiehong¡¯s first visit to this town. ¡®They fecking arrested us!¡¯ echoed in his head.


    Climbing atop and entering the room, Zan saw many military men sitting in the splayed open seats. ¡®The room is packed!¡¯ Zan thought. ¡®Who are these people?!¡¯


    His question about who the people were did not last long as about while he entered the meeting, whatever it had been about, ended. Dodging the larger frames of the professional soldiers who hardly noticed Zan¡¯s much wimpier body, he felt like an alleycat evading the murderous feet of the uncaring masses.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Zan asked. ¡°Buddies?¡±


    Colonel Winters laughed. ¡°Buddies? Something like that. Soldiers from other rural garrisons. People in the royal military of a certain rank. People like me who, though they hold a certain rank, they lack the resources to do much in the invasion¡¯s face because of their location. That meeting was about strategy and other boring stuff. Not really why I called you down.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ then why did you call me down? And I apologize for missing you. As Sigma-Prime ¡ª that shiny metal person ¡ª said, I was on a special mission.¡±


    ¡°You keep busy, Zan. That is good. Young men should remain busy. Keeps their minds and hands out of trouble. I visited you and called you here because of the messenger you freed during our joint operation with the rebels.¡± The Colonel said.


    ¡°Is he alright?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°He is fine. Worry not. He is currently on his way back with my response. Speaking of which, we will need your help with. Come, take a seat. Let me catch you up on what has happened and what will happen.¡±


    Zan took a seat opposite the Colonel near his desk and listened with rapt attention, happy to be off his feet.


    ¡°First, for what has already happened. The messenger you freed came to us with a message for our provincial lord, Talent. His message came from the lord of a nearby province which is in trouble, a province administered by lord Gallant. I won¡¯t bore you with the history between the two of them, but the crux of the matter is he is requesting aid. We simply cannot risk sending the air he needs without huge swathes of our territory getting put into danger. Unfortunately, the lord is insistent. So, we have no choice but to send all our reserves, despite our enemy¡¯s efforts on the border unrelenting ¡ª our scouts, Zan, have already identified another resource column moving from the national border zone to our provincial lines¡ª¡±


    ¡°Which means more outposts?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Exactly. It means more outposts, like the hundreds we already put to the torch and it means larger weapons yet, like the Walker you put down. The meeting you saw let out before you arrived was a response, in part, to this: with our reserve forces moving to the neighboring province, only the barest, thinnest skeleton crew will remain. This crew will do nothing more than evacuate villages should they come under Expanse attack.¡±


    ¡°So, you want me to help with this crew? Provide backup? Support?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Considering your age? One would be right to think that. But no¡­ I summoned you here because despite the danger, despite the absurdity of another lord demanding protection when there is danger everywhere, I need you with me. This is the ¡®what will happen¡¯ part of affairs. The lord in question, Gallant, is desperate for aid because his personal villa is nearby. It is under siege by the enemy. He wants us to break the siege,¡± Colonel Winters explained.


    ¡°Wow¡­ that¡¯s a lot to take in. What I don¡¯t understand is where is our provincial lord in all this? I guess he has signed off on this incursion, right?¡±


    ¡°Our lord, Talent, is off with the overking fighting the bulk of the invader¡¯s army. When the invasion happened, he and the overking were at some aristocratic function together, evidently. I am actually among the highest ranked individuals left within the province. At least among those with cognitive functions¡­¡±


    ¡°Crap-on-a-shat,¡± Zan said. ¡°I had no idea. It would be improper to refuse. So I will take you up on this offer. The Order I lead ¡ª boy, is it weird saying that ¡ª is dedicated to eradicating evil. And this invasion is an act of evil. Therefore, I will go with you. We are between projects, so this seems right up our alley.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful to hear! I knew you would seize the initiative. Now, I need to ask you another question: would this rebel, you know, Whiskey, I think her name is, be at all swayable to our cause? Or fail that at least help the remaining garrison troops should the enemy launch an assault in our absence?¡± Colonel Winters asked, though Zan didn¡¯t know why he should ask. Surely, he knew Whiskey wanted nothing to do with the royal administration?


    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah. She won¡¯t help you free some royalist bigshot. I know she will help protect the common people, though. Send a carrier bird her way and I am sure she will keep her eyes peeled,¡± Zan said, not really lying, since he knew she would help, but not really sure her help would actually help the Royalist cause as much as she might use the crisis to further the rebel cause. Still. Zan wasn¡¯t a seer. He did not know what the future held for anyone, let alone in a crisis.


    ¡°I figured as much. I will send a bird her way, then. What a shame, though. For our social divisions to exacerbate when the enemy struck. There couldn¡¯t have been a worse time for a rebellion¡­ oh well. Is how the chips fall sometimes,¡± Winters said, a sigh lodged in his throat.


    ¡°You are trying to build a broad alliance, then?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°As broad as possible. Not an easy thing to do, of course. And should certain members of the aristocracy find out I am trying to rope in rebel fighters to our cause, they will not be too happy. Will forbid me from continuing. Might even punish me in the process. Yet what else can I do? In war, certain actions must be taken.¡±


    Zan and Winters fiddled with the details over the next few minutes.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready to leave whenever you are,¡± Zan said. ¡°Although I do need to send a message to Jiehong and get him up with us. Are you expecting to leave as soon as possible?¡±


    Winters said, ¡°Oh, heavens no. I am waiting for some men to come and join me. It will probably be a few days before everyone comes up. Actually, Zan. I had a special mission for you and your friend. If you are up for it¡­¡±

 Chapter 101

    Now Zan felt intrigue. ¡°Special mission?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ so you see, although I have seen your fighting skills first-hand, and although I know my men would not judge young fellas like yourself too harshly for desiring to fight alongside of them, the fact is, it might prove a challenge integrating you and your friend into our regular units. I know, with time, you would be another one of ¡®the boys,¡¯ but time we don¡¯t have; furthermore, integrating you, as a member of a martial order and as someone who, under good auspices or not, fought alongside rebels, might prove an additional challenge. Instead, I want to circumvent all of that and assign you a few of my trusted men to send you on an auxiliary mission to help support the advance of our main column. If this sounds good to you¡­¡± Winters said, to Zan¡¯s great surprise.


    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah, no, it sounds great!¡± Zan said, still in shock.


    ¡°Let me be clear, Zan: although you will command my men, they are obviously still loyal to me and their command under you will remain dependent on them, believing you are a commander worth following. I am entrusting you with their command because I have seen you handle yourself multiple times in combat. I know you are no pushover. You have heart to spare! I want to see you thrive. Not only as a countryman, but as someone with a future in this country after the war.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ am honored, sir! I honestly am,¡± Zan sputtered.


    ¡°As you should be. Okay. Be here at the rise of two suns and we will set off. Please do attempt to bring your friend. Prepare well, and I will see you soon!¡± Winters said, rising to shake Zan¡¯s hand, then leaving to prepare the way for what had to be a list, and a half of tasks left yet incomplete.


    Zan walked as composed as he could out of the room and down the stairs, outside to the street. Once free of the eyes of the mature soldiers and the rest, Zan ran wildly to the tavern, kicking up hipping-hops because he was so happy. He had to tell Jiehong!


    Lazily looking into the tavern, his finger above the tiny button to hail his friend, Zan removed his finger when he saw Jiehong sitting at a tavern table near the window, laughing heartily with a foamy drink-in-hand.


    Feeling a pang of ¡®what is this drinking fool doing now?!¡¯ Zan stormed into the tavern. Immediately, a wave of noise hit his senses, as the aroma of cheap beer stung his tongue through his parsed lips. Zan attempted to swallow his indignation before he approached Jiehong as he did not want to yell and scream at his friend for his consumption when he had been the one to say ¡®consider my absence time off,¡¯ while then proceeding to spend a lot longer away ¡ª with Luxley ¡ª than he intended. Two needed to tangle to dance, he told himself.


    ¡°Jiehong!¡± he said with authority.


    Everyone at Jiehong¡¯s table, mostly young locals who looked like an age post-university, turned to look at him.


    ¡°Oh! Everyone! It¡¯s my buddy. You know. The one!¡± Jiehong said with a slight slur to his speech.


    The people greeted Zan, but Zan felt it was not genuine. Not like it mattered, but still¡­ it caused in Zan a wonder related to how Jiehong talked about him. Zan would not think Jiehong the type of person who gossiped behind someone¡¯s back. Yet badmouthing people, as he saw in his village when the elders talked, could evidently be a nice way of blowing off steam and solidifying bonds. Ergo, who knew how Jiehong talked about him to random strangers he wanted to impress?


    ¡°Jiehong. I need to speak with you,¡± Zan said, his voice both calm and composed.


    ¡°Listen. Finish up the drinks. Then let¡¯s head out to either the command center or to find a room here. Colonel Winters is entrusting us to help with an important mission. He is even letting soldiers of his command temporarily take orders from us. He and I agreed to a special mission. A couple of days is all we have.¡±


    ¡°O-okay¡­¡± Jiehong stuttered. ¡°Why n-now? We have¡­ couple of days, right? Leave me to my good time. R-recover. Have a couple yourself,¡± was all Jiehong said before returning to his table.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Zan wanted to argue with him, but he refused to let himself be dragged down into a senseless screaming match in a public location. If Jiehong wanted to let off steam with drinking, then fine! How many times could they fight about something before it became pointless?


    The night passed pointlessly.


    Jiehong continued to drink. Purely out of boredom, Zan had a couple of drinks since Jiehong said he would pay for everything. As long as Jie had the money ¡ª undoubtedly from his parents ¡ª Zan also ordered some food to fill his appetite and a bard to play a swell song to help drown out the roar of drunkards.


    Then they slept. Zan slept well. Jiehong less so¡­ with all the puking.


    They took it easy the next day. Zan practiced some sword moves, had Jiehong read to him certain selections from a magic-use textbook. They explored the town. Zan volunteered them to help a few of the townspeople with their problems.


    By the end of the day, they were both beat, Jiehong sweating like a pig.


    Vomited a couple of times like a pig, too¡­ poor bastard, Zan thought to himself humorously. But that¡¯s what happens when you choose to consume literal poison¡­


    Zan convinced Jiehong to turn in early. Due to the events of the day, it hardly took any convincing on his part. They turned in early and each restored themselves fully to the splendor of sleep. Waking early in the morning, though with an attitude about them belaying how much they could not lie still if they got one more moment of sleep, as they were ready to tackle the day, Zan asked, ¡°You have your combat gear, right?¡±


    ¡°Do you see it?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Zan looked. He saw a full belt of grenades ¡ª both kinds ¡ª with his folded bike and special armored garments. ¡°Yeah. You do¡­¡± Zan said.


    The room cleaned, as they were checking out, Jiehong paid the tab, and they were off down the street. Jiehong muttered, ¡°I don¡¯t know why you sign us up for this stuff.¡±


    Zan was not at first going to dignify Jiehong with a response. Yet it struck such a cord, he couldn¡¯t hold it back. He said, ¡°Because it will help free our country from foreign occupation, Jie¡­¡± and left it at that. Jiehong did not bother with a response.


    Leaving the front gates, Zan and Jiehong saw a significant mass of soldiers. Dozens by the looks of it; a mass, Zan reminded himself, which supposedly included the bulk of the province¡¯s defensive forces. It was absurd, of course. The lord of another province demanding the lord of another province come to his rescue at his personal villa¡­ yet Winters thought he had no choice. So what could Zan do? Bulk at the inane when fate seemed to be giving him a chance to prove himself first hand?


    Although Winters spoke briefly about the situation to everyone who gathered, his speech was not much of an empowering call to action. It was more¡­ ¡®we gotta save this aristocratic. The sooner we free him, the sooner we can return to our posts and hope the enemy doesn¡¯t launch a full invasion of the province. So, let¡¯s all band together and get this done, and fast!¡¯ He used some fancier words. But the speech amounted to as much.


    Down the road and nearly at the Western Way, when the caravan stopped for a brief rest, Colonel Winters took Zan and Jiehong aside to talk to them about their mission.


    ¡°Boys,¡± he said. ¡°Follow me.¡± Away from the maddening crowd of soldiers joshing about, Winters spoke to Zan and Jiehong in private. Beautiful song birds chirped while the colonel talk.


    ¡°Zan tell me you have a special mission for us?¡± Jiehong asked while the birds sang.


    ¡°Yes. Correct, Jiehong. Both of you know how to conduct yourselves and because it is easier to give you resources rather than risk problems integrating, I think a mission like this, purely trial, is the right way to go about it.¡±


    ¡°Understood. So, what is the mission?¡± Jiehong said. Zan patiently waited.


    Winters spoke clearly: ¡°The mission will be to secure a bridge ahead of the main column¡¯s advance. The bridge is not an overly large construction, neither is it currently heavily defended. Therefore, this will make a great opportunity for you to test your skills in battle and as a commander before the final assault on the villa.¡±


    Zan nodded along. ¡°Sounds up our alley. And doable. What¡¯s the catch?¡±


    ¡°No catch, my battle-brothers. Only, well¡­ you do have to use standard army flags while commanding royal army troops. I will teach you those flags now.¡±


    Winters¡¯s tutorial lasted far longer than Zan would have thought. So many flags. It did not help that several of the flags looked the same color. How was Zan supposed to lead troops with these¡­ flags, if several colors meant more than one? Zan would compensate. He was sure in battle, the meanings and designations would meld into a contextually appropriate revelation, depending on the situation.


    Their break over ¡ª not that a mission briefing and lecture on flag use was much of a break ¡ª the war-party resumed its ride. Zan felt the pull of destiny on his shirt¡¯s collar. He would either thrash and burn or rise and rebirth. This excursion with the colonel might very well be the kick-jump he and Jiehong needed to get their order off the ground. He would succeed. He knew he would. He had to.

 Chapter 102 (Advancement: A Trial on a Bridge)

    The war-party¡¯s march lasted far longer than Zan expected. It made him think why Colonel Winters had stopped the column so early in their trek to lecture them on flag use. Regardless, only one other break under their belt by the time they arrived at the bridge, the Colonel ordered Zan, Jiehong, and their small detachment of troops to ride ahead. Their mission would be to secure the bridge ahead of the main column. This advance ride demanded they ride without the third break everyone else got. It seemed unfair to Zan but what could he do about it?


    With him and Jiehong were three soldiers. Zan did not catch their names. As they refused to give the boys their names. Zan was about to let it pass before he remembered Winters¡¯s words of this mission being a test. ¡°Our objective is down there, and I am your commander, like it or not!¡± Zan said, his voice stern. ¡°You WILL give me your names or so help me!¡±


    The three soldiers looked at Zan curiously, then said, ¡°My name is Jim. His is Pit. He is Tim.¡±


    ¡°Jim, Pit, and Tim,¡± Zan said, pointing to the men in order as he said their names. ¡°Nice to meet you. Unfortunately, we are not here on a luxury visit. So we will have to get to know each other on the battlefield. Let¡¯s split up and survey the place.¡±


    Finally, off his bike and his pounding legs, it felt good to be walking again. Zan had everyone, including himself and Jiehong, split off to survey a different section of the bridge. The bridge was not large, though, so the recon was mostly a formality.


    Yet with his squad members split in several directions, it did demand Zan use the flags. Different colored flags meant different commands long distance. Looking at the flags, he scrambled to remember all their meanings. Yellow meant¡­ regroup?


    Only one way to find out: Zan pulled out the yellow flag and waved it.


    Looking around, he saw belated responses once everyone had time to scout.


    Yellow flags from his companions went back up. What did that mean? Zan grew frustrated; why couldn¡¯t he remember any of the flag crap? Just when he thought he was a buffoon, the squad returned.


    ¡°So, what did we see?¡± Zan asked. ¡°I¡¯ll go first. I¡ª¡±


    Pit interrupted. ¡°Excuse me, sir. Before we go into the results of our survey, I need to correct your flag use: yellow flags are for caution. Not regroupment.¡±


    ¡°Understood, Pit. I will remember for next time. Purely for transparency reasons, I would like to say I only had one tutorial lesson from Colonel Winters. That was nearly a day ago, by my estimation. The riding is blurring my sense of time. There will be a learning curve for us.¡±


    The soldiers nodded along. Zan thought they were being sarcastic, but that was only his own insecurities projecting themselves.


    The interruption ended, Zan shared his observations: ¡°Lightly defended. Though I see some troop carriers, I think? I could not get a close look at them.¡±


    The other troops shared their reports. Their reports were much the same as his and Jiehong¡¯s, as the bridge was not so large as to hold many surprises. Once again, Zan wondered why the Colonel would have them secure this bridge by themselves when the main group could simply ride roughshod through the bridge, scurrying the Expanse forces with nary a trifle. ¡®Tests,¡¯ he mused. That was what it was, he reminded himself.


    ¡°Okay. So, with this information in mind. I will lead¡ª¡±


    Again, a soldier interrupted Zan.


    This time Jim interrupted and said, ¡°As an additional point of correction, sir. Commanders in the royal army typical take part in combat only indirectly, through the ordering of troops. If they fight, it is from a distance.¡±


    This irritated Zan. Both the interruption and the revelation of how commanders did not take a direct part in battle. Which seemed counter-productive on several levels.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Thank you, Jim¡­ I will lead from the back, then. Jiehong, lead the assault alongside Tim. We will move in from under the bridge first, on the maintenance walkways beneath the bridge. Then we will rise and secure the bridge. Questions?¡±


    Time said, ¡°And you, commander-in-training, will lead from the embankment, correct?¡±


    Zan rolled his eyes but said, ¡°Yes. I will lead from the embankment. As is expected or royal army commanders-in-training¡­¡±


    Looking over the field from his nest upon a hill, Zan surveyed the battle as he did nothing. Literally, nothing.


    What Winters had given him as far as ¡®commander gear¡¯ went was several flags, a pair of binoculars ¡ª which he refused as he had his own ¡ª and a bullhorn, an overly large cone which amplified his voice. How did he command the battle? Primitively. By observing his men as they pushed ahead then using the cone to shout commands. Even with the flags providing additional command information, flags which he hardly knew, the battle flow left much to be desired.


    Also to be desired was Zan¡¯s struggle as a commander.


    He did not think himself bad, but several times already Zan had incorrectly used the battle flags to mean things which they were not; red did not mean ¡®advance,¡¯ as he thought, just as ¡®blue¡¯ did not mean retreat. Not like the flags truly mattered as the soldiers ¡®loaned¡¯ out to him by the Colonel hardly looked back to take commands from him. The entire situation was frustrating. Truly, flags aside, Zan knew he would learn them eventually, so that was not what was upsetting to him. What he found so distressing was how the conduction of the fight; waging battles this way was criminally inefficient.


    In truth, they already won the battle.


    Jiehong led the troops well. He was a natural leader, despite his age. Plus, with his Order weapons and gear, plus those of the professional soldiers at his back, the enemy before them melted. Whatever this bridge was, it clearly was of no high strategic importance, hence why the Colonel gave it to them as their testing ground.


    By the end of the engagement, Zan longed for this battle to be waged on his terms, as a commander with technology so sufficiently advanced as to be magical. Which really only reinforced the actually magical equipment, but that was beside the point¡­


    Yet he could not merely hand out the Order¡¯s technology to anyone. From his speaking with the Wardens, the impression he received was they had to be at the very minimum, allied to his cause; which could imply a large spread, right? But people were stubborn, as Zan saw with Jiehong and the rebels or Whiskey and the loyalists. How many people who were outside the Order would willingly subordinate themselves to him and his goals?


    ¡°Zan!¡± one soldier said. Zan forgot his name as he wore his full armor, thus obscuring his identity. The battle was over. They captured the bridge.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Zan said, as professionally as possible.


    ¡°Not so bad. For your first time.¡± The soldier removed his helmet, revealing Tim.


    ¡°Really? Even after all my mistakes with the flags?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ the flags are imprecise. After a few engagements, you will get used to them. Everyone has some trouble with them at first.¡±


    Tim¡¯s words surprised Zan. He shook the soldier¡¯s hand and said, ¡°Thank you, soldier. That means a lot. I thought I did horribly.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. Lean into the learning curve. Do that and you will thrive. Or at least survive. And in war, that is the important bit, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Zan nodded along and put on his best ¡®adult¡¯ pose. His face was stoic, but real. Or so he wished, it seemed.


    With the bridge secured and no enemy counterattack on the horizon, they waited for the Colonel and company to arrive. It made a great moment for small talk.


    ¡°So¡­ what were you boys before the war?¡± Pit asked awkwardly.


    The question caught Zan off guard, though why it did? He did not know; everyone here was soldiers and soldiers fought to return to peacetime.


    ¡°Before? We were just kids¡­ not much else to say. His family is here on a peace mission? Doesn¡¯t have much to do with the war, though,¡± Zan replied.


    The soldiers looked oddly at Jiehong who did not meet their gaze.


    ¡°How long you¡¯ve lived here?¡± Jim asked Jiehong.


    ¡°All my life, sir,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Good man¡­¡±


    ¡°What did your parents do on their goodwill mission?¡± Tim asked, joining in on the conversation.


    ¡°They were village dwellers. They helped rural communities with miscellaneous tasks and obstacles. Anything that needed doing, really.¡±


    ¡°Like the slaves of old¡­ not that you are a slave. A black mark on our early history, of course¡­!¡±


    ¡°Of course¡­¡±


    Once Jiehong replied, the conversation died. Zan was again confused. Did he miss something? Did someone say something he missed?


    Like a savior from the heavens, Winters and his crew came tumbling in to rescue Zan and Jiehong from awkward small talk with men several generations above them.


    ¡°The bridge is secured. Good job, men,¡± Winters said, then moved with his horse.


    ¡®No time for small talk, then,¡¯ Zan muttered to himself as he watched the Colonel move across the bridge with the soldiers who fought alongside them.


    Readying their bikes, Zan asked Jiehong what ¡®that¡¯ was all about with the soldiers.


    Jiehong groaned. The topic was unpleasant to him, Zan guessed of the situation. ¡°It is just the old guard refusing to let the past go. Now, let¡¯s drop it.¡±


    Rushing off himself, Jiehong hauled himself well to catch up to Winters.


    Nothing else to do, Zan followed.

 Chapter 103

    After the bridge battle, Zan expected Winters to assign him and Jiehong more assignments, like the bridge capture.


    But he didn¡¯t. Not really. He assigned an odd scouting mission here and there, but that was it. Mostly, Zan spent his time doing nothing more than riding with the men, wishing they received half-a-dozen more breaks than they got.


    Their journey across the provincial border spanned the course of three-and-a-half days. Zan spent is in physical distress over the nonstop biking he did; though he used the bike¡¯s magical enhancement several times throughout each day to maintain his pace, even with the mass acceleration provided from the magic, the bike only shot ahead so far up the long caravan of horseback riders.


    During their travel, it was impossible to speak. Unless one screamed at the top of their lungs, that is. With so many horses trampling the ground, and the sounds they made besides, even screaming rarely resulted in mutual understanding. Communicative ease, then, only was a reality during the breaks.


    During one evening, Zan asked Winters if his performance during the bridge was unsatisfactory.


    ¡°What? Why would you think that? You did well. My men even said so,¡± Winters replied.


    ¡°I ask because you haven¡¯t given us anymore, sir. I figured Jiehong and I¡¯s strategic use would have often seen us used as assets. Instead, we¡¯ve done nothing but ride.¡±


    ¡°That is true. But it is only the nature of the conflict, Zan. Tell me? Do you see me assigning other men to missions without you?¡± Winters asked.


    ¡°Well¡­ no, I guess not. In my defense, however, I do not know the entire trappings of how you command your men. Neither do I hear everything which happens. It is not as if I


    would¡¯ve known if you sent others out on missions,¡± Zan said, defending himself.


    ¡°Very true. Very true¡­¡± Winters¡¯s repeated. ¡°Something for you to pick up, then. Social observations. An important yet under-looked aspect of conflict. How people move in both light and the shadows.¡±


    ¡°True¡­ I have trouble with that at the best of times.¡±


    ¡°Try to and you¡¯ll improve. But! Back to the issue: No, Zan. You and Jiehong¡¯s efforts at the bridge were great. There have been no missions because we have simply needed to travel to make the reach into the neighboring province. Once we cross the local border, there will be many more chances for you to prove yourself. Believe me. Once we get started, there won¡¯t be any end to your missions!¡±


    ¡°That is good to know, sir. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thanking me for missions?! Ha! You kids kill me. I would throw my back out if one of my veteran soldiers thanked me for a mission. Oh, before I forget, I think it is time for another flag lesson¡­¡±


    At that, Zan did sigh.


    ¡°I know flags seem more confusing or of a hassle then they are worth, but once you understand the simple sublimity of the flags as not merely a tool, but a system, you¡¯ll see them as an indispensable unit of war making!¡±


    Winters¡¯s lesson lasted over an hour.


    It was nothing Zan hadn¡¯t heard before. Though this time he actually remembered the content, allowing himself to ask questions, and to ask Winters to repeat himself. Winters made for a good teacher. Zan wondered if earlier in his life he had maybe been a schoolteacher.


    ¡°Alright! I trust you have a better handle on the flag stuff, now?¡± Winters asked.


    ¡°I do,¡± Zan replied truthfully. ¡°I know what they do now. I think part of my confusion stemmed from getting the first lesson so suddenly, then the hours of riding. Kicked things around in my head, right?¡±


    ¡°I know what you mean. Back when I was at the military academy, I often had trouble with remembering everything my teachers told me. Like anything else in life, it is a skill, though, Zan. Don¡¯t let yourself let you down. You¡¯re only a youngster still, remember? You have a lot of life left to live. Which means you have a lot to learn!¡±


    Zan slept well that night despite the uncomfortable earthy accommodation. His head swam with Winters¡¯s fatherly advice and lesson. Waking, he almost did not want to ride. He wanted to sit with his thoughts and feelings and ruminate like a sage in the sun.


    His life was on the road, though. At least right now, it was. He put himself together and shoved off with the rest of the riders.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The gods granted him mercy after another day of riding. This time, his ass was not so sore, though Zan knew he was only by now accustomed to the strain, not the actual endurance. Endurance came later.


    Many hours of hard riding later and they arrived at their destination.


    The private villa of lord Gallant.


    Colonel Winters ordered his men to spread into several locations surrounding the villa. The size of the lord¡¯s estate took Zan by surprise. It sat atop a large mesa but had additional properties at its bottom. Encasing the properties was a large defensive wall. ¡®House? This is not home,¡¯ Zan thought. ¡®This is some lord¡¯s private little town. Dozens of people had to live in that village.¡¯


    Winters took the whole day ordering his troops around and was not free to chat about Zan and Jiehong¡¯s role in the imminent battle until later.


    In the meantime, Jiehong struck up a conversation with Zan. Something he hadn¡¯t expected so readily of Jiehong. Maybe the long ride rattled his brain? Then again, who knew what Jiehong was going through these days. He seldom talked with Zan anymore about his internal state. Though it saddened Zan to think about the changing nature between he and his friend, everything was changing. He could do nothing else but hold tight.


    ¡°Zan. You as tired as me?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Yeah. I am antsy. I should sleep, but I can¡¯t¡­ it is a lot.¡±


    ¡°I know. I brought some sleepy tea if you¡¯re interested¡­¡±


    Zan considered it. Did he want to go to sleep? He should rest. If there was something he did not want to deal with on top of tiredness, it was being sleepy and exhausted on top of fighting in a military engagement. Not ideal.


    ¡°Sure. Brew me a cup and I will have it with¡ª¡± Zan said. Hearing a beep in his ear, he turned to Jiehong and said, ¡°You hear that too?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Must be the Wardens. Let¡¯s answer it together. One, two, three ¡ª hit that button, bro!¡± Jiehong said, unusually lively.


    Zan did and spoke for both he and Jiehong. ¡°Hello? Wardens?¡±


    On the other end, both Zan and Jiehong hearing, was Screen Master Simulacrum.


    ¡°Zan! It is I, the Screen Master. I have a question for you. Has Whiskey arrived yet with the special package?¡± the Screen Master asked.


    ¡°Uh, wait¡­ Whiskey? Special¡­? I¡¯m afraid not. We don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. We will keep our eyes peeled for it, though. What is this special package?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Do you remember the experimental device I talked to you about in the command center¡¯s war room? Sigma-Prime and I finished its construction. So many years and it is finally done. I have sent it your way by entrusting it to Whiskey. Though she is not a formal member of the Order, she is an At-Will member by the nature of her soul and its purity. As you remember from her entering the command center, I am sure,¡± Simulacrum said.


    ¡°Yeah, I remember,¡± Zan said. ¡°Still have seen no one who can enter the command center who isn¡¯t an Order member. I guess aside from the chef¡­ but maybe that means he too is¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Zan. Good. Keep your eyes peeled for Whiskey. Once Whiskey has delivered the item and it is in your hands, let me know right away. That is all. Over and out.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Will do, I guess. Over and out,¡± Zan said, finishing the call.


    Zan looked to Jiehong. Jiehong looked to Zan. The same old song and dance.


    One of them said, ¡°Wait, Whiskey is on her way? What?¡±


    #


    WHILE the boys wait for Whiskey, we will attend to another matter.


    Far away from the loyalist camp, but still within shot enough to eavesdrop on their presence, our intent lied. Specifically? Imperial engineer first class Rictus Dawson.


    Dawson looked over the landscape. "Beautiful," he said.


    The hectic journey across provincial borders tuckered him. Never had he been so demanded of in his line of service. Though he undertook the ride under favorable conditions. Meaning, no overdue harshness of weather or threat of enemy, the engineer had not expected a shift of such intense expectations. Finally, receiving a breather at the end of another lengthy day of riding, he saw what his clients were so eager over. It was a local lord¡¯s estate.


    ¡®An estate?¡¯ the engineer had asked himself and shadows. ¡°Capturing the local aristocracy could be a huge factor in ending the war!¡¯


    Yet¡­


    ¡®These young lords I protect come with no armed brigade. It is only them. What could they hope to gain from staking out some baron¡¯s estate without an armed host?! What are these kids up to? I really wish I knew.¡¯


    While staking out the estate, the engineer continued to notice odder things yet about his unusual clients. They did not eat? Or if they ate, they had little to no appetite for cooking things. The engineer came to this realization when he noticed no smoke ever left their base.


    How many days passed, the engineer knew not. He remained vigilant in his lookout nest. Jotting down, as his lords demanded of him, every little detail about the villa. Not that there were much¡­ columns of our troops laying siege to the estate. Hardly an unknown sight.


    Nothing of note happened until who else but Zan and Jiehong came following the emergence of the loyalist reinforcements.


    ¡®An emergency relief force?¡¯ the engineer said to himself upon seeing the band led by Colonel Winters, though having only a faint idea of who the Colonel was in relation to local politics.


    He wrote this too and all the information he could see about the enemy force.


    Knowing his employers would want to know this information right away, instead of at the evening briefing, the engineer scrambled down the tree.


    He rapped his fists against the makeshift door his clients used for privacy.


    Dawson¡¯s noise found its answer. The client leader came to him. The leader said nothing. He waited for the engineer to speak first.


    Rictus cleared his throat. ¡°An enemy host has appeared. They threaten the estate siege, milords,¡± Rictus said.


    ¡°Thank you for letting us know,¡± the leader said, and then slowly closed the door.


    ¡®Did I do something¡­ wrong? Right? I thought they would have been happy¡­ huh,¡¯ Rictus thought.


    Returning to his nest high in the tops, Rictus resumed his vigil. It was his job, after all. His job he had to do for his family¡¯s sake. A job he gladly did for his masters, the High-Born.


    Setting his doubts aside, Rictus took up his seeing lenses. He whispered to himself, ¡®my master¡¯s will be done.¡¯

 Chapter 104

    Once the call ended, Zan rushed outside to the main camp with Jiehong. If Whiskey was on her way with an important new device, a piece of equipment the Wardens had been working on since the last time they were active, in another eon altogether, it was a device worth ensuring its safety through relentlessly being on watch. Zan didn¡¯t even want to think about what would happen if their resource-intensive device was to break after making the long journey from the command center to their hands. Who knew how the soldiers in camp would react to a woman and a rebel like Whiskey, as Jiehong said, worrying over her safety.


    Zan and Jiehong walked around camp asking about Whiskey. Most of the men thought they were joking. ¡°Yeah! What about whiskey? I¡¯ll take a glass!¡± Or ¡°You boy sare too young for that.¡± When they shifted and asked about if they had seen ¡®a woman,¡¯ the response given was a riotous laugh; ¡°Feck yeah, boys, bring the women on!¡± Eventually, Zan and Jiehong realized they had not seen the woman known as Whiskey.


    ¡°I doubt she is coming tonight,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to our tent and have that tea. I¡¯m tired now, for real. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Zan relented. ¡°Let¡¯s get up early in the morning to keep a vigil.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good, buddy.¡±


    They boys returned to their tent. Jiehong put the kettle on the fire to boil the water. Once the water was ready, he placed a couple of sachets into a couple of tea mugs and poured the water over. The seam whooshed up toward Zan and cleared his sinuses right away. They waited for the tea to steep; doing so, Zan felt the pull of sleep bring unto him a dozy demeanor. He knew by the time he finished his tea; he would be asleep.


    ¡°Cheers!¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°Cheers¡­¡± Zan said, thankful they drink he and his friend shared wasn¡¯t alcoholic.


    Taking a sup, the flavor surprised Zan. It was neither good nor bad. It was simply generic. Tasted like nothing.


    ¡°How is it?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Should he lie? Jiehong didn¡¯t seem surprised at the lack of flavor. Maybe he thought it was flavorful? He didn¡¯t want to be rude.


    Then again, Jiehong was his friend. Practically his brother. ¡°It is bland.¡± Zan stated.


    ¡°Sure is¡­ bland as the sand.¡±


    Zan stifled a laugh. All this overthinking about tea and Jiehong is cracking wise about sand. He had to remember not to get so into his own head.


    The boys finished their sleepy tea and were out of it before they knew it.


    Despite the hard ground, Zan slept well. He dreamed of sugar-plump gods and radiant princesses with dresses made of stars. It was an odd way to experience a nocturnal emission, but not the oddest, per se; that strange honor came once from a night where Zan had dreamed of absolutely nothing.


    Waking in the early morning, Zan got himself cleaned up. As part of his simple supplies, Zan had packed some rudimentary soap leftover from his village. He used it rarely. But today, where he might get his hands on a new piece of technology, and see Whiskey again, nevermind a mission assignment, warranted use of soap.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Zan scrubbed himself all over and thoroughly. Removing the stink from the previous day and night, Zan then cleaned his delicates. The process did not take very long. This wasn¡¯t a luxurious scrub. Only an efficiency one.


    ¡°We both look clean,¡± Zan said to Jiehong upon seeing him finish his own washing at a different part of a nearby river the encampment used.


    ¡°We both have cleanliness on the mind,¡± Jiehong said with a wink.


    ¡°Or maybe I have cleanliness on the mind and you have Whiskey on the mind¡­?¡±


    ¡°Maybe! A man always needs to be prepared for romance. I¡¯ll teach that to you someday,¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never been with a girl, though,¡± Zan said innocently.


    ¡°I so have! You¡¯re not always with me, Zan! Grow up¡­¡±


    Zan laughed. Then so did Jiehong.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go see if we can¡¯t find Whiskey,¡± Jiehong said, settling down.


    Searching the camp again, this time asking for a ¡®woman named Whiskey,¡¯ the boys found nothing. Their search remained uneventful until, at the crack of noon, Whiskey arrived to great fanfare on her horse.


    Whiskey rode in, carrying a white flag to show her peaceful intents. This confused the soldiers, as her attire clearly marked her as a rebel. Many soldiers from Zan¡¯s province looked confused as, apparently, they were unaware there was a rebellion to begin with as their murmurs said such things as ¡°Are those markings really rebel markings?¡± and ¡°Wait¡­ why is there a rebel¡­ who?!¡± And Zan¡¯s favorite, ¡°Who the hell is that? A rebel from afar?¡± From afar? What did that mean? Zan wondered. Were rebels a single group worldwide? Whether that was the case, could rebel identification worldwide be stable and based on their insignias, no matter the locality? Questions for later, Zan knew. But questions which inflamed his curiosity.


    Approaching Whiskey, Zan was going to shout a greeting, but Jiehong got to it first.


    ¡°WHISKEY! MY FRIEND!¡± Jiehong shouted, alerting everyone in the camp.


    ¡°Jiehong? Oh, Zan. Here you two are. I was afraid I would have to search up and down all of creation¡¯s tendrils to find you,¡± Whiskey said, approaching the boys and giving them a quick and chaste hug.


    ¡°The Screen Master already filled us in on some details. He said you had a package for us?¡± Zan asked. ¡°You¡¯re not a parcel delivery woman now, are you?¡±


    Whiskey burst into a short-lived laughing fit before she composed herself. ¡°Delivery? No. My rebel band was on the move when I realized your command center was close. I popped in and ask you for some supplies. But those associates of yours, the Wardens? They talked me into doing them a favor. Speaking of which, here it is,¡± Whiskey explained before untying a large package from her back and handing it to Zan.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°How would I know! I¡¯m not the special ¡®Ranger-Knight,¡¯¡± Whiskey said, laughing in such a way as to remind Zan of how some girls in his village laughed during the long summer nights, where he and they would spend many an hour catching fireflies in their elaborate make-believe games.


    ¡°Fair enough. Let¡¯s go back to our tent and open this bad boy up,¡± Jiehong said, patting Zan on the back and moving him toward their home-away-from-home.


    Back at their tent, though hardly free of prying eyes and their wonder, Jiehong entered the tent and held it open for Whiskey. In her steps, though, was hesitation. ¡°Are you not going to see what¡¯s inside?¡± Zan asked.


    Popping his head out, Jiehong asked, ¡°Are you not staying?¡± Concern filled his voice.


    ¡°Uhh¡­ I really shouldn¡¯t stay,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°My men are waiting for me and such. I supposed staying for a spell wouldn¡¯t hurt, though. Everyone needs a break, right?¡±


    ¡°Of course. If you¡¯ve been riding all day, especially. It would be inhumane of you to push yourself beyond the reasonable limit unless there was something truly worthy of hurting yourself over. So stay with us a moment, have some energizing tea, and let¡¯s see what¡¯s inside this thing,¡± Jiehong said convincingly to Whiskey.


    Though the package¡¯s wrap was functional, not practical, covering the layers of strange ultra-soft pebbles, was a colorful albeit thin layer of wrap which made crinkly sounds when Zan touched it. Zan tore the packing apart, happy to have something like a gift presented to him for the first time in his life.


    What lay inside changed everything.

 Chapter 105

    ¡°W-what is it?¡± Jiehong asked, followed by Whiskey.


    Surprised as his friends had been, Zan thought none too differently: what was it indeed?!


    Inside the box, now emptied of the many ultra-soft pebbles, was a mystifying device. There was a superstructural framework filled with small strands of material Sigma-Prime had called ¡®wires.¡¯


    ¡°Is it a helmet?¡± Whiskey asked. ¡°Do you think it will fit over your existing headgear?¡±


    ¡°Our existing headgear is just¡­ nothing, so it should be fine¡­ not like I¡¯ll be the one wearing it, though. Right? This is just for you?¡± Jiehong said.


    ¡°For now. Yes? I couldn¡¯t imagine the Wardens would only give this tech to me and only me, though, buddy. I am sure this is a prototype sort of thing and once they hammer out the imperfections, you will get one too. Please, just don¡¯t start in like usual¡­¡± Zan said, being direct with Jiehong.


    ¡°I won¡¯t start in. I am being better about how I express myself. All¡¯s I am saying is this headset looks pretty cool,¡± Jiehong replied.


    ¡°Headset?¡± Zan asked, confused.


    ¡°You know¡­ like a crown?¡± Jiehong said. ¡°What the royal family wears?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ I guess? Maybe. If it was like a really ugly automotron. It looks so flimsy but also bulky? Do the Wardens really think this is going to change the flow of the war?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°They must. Otherwise, they would not have sent it to you,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°And besides, they were desperate for me to deliver it to you. Being the ever-king person I am, I agreed.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t they say for us to contact them when you got it? Jiehong reminded.


    ¡°Oh, right? They did¡­ we should ping them,¡± Zan said, finger already pressing the button on his earpiece.


    ¡°Zan,¡± the Screen Master said, picking his call before Sigma-Prime.


    ¡°Hello. I received your package. You instructed me to give you notice once I did.¡±


    ¡°I did. I am patching in Jiehong for this call. Hold¡­¡± Simulacrum said. A moment later Zan saw Jiehong nod his head. He was patched in, too.


    ¡°So, what is this? I am looking at an odd-looking helmet?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°This is the Command Center System. An all-in-one programmable war suite,¡± the Screen Master said.


    ¡°A war suite? Programmable?¡±


    ¡°Programmable is a word which means functions of a device can be redefined if a user, a person, inputs certain parameters. In the world of technology-advancement, this means ¡®coding.¡¯ I will not get into specifics of coding and what it means, as it is a very complicated notion. Understand, though, coding relates to the ¡®guts,¡¯ so to speak, of technology. In your rural existence, Zan, you are familiar with a low-level of technology. However, throughout the eons and places, this is not the case for everyone.¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Jiehong spoke up: ¡°Alright. I have more education than Zan. I understand the most elementary basics you¡¯re telling us. But what is a ¡®war suite¡¯? You said before this device was not a weapon, so how is it related to war?¡±


    ¡°An excellent question, Jiehong. This creation is a suite in the same way a suit of armor is a comprehensive protection system. When someone wears this suite, it will reveal a comprehensive layout of the battlefield topography along with strategic iconography. It will also display notes on battlefield progress and the health of its participants. Zan. Since you have said before you cannot read, I have programmed this suite with icons in place of words. You will see what I mean when you wear it.¡±


    ¡°It sounds¡­ incredible. I guess I should put it on¡­¡± Zan said.


    With slightly trembling hands, Zan picked up the headset. This time, the headset reacted in a way it hadn¡¯t before and Zan dropped it back in the box out of reflex; ¡°What was the matter?¡± Jiehong asked, seeing Zan drop it; Zan replied, ¡°It looked like snakes moving!¡±


    Sigma-Prime, evidently listening in, spoke and said, ¡°The principal material used in this device¡¯s creation is called ¡®snake-iron.¡¯ It is known to have psycho-reactions to certain people. We don¡¯t know why it has the reactions it does, but we know these reactions ¡ª slithering, you probably saw? ¡ª are harmless. Pick it up and put it on your head. Though Snake-iron is a rare ore, it is not a snake.¡±


    Hoping to hope Sigma-Prime was right, Zan picked the device up again. Like last time, it reacted and Zan saw how its body slithered over itself and around the circuit¡¯s superstructure. But Sigma-Prime was right. Though it moved, there was no head to bite Zan and, as he saw its metallic properties, Zan¡¯s fear faded.


    Sliding the Commend Center System on his head, Zan wasn¡¯t sure how he should feel about a device which now continued its slithering but at a faster pace. Around his head, the device moved and matted his hair. The wide-eyed expression of his friends did not help matters, especially matters related to Zan freaking out. Or lack of, therefore.


    About to remove it, Zan couldn¡¯t, as he became shocked by the unthinkable. ¡°The device bite me!¡± Zan shouted.


    ¡°It did not ¡®bite you,¡¯ Zan. We have magically enchanted the device. We have also imbued it with powerful properties, benefitting a warrior and a commander. Right now, much like the sentient crystal within your belly or the mite in your ear, which acts as your communicative device, this war suite will find its home inside you in much the same way, except for your head. Before long, you will hardly notice it is there,¡± the Screen Master calmly spoke as Zan writhed on the ground in agony.


    Hardly able to hear the Warden, Zan kicked and thrashed on the floor, his friends unable to do anything to help. He screamed and screamed. Which invited the unwelcome but good-intending nosiness of the other soldiers who Whiskey had to shoo from the already too small tent. Easy to do when they had to evacuate the tent as well as it was too small for three people and when one of them uncontrollably mashed their body, contorting it into difficult shapes.


    How long Zan thrashed, no one could say. It had been long enough where multiple groups of soldiers gathered then dispersed, so intrigued they were by the noise, but unable to stay for long simply to watch a young man in pain. When the thrashing finally ended, Whiskey and Jiehong re-entered the tent. They found a prone Zan soaked in sweat.


    Zan spoke with a labored husk. ¡°What¡­ was¡­ that?!¡± he said to Simulacrum.


    ¡°Due to the other systems within your body already, the Command Center System had to force integrate and update the existing systems. We apologize. We did not know this would cause you such pain and discomfort, Zan.¡±


    ¡°Help me up¡­ please,¡± Zan asked of his friends.


    Jiehong manhandled him so Whiskey would not have to and before long he was back on his feet. He walked a moment around the tent, then settled back inside. He felt off-balanced for a while but recovered quickly. If there was any ¡®bright¡¯ side to this strange Order and their painful technology, it was he always recovered quickly. After searing agony. But still¡­ quickly.


    With slobber all over his face, Zan had to put on an act. ¡°Alright. Alright. I am better now. What next?¡±

 Chapter 106 [Major Advancement: Command Center (Headset) System]

    ¡°It will take some time for the headset to warm up to your body. There is a lot for it to learn from you. Our estimations give the headset six hours of boot-up time. During that time, Zan, please give us another call. Until then, over and out,¡± the Screen Master said, then his voice vanished.


    Removing his finger from the headset button, Zan felt a mixture of emotions. Anger for the pain he felt, and rage at the Wardens for not even telling him he might feel pained when he put the headset, the ¡®war suite,¡¯ on, and, of course, sadness and shame for how he thrashed about and attracted the unwanted attention of the others in the camp.


    Finally, he also felt burned out. Like he was a candle that burned too brightly on one end. Zan wanted to rest. Take a nap. He wondered if he had the time?


    ¡°I need to see my reflection. Where is the nearest river?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Let me bring you,¡± Whiskey said, leading the boys out of the tent.


    Zan stumbled down to the river. He plopped himself on his knees and looked at his reflection. Black, tangled hair in a mesh, with strange wire-tendrils writhing through his forehead like a pulsating mass of worms. Covering it all was a sheen of dirt and sweat from the writhing he did on the tent floor.


    ¡°I look like shet¡­¡± Zan muttered.


    ¡°Yeah. Totally¡­¡± Jiehong said, either being real or overly blunt.


    ¡°Looks aside,¡± Whiskey said. ¡°I should get going. I would love to see how this headset-thing plays out, but I am needed elsewhere. It was really nice to see you boys again. I will look forward to our next encounter.¡±


    Jiehong protested. He attempted to convince her to stay, but what was there here for a rebel? Though clutching his head bent over the river, his heart pounding, even Zan could see how brave it had been for Whiskey, as a rebel, to enter a Loyalist camp all by herself. For all she knew, she was going to be arrested the moment she crossed into camp.


    ¡°Whiskey! Ever so famous, we meet again,¡± Colonel Winters said, emerging from somewhere in camp and addressing her as she was talking to leave. As this happened, Zan remained by the river in pain. Though he heard everything.


    ¡°Colonel Winters¡­ good day,¡± Whiskey said, likely wanting no part of a conversation with the enemy.


    ¡°Please. Stay a moment. Though we are foes for the moment, we are not ride-and-die enemies clutched in the blood of our honorable dead. My command is old. Your rebellion is new. There is much we could talk about.¡±


    ¡°You say so, but I know you are really only probing me for information. I will save you the trouble: I am a new commander among my faction¡¯s ranks. Some silver fox Loyalist will not outfox me. I know enough about the weight of my command to know when to act cautiously.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°If you do, then you will become a great commander yet. Which is why news of your faction¡¯s defeat at Feathervale surprised me. Especially considering the gross incompetence of Mayor Blueberry,¡± Winters said.


    The footsteps stopped. Breathing slowed. ¡°I made mistakes in command. Got too aggressive. It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°I bet it won¡¯t. You seem driven. Is there really no way for us to convince you to join us on our mission? I know Zan and Jiehong would appreciate you staying with them. We are upon our target now. The battle would last, perhaps, a day or two at most. I would reward you handsomely¡­¡±


    ¡°How handsomely?¡± Whiskey said, slowly.


    A slight shuffling of armored plates. It sounded like Winters shrugged, for lack of a better word. He said, ¡°Anything you wanted in the estate, here. A viceroy¡¯s property might hold many a valuable item for your to sell and finance your cause.¡±


    Another silence.


    Whiskey spoke, but an uncertainty sounded through her voice. ¡°Why are you so desperate for the aid of one warrior? Be honest, Colonel.¡±


    Another sounded like armor settling. Another shrug? Winters said, ¡°Hard to say. Another blade could easily turn the tide of battle. Skilled or unskilled. I¡¯ve seen your abilities firsthand, remember, so I know how reliable you would be in a pinch. Plus, you wouldn¡¯t be by yourself. I am sure you have a couple of scouts close to us, monitoring this interaction, even, perhaps? Their blades will be of use as well.¡±


    More silence. More thinking. A good thing.


    Finally, Whiskey said, ¡°We could take anything? You have the authorization to sanction off items from a lord¡¯s estate?¡±


    ¡°I do. My rank comes with certain privileges. Especially in situations like these where a lord is desperate. Should the item you wish to take as payment be an item the lord doesn¡¯t want to give away, I will simply intervene, explain to him the situation, and send you on your way with the item in hand. Simple as that and you have my word it will be so simple,¡± Winter said, calmly explaining as though it were conversation about the weather.


    A final silence. Whiskey considered one last time and said, ¡°Fine. You have a deal. But I will not be taking orders directly from any Loyalist. Zan! You¡¯re in the commander¡¯s seat!¡±


    ¡°Excellent!¡± the Colonel exclaimed. ¡°I am thrilled you will be assisting. We begin our attack tomorrow. Be ready.¡±


    The conversation ended there. The Colonel asked a couple of questions concerning Zan¡¯s state and what the deal with his head was about, but otherwise did not linger to tell stories or commiserate.


    ¡°You doing good still, buddy?¡± Jiehong asked, a smile nearly as wide as his face beaming, so happy he was at Whiskey staying.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ hungry¡­ and tired,¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Damn. I am too. Whiskey, care to join us for some crappy food?¡±


    Whiskey considered, and though she was hesitant, she relented.


    Dinner was a simple stew with freshly made bread. Iced-water glistening with the heat of the day, Whiskey served on the side. Where she got ice, Zan did not know. Zan eat and drank merrily despite his condition and throbbing skull.


    By night¡¯s end, Zan was ready to turn in¡­ but it had been hours since the headset, the ¡®command center system¡¯ installed itself inside him. He should call the Wardens like they requested and ¡ª but Zan couldn¡¯t even finish his thought. He was so tired.


    So exhausted from the day¡¯s exciting events, not to mention Whiskey staying to join them in the fight, Zan fell asleep in his tent surrounded by Jiehong and Whiskey.


    Sleeping deeply, Zan knew he would need his rest. Tomorrow would test him in ways he never imagined.

 Chapter 107

    Zan rose early with his friends and eat a hearty meal with the other soldiers. An oatmeal with berries and spices freshly foraged. He eat it down eagerly with more iced-water, finding the simple meal oddly filling despite its humble look.


    ¡°You feeling better, bud?¡± Jiehong asked.


    ¡°Yeah. Much better. We should contact the Wardens, yeah?¡± Zan replied.


    ¡°We should. Let¡¯s ping them together.¡±


    Each boy pressed the tiny ¡®pinging¡¯ button, which with a simply click patched them through to the Wardens. Right away, they picked up.


    ¡°Zan. Jiehong. Thank you for getting back to us. We see your vitals are much restored. We are happy you rested well. We saw the toll the headset took on you,¡± Sigma-Prime said.


    ¡°It¡¯s only a mildly uncomfortable proposition, Sigma-Prime. Is this what¡¯s going to happen every time I insert some new piece of technology into me?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Theoretically? Yes. With repeated augmentations, however, your body might become acclimated to the strain. Only time will tell.¡±


    ¡°Okay. That¡­ sucks? Let¡¯s forget that, though. Nothing we can do about it, right? The headset is on me. In me, whatever you want to say about it. It¡¯s ready to go, I would hope. Tell me about it.¡±


    By now, the Screen Master took command of the conversation and said, ¡°Concerning the headset, as we talked previously, it is a ¡®war suite.¡¯ It is a tool designed to keep you, as the commander, in communication with your allies during a battle or exploration and scouting missions. It will provide you with status readouts concerning yourself and your allies. A general¡¯s worth of information at your fingertips. I am powering the headset on now so you can see what I mean in at least a general way. Standby.¡±


    Zan ¡®stood-by¡¯ and waited as he felt slow whirring motions from within his headset.


    Panicking for a moment, Zan felt the headset writhe within him. Though he expected pain, he only felt a mild motion sickness. Once he overcame the initial hurdle, Zan adjusted himself to the internal vibrations of the headset¡¯s tendrils. He at least had a handle on it without having a panic attack.


    Within his sight popped up several squares and rectangular boxes.


    A box in the upper-righthand ¡®corner¡¯ of his vision; a tall and thin box in the bottom right, and smaller ones besides.


    ¡°I¡¯m seeing¡­ shapes?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Excellent! These shapes hold relevant information to your current objectives. The long and thin box you see will contain the statuses of your allies-in-arms. The two boxes in the corners of your vision ¡ª left and right respectively ¡ª contain a map-in-miniature and your current objectives. At the bottom of your vision, if you care to direct your attention toward it, you¡¯ll see a ¡®Selector Wheel.¡¯ This will bring you to other elements of the headset¡¯s capabilities. Currently, however, the selector wheel is not important. Questions?¡±


    While the Screen Master talked, Zan attempted to keep up. ¡®Map in miniature.¡¯ ¡®Statuses.¡¯ ¡®Objectives.¡¯ ¡®Wheel Selector.¡¯ It was all a lot at once.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Sure¡­¡± Zan told the Screen Master. ¡°How does this all work?¡±


    ¡°The shapes you see before you are called ¡®Menus.¡¯ While the headset is on, you will only need to focus on the menu you wish to see in order for it to materialize. This will keep the non-essential menus in-check while you¡¯re in the thick of combat. Over the duration of an encounter, you will receive pop-up notifications alerting you to changes in the flow of battle. Notifications such as when reinforcements arrive, when allies withdraw from the field, unit and commander health, whether the Slipstream is nearby, and so on. The headset has a team-feature as well, Zan. Through the means of small, autonomous drones, you will talk in real-time to your commanders and teammates.¡±


    ¡°Sounds incredible. How does all this work? Techy-mage boards?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°How does this work? Partly through techy-mag, yes. But also, through much more advanced technology. The headset¡¯s primary functionality comes from your brain.¡±


    Zan must¡¯ve had a shocked look on his face because Jiehong also had a shocked look on his face. ¡°My¡­ b-brain?!¡±


    ¡°Correct. The machine has integrated itself into your unconscious and conscious mind. Hence how it responds to your information requests when you glance at, for example, the map-in-miniature and want to see local geographic information. Every action you undertake comes with an unconscious command. It is a complex machine. You do not need to understand its design to use it,¡± the Screen Master said.


    It was an odd spot for Zan. A device like this felt invasive. Too invasive. Like¡­ allowing it to intertwine with his mind was a step too far. If only he had asked these questions before he put on a strange piece of equipment!


    Of course, had he asked these questions, would things have been different? Would Zan have refused the Screen Master? Probably not. This tool, invasive or not, was a necessary means of war. Just from what the Screen Master told him, it seemed like this headset would make for a mighty tool.


    ¡°Okay. I get it. Mostly¡­ now what?¡±


    ¡°You will only truly come to know the power of the headset by using it in battle. Then you will see how it functions for you as a device of war.¡±


    ¡°Alright. One last question: you keep calling it a device of war. Does it have any applications outside of war?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°In time, it will. Yes. Right now, however, consider it purely as a tool aiding in destruction.¡±


    ¡°I understand. So, I guess I should find Colonel Winters. See if this whole operation is ready to go yet¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. That would be best. You will not understand how the Command Center System truly works unless you are acting within the capabilities of a field operative.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing. Placing you on standby,¡± Zan said, his finger about to leave the tiny button when the Screen Master interjected.


    ¡°Zan! A quick word: I would like to clear up a confusion you have concerning your earpiece. The earpiece is always on. With few exceptions, such as when you visit your contact in the Expanse, I hear everything you hear. When you press the button to talk to me that button-press is only allowing your voice to seep into my end. Pressing that button allows you to speak with me when I ping you. I keep my distance. That is my role as a Screen Master and a Warden. I must remind you, however, I do hear everything you hear and I am there with you, no matter who you encounter or what they saw.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t sure what to think of the Screen Master always being there with him. A part of him knew the Screen Master was a constant companion. He had said something to that effect earlier. Then, though, Zan did not realize how totally the Screen Master could integrate himself into Zan¡¯s life. He guessed there was nothing wrong with it. He wasn¡¯t even sure the Screen Master was a living, breathing person. If he was real¡­ and he was helping him traverse a difficult world he knew little about. Zan would muse on this for a long time. At the end of his musing, he would think it was all worth it.


    ¡°I understand, Screen Master. Thank you for clearing this up. Jiehong. Let¡¯s find the Colonel¡­¡± Zan said, the increasing mental toll showing.


    With the large loyalist camp before them, Zan and Jiehong set off in search of the man who made it all possible. Colonel Winters.


    Finding the colonel amid a large crowd, Zan could not tell what was happening. A large strategy meeting? An argument? Many shouting figures exchanged opinions on matters, so had it not been for the fact no one was talking strategy, Zan would have figured it a war meeting. Instead, everyone was discussing¡­ politics?

 Chapter 108

    ¡°What is this?¡± Jiehong asked.


    Zan nodded, not knowing what else he should do. ¡°I dunno,¡± he said.


    ¡°You guys find the colonel. I have to link up with my scouting team,¡± Whiskey said.


    With Whiskey gone, the boys got to work scouring the local mass of soldiers.


    ¡°How can you say that? The Expanse is our enemy! Not a system to look up to!¡± one man shouted to another man; ¡°I don¡¯t think the rebels are unwarranted. For too long, has the leadership of our country been content to throw everyone under the carriage. And why? For the benefit of the landlords!¡± another man yelled; groups of men took part as well, with some groups even having makeshift banners to show their identification. Zan could not tell right away about what they were fighting about, though it seemed about family size vis-¨¤-vis.rural vs. urban socio-politics. Not like Zan knew anything about that, but still. The Colonel presided over the verbal arguing. He stood at a podium with a gavel. He would bang the gavel whenever his men got out of hand. Zan did not know how long this discussion lasted, but way too long, in his opinion.


    When the discussion calmed down, and his responsibilities ended, Winters came to the youths who showed him such bravery in the past. ¡°Sorry about the political discussion,¡± Winters said to the boys. ¡°Sometimes being out in the field is the best way to air our differences with one another. Away from gentile society, a man can be a man. Show what he really values. I believe it strengthens bonds between battle-buddies, but maybe I am wrong?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Jiehong said. ¡°It was interesting to get so many different adult perspectives on issues. Is it normal for banners and brawls to be part of the discussion?¡±


    ¡°Very normal! People take their political affiliations seriously! When you guys get older, you¡¯ll learn all about that,¡± the Colonel said.


    ¡°No doubt. Can we get that briefing, though?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°Asking for a briefing. Again, you guys ¡ª naturally made soldiers! Maybe politics won¡¯t be your forte after all! Follow me to the command tent.¡±


    The colonel took Zan and Jiehong to the war tent. It was a large tarp structure with a couple of dozen people inside. Everyone was busy consulting charts, maps, and reviewing data on the enemy. No one paid them any heed walking inside.


    The colonel led them over to a part of the tent filled with massive sitting pillows. ¡°Grab a seat,¡± the Colonel said.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Zan sat on a large red pillow smelling of herbs.


    Before them lay a scale model of the villa and its surrounding land. Different colored mini-flags dotted the landscape.


    ¡°Before we get into this,¡± the Colonel began. ¡°Please update me on this new contraption of yours, Zan.¡±


    Zan didn¡¯t need any additional probing. He knew what the colonel meant. ¡°So, the thing on my head is called a ¡®command center system.¡¯ A ¡®command center¡¯ being our Order¡¯s base of operations. Jiehong and I¡¯s handlers say it is a powerful organizational warfare suite. They¡¯ve said the device will change the way I see and interact with the world, which will give me a leg up in war. Until I see battle, I don¡¯t really know what that means¡­¡± Zan said, ending on a shrug.


    The colonel made lots of ¡®noises of consideration.¡¯ Ooos! and ahhhs! while Zan spoke. When Zan finished speaking, the colonel made lots of ¡®gestures of consideration,¡¯ such as rubbing his chin and looking lopsidedly at parts of the room as he mused.


    ¡°Okay,¡± the Colonel said, finally going through his verbal and physical tics. ¡°I know what we will do, Zan. It is ideal for everyone. We are here to break the enemy¡¯s siege of the viceroy¡¯s villa. We then rescue the embattled lord and get out of here. Nothing more than that, so no heroics on defeating the enemy host, which vastly outnumbers us. Our purpose here is strategic. Your role in this battle will be to lead one of the infiltration squads heading into the villa.¡±


    ¡°An infiltration squad? Are you sure¡­?¡± Jiehong said, his breath taken by the honor. ¡°Not like I am complaining. No!¡± A laugh to show his warmth to the plan escaped Jiehong¡¯s lips.


    ¡°I am sure. Both you and Zan have proven yourselves in combat. Not only on the bridge, where you showed dedication to how the royal army does things, but in previous encounters as well. If you folk hadn¡¯t rescued me from the camp, had we never destroyed that automotron construction site, maybe I would be more hesitant to grant you such a role in a battle. But our fates are not different. I have seen you two in actions. I know your capabilities. And with Whiskey to boot, the final element of my plan has come together.¡±


    ¡°Plan? Sir? Whiskey?¡± Zan asked.


    ¡°I cannot join your squad. I must direct this host during the main engagement. But with you, Jiehong, and Whiskey together, I can trust you¡¯ll fight well. Whiskey has her own troops. Jiehong, I will give you a small score of men loyal to me. These men will answer to your command as long as it makes operational sense ¡ª show them anything less than pure leadership and they might just take command from you!¡± The colonel laughed. ¡°Seriously, though. Don¡¯t overthink it. You¡¯ll do fine. Which brings me to Zan. You, lad.


    How does being an independent commander sound?¡±


    ¡°It sounds cool¡­ what is it, though?¡± Zan said.


    ¡°Mostly what it says on the surface. You are a commander, but independent. You only take orders from those directly above you. You can order anyone directly below you so as long as it does not interfere with operational capacity. And before you ask, ''operational capacity'' means anything essential to the mission. Anyone on the battlefield will know what that means and know whether they can help you, as an independent commander."


    Zan thought the issue over, but he really had no objections. He only had questions.


    Questions, though, which brimmed within Zan''s mind, he knew better than to ask a million of... "How does it sound?" Zan repeated. "I love it."

 Chapter 109

    Once Zan acquiesced to his role as an independent commander, an idea he still couldn''t grasp, the war meeting proceeded smoothly. It was as if the entire meeting depended on him saying ''yes'' before Winters could get to the actual briefing.


    What did the actual briefing entail? Only what Zan considered ''siege breaking'' would be: there was an enemy surrounding a place, so they had to go and shatter that enemy. Winters explained his plan and how he intended to use Zan and friends as part of his infiltration team. The bulk of their forces would smash a hole through the enemy lines, infiltrate the villa, and withdraw the viceroy. With some luck, it would all go off without a hitch.


    Luck. Zan thought morosely. Since when has luck ever been on our side?


    A chime in Zan''s ear at the meeting''s end. "Screen Master? What is the matter?" Zan asked.


    "Zan: I wanted to let you know of a function I will be executing on your behalf. During periods of time I can recognize as distinct strategy sessions, I will make note of the mission details, so you can access the information anytime you want on the battlefield through your headset."


    Trying to think about what that could mean, Zan said, "So, that means... if part of the operation means me destroying a siege weapon, I will see that, somehow, as something I understand to be that objective? Am I making sense?"


    "You are making sense, Zan. And yes, that is what I mean. I will attempt to render basic drawings of objectives for you on your map-in-miniature."


    "Very wicked... thank you, Screen Master. With your help, it has never been easier to be a child soldier!"


    Although Zan spoke deadpan, the Screen Master could only respond by giving the unwavering truth: "A correct observation, Zan. Unfortunately, sometimes the winds of fate plot alternative futures for us and we have little say in whether these winds are escapable."


    "Thank you..." Zan said, ending the conversation.


    Waiting for Zan outside, Jiehong waited for his friend underneath a cherry blossom tree.


    "Is it chaos in that head of yours?" Jiehong asked, playfully.


    "Oh, non-stop! Between you, the pings we get is we stumble across a lodestone, and now all this ''system'' stuff," Zan said, tilting his fingers as air quotation marks, "not to mention my imperial contact, who can literally whisper into my ear anytime, boy, my noggin is always befuddled. Wonder I''m not a mad lad!" Zan replied, just as humorously.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Oh, Zan. You? A mad lad? Give me a rest!" Jiehong said, slapping his knee.


    Then the mood shifted. The joviality of the previous moment faded into the ether.


    "How do you feel about this?" Zan said.


    Jiehong shrugged his shoulders. "I like our chances. I know better than to get complacent."


    "We''ll pull through. I just hope Colonel Winters has an important reason to listen to the request of a noble when these men could be sent to much more useful fronts. All this? For a single viceroy? I don''t know if it is worth it."


    "Of course it''s worth it! Zan, why wouldn''t it be worth it? These nobles represent the best of our country. They are the richest. They have the most influential economic ventures; and they also are at the forefront of every social and foreign issue through their libertine connections. Without nobles, we wouldn''t have anything we have today, as we fight for our freedom," Jiehong rejoined.


    "Wow... I really didn''t think you were that conservative on issues," Zan said of his friend. "I knew you were a loyalist. That much I picked up from you in the last weeks, but do you really believe that? The whole thing about the Royals?"


    "I might exaggerate at times, maybe. But mostly? I mean it, yeah. Is that problematic for you?"


    "Not as long as you understand I have my own views on matters..." Zan said as an open-ended question.


    "I will learn to respect your views," Jiehong said.


    Zan wanted to say, ''that''s not good enough.'' He kept his mouth closed. He couldn''t afford to alienate his friends and allies. But he knew, one day, he and Jiehong would have to settle out their differences. He will ''learn'' to ''respect'' his worldview? Zan knew that was more than many adults acted, but he had expected more from his best-friend, almost brother.


    "Good...I am going to meditate by myself for a while, if that is fine with you," Zan said.


    "Sounds good to me. I will be nearby," Jiehong said, thinking nothing of the request.


    Friends, war, coming of age, building an Order. His life had it all.


    Knowing he had the fight of his life ahead of him, Zan shut his eyes for some peace.


    Letting his mind run, Zan thought of light and peace. Uplifting essences. Calm tsunamis.


    When he opened his eyes, he was ready.


    Zan was not the only person ready to face what lie ahead.


    Far-away yet close by, imperial engineer first class Dawson Rictus stood standing, staring through their viewing-lens.


    Lowing his binoculars, Rictus turned to his clients and said, "The battle is about to begin. We should keep our distance."


    His clients burst -- into conversation. Rictus heard more words than he expected. Maybe it wasn''t him, though? Maybe his clients, youthful as they are, realized things would be to their convenience if they used words their older advisers use?


    "We should engage..." the leader said.


    "...no host?" another voice said.


    Rictus could not tell if the third had spoken. He heard indistinct mutterings, but nothing real.


    "Limited..." One spoke. Another would finish with, "action." Limited action? Wondered Rictus.


    More mutterings: one stomped their feet. Another spit. "We need to be direct. Take what''s ours."


    Silence.


    The leader said, "Move out."

 Chapter 110

    The camp was in a rush. Hectic though everyone was they were not under enemy attack; a scout had rushed back on horse to inform Colonel Winters of a shift in enemy movement. "They''ve abandoned siege tactics, milord! The golems are assaulting the villa! If we don''t act now, the viceroy''s force will be overwhelmed!" Winters acted with the resolve of a leader. He said, "Then we''ll just have to move out and meet them head on!"


    Although it sounded like what a real warrior did -- meeting the enemy head-on in glorious combat -- Zan knew everyone wasn''t prepared. "Zan! I entrust you and your squad will perform with valor!" Winters said before rushing off to marshal his forces, directing them into glorious battle.


    Zan found Jiehong and Whiskey. Whiskey had her own scouts on her, though looking at them, Zan saw the rebel scouts as much as frontline fighters than he or Jiehong were as they had a rough-handed, domineering look to them; bits of armored leather reinforced with steel cushioned their bodies, allowing for both mobility and defense. Not as good as his special ''fairy silk'' clothing, which took many a lethal blow for Zan, but still impressive.


    "What shall we do?" Whiskey asked. Everywhere was activity and they needed to act, now.


    Around them the camp was in a tizzy. Battle was on the horizon. But with the chaos, Zan and his group knew no one would be entering the field before thirty-minutes. When the scout had come, much of the camp was in relaxation mode, waiting for nightfall. With urgency forcing their hand, the fighters hurried on their battle garb as Zan, and company, fought to decide their course of action. Having little time to discuss matter, of course, a brash decision was made.


    "Let''s mount our bikes. We''re ready, right? Let''s cleave some space for our allies when they enter the field!" Zan said.


    "I like the sound of that!" Jiehong exclaimed. Whiskey nodded, saying, "I like the sound of that. I''ve been too lazy for the past couple of days."


    Making their own last-minute preparations, Zan and Company made their way (roughly) toward where the Colonel intended on using them. Technically, they were an infiltration team. Originally, Winters wanted them to stay close to his frontline units and take a chance to infiltrate the villa once the heavy units broke through the automotron lines. Considering the nature of the enemy''s change in tactics, Zan did not know how much of this plan was to still remain on the table.


    Outside the limits of the camp, Zan halted, and focused on his headset. "Activate?" he said, still unsure of how it operated.


    The headset brought itself to life at his word''s whim. Zan saw the indistinct boxes slowly appear as he focused more on them. It wasn''t long before he had in his vision the abstracted limits of several so-called ''boxes.''


    ''Okay,'' Zan muttered. "Just remember what the Screen Master said. Focus one at a time. Make the map-in-miniature appear...''


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "What are you talking about? You good?" Jiehong asked, overhearing Zan talk to himself while standing completely still.


    "I''m fine. Sorry. I am fiddling with the headset, testing it. Give me a moment," Zan said to his impatient buddies.


    Focusing on the map-in-miniature, it appeared! Zan saw the rectangular box appear in his upper-righthand line-of-sight. It obscured some of the real world, yeah, but testing the limits of the headset''s display functions, Zan learned he could see through the boxes which appeared within his vision. Zan hoped they would disappear further while he was in combat. He was sure they would.


    "Warm Up Complete," a voice said.


    "Who said that?" Zan asked.


    Jiehong and Whiskey had no clue what he was talking about, so he clarified and told them.


    Zan wanted to join the battle. He knew his friends were growing impatient. So, he told them to go on ahead and he would catch up. Whiskey said, "We''re not leaving you behind while two hostile forces are about to clash -- don''t be stupid!"


    Ignoring his friends'' words out of necessity, Zan focused on the headset''s voice. An instant later the voice vanished, leaving behind confusion. "Okay! I don''t know what that was all about, but let''s advance on the enemy!"


    They hadn''t even taken a step before Screen Master Simulacrum pinged them. "I am sorry to disturb you, Zan. I know you are about to enter combat. I wanted to remind you I will be there with you in every battle. Do not be afraid to call upon my vast knowledge of the combative arts."


    "I will keep that in mind Screen Master. Thank you!" Zan said diplomatically.


    Hoping that was all for the time being, Zan took another step forward. This time, nothing happened, so he got greedy and took another step, expecting nothing. How wrong he was!


    A couple of steps after the Screen Master''s intrusive ping, the headset came alive again. A notification came to his vision. But as he couldn''t read, Zan didn''t know what it said. So, doing the only thing he could do, he pinged the Screen Master and explained the situation. The Screen Master replied back, "Just a second. I will perform some long-range maintenance on your headset." A couple of moments went by... "There." The Screen Master suddenly said. "I have programmed a new feature into your headset to allow the verbal translation of words into spoke speech. Try asking the headset to repeat the notification."


    His friends staring at him like he was a crazy man, Zan said, "Repeat notification."


    "[Assessing Enemy Movements]" ... that was what the headset had told him in notification form. Zan saw the words he couldn''t read show up once more inside their brackets. This time, a voice read-aloud for him.


    Feeling more confident with the new technology, Zan felt like he was getting somewhere using this headset. He admitted he had not liked it when the Screen Master intruded upon him, but now he was thankful. He would have to acclimate himself to multiple people talking in his head at once.


    Taking a few more tentative steps, no more notifications or voices conjured themselves into Zan''s ears. It''s time to fight! Zan thought as he warmed himself up and stretched; though he felt like a fool, stretching upon the open plain as a vast enemy host was preparing to charge the villa -- or perhaps already was in the process of doing so -- Zan knew the basics had to be adhered to. Basics like a good stretch before a vigorous martial showcase.


    "Everyone ready? For real?" Zan asked.


    "Born ready," Jiehong said.


    Whiskey said nothing though her intense look said much more than mere words could ascribe.


    "Then let''s kick it up and show these termites all the things we can do!"

 Chapter 111 (Villa Assault - 1)

    With bullyrag minutia out of the way, it was time to get real.


    Ahead of Zan and his mates was a vast armed and armored host laying siege to an important member of the royal administration. This host was in the process of storming the villa. If they did nothing, the invaders would secure an important victory.


    Zan wasn''t going to let that happen.


    "Shall we head straight into the host?" Jiehong said.


    "By ourselves?" Zan said.


    "Our allies will soon be at our backs. I think we will be fine. You have bows, right? Rain down a few arrows to clear the way. I will support you with strikes," Whiskey said.


    Seeing no issue with the plan, Zan and Company rode into position. On a ridge overlooking the enemy force, Zan and everyone removed their bows and notched an arrow into place. Zan pulled, making sure his feet were in the right position.


    A notification popped up once he released the arrow. [Miss]


    He missed? He grunted to himself. Normally, he was a good archer. Or decent, anyway. Back in his village, he hunted with the adults (almost) more than he labored in the lumberyard with most everyone else. Zan pulled another arrow into place. Released. [Hit]


    From this distance, Zan could not tell for sure if he had hit his target. Not on sight alone, at least. The Command Center System, however, knew with certainty.


    ''Awesome!'' Zan thought to himself. ''One down. Or one wounded, anyway.


    Zan slung another arrow into place. Fired. [Hit]


    Repeating the process, Zan moved more arrows into his bow and continued to fire like a machine. The system notified him of every hit and every miss. Zan wondered aloud ''I wonder what my percentage is of hit over miss?'' He was firing so quickly, he hadn''t the time to do anything other than focus on aiming. Thankfully, the System had his back. [Zan: Your Hit-Over-Miss Ratio is 75-25]


    ''Neat,'' Zan thought. ''It''s true, then. The System is always listening. Good to know...


    "Okay!" Whiskey declared. "We''ve taken out enough to give us some breathing room."


    "Great!" Zan replied. "Jiehong! You take charge and open a path for me to clean up the stragglers in your wake!"


    Jiehong replied not with words but a grunting roar as he ran toward the still-charging enemy formation who, despite their number of decommissioned automotrons, paid no attention to Zan''s Company as they charged the rear ranks.


    Jiehong had with him Whiskey''s scouts. He slammed into the enemy, giving credence to the confusion he caused by allowing the scouts to dole-out measured strikes with their short-swords. Over and over again Jiehong punched massive holes into the enemy; Jiehong''s charge always punched a hole a dozen strong or more; Zan marveled at how at full-power Jiehong was a spectacle like no other on the battlefield. From this gap, the scouts would step in and sow further havoc by striking those among the enemy who processed the chaos more swiftly than others, leading to a deeper level of dissension. It was this level where Zan worked and swung his blade with a familiarity learned from previous battles. Using his basic combat spells freely -- as the Slipstream still grew strong in the air -- Zan was not afraid to cast a greater degree of offensive magic than he normally relied upon in these field encounters. Therefore, large streaks of fire launched themselves as chain-lightning through the ranks of the fel-foe: one explosion gave rise to the next, compassing many automotrons spared by Jiehong''s barging-charge and the scouts practiced jabbing.


    It was not Zan''s explicit intent to cast a sweeping (chain-)fire spell, but sometimes life simply worked out that way. He had heard of the spell, but nothing more. Until now, the limits of his magic had been simplistic (and barely controlled) bursts of flames. Not something as complex as what he somehow managed to unleash upon the enemy. Although Zan did not always find himself re-casting the ''sweeping flame'' spell he recognized, he could not, not cast it either. At some point, Zan knew, he would have to talk with a magical expert at how everything worked.


    [System Notification: Zan. Magical Reserve Half-Depleted.]


    Half-depleted? So, he still had half of his stored magical energy? That was good for Zan to know. With practice, he might be able to intuitively manage his magic intake and use. Based on how much magic he used and how often he heard the System letting him know.


    "Keep up the fighting!" Zan urged his compatriots.


    Though Zan used magic heavily with the Slipstream''s presence in the sky, he knew it would not always be there. It could go away at any moment.


    While he fought martially -- with blade and buckler -- Zan settled into a fighting style which saw an automotron decommissioned with a mere three blows of his blade. The first blow was a simple motion: hold buckler up, block blow; the second motion: gripping the blade tightly, slash across the golem''s body; this second motion shattered into splinters the golems stilted excuses for hands. Finally, the third blow: powerful downward blow, with momentum gained from the second blow''s redirection of kinetic energy. And done! A golem lays in pieces. Zan repeated the process for every golem he fought.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Although the three-pronged process for decommissioning a golem worked every time, Zan still depleted far more of his stamina than he would have liked in just doing the motions. Mutiple that by the many, many enemies who survived his allies'' assault, and Zan knew he would be exhausted before long. Looking over the many enemies yet to be overcome, Zan realized he would need help from the Loyalists soon.


    Glancing toward the sky, Zan saw the Slipstream start to fade. He knew enough about his world to know this: once the Slipstream began its fading for the day, how much longer and how much one could draw from it were limited.


    Zan rose his hand to the sky and uttered the holy prayer. He felt himself fill with magical energy.


    [Magical Reserves Restored] the system said unnecessarily.


    "Guys! Make sure you restore your mana before the Slipstream fades!" Zan yelled.


    But they did not hear him on the first yell. Or the second.


    Frustrated, this was an element of combat Zan did not like -- the noise.


    Taking in a deep breath, Zan was about to scream at the top of his lungs when he thought better of it.


    "Screen Master?" Zan spoke. "Does the headset have any kind of communicative abilities with my associates?"


    "It does! It will take a large amount of magical energy to activate it, however. Fill the device with all of the magical reserve you have by touching your hands to it. You should still have time to restore your energy via the Slipstream once you do this," the Screen Master replied.


    Not wanting to think through a nightmare scenario where Zan had no magic in the middle of a battle, Zan did as he was told, instead, and touched his headset, channeling all the magical energy he could into it. The process of magical channeling was easy enough. What was not easy was doing so while fighting enemies. And with his friends out of earshot, Jiehong, Whiskey, and her scouts, would be of no help to Zan as he fought and channeled.


    Fighting and channeling magical energy, though, was a misnomer. One did not do both. One could not do both...


    So, while Zan channeled his magical energy into his headset, he ran from the automotrons.


    Zan did not consider his actions to be a ''retreat.'' And neither were they endangering his friends backs or flanks. Still able to swing a sword when he had to, Zan kept his distance when a golem got too close. With so many prowling the field -- dozens alone in his immediate area -- this meant a lively physical routine for Zan, who constantly had to move himself or swing a blade even haphazardly to put space between he and an enemy.


    Blessings to the gods, however! It did not take Zan long to channel his magical energy into his headset. Maybe five minutes, if he had to guess? Zan should have been upset at that fact. A short channeling time meant little energy within to be channeled. This fact didn''t upset him, though. Why would it? Zan was a teenager. He still had a long way to go before his mana reserves became a source of pride.


    Finishing his channeling -- and feeling emptier than a recently dumped trash can -- Zan heard the Screen Master''s voice. "You have done it, Zan! You have imbued your headset with enough magical energy to advance it to its first post-functional level. We can talk about the details of this later. For now, it means you will be able to call upon long-distance communication between you and your allies. I will remotely activate the function now. Once I do, the System will provide a notification for you. Say ''yes'' to activate the function."


    Zan said he would. Moments later he heard the system say, "Activate Echo-Speak Beetles?"


    Not knowing what an ''echo speak beetle'' was, Zan said, "Yes!"


    A popping sound came from his headset. Like pieces of it had launched themselves away from the headset. Zan next heard a buzzing sound.


    In front of him flew several small, glittering insects. Only, upon closer inspection, Zan realized these insects were not of the natural world, but of his own metallic and artificial: the Screen Master spoke into his ear, likely having seem the beetles himself through his visual feed. "Zan. What you see before you are Echo-Speak Beetles. Sigma-Prime invented them. Instruct them to go to an ally and they will fly to them and be close to their ear providing them with your words whenever you design to speak and command them. This will allow you to stay in constant contact anywhere on the battlefield."


    "Awesome!" Zan said, relieved there was a function to help him in his time of need. Clicking off from the Screen Master, Zan thanked Simulacrum for his aid. Then he turned to the beetles and said, Go to Whiskey. Go to Jiehong!"


    The beetles obeyed Zan without hesitation. How they knew who to go to he did not know, but they came from his headset, which had (literally) writhed itself into his skull, skin, and maybe brain, so it is possible the beetles had some low-level physic connection.


    Moments later he heard another system notification. [Contact Established with Allied Units]


    Now, what could he do? Did he just speak? Like with Luxley''s talking to him via that strange horn? Without time to argue with himself, Zan simply speak and said, "Whiskey. Jiehong. Can you hear me?"


    "Hearing you loud and clear, buddy!" Jiehong said.


    "Same!" Whiskey said, Zan hearing her cleave into the enemy.


    "Excellent. Long story short, these bug-things are from the headset. They will hover close to your ears and deliver our voices to each other. The Screen Master said we can communicate anywhere on the battlefield."


    Both Jiehong and Whiskey grunted their approval. Zan said, "To activate it, I had to take a step back from the fighting. I had to fill my headset with all of my magic. Once I re-fill, I will rejoin your guys!"


    "Sounds good to me, Zan! But please hurry. We are cracking the enemy''s outer ranks. But we need help!" Whiskey said.


    "I know!" Zan agreed. "From my vantage, it doesn''t look like the loyalists have entered the field, yet. What on earth is taking them?"


    Jiehong made a bad sound. But said to Zan, "Then we need our own strategy! Any ideas?"


    Considering his options -- his tools most importantly -- Zan took only a few moments to think of a plan. He hoped his quickness of thinking did not mean it was a terrible plan. He said, "Yeah. I have a plan. Whiskey. Continue to rain arrows. Jiehong. Withdraw to my location with Whiskey''s scouts. It''s bike time!"

 Chapter 112 (Villa Assault - 2)

    Zan and allies entered the field right away. Whiskey called for her horse while Zan and Jiehong unlatched their bikes, moving the pieces into position. Click. Conk. Their bikes were ready to ride. Both boys used a minute amount of magic to increase their speed quickly. Gradually building their speed until they were plowing through the enemy, that was when Jiehong unleashed a flurry of grenades. Blast. Boom! Explosions devastated the tightly packed automotron ranks. Fire claimed even more victims.


    Stretching his vision over the battlefield, Zan witnessed confused splotches of burning. Golems in the distance still yet unaware of this part of the camp''s problems while on the other side of the villa, another segment of the besiegers were storming the villa itself: the unexpected arrival of a quick attack force did not help their affairs, of course. Especially not an assault force as overpowered as Zan and Jiehong backed by Whiskey''s talent. Zan would admit to seeing battle now almost like an exaggerated child''s play, for it remained easy to burn a golem.


    "Enough!" Zan panted into the earpiece. Every word was labored. "Jiehong. We need to conserve our grenades for the rest of the battle. Now we hold until the loyalist muster. I am sure they are on the way!"


    On their way Winters and his men were. Though a late start had been given, due to an automotron raiding party. A party backed by several big-cannon-bearing troop transports. Winters would later say of the event, "Shamefully. A man was lost. But for his quick thinking, a walker was brought down."


    Now, however, Winters and the local militias sprang into action. With the walker dealt with, there was no more impediment to aiding Zan and his friends on the field. While riding toward Zan, however, and as he would later mention to the young man, it was irresponsible for Zan and Company to rush off on their own action before being ordered to do so by their commanding officer. Being his first offense as a mercy force, however, Winters would let it slide.


    Zan saw, then, the arrival of Winters as a wave of riders smashing into an entire section of the enemy camp, flaying alive the automotrons as raiders made passes alongside Zan and Company, who settled into an advisory role as they caught up with Winters.


    "Zan!" Winters called out. Zan came to his position quickly with his bike. "You and your team rushed out without hesitation."


    "Yes, sir!" Zan said, oblivious to his actions. "In the future, please keep in mind our shared war objectives. Because you left the camp, we were shorthanded when a walker raiding party snuck up on us. I will forgive this instance, however. But in the future, please wait on my orders before engaging the enemy."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Zan said he would. "Apologies. I only wanted to make sure the enemy was confronted. We should focus on the engagement. My actions are already done. Now, we must finish the battle."


    "Right. Okay. Looks like we have made a good dent in the enemy ranks," Winter said, observing the battlefield.


    "Yes. My team and I take our conduct in the field seriously."


    "I can see that. Locally, it looks as though our objectives are only partially met. We have secured this side of the enemy camp before the lord''s villa, but there is no way inside from this wall, so we charged the camp at the worst possible place. Another reason to consult with your commanding officer, Zan. But we cannot fix that. As you said, boy, we must focus on what we can control. Let''s stick to the original battleplan. Take your force and assist loyalist forces as they fight their way through the besiegers camp. If you see a way into the villa, take it. We need an emergency force inside."


    Zan told Winters he understood. He instructed his allies to gather and together they broke away from Winters and his posse. They rode to a nearby group of Winters men who were mustering for a charge against the enemy as they swept through this side of the villa. Another System notification: [Energy Levels Low: Food Intake Needed].


    Although it was the most realistic of things to happen -- becoming hungry from participating in a heavy string of physical action for the last action-packed hour or more -- it still annoyed Zan. He couldn''t eat now! He had an enemy force to wipe out before they kidnapped members of the royal family!


    Discarding the notification, Zan focused to his friends. He need not introduce himself to the men, who already knew who they were.


    Saying to the local commander, "We will support your flanks!" Zan had he and Whiskey and Jiehong ride ahead of the loyalist force ready to charge.


    "We''re acting as their auxiliary support. See an enemy, take them out. Punch holes. Just as we''ve been doing," Zan said through the eco-speak beetle.


    Neither Whiskey nor Jiehong had a problem with their roles. Given the chaos of the situation, it seemed like the best route to take.


    Zan and Company made contact with the next segment of the besieging force. Riding ahead of the rest, Zan crashed his bike with magic-assisted power. It was a sight to see as even Gold-painted golems withered under the relentless barrage; he pulled back hard on the bike before he slammed into a golem, so the golem found itself withered under the churning assault of bike wheels turned deadly weapon as magic caused the wheels to spin into overdrive and shred the golems it encountered. Zan hardly knew what he was doing with his bike and the golems while it happened. He was running on instinct. It felt like the right thing to do -- pull back on his bike, but the magic in the wheel thing? He had never done that before. Maybe it was him becoming more familiar with his bike? He had been using it nonstop since getting it.


    Of course, Zan and Company did not linger.


    Once contact was made with the enemy, Zan withdrew. His team obeyed his edict on not wasting grenades on the enemy. Not right now. They had dozens of men at their backs. Zan knew he had to think as a team.


    Yet as Zan and his team doubled toward the next enemy group, close to the front of the villa, he saw to his right exactly what he and his team had been ordered to look for -- a way into the villa.

 Chapter 113 (Villa Assault - 3)

    One rank deeper into the enemy ranks is all it would take for them to slip into the villa.


    Zan saw a siege tower with a simple elevator installed. It was crashed against the sides of the villa estate. Still in use by the offending forces, Zan made the split decision to attack. "Follow me, team! We''re going to break through the line!"


    "I see your intent!" Jiehong said. "That elevator would be perfect. Let''s give it everything we have!"


    "Switching to blades," Whiskey said. Dropping down from her horse, Whiskey sent the creature on its way. It knew the way back to camp.


    Bounding ahead of the boys, Whiskey strode ahead taking war steps which mimicked the gods themselves. Whiskey met the enemy in a flurry of blows, her twin blades expertly sent through and into at the perfect angle for a quick kill.


    Jiehong next hit the enemy rank and file. His large body again proved its worth as he rolled himself as a human cannonball into the enemy, though not as so exaggeratedly. With a swing of the axe, Jiehong handled his foes lives after crashing into them and unbalancing them. An easy thing to do with creations like the automotrons, bulky as they are.


    Feeling the Slipstream fade completely, Zan shouted, "Gotta restore my magic! Final chance at restoration!"


    Zan chanted as quickly as he could. But with enemies all around him, he panicked a couple of times, causing him to stutter. When his prayer finished and he made brief visual contact with the Slipstream, Zan felt himself restored some of his magical reserves. How much? He didn''t really know. He had a vague idea but nothing concrete. Nothing like hos the Command Center System might look at him. Regardless, the System notification popped up: [Mana Reserves: 75% Full].


    Three-quarters? Zan said, quickly doing some mental math. I can work with that.


    Then another surprising thing happened: the System gave Zan notifications about his team and their spirits.


    [Whiskey Mana Reserves: 60%] [Jiehong Mana Reserves: 75%]


    He couldn''t believe it. Why didn''t his teammates restore their mana? Or maybe they had but they didn''t have time to fully restore it?


    Zan had to find out. "Guys! Why didn''t you get to the Slipstream? It''s gone for the day!"


    "Sorry Zan! Busy fighting the bad guys!" Jiehong said.


    "Ditto," Whiskey grunted, laying into the enemy with acrobatic precision.


    Next, one of Whiskey''s scouts replied to Zan. Zan reasoned the scout had to be close to the echo-beetle. They said, "Zan! Listen to me! Acting with leadership means thinking of your team''s needs before your convictions as a warrior! Instead of charging off into action, you should have removed yourself from the battle, restored yourself, and re-entered the fray. It only would have taken a few minutes! But you''re doing great so far! Really!"


    The scout''s seemingly random critique of his leadership aside, Zan felt elated someone outside of his relations thought he was doing his job well. "Thank you, scout! I''m sorry I did not get your name. I will try and improve!"


    He and the scout had a curt exchange of pleasantries as the battle continued to rage around them. While Zan unleashed another ''sweeping flame'' attack, he learned the name of the critical scout. Pim.


    [Mana Reserves: 50%] The notification surprised Zan for the simple sake if it was an accurate representation of his reserves, then a single ''sweeping fire'' incantation cost a whopping fifteen percent of his total mana.


    For some time, Zan settled into his usual combat style. Three-hits. One automotron.


    [Energy Reserves: 70%] Zan believed that notification. His rumbling stomach told him truth. He should be fine for the battle, he told himself. Once they were back at camp, they would need a fine meal to compensate for the overconsumption of calories now. And so, a voice in the back of Zan''s head told him to conserve energy. Play the long game. For, he had to remind himself: he had no clue when the battle would end. He had to be efficient in his use of resources and magic. He had to be analytical. He had to be a commander.


    "Whiskey. Jiehong. Back to me. Bike formation. Whiskey, ride with Jiehong! Time for a grenade run!" Zan shouted as his allies returned to him, riding hot on their scorching pieces of exotic metal.


    Zan swooped wide on his bike to build up speed, peddling with an amount of effort. Whiskey and Jiehong met with him and together, they used a sum of magical energy to boost their ramming speed. With enough force built, Zan and Jiehong''s bikes acted more as ''cruise missiles'' than transportation vehicles as the aura which emanated from the bikes set aflame to several automotrons. As the bikes themselves careened into the golems, nothing could stand up to their ferocious speed which broke instantly any automotron which dared to confront them; while their bikes behaved as war crimes, Zan reminded his team, "Grenades, Jiehong!"


    Allowing himself temporarily to the motions of the bike, Zan released the grip on his vehicle long enough to take hold of a grenade, pull its pin, and toss it off. Into the invaders ranks it went, causing terrible explosions.


    By the time their ''power charge'' ended, as Zan would now be calling his team''s bike move, the enemy ranks lay decimated. For a place as wide as an athletics field, nothing of a battle-capable fighting force remained while golem stragglers limped with trepid limbs, until the fire which consumed them finally claimed them.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Zan did not concern himself with the welfare of the enemy, though. What he did concern himself with was the siege tower and its elevator.


    Skidding to a halt and kicking up wads upon clods of dirt, Zan asked his team about their status. How they felt. It was only a quick check-in before the next leg of the assault began.


    Both checked in and said how they were fine, but they needed a moment to catch their breath. Zan gave them that moment.


    "Looks like the enemy has noticed us. They''re getting into position now," Whiskey said as she finished a drink from her water sieve.


    "Jiehong? Care to be the tip?" Zan asked of his friend.


    "Feck yeah! You guys have been overextending yourself. Let me take this next group." Jiehong replied.


    "Whiskey. Be prepared to take out any golems which survive Jiehong''s initial thrust!" Zan said.


    "I know how fighting works, Zan! Leave it to me!" Whiskey said, running ahead of Zan.


    By the time Whiskey ran ahead of Zan, Jiehong already had smashed a hole into the front ranks of the final splotch of invaders charging into the castle. Behind them lay several smashed lines of automotrons, arranged concentrically around the villa, protecting the few places of forced entry as the siege gave way to a forward assault. Zan and Company were now before one such splotch, where the besiegers turned offensive and were busy not defending against Colonel Winters men but merely invading through an imposed crack in the villa. When Jiehong charged, they had not yet finished moving into a defensive position against Zan''s Company. Therefore, they were wholly unprepared when Jiehong unleashed a magical incantation which shook the earth and swallowed up and crushed a small portion of the automotrons before them, protecting the siege tower''s final approach.


    Whiskey acted next. She slew her way through the stragglers, unleashing a series of lighting quick attacks Zan could only describe as ''spectacular.''


    "Whiskey?" he asked. "Was that a magic-based attack?"


    "Yes. I channel magic into my brain which allows me to speed up my mental processing. I quickly imprint where I will strike my enemy and how many enemies I will strike. Then, I use magic again. This time to cause my body''s chemistry to ''slip,'' into a hyper-fast state. With hardly a twitch of my legs and wrist, I then fling myself into action. It''s all over before they can blink," Whiskey explained.


    Zan had no words. It was a skill and then some to be able to use magic like how Whiskey did. Jiehong eventually said, "Damn fine magical knowledge, Whiskey. You deserve better than a ragtag rebel outfit..."


    "We''re not going through this Jiehong. Drop it," Whiskey said, putting an end to what would have been another political discussion.


    While the group exchanged messages, the battle never stopped raging.


    After Whiskey''s ''chain-lightning strike,'' few enemies could stand before them. The final group Zan did not dignify with an actual fight. He lobbed a grenade and the whole eight-golem group perished in the explosion. Zan wondered if the golems would ever understand the danger of ''the grenade.'' Unlikely, he concluded. Not until some smart imperial guy re-programs them or whatever, right? Zan talked to himself like this often. It helped keep his morale up.


    "Elevator is home free!" Zan shouted as he ushered his battle-buddies into the elevator. Zan and friends did not have to worry about how to operate the elevator with all the automotrons deactivated as the siege tower''s lift appeared to them to operate on a continuous cycle of the lift rising and falling.


    "Quickly, get on!" Zan urged. "The incantation on this elevator will not last for much longer with the golems decommissioned. I think their spirit cores must connect to incantations placed on war gear."


    "That seems reasonable," Whiskey said. "I have thought the same thing when fighting them with my fellow rebels."


    Everyone ran for the lift and jumped onto it, barely grabbing hold in time before a platform was too high to reach. They pulled themselves up onto the wooden lift. Though all this required them to exert a surprising amount of energy, Zan''s System gave an update to Jiehong''s stamina. [Jiehong Stamina Levels: 60%]. Then another update: [Jiehong Mana Reserves: 55%]. Another update: [Team Status: Middle-Performance]. And another: [System recommends adopting a strategic use of remaining resources. Have exit strategy planned].


    "Guys, the System is letting us know we''ve suffered some wounds. As I know everyone can feel. We need to slow down on magic... I''m starting to feel sick," Zan said.


    His team would have responded, but by then, they reached the top of the siege tower and had to step off onto the villa bluffs.


    Once Zan stepped onto the rocky bluff which the villa proper stood upon, the System gave another update: [Map-in-Miniature Updated].


    Shifting his eye to the upper-right, he saw the rudimentary map of the environment outside the villa grounds shift. It had been that of simple shapes, icons, representing the opposing forces, clashing into each other. They did so around a large (roughly) rectangular shape representing the higher grounds of the lord''s private estate. Once inside the actual estate, the map shifted to a basic outline of where immediate structures stood.


    [Turn on Auto-Mapping?] A notification asked.


    Did I know what ''auto-mapping'' was? No. Was I going to let that stop me from turning it on? No way.


    "Yes, please turn on auto-mapping," Zan said.


    [Auto-Mapping Turned On. Route History and Advancement Path Building Enabled]


    Again, Zan had no clue what any of that meant. ''Route history.'' ''Path building.'' ''Advanced'' as opposed to ''basic'' path building.


    "Where is everyone?" Whiskey asked. "This is a noble''s private home, right? Shouldn''t this place be filled with panicking servants fleeing automotrons?"


    "They''ve probably retreated further inside to the villa''s safe room," Jiehong said. "Where should we focus?"


    Zan considered for a while. He was hot, sweating profusely as he thought. Zan hardly noticed his bodily exertions but when it did notice them, it always made his ordeal worse. His physical agony always slowed his mental once he became aware of how much his legs ached or how wobbly his arms went by his side.


    Whiskey fuddled in her bag for something. She pulled out some crackers and said, "Zan, you need something to eat. Have these."


    "What are they?" Zan asked, already shoveling the crackers into his mouth.


    "Energy crackers. Simple but full of energy and calories. You have some too, Jiehong," Whiskey offered.


    Zan and Jiehong had some over the course of a minute, though it was hard for Zan to pull himself away from his thinking and the fighting going on around them to instead focus on chewing and swallowing. No enemies were nearby, though. So, despite the chaos of a villa under siege, Zan and Company were in a safe space. For now...


    "Damn. I feel good!" Jiehong said.


    "Yeah. Me too. Like I just eat an entire steak. Though without all the good stuff..."


    "Yeah. I know what you mean. It tasted like sawdust."


    "They''re made for nutrition, not taste," Whiskey added, ending the conversation on an informational note.


    The group finished their crackers. [Energy Levels Restored] the System said.


    "Let''s move straight into the deeper parts of the villa. A panic room won''t be on the edges of the settlement. Let''s find the living room, the throne room, whatever this villa has. Then we''ll find our guy," Zan said, feeling ready to get back at it.


    The strategy and cracker break only lasted a couple of minutes. Once decided, Zan and his friends, and Whiskey''s scouts, were back at it.


    "Scouts -- take point," Whiskey said. "You''ll be our spear!"

 Chapter 114 (Villa Assault - 4)

    The scouts -- one of which was Pim, though Zan was unsure of which exactly as both dressed the same -- rushed into the fray and decommissioned any stray golem caught in their path. Systematically, the scouts searched their point of entry. A few abandoned huts were all that remained. Zan had the uncanny state of seeing his Map-in-Miniature update in real time as Whiskey''s Scouts searched; he saw buildings represented by basic shapes appear on his map. Experimenting, Zan attempted to imprint upon the map an "E" for ''empty.''


    It kind of worked!


    Sort of...


    The "E" did appear but not for long. It would faintly hover inside the map''s representation of the building. Then it would vanish. Maybe he would need to search the units himself? But Zan did not have the time. He needed to get into the conflict.


    Following in the wake of Whiskey''s Scouts, who left a sizable trail of dead behind them for ''only'' being rogue-handed blades, Zan and Company eventually found their way through the series of lesser buildings which dotted the main villa''s property. Zan did not pay much attention to these lesser buildings. They were either bombed out from enemy siege engines or they were dusty and empty of life.


    The lesser buildings were not the priority.


    Even the enemy avoided the lesser buildings. Everyone''s focus was on the main villa. Which made it easy for Whiskey''s Scouts to find. Beyond the entry point, which as Zan discovered, was a moment of opportunity on the enemy''s part than a strategically needed entry point. Why? Zan asked himself. He saw the reason: the distance from the main villa and from their ''siege tower path'' held far too many perilous twists to be effective for automotron troops. As evidenced by how the closer they got to the villa, the more the enemy presence intensified. Zan reasoned they likely secured the siege tower before many troops had been lifted into the villa.


    Although the enemy presence did intensify the closer the group got to the villa-proper, it was nothing Zan''s Company couldn''t handle.


    Between a couple of well-placed arrows, Jiehong smashing into walls with his axe and sword, and Zan unleashing the proper blade strokes and petty-magics, and the enemy groups fell before them. Zan did notice something about the enemy, however: the closer they got to the villa, which now reared itself before them, just ahead of them like a mountainous crag, Zan saw only red-and-gold plated golems.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Whoever is leading this assault force," Zan said. "Has the monopoly on golems. Look at all the specialty golems!"


    Removing their blades from another slain group of golems -- the System letting Zan know of their statuses -- Jiehong and Whiskey nodded, agreeing with Zan. Whiskey said, "I see... it is rare for so many golems to be of the same make in a single area. What the rebels have discovered is differently painted golems act as different leaders for the enemy ranks. Not quite sure how it all works, but for so many ''leader golems'' to be present here must mean that the invasion force is lacking the leader golems elsewhere. It might behoove our homeland to try and take out as many of these leader golems as we can here. It could help our countrymen in a small way later."


    "I think that''s taking things too literally, Whiskey," Jiehong replied. "Remember how many automotrons are in this invasion force? Remember how many were just at the construction site? Thousands, minimum, right? I doubt these golems are badly needed elsewhere. We make it a habit to destroy every golem we see regardless, though. So, yeah, we should destroy all the automotrons we see, but I wouldn''t put any more stock in it helping our cause than it would already do to help our cause by defeating the invaders."


    Whiskey shrugged. They did not argue on the point, which Zan was happy about. Allies did not need to fight. Not when an enemy was always around the corner, waiting for them at their best.


    Wiping away more sweat with a rag, Zan told his friends to "move into formation."


    The Scouts took point. Jiehong followed -- ready to destroy anything the scouts couldn''t handle. Zan was just behind Jiehong. He was the intermediary everyman. He could fling an arrow, heal a wound, swing a sword. Behind Zan in their formation was Whiskey, who guarded their backs and who gave long-distance support. It was a basic formation. It was the only squad structure which came to his mind. Was it strategic? Was it the best use of their powers as Order warriors-in-training? Zan didn''t know. He would only know by gaining experience, by throwing himself into battle after battle and earning that knowledge by his own two hands.


    That or if he found a teacher.


    Until either came to him -- knowledge or an instructor -- Zan was fine doing it the hard way.


    "Okay. We ready? Lots more fighting up this way. We should be prepared," Zan said to his team.


    Finding his team in agreement, Zan gave the order to advance.


    Like whenever he went into battle, Zan hoped ''trouble'' wouldn''t find him. Like always, alas, trouble found him appealing, as once they bounded into the square overlooking the villa''s entrance, Zan spotted a golem type he never before had seen.

 Chapter 115 (Villa Assault - 5)

    ''What is that?!'' Zan exclaimed, mostly to himself, but also to others. Whiskey and the rest did not hear but pointed out the oddity to the rest: "What is that?" "Wait, what?" Jiehong joined. "That golem, see? The one just behind the line advancing to us." Jiehong, Zan saw, used his hand to make a cover for his eyes, so he could better see. He strained and said, "Oh! Crap! A new golem variant!" Zan whipped out a spying glass to get a better look at the new golem despite the dozen-golem strong lines heading his way.


    "It''s platinum coated. I think?" Zan said to the group.


    Moving back a few steps while telling the scouts and Jiehong to retreat several paces, Zan took another brief look through the spyglass. He saw a golem with a magical core on its body, crudely hammered into it, by the looks, too. There was no mistaking it: when Zan saw the cackles of electrical-energy bursting from its body like a petite-star in the cosmos, Zan knew the golem was imbued with electricity-magic. Seeing such a weapon on the battlefield shocked Zan; electricity was a known phenomenon in the world. But harnessing it for war? That was something else entirely.


    "It has electro-magic. the platinum-golem." Zan continued leading his team back before he halted. "Jiehong! Response? I think we should keep it at a distance but otherwise treat it like a normal golem. Maybe take it down with arrows?"


    "But what if one ambushes us? It might electrocute us to death if it touches us," Whiskey said, her face flush from her exertions.


    "I think that''s a big if! but we have to act; look, the time for talk is over!" Jiehong said, yelling.


    "I agree! Scouts! Launch an arrow volley! Whiskey, reinforce the volley. Jiehong! Prepare to storm!" Zan yelled, taking control of the situation.


    Between Whiskey and her scouts, their volleys decommissioned over two dozen automotrons. Thus, it was with such effort, which the line of golems which had been advancing toward them moments before, were destroyed en mass.


    Jiehong acted next, as Zan ordered, and burst himself upon the next group of red-painted golems. Spinning his axe in the air, Jiehong built up speed; then, launching himself at his foes, Jiehong exploited gravity itself. Zan thought some of his attack had to be magic assisted. The way which Jiehong effortless spun his axe and himself as one did not seem natural. Zan remained impressed, however, with Jiehong''s form and the way he smashed his ''axed-body'' into the enemy, turning to pulp a half-dozen golems. While Jiehong made his murder move, Whiskey and the scouts rained a final sum of arrows into the enemy, clearing the space between Jiehong and the platinum-golem.


    The platinum golem is the objective, Zan told himself.


    Halting by hacking his axe into a golem, Zan next moved into action. "Scouts. On me," he said.


    Stepping into the field, he saw Jiehong and Whiskey fall to his flanks, protecting him from the stray golem attempting to intercept. ''Thanks, friends,'' he said under his breath, thankful for his dedicated battle companions.


    Zan entered the field, drew his sword, and made a beeline for the platinum-golem. The efforts of everyone fighting together made his approach easy.


    Coming within striking distance of each other, Zan pivoted and rolled on his heels, narrow avoiding its armored arms, each of which consisted of two constantly rising and falling blades threatening to sever the unsuspecting limb of a soldier.


    Or a civilian...


    "We have to kill sick feck like this," Zan said. "Golems like this are too dangerous to be left functioning."


    He heard his teammates agree. Drawing his bucklered arm close to his chest, Zan reflected for half-a-moment on how little he had used his buckler in engagements lately. But lots has happened, Zan lamented. Not all of it called for a buckler. At least I have it now.


    Although Zan took caution to ensure his legs or sides were not caught in the automotron''s blade-arms and their repetitive motions, he still thrust his buckler-protected arm into the bot''s blades, testing their endurance. "Careful Zan!" Jiehong yelled. "Don''t worry! I''m being careful!" Zan yelled back.


    The golem''s blade hit and refracted back to the golem. ''What is that thing''s blades made from?!'' Zan wondered. Zan tested it again; once more, the moment the golem''s blades hit Zan''s buckler, some force repelled the golem back, as though its own blow had turned against it. However, this was not a pleasant experience for Zan, who, upon the blades hitting his buckler, felt an intense vibration drill through his bones, causing him to feel the innards between his skeleton with disquiet awareness.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    After this second test encounter, Zan knew he had to end this creature and fast. He saw its sparkling electro-magic jump from its lopsided magic core. Zan saw the core mangled inside its body; absently, Zan wondered why the manufacture process of these golems seemed so rough.


    Zan stretched his arm and focused for intense heat. He ignited the magic flowing through his hand and the golem''s body caught aflame.


    Yet the golem did not perish...


    The flames consumed what wood existed within the body was this platinum-colored golem. But the golem''s superstructure was made also from enough non-wooden materials that if remained functioning. "Fine," Zan said, rearing his blade toward the enemy. He approached and kept it at a distance from his tip. Zan crossed stepped and circled his way to its side; watching the golem as it attempted to keep track of Zan, its body clumsily honking and clonking as it tried and failed to keep up with Zan''s footwork, Zan gleamed its weakness. Its weakness was the same as the golden-golems. Too one-sided for its own good.


    Moving to capitalize on his discovery, Zan cried as he struck out. "Take this! That!" he yelled while he hacked into the platinum-golem''s backside.


    Tragedy! Zan''s blade struck true, but his flesh fared less so; the moment Zan''s sword met the golem''s spirit core, a recursive surge of electricity surged through Zan. Pim, the scout, luckily saved Zan and pulled him free of the electro-magical current, so he suffered little more damage than frayed nerves.


    Backing away from the golem, Zan thanked Pim for her quick thinking.


    "Zan!" the Screen Master suddenly spoke into Zan''s ear. "Be careful. Electro-magic is among the most dangerous magic to living creatures. After a close encounter like that, your body will be in a shocked condition. I will skip the explanation of what that means as you are currently feeling it."


    Each step he took was labored. Moving his body after coming into direct contact with electro-magic proved hard. Zan could do it, but it made him feel weird. Like his skin was moving without his input and forming wrinkles within seas of perspiration. He nearly puked but held it in as he forced movement to return his body to normal. He could have used the Screen Master''s warning about electro-magic earlier, like when he was testing his shield against its blades, but maybe Simulacrum thought Zan already knew? No sense in complaining, Zan knew, but still! Early warnings helped!


    He had to move; Zan knew he had to force his body, as the Screen Master said. Electro-magic was among the most dangerous magic in existence. On his next attempt at the golem, he couldn''t miss. He had to destroy it.


    Taking great care to avoid the electro-spackle emanating from the golem''s body, Zan struck his blade through the golem''s non-sparking elements. Dislodging something, Zan heard a clatter within the machine, as a fire then caught and burned its insides into a melt.


    "Gross," Zan said of the once fierce enemy. Its body was goo. "Take note, team: while their combat abilities are high, platinum-golems are built shoddily, with hardly any effort put into their long-term operation."


    Clearing out the square as the encounter with the platinum golem ended, Zan''s team converged on his location before they stormed the main villa hall.


    "Yikes, that is gross!" Whiskey said, turning away at the acrid and very unusual odor wafting off the now blackened slime.


    "Status check!" Zan called. Zan thought it good design when the System did not perform a check upon him calling for a check to his friends. The System knew, then, some contextual information. As it ought to, Zan thought, considering it was literally inside his head.


    "Phew. Breaking a sweat enough for a whole team, coach," Jiehong said comedically.


    "Yeah. I am tiring myself out. I can still go, though. The crackers are keeping me going," Whiskey said.


    Zan heard his team and saw the markings on their status windows. That tall, slim box to Zan''s lower-right contained an energy bar split into a number percentage. No one was above fifty percent.


    "Jiehong. Grenade check. I have two," Zan said.


    "I have two as well. So, four in all?" Jiehong replied.


    "Four in all. Honestly, going into close quarters? It might be too contained in there to justify using grenades. Though I guess we don''t have to worry about them lobbing it back at us or anything since they literally can''t, not with their pudgy excuse for limbs.


    "Let''s use those grenade things," Whiskey said, still unsure what the weapon was. "Until we have no choice. Last ditch. Though if we see another platinum-golem, I think lobbing one of those off is a no-brainer. Right?"


    "Absolutely!" Zan said. "I just need some water from my sieve," gulp, gulp. "Okay. Ready. Ready?"


    Finding agreement, Zan ran up the steps leading to the villa-inside and charged down the door. Flying inward, Zan couldn''t take the bad-ass credit as the door was already partially bashed in.


    [Heat Advisory Warning: Fire Near!] the System notification popped up and announced.


    "Heat? But where is the fire?" Zan asked as he entered. "Be on the lookout for fire, guys! My headset says there is a massive amount of heat somewhere nearby!"


    Zan and Company ran into the villa, finding it nearly as empty as outside. ''Nearly,'' because many golems had entered the villa already and had to be dealt with as Zan and Friends searched for the interior. The secure room.


    "Zan." The Screen Master spoke into his ear. "Remember to use your map-in-miniature. If you are going to succeed in this endeavor, you must use every tool at your disposal as effectively as possible with every other tool! Never get complacent."


    "I will, Screen Master. I promise," Zan said softly. "Over and out."


    Zan looked to his map-in-miniature. He noticed it now highlighted which passages he and his team already traversed.


    Zan called to his friends about his discovery. "Oh, crap. Guys!"

 Chapter 116 (Villa Assault - 6)

    "So, the astral map in your head is keeping track of where we have been in the real world?" Whiskey asked, she and her scouts taking point on every doorway and passage the team encountered.


    "I think? I am not literally seeing these boxes. Right? It''s more like I see faint traces of shapes and information. Until I really focus on what the System tells me. It''s like having another head, but one I can use in a predictable way," Zan told his friends as they fought down a lengthy hallway.


    "I am not sure if ''astral'' is what you are seeing when you look at these info-graphic visualizations. It sounds more like this headset is hijacking your mind, creating temporary illusions in your head based on pre-existing protocols. I remember you telling me about the ''programming'' stuff, is that it?"


    Zan considered Whiskey''s response. "I really don''t know," Zan said, switching places with one of Whiskey''s scouts so she could exert herself less.


    "Doesn''t it bother you stuff like this headset -- and the other stuff you''ve told me, like the horn? Or your fire belly? -- has become so crucial to your survival yet you don''t really know how it works?" Whiskey asked of Zan''s dual-nature, part-human, part-crystal parasite, part headset?


    "Not really... what else is there? To oppose the Expanse, I mean. It was either this or pray I made it in time to a royal outpost and joined up with the royal army. Based on what I saw with Winters men when he had me test command a unit of his men, I don''t prefer that sort of action. Seeing as how this Order has been sleeping for a while, and my need to make an impact, I figure it is the best of both worlds if I can''t join the army."


    Whiskey dashed forward and slid to a halt underneath a large box, firing off an arrow toward two golems. She collected her bows and asked, "You sure do think things through, Zan."


    "I do? What''s that supposed to mean?" Zan asked, him rushing in Whiskey''s wake to charge the enemy using his bike. Zan skid into the golems and sent them flying through the air. Zan hastily disassembled his bike and worked himself into his conservative fighting style based on defense and waiting for openings in the enemy''s move-set.


    "I''m only saying, you think things. Focus on the enemy," Whiskey said, urging Zan to use a smoke grenade to give them breathing room as they advanced down the hallway. "I need water," Whiskey said, Zan moving in to defend her while she took a drink.


    Gulp. "That finishes my water. I''m good to return to battle." Whiskey changed her weapon loadout from twin-blades to a single short-blade and buckler.


    Zan looked at what they had left to tackle once they came out of the smoke. Zan used more of his magic. A couple bursts of fire and follow up attacks with his sword and two gold-golems fell alongside a small host of basic automotrons. Beyond the enemies they just smote, lay a gagged throng of golems swarming against a large door. Using his seeing-lens, Zan caught glimpse of a beleaguered local guard gaggle bravely holding the line.


    "There''s a group of guards at the end of this hallway. Can everyone see?" Zan said, urging them to use their seeing lenses respectively.


    Everyone confirmed. "We need to get to them soon, then. We don''t know how the battle outside is going and how much of the besieging force has been committed to the assault. We may yet face incredible odds. Let''s not waste time then with pacing ourselves."


    Zan concurred and urged everyone forward, back in formation.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The remaining enemies continued their assault oblivious to the enemy force to their rear until it was too late.


    Whiskey''s Scouts punched tactical holes in any tough golem group they encountered while Jiehong blasted those holes. Flick. Flick -- goes the nimble the fly of an arrow, then the smash of Jiehong''s fist and axe. Seeing in action the scouts strategically target golem joints impressed Zan. They gave him insight into how best to slay a golem.


    After Jiehong punched the hole, It was up to Zan to deal with the stragglers while Whiskey dealt with any golems Zan missed.


    Zan, then, always had a golem to fight: if Jiehong and the Scouts cleared a path for them and took out a handy few while doing it, that only made Zan''s job harder since the value in the formation was in disrupting enemy formations. If Zan did not deal with the enemies at a time, they might reforge their defensive formations. If that happened, the battle would slow. Precious energy would need to be wasted in dealing with their renewed defense.


    "Jiehong! I need my breath!" Zan shouted and coughed.


    Jiehong and the scouts slowed their assault. "We''re at the final group now, anyway," Whiskey said. Jiehong! Pull back for a few moments. There is another platinum golem ahead and we need to be wise in dealing with it."


    Jiehong grunted but relented. Sweat rolled off his body sometimes sending small showers to the floor. Zan could not tell if the Scouts were exhausted. Whiskey was tired, Zan knew. Turning his attention back to his friend, Zan wondered if he had tussled himself into a blind battle rage? He had heard of it happening in the thick of battle. Village elders would speak of their military days and how men would turn ''frantic'' in the rage of war. He would keep an eye on Jiehong.


    Drinking from his water sieve, Zan ran out of water himself. The scouts shared with Whiskey. Though Zan suspected they too were out once they filled their thirst. Watching as an enemy wall -- or perhaps ''brick'' as Zan sometimes thought when he saw a phalanx of enemies approach -- Zan''s head raced with ideas. "Guys. How to deal with that plat-golem? I was thinking a smoke grenade. Then an actual grenade?"


    "I think a couple of smokes and a couple of regular grenades," Jiehong said. "Then I will use my ''earthshaker'' incantation to handle the rest."


    "Okay, let''s do it. Smoke on my cue, Jiehong!" Zan said, having his answer and so knowing it needed implementation.


    Jiehong and Zan each threw a smoke grenade when Zan counted to three. The smoke grenades clattered to a halt within the enemy formations and began to emit their cloud-like mist. By the time the smoke poured out, the boys, Zan and Jiehong, already had their shrapnel grenades flying through the air. Seeing an opening, Zan quickly shouted to the scouts, "Keep your eyes on the enemy! Once the grenades go off, rain down whatever you have on the platinum-golem!"


    With a mighty bang the grenades exploded.


    Then, having heard and understood Zan, the scouts let loose a flurry of arrows Zan did not know if they could actually spare. But spare they had! For the golem group survived the dual-explosion eruption. Not well but survived; pieces of automotrons were all throughout the hallway while certain pieces had gone as far as having been flung dangerously through the hallway, bouncing around like perverse puddy. Once the arrows rained down, targeting those suspected weak joints in the platinum-golem, the situation calmed. The arrows caused a certain part of the plat-golem to ''de-glove,'' so to speak, and cause its armored plating to slack off, falling to the ground with a clank. Zan finished the golem off by targeting its mechy-insides with a simple flame burst spell. Though the flame burst melted much of its insides and caused sparks to start other fires, the golem refused to die! "Argh! What in the fecking-feck?!" Zan yelled. Jiehong filled the gap and took the real killing blow. He tightly gripped his axe. Stepped forward. And with a single powerful swing, decapitated it. With its head and part of its magical core damaged, Jiehong took the final blow and thrust the blunted tip of his war-axe into the golem, causing it to burst wide open, its many component parts scattered to the winds. Finally. Their second encountered platinum golem was defeated.


    Huffing, puffing, desperate for air, Zan called out, "Everyone good?"


    With the enemies before them decommissioned, Zan as leader, approached the defending guards.


    The guards, on the verge of death themselves, with some of them looking little better than the bloodied remains of a slaughtered calf, asked of Zan, "Who the feck are you guys?"


    But Zan did not have an answer for them. He shrugged his shoulders and simply said, "We''re here to help. Now, where is the viceroy?"

 Chapter 117 (Villa Assault - 7)

    "Enter the main hall. It won''t be long before more automotrons arrive for another battle," the guards said, pulling open the tall double-doors leading into the secure space.


    "Are you guys going to be alright? Whiskey? Do you think we can afford leaving behind your two scouts to help defend the room?" Zan asked.


    Whiskey grunted. "Do you really think we can afford sending our allies to the winds?"


    Thinking it over, Zan said, "Probably not. But us being a single group is less impressive if our great hall is stormed and torn asunder..."


    "Ugh. Fine. Reluctantly, I will order my scouts to help reinforce the door, though I still am not sure about this," Whiskey said.


    "I know how you feel. We are worse for the wear. But we have a vital mission to complete. We''ve linked up with some allies, though. So, we have to keep ahead," Zan said.


    Ordering her two scouts behind, the guards expressed their gratitude and opened the way.


    Zan and Company thus entered a large room whose center was filled with people, Zan assumed the denizens of the villa. Surrounding the people, protecting them from threats, was a circular ring of spearmen, their tips ready.


    "Who is that, who?" a voice called out.


    "It is I, Zan of a contracted Martial Order! We have come to liberate the viceroy and bring them outside the confines of this besieged place!" Zan said, letting himself enter his formal mode of social interaction.


    "Oh, it is about time!" the voice replied. "Approach!"


    Watching as one of the spearmen lowered his weapon and held it at attention, with his free hand he urged Zan forward. Zan came and thus entered into the protected territory. Behind the spearmen, and through some huddled civilians praying for peace, Zan walked up to and kneeled before the viceroy. "Milord. I am Zan. My friends and battle-mates behind. We shouldn''t dawdle our breath. We must be away, now."


    Frantic, confused, Zan saw as the viceroy''s face shifted in mood a dozen times. "Yes. Lead the way, Zan. Take us away from this..."


    For the first time in his life, Zan was given free reign of a situation.


    Sizing the situation up, Zan considered the elements before him. He had to evacuate a good number of civilians while also giving extra protection to a noble. Looking at his map-in-miniature, a golden path highlighted the route Zan and Company took to get here. They would have to reverse their steps; simply returning the way they had come made the most sense. By now, Colonel Winters and his troops have secured the outside. If any more enemy force were nearby, they are not enough to turn the tide of the battle. Should all of the remaining enemy forced retreat their way into them, Zan considered -- not an unlikely possibility, he knew, judging from the pinch attack strategy Winters clearly intended -- then he might have problems. But Zan did not have the gift of premeditation. How the battle outside fared and where the enemy-in-retreat might flow to, Zan did not know. Therefore, he had to go with his gut. He had to take ease of time and variables into account, but he knew what he had to do: go the way they had come.


    "Sire, form your men into two groups: one group," Zan instructed, "will be our spear and rush down anything in our way. The second group will be at our backs, protecting the civilians from potential enemy ambushes. My team and I will direct aid where we can when we are needed. Sound good, sire?"


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Yes! Yes! Anything, please. Get us away from here, peasant boy!" the viceroy said.


    A lapse.


    Nothing more than a momentary lapse in the air current. Zan''s smile broke for seconds. He recovered, asked himself, ''why is my social status relevant?'' Then he beamed his smile. It was a service grin. Nothing more.


    Zan decided he would (temporarily) lead the tip as they returned to the same doorway they had come through. Going through, they picked up the door guards and Whiskey''s scouts. "How has it been?" Zan asked, holding the still forming battle group up. He had to ask, though. He had to know if the guards had seen any sight of a reforming enemy force. "No, nothing like that, but we have seen odd few golems attempt to charge us. They looked weird. Acted weird, too. We used up a lot of arrows at them but never decommissioned them. So, our arrows are stuck to their bodies, which means we don''t have many arrows left."


    "Not good," Jiehong said.


    "Not good at all," Zan agreed.


    Crap! Zan thought. More new golems? What --? No. Calm down. I have no control over the enemy forces. My route-reversal idea is still the best we have. Otherwise, we''ll be at the mercy of way too many automotron attacks as we evacuate the people. We have to go through the front. It is what we know and the only place in the villa large enough for everyone. Besides, if we come into danger, Winters will have an easier time rescuing us if we are near the front gates. That is where he is heading anyway!


    "Okay, guards, join where you wish on our column. Everyone! Our route remains the same! Spear tip!" Zan yelled, referring to the guardsmen who volunteered for what was likely to be the most battle-prone part of the maneuver.


    Groaning as he locked his bike pieces into place, a whirring sound letting Zan know it was operational, Zan drew his blade and pointed it toward the hallway. A surge of golems began to pour from several passages at the end of the mammoth great hall. "Charge! We keep the pace and our momentum! Run the enemy down!" Zan screamed as he urged his men forward and peddled hard on his bike, infusing an amount into it after he gained speed so he slam-rushed the front-facing row of click-clattering creations.


    [Magical Reserves Nearly Depleted: 10%] the System let him know. Only ten percent? Feck! Does pushing oneself physically, emotionally, maybe, even, somehow burn magic faster?


    As Zan expected, the miniscule amount of magic he infused into his war ride was enough to blast a hole clear through the multi-dozen strong brick of automotrons. ''The enemy is disoriented,'' Zan muttered to himself as he looked back to see the surviving golems fractured and unsure of their next tactical movement. The pathway they had taken to get to the great hall was just ahead. Zan, realizing something, had a sudden change of plans.


    Waiting for his team to catch up to him, Zan decommissioned a few of the basic model golems. Approaching the viceroy and his team, Zan said, "Guys. I have an idea. We leave the guards to escort the civilians while we take our return path. The enemy will be so focused on the bigger column they won''t even think of us discreetly removing the noble through this lesser path."


    "Wouldn''t this be condemning the men going with the civilians to death if they are overwhelmed by the enemy? Without us, they will have a lot less defensive and offensive power," Jiehong asked.


    "No! I love that idea! The peasant boy''s idea!" the viceroy said, suddenly sparking up. "I demand you implement it!"


    Jiehong looked at Zan without mercy. If eyes could burn!


    Staying cool, Zan said, "Remember, Jiehong: Colonel Winters is outside. He will meet the enemy at their backs and overwhelm any host which assaults them at the guardsmen''s front."


    "I guess..." Jiehong said, reluctantly.


    "If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for us. If we encounter trouble we can''t handle, we''re fecked. You think Winters is going to divert his forces to help little old us?"


    "Of course, Colonel Winters would divert forces to help us. This operation is us," Whiskey said.


    "Enough!" the viceroy yelled. "Take me from this place! How many times do I have to say it?!"


    "Fine... guys," Zan said to the guardsmen. "Our strategy remains the same. My private detail will personally escort our precious noble to safety. Colonel Winters and his volunteer force is outside, locked in pitch battle with the enemy. Hook up with them and crush the enemy!"

 Chapter 118 (Villa Assault - 8)

    By ourselves once again, Zan thought to himself, as it was back to, he, Jiehong, Whiskey, and Whiskey''s Scouts, Pim and Who-else. Zan wished against luck to not run into trouble...


    He had been checking his Status window more lately. It was an informational part of his so-called ''Heads-up-Display,'' which displayed health, energy, and magical use information about his allies. Everyone was running on rusty steam. Zan knew they had to get out from this battle and fast.


    Coming up on gods-blessingly-few automotrons as Zan and Company (plus Viceroy in tow) blazed a path through the back passages where they had come. Consulting his map-in-miniature every few seconds, Zan ran at full speed and he, at times, dragged the viceroy by the arm; behind or ahead, Zan didn''t care where he shoved the viceroy as he and his friends sped through the halls at a breakneck speed, sometimes nearly overshooting their path.


    ''Need water,'' Zan said, more as a prayer than a statement.


    "Okay. We''re here!" Zan said, gasping for breath as they finally came to a stop before the rotating platform of the siege engine elevator which... Zan had thought they deactivated on the way in because the golems operating it had been ''decommed.'' Or ''Decommissioned.''


    Looking at the ground below, Zan and Company saw a large host of golems. How long had it taken them to assemble like so?


    "They''re nearly ready to storm!" Whiskey said.


    What were they to do? Zan wondered. His brain turned volcanic while he thought of a solution, ideas bubbled in his head, thesis rising like hot air, only to burst and give rise to air-cooled ideas of pure magma-gold.


    "How''s this?" Zan said, abruptly, his idea ready to be shared. "We lay down and die?"


    "So dramatic," Jiehong said, rolling his eyes.


    "Well -- I''m fecking sorry, Jie! I don''t know what to do when my companions ask such obvious questions. We fight our way through -- duh! How about we lob our remaining grenades at them and then use our smoke grenades to mask our push. We lay the hurt on, put out more smoke, then run like devils to wherever has the least number of golems?!"


    "You know, Zan?! WHATEVER!" Jiehong screamed back as he and Zan tossed their final explosives.


    "Save it for later, boys!" Whiskey yelled. "Firing final arrows now," Whiskey said. How many arrows did she have? Zan would have to find out later.


    Zan and the rest stepped on the moving platform leading down. All except Jiehong.


    "You coming?" Whiskey asked.


    "I have a different plan! I am feeling it in my bones. I have to do this!" Jiehong said.


    By now, Zan was feeling worried for Jiehong. "What are you doing?" he yelled.


    Jiehong stood his ground, hunched over, his fists in a ball. He was groaning. Screaming? He looked to be gathering himself or energy; of course, it couldn''t be magic since the Slipstream had long since faded. Jiehong continued to pump himself up. Then, before anyone could say anything, got a running head start and leaped from the villa wall straight forward into the enemy.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    As the platform descended, and while Jiehong leaped, Zan saw Jiehong''s stomach glow with the radiance he had felt in himself during the labor camp raid. He saw a powerful light shine from Jiehong''s belly, so he knew his crystal-entity must be worked up to oblivion and back. Before the platform was even half-way down, Jiehong smashed into the enemy and made them suffer. His body sent shockwaves through the field, sending up tufts and gouges of matter as rock and ground shifted from its forever home.


    "Darn-crap!" Whiskey swore indistinctly.


    Zan saw what she meant. Jiehong''s assault was beyond compare. Zan watched as Jiehong used the deeper magic of the crystal-entity to his advantage. When he flung his axe, the curve of magic allowed it to act as a boomerang. Off, it went, twirling and spinning through the air chopping at automotrons like they were mud cakes. Normally, Zan would have been tempted to say something like, ''save some for me!'' or ''I can''t let you have all the fun!'' Considering how tired he was and how he did not care about who dealt with the invaders, he let Jiehong have at it. When he and Whiskey and the Scouts reached the ground, they stepped off the platform only for Zan to say, "Better leave him be. We would only be in the way..."


    Looking at Jiehong as his brutal combat brought the enemy mass to heel, Zan would have been comfortable in letting his friend overpower himself on his implanted crystal-entity. He remembered the power he felt back during the labor camp raid. It felt incredible. Like pure power... Jiehong deserved to feel such power; if nothing else, it would give him an idea of what he should work toward. And Zan was tired. So, why not let Jiehong go at it while he caught his breath? He was nearly done anyway.


    Watching Jiehong lay the enemy to waste, Zan reassured the noble he was in good hands and how they were nearly free of the battle.


    "Once Jiehong clears us a path, where do we go?" Zan asked Whiskey while also consulting his map.


    Zan had the route they had taken from the camp to the villa. He figured they could return the way they had come. But with the chaos in full flow, he wanted to get his team''s opinion on it. Gazing across the lands outside the villa, he saw only smoldering wreckage. Destroyed, burned golems. He heard the far away cackle of battle, of blade on oak. Winters must be joining battle with the enemy near the front gate.


    ''Wait...'' Zan said to himself. ''If Winters is battling the enemy at the front gates, then who is at our back?''


    Zan asked himself this while Whiskey picked up on the same element Zan picked up on: "I do not know, Zan. Are my eyes deceiving me or are those automotrons blocking our route?"


    "I thought I saw that, too!" Zan said. "Let me look through my lens real quick."


    Pulling out his lens and unfurling it, Zan took a look. What he saw was unmistakable. Golems.


    And a lot of them.


    "How, who?" Zan sputtered.


    "Okay... this effects more than us," Whiskey said. "That is our entire camp. If the enemy has occupied it, now what?"


    Swearing like a sailor, Zan wished he had another echo-beetle. Wait... did he?


    Attempting to gather his focus and pop out another beetle, Zan tried and failed. When his physicality failed, he tried mental conditioning. That failed too. All options except for asking drained, Zan said, "Echo-beetle: go to Colonel Winters!"


    The System said nothing except "Redirecting Jiehong Bettle."


    ''Okay. That''s something, anyway,'' Zan said.


    Giving Whiskey an update, Zan said, "I''ve redirected Jiehong''s beetle to Colonel Winters. Once it makes contact with him we can let him know of the situation. I am going to guess this, though -- we need to run!"


    "Jiehong! Jiehong!" Zan yelled. He had to get his buddy''s attention. Help pull him out of this ''Shining'' mode, as one of the Wardens had called Zan''s state when he was experiencing what Jiehong was going through now. Zan knew nothing about the condition of ''Shining,'' though, so he had little prospects for actually helping his friend.


    "He''s not listening. Battle lust had ensnared him," Whiskey said.


    "Maybe he is just not listening to us...?" Zan wondered aloud, hoping Jiehong''s extreme state was not going to present problems for them.


    "Whiskey. I am going to redirect your beetle as well. Then when it''s by Jiehong''s ear, I will yell into it. If that doesn''t get his attention, then nothing will!"


    "ZAN!" Whiskey said. "He is with the battle fury! Nothing we saw will change his--"


    Whiskey couldn''t finish her words.


    Over the ridge, just before the gentle hill leading to the allied encampment now overrun, emerged a figure.

 Chapter 119 (Villa Assault - 9)

    "Who is that?" Zan wondered aloud.


    "I dunno..." Whiskey said, taking out her seeing lens. Zan did the same.


    Seeing the figure with more detail, Zan felt shivers course through his body. The figure wore a strange mask and saw itself cloaked oddly.


    The figure approached Jiehong. A flash and Jiehong flew through the air, not stopping until he slammed into a tree.


    "We have to go!" Zan shouted, already moving to assemble his bike. "Whiskey. Ride on my back seat?"


    Whiskey looked at Zan''s so-called ''back seat.'' It was hardly anything. "I will approach with my scouts. But I should check on Jiehong, first. Once I tend to Jiehong''s wounds, and any other effects which might be lingering from the battle lust state. I doubt it will be much, but I will do what I can. Meanwhile, lead the way! If this new figure is an enemy of ours, I will help you confront them."


    Zan didn''t argue. He kicked his stand and peddled hard, practically running in place on the bike. Using another amount of magical energy, he arrived before the cloaked and masked figure.


    "Stop!" Zan shouted. "Who are you and why did you attack me friend, Jiehong? Are you an agent or mercenary employed by the New Woodland Expanse?!"


    The figure regarded Zan.


    What is he doing? Zan thought. He is just staring at me. Like I was a book in a library...


    Having enough of the non-encounter, Zan reiterated, "Why did you attack my friend just now?"


    This time, the figure took a step toward Zan. Though only a step.


    "And who are you?" the figure spoke suddenly. The newcomer''s voice sounded strange, like some weird machine might be in use to mask his real tone. Zan thought his enunciation was vitaminic, however.


    "I am Zan of... here, I guess. Or, not here, but the next province over," Zan stated.


    "You are a peasant?" the figure asked.


    "A free one, yes."


    "A free peasant? What does that even mean?!" the voice stressed the final word. Whoever this guy was, he really did not know about the dynamics of the country he was helping to invade.


    Although Zan wanted to tell all about what it meant, how the history of the land when combined with the forward-looking philosophy of the King, united to create a historical rupture in theory the likes of which had never before been seen. Unfortunately, Zan couldn''t say any such thing, because he did not understand any about his country''s history or the philosophy of its monarch. He was un-educated in the way of the world. So, he would only shrug his shoulders in response.


    "Interesting..." the figure said. Then, changing tone to a sterner sounding accent, the figure said, "I will be taking the noble now, if you don''t mind."


    Zan did not have the time to even defend himself, let alone muster a verbal response, when the figure held his hand up and shot at Zan the same ''flash'' attack which incapacitated a raging Jiehong.


    Flying back, whether by luck or misfortune, Zan smashed into the ground at a safer angle than Jiehong''s rushed acquaintanceship with the tree.


    Though in pain, Zan managed to stand. He knew his body armors, his shirt and pants, took most of the hurt, with his headset wires, encasing his head, acting like the helmet Zan desperately needed. If it wasn''t for this headset, I might be dead, Zan reflected as he forced himself to stand. Zan drew his sword and charged the enemy.


    Charging at the figure, Zan got lucky. The enemy apparently was not accustomed to his victims getting up after being blasted with that offensive light, so Zan''s charge caught him off-guard. Though Zan''s rushed blade attacks were evaded, the figure tripped himself on his fancy footing and fell over on his back. Maybe he isn''t the most experienced field wise? Zan wondered. Surprised at the new enemy''s lack of coordination.


    Back the figure proved himself a capable fighter.


    He pulled himself up as if by magic and was on his feet before Zan could manage a non-lethal but still wholly incapacitating blow, such as to a shoulder or hand or foot. Those were the vitals in mano-a-mano encounters between two sentient, gods-fearing warriors.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Cursing himself, Zan chided his awkwardness at these one-on-one duals, not that he had ever done one before, but still. Had he been slightly more coordinated himself; then, he might have been able to score the finishing blow and knick-away the figure''s foot or arm. Alas, it was not to be. Zan now had to face down this foe with his some of his limited resources already squandered. And he only had himself to blame.


    Facing the figure, Zan had another out. Speech: "We don''t have to fight. What''s your name?"


    When Zan finished speaking his adversary had already removed his sword and risen his blade to strike Zan. Hearing Zan speak of an alternative, though, filled the figure with an unknown quality he hadn''t expected to meet on the battlefield. "My name?" the figure asked. "What is it to you?"


    "Nothing, I suppose. Thought it might be nice to know the name of the man I will be fighting."


    The figure regarded Zan again, this time more actively sizing Zan up as a threat. Zan could tell that was what the figure was doing as his body language spoke to him careening his neck to better see all of Zan''s limits. Finally, he said, "It won''t change anything. It won''t change your fate. Your country''s fate. My name, however? Call me Mentality."


    "What?" Zan said before he had time to censor himself. "Is that like a codename or something?"


    Then came the awkward silence.


    "Yeah... something like that," the figure who wanted to be called ''Mentality'' said to Zan.


    "Okay. Fine, I guess. Weird name though..."


    Opting to try and blast Zan with more of his violent light, Zan dived his way to safety upon realizing Mentality''s outstretched hand was readying an attack. "What gives, Bruh?!" Zan shouted. "I thought we were getting somewhere!"


    As suddenly as the light blasts started, they ended. Mentality seemed again disoriented. Barely hearing him from across their divide, Zan thought he heard the Figure Known as Mentality say, "How did he know...?" But wasn''t certain.


    "I''m not letting you take the viceroy!" Zan said, charging again at Mentality.


    Holding his sword with both his hands, Zan intended to run his blade through the man''s spirit. Such a move wasn''t lethal. Though it would wholly render Mentality incapable of moving, thinking, or doing anything more than drooling and soiling himself. The trick was stopping the right distance before the blade would strike flesh; the idea was that since the attack channeled all of a person''s magical energy into the tip of a physical sword, one would be able to use spiritual energy roughly as an extension of the sword. Therefore, if the attacker stopped his charge at just the right distance, wielded his weapon in the manner which the warrior needed it to be wielded, then came to a stop just before the weapon would connect, then the spirit took over and detached from the sword, irradiating the target in a hue of pure magic.


    Pure magic was a rare phenomenon. Also toxic to any gods-fearing Life Forms. It would never kill, but exposure remained highly unpleasant.


    Skidding to a halt and jabbing his sword forward, the moment his feet skid, Zan thrust his sword fully ahead. The blade''s tip did not flare.


    ''Crap!'' Zan cursed. ''Did I not have enough magic?'' Of course, it was him being low on magic. What else could have prevent the attack from connecting? ''Inexperience in martial techniques?'' Zan answered his own question. ''In short, there is a lot holding me back, so anything could have been why that attack didn''t connect...''


    "That it?" Mentality said. Outstretching his hand, Mentality shot at Zan several more blasts of energy. Staying ahead of the curve by tracking Mentality''s hand, Zan managed to dodge every blast, though barely.


    Cursing while he dodged, Zan wondered how he was going to handle this -- until Whiskey came his way.


    Whiskey entered the battle with a bang. She shot at Mentality her own offensive attacks -- ice instead of flame, another common offensive magic -- forcing Mentality to either dodge or become frozen. Zan thought, perhaps, Whiskey was trying to literally freeze Mentality?


    Not wanting Whiskey to fight the newcomer all by herself, Zan rejoined the fight.


    Charging in for a melee attack, Zan hoped to find his blade purchase in the usual places on Mentality''s body. Yet he proved fleet-footed and dodged every blade. Deciding his sword would get him nowhere, Zan sheathed his weapon and resumed his encounter with his muscle.


    Right away, Zan''s fist made contact with Mentality.


    ''Should''ve known,'' Zan cussed to himself. ''Newcomer is adept in short-range combat but not the physical artes. I can use this to me advantage.''


    And Zan did use it to his advantage. Once his fist connected, Mentality lost his footing and again fell over backward. As he fell, Mentality spat venom at Zan -- not literal venom, but verbal curses. Zan was accustomed to curses by now, though, so swearing did not take him aback.


    "Whiskey! Freeze him, now!" Zan shouted as Mentality attempted to return to his feet.


    Whiskey appeared to act on instinct. "What, freeze?" she said, but still incanted a brief freezing spell. Nothing fancy. Even Zan recognized the spell as an elementary ''frost bite.'' Not uncommon to see used in villages the world over by low class to keep their foodstuff cold.


    Mentality returned to his feet. By then, Whiskey''s spell had taken effect. Aiming the spell at his legs, the magical frost threatened to root Mentality in place if he did not generate enough counter-heat to thaw himself. Would he be able to thaw himself? Zan knew that would be up to the many variables which might, or might not, be in play; how much this ''Mentality'' knew about matters, Zan and Whiskey could only wait and see.


    As expected, Mentality broke himself free of the icy embrace. He touched his hands to his legs and channeled some heated energy from his magic.


    Before Mentality freed himself, Zan made a bold move. Realizing Mentality would be free in mere moments, Zan threw himself -- literally -- at Mentality. Whoever this guy was, Zan was sure he wasn''t so overpowered as to be a mortal threat. He would take the risk and pummel him in the meantime, if the Gods were willing.

 Chapter 120 (Villa Assault - 10)

    The gods were willing!


    Zan actually saw Mentality''s eyes bulge through his mask as he saw Zan plow into him chest-first. Stopped mid-thaw, Mentality fell on his back, Zan on top of him, punching the man''s masked face. Not bothering to use magic while he assaulted the man, Zan didn''t want to risk overpowering and potentially killing Mentality, despite his antagonistic nature. Killing was not in Zan''s blood; not human, anyway. Animals for food, but that was it.


    Whacking away on Mentality, Zan felt the man''s mask absorb most of his hits. So, he didn''t let up with his assault.


    "Come on! Whiskey!" Zan yelled.


    While Zan was busy pounding away at Mentality, Whiskey temporarily froze in place, surprised at Zan''s sudden change of tactic. Hearing Zan''s cry to continue to help, Whiskey snapped herself out of the momentary reverie and resumed casting her freezing magic.


    Zan switched his assault from punches to attempts at holding Mentality down. But to Mentality''s credit, even under assault, he remained composed. He took the blows. He tried to squirm away from Zan''s assault as if each punch was merely a mosquito pecking at his skin. Which is why Zan attempted to channel freezing magic of his own as he attempted to hold Mentality to the ground. Although Zan felt some chills enter the space between he and Mentality, which, to be fair, was little space, it was not enough for Zan to fiddle away his final sum of magical energy.


    Leaning all his weight into Mentality, Zan did not pull his weight at all. Keeping Mentality''s arms bound and above his head, while their feet had a kicking war, Zan urged Whiskey''s freezing magic onward to help slow down Mentality''s struggle. "Help me hold him down!" Zan said, struggling for words as he struggled physically with their enemy.


    "No!" Whiskey replied. "If I help you hold him down while I am chanting an incantation, it will degrade the quality of the spell while also exposing him, and you, to a high concentration of pure magic. We can''t take the risk of you becoming sick!"


    "Damn it!" Zan said, continuing to grasp and hold on to Mentality.


    "Want an out? Let me go, give me the minister, and I will leave you alone!" Mentality spat at Zan, talking for the first time in a while.


    "That ain''t happening!" Zan replied.


    "Why not?! What has this noble done for you?!"


    "Nothing! But I agreed to help evacuate him from his stupid manor home! I can''t go back on a contract!" Zan said, using the word ''contract'' to sound more professional than feared he actually was.


    "Bulllshet! Push or shove, if it were down to it, you would pick your own life over the life of this random aristocrat. Admit it!"


    "Whatever, dude! I admit it! I would likely give him to you then, but you aren''t going to kill me! It''s against nature and nurture. And the gods! Besides, you aren''t in any condition to pose hypotheticals, especially not with your teeth chattering!"


    "Oh? Just watch!" Mentality said, who, at that moment, summoned strength within him Zan hadn''t yet seen, and curled upon himself like a turtle. Energy, magic, both? Exploded out from Mentality like a volcanic eruption. Zan flew from Mentality and landed hard on his back.


    Scrambling back up, disoriented, Zan tried to call out for Whiskey. "Are you safe?"


    Where was everything? "Zan!" A voice called out. Zan tried to follow Whiskey''s voice, but the world spun and spun more ferociously with every step.


    Plopping on his knees in front of Whiskey, not even knowing how he found her, unless it were by pure luck, Zan placed his hand on her to see if she was unhurt. "Don''t worry about me! Worry about the fat-cat!" Whiskey snarled.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Whiskey attempted to direct Zan toward where Mentality had gone after his surprise attack. Grasping, touching, pointing, Whiskey pushed Zan in the direction of Mentality, back near the siege tower, approaching the viceroy they had assignment to protect.


    Stumbling toward Mentality and the terrified noble, Zan wondered if he should try and use the last of his magics to channel a ''sweeping fire'' attack. No. I might hit the noble. Zan thought as he continued to stumble toward his foe and noble.


    "Get off him!" Zan shouted. Drawing his knife, Zan entered what he fancied as a combat stance.


    "You just won''t quit, eh kid?" Mentality said.


    "Like you?" Zan eyed Mentality, hoping to goad him into revealing more about himself. But Mentality didn''t take the bait.


    "Never --!" Mentality shouted while gathering mana into his hand and firing it like it was a cannon.


    Zan acted fast and channeled his remaining magic into a defensive pool. Mentality''s beam hit Zan at the exact moment his mana shield formed, thus negating the blast.


    Yet this only gave Zan breathing room for a second. Two, maybe, if Mentality expected that beam to take him out of combat. Surprise was only a single-second, yet it made all the difference.


    Before the dust cleared, Zan was through the bilious cloud which formed in the wake of Mentality''s assault. Swinging his satchel bag like a chain-and-frail, Zan threw the bag at Mentality''s feet, entangling them and causing Mentality to fall. This gave the noble time to run away; unfortunately, for the noble, there were few places where he could hide as by now, the newly emerged automotron force, were nearly upon them. "Stay back, my liege!" Zan said to the noble as a quasi-command.


    Turning again to Mentality, Zan approached, but his claim to victory was short-lived.


    Not even mere seconds had eloped before Mentality -- through the aid of an unknown device or force -- levitated into the air, his entangled feet kicking away at the wrapped-around satchel still encasing his legs.


    Mentality''s sudden empowerment forced Zan to do a double-take. His new floating ability came out of nowhere. Zan stumbled on his feet as he came to terms with an enemy who could float. ''How am I going to do this, now?'' Zan asked himself as Mentality finally kicked himself free of the satchel.


    "Such an inglorious creature, to think, such a pathetic attempt to claim victory. You think I can be overcome with a mere piece of luggage?!" Mentality shouted as he accelerated and slammed into Zan chest first.


    Despite the quality of his fairy silk armor, all the air swept from Zan''s lungs, and he fell to the ground. Gasping, he clutched at the ground, hoping to somewhere find sky in the earth. Where did Mentality go? Zan thought. He wanted to search, but Zan couldn''t even turn his head. He remained in the dirt, grasping his lungs, recovering. Zan hoped whatever attack came at him next, he could bare.


    Questions about how much he could endure, however, were never left unanswered long.


    Feeling a sharp pain to his sides, Zan felt sharp kicks or punches, or something jab into him repeatedly. ''What is Mentality doing?! It feels like he''s jumping around and kicking me!''


    "Lay your hands off him!" Zan heard Whiskey shout.


    A swiping of metal on air; tufts of grass moving; footsteps.


    Whiskey helped Zan to his feet. Breathing in deeply, slowly exhaling, breathing in again... Zan felt better. Some healing auras from Whiskey''s basic healing practice helped as well. [Team Magical Reserves Depleted] A System notification let Zan know. ''That makes it official, then. If we don''t end this soon, we are done for.'' Zan steadied himself and looked to Mentality, who was between the noble and them.


    "Both of you need to learn your place!" Mentality snarled. "I''m not wasting any more time on you!"


    Mentality then flew at full speed toward the noble -- even faster than when he slammed into Zan -- and caught the viceroy in his arms. He didn''t stick around, either. Mentality then was about to leave the battlefield, flying around like some kind of human-bird hybrid, when a burst of light, likely magical in its composition, blinded everyone.


    The light burst caused Mentality to careen into the field. He flung the noble moments before impact, which allow the viceroy to roll to safety, rattled and bruised though he would be. Instantaneously as it arrived, the light faded. Colonel Winters and his men came from behind the light. A horse rider collected the noble while Winters rode to Zan, keeping his eye on Mentality, though he had no idea who this newcomer fighting on the side of the Expanse truly was.


    "I came as soon as I could... fierce fighting at the main gates. My men are exhausted. We''ve completed our objective. The viceroy is with us. But as you can tell, that is the least of our problems right now. This golem force -- where did it comes from; did you see perchance?"


    Zan could only show the captain a show of letdown. "Sorry. Too busy with my own survival."


    "No, it is fine. We all were caught with our pants down. Our way back is shot. The enemy has overrun our campsite and likely the path to our home province. We have no choice but to continue deeper into this province."

 Chapter 121

    Dwelling on Winters words, Zan felt them writhe upon his mind like a fungal infection. "Deeper? If we survive, it will be by too slim margins."


    "Sure, it will, boy. But so is every day. What else do we have?"


    Figuring him true and knowing they had too many foes snapping at their heels to disagree for long, Zan knew he had to start making the big pulls, pushing himself to the absolute limits. All to survive.


    Mentality was on his feet but struggling with temporary blindness. Zan did not think he would be a credible threat until he recovered. But with swarms of golems lumbering around, what was he to do?


    Pressing his earpiece for the Screen Master, Zan spoke to the Warden, asking for help.


    Giving a response, Simulacrum said, "Your situation is dire. Command Center echoes are locating thousands of golems storming your position. Abandon hope of reclaiming the path taken to arrive in this province. My sensor-echos are now picking up a new part of the enemy host, it seems the force has not fully taken to the battlefield. Do not give up hope, however. There is a small gap to your northwest. Marshal your forces for a charge and you should pass through this pass before the enemy host claims the field."


    Thanking the Screen Master, Zan had him explain where this pass was in detail. He then relayed these details to Colonel Winters, who upon hearing about the pass, knew exactly where it was and whipped his host into a frenzy.


    "Forget about that fella over there," Winters told Zan about the figure Zan knew as Mentality. "Grab your unconscious friend and get moving! We''re making a straight bee for it, got it?"


    "Yes sir! Will do!" Zan shouted, unfurling his bike and going to collect Jiehong.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Damn you... you... peasant boy!" Mentality screamed somewhere close.


    Ignoring Mentality, Zan came up to Jiehong. He was awake, but barely. He would need help after coming down from his ''Shining'' state.


    "Whiskey, defend us, please!" Zan said while he tended to Jiehong.


    "Fine!" Whiskey assented and drew her weapon with great annoyance as golems came within striking range. It was amazing, Zan thought, for how long automotrons could be such a non-problem even in their thousands, until they came close enough to grab you, that is. Then they became a problem.


    "Come on, bud! Snap out of it. Wake up and walk, buddy! Come on!" Zan said to Jiehong as he, with great physical effort, and with the aid of Whiskey''s Scouts, helped Jiehong stand.


    Whistling, Whiskey''s horse had come to her, the horse clearly never having left the vicinity of the battle throughout its duration. Whiskey heaved Jiehong atop the horse''s back while the creature kneeled. Carefully, the horse rose with Jiehong and Whiskey as its masters.


    Quickly snapping into place the parts of his battle-bike, Zan patted the horse to signal it to heave and to follow Colonel Winters. Whiskey knew where they were going. "Are you sure you''ll be able to keep up, Zan?" Whiskey asked, concern in her voice evident.


    "I should be fine..." Zan said without much conviction.


    "Gods, Zan. You look like shet. Here, eat this --" Winters said, thrusting something into Zan''s hands. A piece of bread?


    "I made it myself Fortified it with vitamins and energy weeds. It isn''t anything more than a protein snack, but it might help you pull through until we escape. Or until another rider can pick you up; I would carry you," Winters said, but pointing to his saddle only having space for him, he said it would be awkward.


    "Also, you''re back. With your men. Okay. We''re not stopping until we''re home free, right?" Zan asked of the Colonel.


    "That''s the idea, lad," Winters confirmed. "You really fine with the bike?"


    Zan was fine with biking. It wasn''t ideal, but the bikes moved fast, far faster than running, and with very little initial effort put in to build up to speed. Biking wasn''t as fast as horse riding, sure, but he was hardly a straggler. Zan chowed away on the protein snack and thanked Winters.


    "Yeah. I''ll be fine. If I fall behind, just send a scout back to help me out of my mess, yeah?" Zan replied.


    Winters, with a grave look on his face said, "Lad. I asked if you''re ready because if you''re not, then you will likely die out here. I can''t afford to send anyone after you. I will ask you again. Are you ready?"

 Chapter 122

    As an answer, Zan kicked up his bike''s stand, and like the chilliest of the cool kids, launched himself into the horizon, peddling hard to reach the pass alongside the loyalist regular. What Colonel Winters said, how he couldn''t afford anyone to go back and save him should things go awry... it lit a fire in Zan''s heart to not die harder than ever before. He didn''t know if he had entered the ''Shining'' state, as he had at the conclusion of the labor camp raid, but he sure felt irradiated with purpose.


    His heart throbbed. Pounding his soul. He had to keep up. If I don''t, I will be overwhelmed and killed by the enemy''s sheer force. I have to keep up.


    Zan rode hard. He was thankful for the smooth plains terrain which made peddling as easy as it could be for a youth to power-bike through. Latently, after a determined period of time where Zan''s one focus was to peddle and outpace the vast, blob-like shade of the enemy host. That is all I have to do, is outrun the living shadow. If I don''t get swept under the wooden shadow covering the land, then I will survive. I will successfully retreat after finishing my objectives. Intrusion of a new enemy or not, Zan and Winters would be in great shape, strategically speaking, if they fled into the pass.


    Zan heard to his back the never-ending crunch of the earth under the feet of the horses. Already, the horse riders are catching up to me.


    Focusing harder than ever on the vague strip of the horizon, which was his objective, Zan gained, suddenly, a System notification: [Objective Marked on HUD Display].


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    A bright sun-like orb colored by a dimming ratio, occupied an aspect of the forward sky. Next to the orb was a distance indicator which ran down the closer Zan came to his destination.


    With more riders passing Zan by the second, the more useful the headset''s ability to mark his destination became. If Zan encountered an obstacle which the riders easily trampled over due to their creature''s ease of burden, Zan could spend a moment trouble shooting which direction he should go for an obstacle. If he hit too many obstacles, he simply reversed course and built a new path over the impediment. In his fly-of-the-moment attitude, Zan overcame many adverse riding conditions. He went about his task so methodically, he forgot for a moment that the further the riders got from him, and the more his destination remained a big number on his destination indicator, the closer he got to death.


    While Zan rode, he felt himself abstract further from the world he knew. He felt lightheaded. He felt... dizzy and strange, like his mind was slowly creaking open to welcome an uninvited chamber guest. What''s happening to me? Zan asked, panting.


    Although Zan did not lose sight of his destination and continued to peddle hard, he felt a disconnect between his thinking-self and physical, laboring-self. Almost as though he had disassociated and was seeing himself through another''s lens. The faraway trees looked somehow even further away, like darkly tinged pricks on some infinite rind. Overhead, the sky cheered for itself as a celebration, but every sound moved slowly, like a slug moving through a salted molasses.


    "Can you hear me?" a voice asked Zan.


    Who is it? Zan''s thinking-self asked.


    "It is I, Mentality..."

 Chapter 123

    His heart and essence of existence froze. It was like a god had painted a picture of reality at that moment and the picture was Zan hearing Mentality''s voice. "How is this possible?" Zan asked, his voice shaking but holding (mostly) firm.


    "Why protect that noble?" Mentality asked, his voice grating like shaving bark.


    Still riding on his bike, all Zan saw and felt in slow motion. The sunlight felt thinner somehow. What was happening?


    "Because he is a countryman. A noble. He is worth protecting in a time of war..." Zan replied to Mentality, being honest.


    "He is a countryman. Really? Do you know anything about him? Tell the truth."


    Zan wanted to lie and say he knew much about the noble. He wanted to say how the viceroy was a good man who never abused his power. Zan couldn''t say any of that, however. He knew the noble only as a stranger.


    "I don''t need to know anything about him to know he is one of us! Someone who will fight against the invasion and people like you!"


    "People like me? What do you know about me?"


    "Nothing," Came out of Zan''s mouth before he could stop it.


    "Exactly. Nothing."


    "I know one thing," Zan said, barely a whisper.


    "Oh? You do know a single little thing? What is it?"


    "I know you are choosing to participate in a hostile takeover of another land. That must mean you are a person with some growth to yet do."


    Silence reigned for long enough for Zan feel as though Mentality had severed the connection. He knew the connection remained, however, due to the state of how he felt the world. It still felt elongated, weird, and too thick for his liking.


    "I still have some growth to do?" Mentality asked, as a snake would ask. "You will just have to be the judge of that, then. Won''t you? Little Zan."


    That was when the connection ended.


    Zan felt the cooling air of the normal world upon his skin once again. Wherever or whatever happened to him as he biked, it was done now. Mentality was out of his head, and he could focus once more on reaching his destination.


    Speaking of! The pass was nearly in front of him!


    How long had I been out? Zan asked himself but to no avail. The sun still looked fairly high in the sky despite what Zan thought was the late hour. And he still had some ground to cover before he came upon the pass. Zan estimated he had ''lost,'' so to speak, a couple of hours or time. Which didn''t make sense... the conversation he had with Mentality, whose point he still had no found, had not lasted a couple of hours. He did not feel as though he had been away and biking for two hours while the conversation played in his head. It just wasn''t possible!


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    And yet, what could Zan say to the contrary? The sun was where it was in the sky, he had a conversation in his head, and he was close to the pass.


    In the distance ahead, Zan saw Colonel Winters and his men.


    They are so far away, though, Zan told himself. If I had more magic, this wouldn''t be an issue. True or not, Zan had no magic and had usefully depleted his sum during the villa battle. If he expected to survive, he would need to catch up to the colonel''s men. But how?


    Stopping his non-stop peddling, Zan observed his surroundings while guzzling down fresh air.


    With adrenaline pumping through his system Zan could keep his eyes awake. Inside his belly, he felt the sharp movements of the crystalline parasite he had shoved into his body all those weeks -- months? -- ago began moving with a power Zan hadn''t felt since his first activation of the Shining power. No, calm down, Zan willed the parasite.


    He couldn''t afford having another instance of the parasite taking over. Though the last time the parasite took over Zan remembered being in control, it was a barely controlled ''control,'' if that made sense. He remembered the command of power and how it came with a pulling whisper in the back of his consciousness. Was it strong? Was it something he necessarily remembered at the time? No... but he was thinking of it now and how alien he had felt.


    He didn''t want that again, not until he had more training on how to use this Shining power.


    Zan observed his location.


    Ahead: colonel Winters and his trampling men. By the looks of it, he and his men recently cleared the pass. Good. Since Zan did not hear of any issue via the echo-beetles, he assumed they passed without further incident.


    Behind: the villa in flames, why the automotrons would set it aflame, I did not know. Surely, it was more worthwhile as an already built command post. Zan saw no reason for them to destroy it. Regardless, that is what they did.


    His sides: the enemy force moving in through the means of troop transport. If it were only the golems themselves pursuing Zan, he wouldn''t be worrying. He could easily out bike ponderous golems. Troop transports? Another story. His efforts blessed him, Zan knew, though. The closest troop transport was maybe ten minutes away. Maybe. Zan told himself he should count his lucky stars even the troop transports are on the slow side.


    Where he needed to go: through the pass just ahead. the way looked clear. No golem swarms or odd numbers of troop transports. So why wasn''t he moving?!


    Answering his own question, Zan continued huffing while observing the land. His stomach growled violently. He pawed in his belongings for any quick, energizing foodstuffs. He found none albeit he did find his own resolution to include more rations for the future -- should he survive this.


    With nothing on him and minutes of precious time already wasted by Zan overly observing his surroundings, he forced himself back on the bike.


    To the sky: the clouds were darkening. A storm? Here of all places?


    Heading forward, Zan tried his best to not think of the clouds or the ever-approaching enemy at his back and sides and everywhere, really. His destination was the pass. Then, the only thing he would have to worry about would just be overhanging arches of earth.


    But Zan had a problem. Once he surveyed his surroundings, he had no more hope than when he begun. His only path was ahead, through the pass. Enemy troops mustered everywhere else; how such a large force surprised them took Zan for a loop. When the day had begun, it was them surprising the automotron force. Now, they were in a total route. Even if Zan made it through the pass, what if no allies slowed for him or came back once free of the danger? Could he make it by himself?

 Chapter 124

    Zan wondered these thoughts and more while he pushed his feet one in front of the other. He blocked out his lethargy, he blocked his tiredness, and his pain in his feet. Mechanically, Zan peddled. He didn''t think about the weight bearing down on his leg with each cycle of the peddle; he didn''t think about the sweat rolling from his skin; he didn''t even think of how labored his lungs seemed, heavy with wet, humid air. He only focused on what lie ahead. He only focused on making progress. Zan concentrated on nothing else except his system icon telling him how far away he was from clearing the pass.


    All Zan''s focus paid off.


    By the time he became aware again of his surroundings he saw he was halfway through the pass.


    Thinking on it, Zan remembered when he crossed over from the field to the barren rock of the pass. His tires hit smooth. No soft earth. Hard. But Bumpy and Consistent.


    Glancing back, the enemy force continued its pursuit. Zan had to wonder: where they giving chase to him or Colonel Winters?


    Straining his body to look, Zan looked for the colonel. He found only a tuft of dust in the horizon. A tuft he had to view through his seeing lens. If colonel Winters and his men were so far away, why was the enemy still sending their forces at him? Surely, they weren''t pursuing him, personally?


    Zan stopped his idle thoughts. At some point, he became aware he had stopped moving. So, of course, he resumed his forward momentum. Only...


    He couldn''t! He couldn''t move and Zan earnestly tried to move his body. ''Move damn you, move!'' he shouted at himself. Willing himself to move, his body refused his command. ''What is going on?!'' Horror gripped Zan as he attempted to physically move his legs using his arms but found to even move like that elicited an intense pain. Ceasing his efforts to move himself manually, Zan lowered himself back into a sitting position on his bike.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Inching his bike forward and feeling every millimeter gained as a searing pain somewhere on his body, Zan started to cry.


    "Zan: our sensors indicate you are in intense pain. What is wrong?" Screen Master Simulacrum asked via the earpiece.


    "I--" Zan gasped. "Don''t know. I can barely move. Pain..."


    "Based on your symptoms and the intense activity you have underwent today, I suspect what you are suffering from is magic sickness. It happens when you deplete your mana or use too much magical energy over the course of a day. You have a higher threshold than most, but it looks like even you are not exempt from Tolls."


    What the Screen Master said was beyond Zan''s comprehension for the moment. "Simulacrum! What are you fecking talking about?!"


    "It means until you recover you will not be able to move without consequences. Unfortunately, the consequences are already affecting you. Considering the nature of the enemy host behind you and the distance allied forces are, I would suggest employing emergency measures."


    "What... do you... mean? Measures?" Zan asked, each word a labor, spittle flung loose from Zan''s mouth.


    "Order affiliates like yourself, Zan, have an ability to call upon emergency sources of power from within yourself, from within the symbiotic entity within your body. It will be an agonizing affair, but it is your only hope. Call upon a small sum of this power, imbue your bike, and force your way through the pass."


    Zan didn''t like what the Screen Master was saying. Emergency power? "How do I call upon...?" Zan asked, his teeth grinding.


    "Speak to your crystalline symbiote. That is all," Simulacrum said, his explanation lacking.


    Speak to it? Just speak to it?! THAT was the Screen Master''s wonderful plan?


    At his back, the wind blew. Zan was frantic. Yet he had to make a decision. Was it worth putting himself in pain? Did he have a choice?


    No. I do not have a choice. Zan held his head high. He said to no one except the crystal creature inside of his stomach, "Can you hear me?"


    A verbal answer did not come to Zan. The entity within confirmed it could hear Zan by ferociously moving within himself, almost like a baby kicking.


    "Okay... please. I need some... magic. Only a bit!" Zan said disorganized.


    Another movement. Zan waited.


    Then, he felt it. A tiny warmth blink into existence near his heart.


    Magic.

 Chapter 126

    With enough of his folk wisdom consoling against stupid decision making, Zan stayed close to tree line. He kept himself away from the road but not so far away as to lose sight of it. Should any Expanse troops pass, his passage should be the least observable thing deserving of their intent.


    While Zan searched for something edible, his headset gave him a never-ending stream of notifications. No magic, mana sickness, energy reserves depleted. Zan couldn''t do anything but ignore the pop-ups. He had to search for the fruit. In his weary state, his mental processing slowed. He looked for the signs of edible growth. The colors, patterns, smell.


    On the verge of losing himself again, Zan searched and searched. It felt like hours.


    By the light of the gods, Zan search gave unto him one large ''papple'' fruit.


    Papple fruit grew on the bottom of certain trees, more as a fungus than fruit. Each papple was about the size of a small melon. Was red. Had thin skin and juicy flesh. Carefully picking one up, Papple wasn''t Zan''s favorite food, but it was common enough to his country he knew enough on how to eat it.


    Normally, Zan would have enjoyed cooking if he a papple fruit. He could put it in a stew or curry. Especially spicy curry? Forget about it! Nothing was better than a papple fruit bathed in creamy hot curry sauce.


    Pulling the fruit and bringing it to his lips, Zan obviously hadn''t the time to cook this fruit. So, instead, he eat it raw.


    Zan took huge bites out of the papple. Each bite came with a cascade of juice pouring down his face and chest. Although the fruity, fun-tasting fruit felt as mush in his mouth while in its raw state, Zan continued to eat it by the chunks. ''Moosh'' or not, it tasted good. Though his face looked sticky and red by the end, Zan hoped people would mistake it for blood instead of juice.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Finishing a whole fruit by himself down to the fleshy bits on its core, Zan now hoped to find a river or a pond or lake nearby to clean himself with. Checking with the Screen Master, neither Zan nor the Screen Master could find any such water source nearby.


    Fine, Zan knew. It was only an idle thought. Getting clean.


    Drying his wet and sticky hands and face on the grass -- poorly -- Zan crouched low and felt himself restored. Although papple fruits were fruits, they were high in protein and often were used as meat substitutes when the hunting party fared poorly. Zan did not know exactly how much protein was in that one fruit, but a whole fruit being eaten by a single person? That would be the equivalent of a single person eating an entire turkey.


    Done with rolling on the grass like an animal, Zan then burped. And burped again!


    Stil crouched, Zan felt leagues better than he had even an hour ago. With food and (some) rest inside him, Zan could again move his body without pain shooting through his limbs. "Simulacrum: can you mark on my HUD where my allies are?" Zan asked.


    "Unfortunately, I cannot do that as I do not know where they are, Zan," the Screen Master said.


    "Oh... I thought you would. I figured you observed where they went or whatever."


    "I do have some limited ''eyes in the sky,'' so to speak, but these eyes are only the echoes and pings from the command center. If our echoes cannot reverberate using the natural magics of the land, I do not know anything. Alas, when Colonel Winters and his men fled, they went in a direction contrary to high magical sedimentation. I am sorry."


    Shet-on-a-crypt, Zan cussed. Guess I will have to find them myself. Yay...


    "Alright. Can you at least mark where Colonel Winters went? I can trek it myself from there," Zan asked of the Screen Master.


    "Of, course. Marking it now," the Screen Master replied, a new icon showing up within his HUD. And far away, too.


    Keeping his spirit up, Zan didn''t let the distance drag him down. I have an in-way, now. He spoke. My belly is full of fruit. I''m alive. I have a fighting chance. I can do this. I will stick to the shadows, keep myself apace of any automotrons. I will encounter Winters and Jiehong much sooner than my doomsday head has been saying.


    With the darkness of an unfamiliar land ahead, Zan took a slow and deep breathing rhythm, and stepped forward.

 Chapter 125 [New Threat: Shining Hangover]

    What happened next happened so fast, Zan could hardly keep up: he felt the magic enter his body, a truly pathetic sum, but enough to imbue into the bike; once the magic entered the machine''s unique magical receptors, Zan gave the ''battle charge'' order and the bike shot ahead like a blast from a cannon; with the magic imbued and activated, moments before the bike took off, Zan''s body totally collapsed, his fingers trapped to the bike handles as though sticky tree sap kept them there by force; this attachment to the bike proved useful for Zan as it kept him ''glued'' to the bike despite his lack of consciousness; for this was the final thing which happened: with the speck of magic Zan begged for from his parasite exhausted, and the bike''s function properly performed, Zan was on the other side of the pass, but the toll on his body was so great, once he fell from the bike, he was totally defenseless. Zan was lucky, then, his unconsciousness lasted only for a precious couple of minutes until he regained enough of himself to roll his body into a nearby ditch. Content he was away enough from the main road, Zan gave into the shadows gathering at the edge of his vision and lost consciousness again, this time, for much longer than a few minutes.


    When he woke, it was night.


    ''At least I woke up,'' Zan thought upon opening his eyes and seeing he was neither dead or captured by the enemy.


    "Simulacrum?" Zan said, whispering.


    "You are awake. Excellent, Zan. Sigma-Prime and I were worried. Your vitals are low."


    Vitals aside, Zan felt hungry more than anything else. His eyes felt heavy with sleep. Zan went back to sleep. When he woke next, he felt well enough to move his body. It remained dark.


    "How long was I out?" Zan asked Simulacrum once he was awake.


    Simulacrum answered, "Over a day."


    A DAY!?


    Zan couldn''t believe it. A whole day. No wonder he was starving!


    "Just a moment, Simulacrum. I am going to try Jiehong..."


    Zan pressed another button on his earpiece. "Jiehong?" he asked. No response.


    Back at the Screen Master, Zan said, "Nothing."


    "I have been trying Jiehong nonstop. Like you, however, he is experiencing not only the results of losing a duel with a more experienced martial artist, but what happens when that happens to compound with Shining hangover."


    "Shining... hangover?" Zan spoke, confused. Sore. But mostly hungry.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "You experienced a Shining Hangover after the first time you drew upon the power of the entity within. You slept for a long time."


    He remembered. That was back at the rebel camp post-labor camp raid... seemed like a forever ago even though it was hardly a month, if that. "Yeah. I remember now. Thanks for that, Simmi..." Zan said, shortening Simulacrum''s name.


    With the grace of an intoxicated monkey on stilts, Zan rolled onto his stomach, then slowly brought his legs underneath him, until he was in a kneeling position. Face to the earth. Hot breath slapped against the dirt when Zan heaved a leg into a couched half-kneel. Progress! Zan exclaimed, nearly on his feet. Taking several deep breaths for the final leg of him standing himself up, Zan gagged himself when he lurched his other leg into the kneeling position. He shot up. No more horsing with it. Zan did it -- he stood himself up.


    And then vomited.


    Hunched over himself, Zan evacuated what nothing remained in his belly. Spitting to clear his mouth of the remaining sour-tasting acid, Zan knew he must''ve looked a mess. Puke on his feet, saliva on his lips. Weird shining attire...


    Keeping himself standing by sheer will, the last thing Zan wanted was to fall again to his knees.


    "Hungry... where is food?" Zan asked Simulacrum.


    A moment later Simulacrum chimed in and said, "There is ample fruit growth nearby if you can reach the vines and trees bearing the edible fruit."


    Not asking about what kind of fruit was close, Zan was simply content with there being fruit close. He wouldn''t starve to death after all!


    "Point me in the right direction," Zan said, raising his head and self to his full stature.


    Simulacrum attempted to describe to Zan in precise detail where the closest fruit was likely to be. Zan knew what he would be looking for in terms of plant-life, he often scouted back in his birth province. But he didn''t know the exact growth rate for the fruits and vegetables he liked eating back home. Here, they might be radically different. Zan hoped he wouldn''t be long in searching for food.


    Inching his way to the main road, Zan spotted his bike nearby. He had tumbled from this spot over a day ago when he fell, defeated.


    Belatedly was how Zan recognized the danger.


    Zan spotted his bike but felt too numb to realize enemies surrounded him until Simulacrum said, "Drop low!" Finally seeing the danger in the form of a rumbling row of Expanse troop transports; "feck!" Zan cursed. He dropped himself like a sack of corn to the dirt. He hit his ribs. Ow! Prone and on the ground, Zan watched as the column of larger-than-usual troop transports rigged with sunstones for nighttime travel passed.


    With the vehicles clear, Zan unfurled his seeing scope. He looked for lights or signs of disturbances giving the enemy away. He saw a few sunstone lights, blipping in the shadows, but nothing to indicate the gargantuan host he encountered yesterday. Whatever happened, Zan doubted the surprise force had stuck around. Based on his observations, he guessed the passing vehicles were part of the final cluster of divisions to withdraw. Did Zan wonder where that impressive host was now? Of course. But he couldn''t worry about ''the future'' when ''the now'' saw him on the brink of death until he found some fruit to stuff his face with. Seeing no more vehicles approach, Zan put his seeing lens away and crawled across the road, inching his way forward via elbows, like he was a ground fish.


    It cost him rubbed raw elbows. Because some dirt had lodged into his shirt sleeves, the raw rub turned bloody. By the time Zan finished making his way across the road and stand, he felt a trickles of blood run down his arms. Zan didn''t need to consult the Screen Master about where the fruits would be. They would be near the trees. Away from the highway.

 Chapter 127

    For the next few hours Zan traversed the golem-covered land.


    Though the invasion host which appeared suddenly was grand, no doubt, they did not take notice of Zan as he biked within the tree line, next to them, but unseen in the shade. His path was practically a leisure cruise until he came upon the limits of the enemy host. By here, scouting parties took control of the land.


    Troop transports fitted with large fire-powered searchlights systematically swept the land. Zan saw their patrols and knew he would have to time his movements to move within the shadows of their treads. He would have liked to take his time here and truly note the movement patterns of the dozens of vehicles sweeping the land for... stragglers? Zan wasn''t sure.


    He didn''t have the time to properly observe, so he took--


    Before Zan could step beyond the borders of the moving host, he felt lightheaded. Wavering, Zan heard a System notification: [Targets Acquired: Mode of Engagement: Select One: Destruction OR Evasion?]


    Now there was something, Zan thought. Zan knew he couldn''t engage. Though the further away from the ''body'' of the vast and never stopping host of invaders he gained, Zan could not afford to take any of them by surprise. Practically unlimited reinforcements were just a call away. He would need to evade these patrol transports. Beside from their iteral firepower, Zan told himself, each transport was filled with at least a dozen automotron soldiers. Engagement meant death.


    "System: Select Evasion. Enter," Zan told the System.


    "Confirmed. Evasion. Calculating route."


    Zan let the System do what it needed to do, so he waited in the dusk of a hastily constructed enemy supply tent. Or more accurately, the wooden fence slammed together to its back to protect against the threat of loyalist raiders. Or something. Zan did not know the designs of the enemy or how they thought battle strategy wise.


    Ahead, then, Zan saw a dozen odd points flash into existence within his HUD''s range. Each point marked a troop transport. Zan wanted a moment to gleam any patterns to how the transports moved, but as both he and the System knew, he didn''t have the time, not if he wanted to outpace the enemy before he keeled over and died. The System said, "Recommend Movement now to avoid enemy detection."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Acting, Zan shot out from his place and biked forward.


    Another System voice message: "Sharp left turn, now!"


    Following the System without thinking, Zan violently turned his bike. He sped ahead just enough to avoid a transport''s searchlights.


    "Do not slow down," the System said through a voice speak function. "Faster! Peddle ahead approximate number of paces."


    Again, Zan followed his instructions. "Turn!" and he turned. "Slow down. Stop. Go. Stay true."


    Falling into a pattern the further he biked away from the host and through the combing searchlights, Zan felt as though he were a bat in the night. He was a heroic fella, straying from the horde to go on a special quest. Or so he pretended as he lost himself to hours or robotically following directions to a system fused to his mind. It did help, but at what cost? Mentally speaking.


    "Hostiles Clear," the System said once a good fifteen minutes eloped without encountering a golem transport.


    "Okay..." Zan muttered. Talking the problem out, "I know my allies have been through the way I have been walking. Both my HUD, backed by the Screen Master, know this is the way, along with my own intuition telling me this is the way, intuitions I gained from my pre-war life and intuition from seeing horse treadings upon the ground. "If I keep this way, I will find them. But before I do, please, by the gods will, let me find another fruit. I''m so hungry again, why?!"


    A minor eternity passed. For Zan, it felt as though he had been walking in the twilight silt sun forever. He met with ghosts in the dark and tread alongside spirits wandering a different path. When the sun rose, though, Zan remained by himself and ready to receive help.


    Finally, help came.


    in the distance, Whiskey rode hard on her stead. Zan could tell she was driving the poor creature to its limit for the impressive dust cloud generated in its wake. Zan ran and wanted to catch up and to meet her half-way. Reaching him, Whiskey trotted her beast to a gentle stop and swept Zan up for a platonic hug.


    Releasing himself from Whiskey''s well-kept embrace, Zan grabbed her shoulders and simply looked her in her face. "Missed me?" Zan said.


    "Yes. I did. You''re a great novice fighter, Zan, and this Order of yours is going to be important for all of us fighting the Expanse. I can feel it. I couldn''t leave you to fend for yourself out in the wilds and invader fiends. So, that being said, I am super impressed with you. I thought you would be way closer to the villa. Instead, you''re practically home free!" Whiskey said to Zan''s immense delight.


    "Yeah. I lost a day asleep in the dirt. Then part of another day searching for food. Short story, but tedious, I assure you," Zan said, lighthearted for once now he was again in the presence of a friend.


    "You''re a trooper, Zan. Let''s get you back with the others. Jiehong is up but he is a mess without you. Not like he would admit it, though. Freaking boys, I swear," Whiskey said, laughing as she helped Zan on her horse.

 Chapter 128

    Moving, Zan sat to Whiskey''s back and held onto her waist. Mildly delirious from over-exertion, mana sickness, and over-Shining, Zan did not fully appreciate being in such close proximity to a woman''s body. Later on, he would decide this was for the better, since he did not want his body making a fool of him when she and he were nothing but battle compadres.


    They rode for hours. But Zan experienced little of the ride. He slept most of the time. When he was not sleeping, Zan and Whiskey kept each other apace on conversation. They rarely talked about anything of substance, however. Wanting to keep things light, they swapped silly, irrelevant stories they made on the fly in their head. But needing to address the elephant in the room, Zan asked Whiskey, "I need you to join the Order."


    "It''s not an easy choice. I have made commitments to my organization, Zan," Whiskey said.


    "We''ve had this discussion before. But you can leave, technically. Right? They won''t force you to stay. And couldn''t you buy your way out?" Zan asked.


    "I have no clue if it works that way. I think what you mean is leaving on good terms? I might be able to work something out if that''s the case."


    He couldn''t believe what he heard. "You mean? You will join?"


    Whiskey was silent for a while. "It wouldn''t mean I''m dropping my rebel beliefs. I would still, technically, be one. I think joining your Order is for the better. You and Jiehong have advanced so far in such a short time. The technology you use, the bravery of how sincere you are. There is something to you. I want to find out what is happening with you, Zan."


    "Thank you, Whiskey. Let me know if you need me to do anything to help you leave the rebels on good terms. I will do whatever I can to ease the transition," Zan said.


    "I will keep that in mind. We are coming on the final approach to camp. Grab a few hours of shut eye. I suspect you won''t have time for much once we are back at camp."


    Zan slept. It wasn''t quality sleep, but it was sleep.


    When he woke, Whiskey''s horse had passed into the limits of the camp''s perimeter force. "Survived after all, eh?!" one of the guards whistled upon Whiskey''s return to camp.


    "Dirty old men. Pay them no heed," Zan said, referencing the loyalists.


    "I''m used to it. Happens in the rebel camp, too. Just what happens when you''re a woman out in the world."


    Not knowing how to respond to experiences which were not his own, as a man, Zan nodded along to what Whiskey said and lazily watched the camp unfolding before his eyes. Whiskey rode to the largest tent among a cluster of simple whites strung into a tented form over string. Zan knew it was Colonel Winters''s headquarters.


    "I''ll help you off," Whiskey said, helping Zan dismount.


    "What has happened in my absence?" Zan asked Whiskey.


    "Ask Winters," Whiskey replied.


    He and Whiskey entered into the colonel''s personal chambers. Zan talked as Whiskey advised and did not mince words. "Sir. I survived. What happened?"


    "Thanks be to the gods!" Winters said when he saw Zan. He went to embrace Zan. Allowing himself to be encased in the Colonel''s strong, fatherly form, Zan could only awkwardly smile as a man he barely knew made such a fess about his survival.


    "It will take more than that to take me out," Zan said, glibly, but warmly.


    Releasing Zan from his grip, Winters stood and stared at the boy for a while. Clearing his throat and turning away, Winters said, "About our situation, yes. It is not very good. Not good at all, Zan. What happened, as I am sure you are at least as much aware, was the arrival of a new enemy force. Our scouts, hard working as they be, were not, unfortunately, able to discern if this new force is under the command of the invasion host or is a private entity also participating in the invasion of the Kingship. We know nothing except the force is huge. And we can''t retreat the way we came."


    "Okay. I understand that. Where are we heading?"


    "We are going to the largest city on this side of the province. I forget the name. But our viceroy has connections there and will be safe there as he and the other nobles flee with their private forces to the over-king. This is where we, as soldiers, will make connection with the more organized resistance fighters opposing the invasion. By now, I imagine the king has organized or is presently organizing a counterattack. As loyal denizens of his realm, we must get there with utmost haste to give our sire all the blades he can conjure. Never mind all that, I say. Considering our circumstances, we ought to consider our graves."


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Please, sir, enough dramatics. What are our prospects?"


    Waving off his theatrics as thinking outload, Winters said to Whiskey, "Our brief rest must end. If we don''t get moving soon, the enemy threatens to overtake us. We have to make it to friendly forces soon or else my theatrics won''t be so hysterical when we''re facing the wrong end of a splinter."


    "What is our terrain going forward?" Zan asked.


    "Typical forest ground. Which would be well enough, normally, but while we also prowl the land and survive on it? We don''t have time to do it all and still make it to the city before the local garrison leaves. We''re pushing against the realities of having no supply lines while in a frantic retreat. Our only saving grace is our forces are not larger than they ought to have been. A mighty small giving that is, though," Winters stated.


    Looking at the map of the land Winters lay spread on the tent floor, Zan saw a blue lined route. Curious about that blue line, but not able to read himself, he asked of Winters, "What is that?" Meaning, the blue colored route.


    "That?" Winters said. "That is the silver road trading route."


    "Doesn''t that route take us closer to that city?" Zan asked, looking at the map carefully, and assuming that city marker was the place they were heading.


    "Technically?" Winters said, slowly stroking his beard. "Yes. It is... but that is territory claimed in joint ownership with foreign allies of the over-king. If we were to damage the specially built trading routes of the silver road, this would both be an embarrassment to his highness but also hurt the Kingship''s standing post-war. Our trade will drop if we allow the investments of our allies to come under fire."


    "Theoretically, though," Whiskey said. "How much time would we save by stealing along the trading routes?"


    "A week..."


    A week? Zan said to himself. Disbelief. Why wasn''t Winters, as a loyalist commander, not assuming this would be our route? Zan wondered if he was formal to a fault. Maybe his desire to adhere to the royal rules was blinding him to the reality needed to be undertaken?


    "I think we should sneak along the trading route," Zan said.


    "Impossible." Winters said, needing no more to state his knowledge.


    "Why? Who says so?" Zan shot back.


    "I do, lad."


    "But why? Because you''re afraid of collateral damage?"


    "Because? Because I take my role seriously, lad. I want to fight and defend my home, but I want to do so in such a way which makes our shared master, the over-king, happy, and which maintains our role in international trade. I''m not interested in the bare minimum, lad. I am interested in the best."


    "Fine. I respect that. I do, Winters. I''m not just blowing smoke up your ass. But do you have a plan for going gold? For keeping our momentum, driving away the enemy, and doing so while not taking advantage of the short cut?"


    "I do, lad. I will rely on my men. Do you have a plan to stress this inconsiderate plan of yours?" Winters asked, hoping to dismiss Zan''s idea as mere fancy.


    "I do, actually," Zan replied. "What should we do is to dress as rebels. This way, if the situation runs amok, our king''s face to the world remains dry.


    By now, Whiskey had something to say. "Rebels? You want us to dress as rebels? I can''t in good conscience support a plan which would harm the rebel cause..."


    At one of the tent''s corners was viceroy Gallant. He was eating some delicacies with a servant, minding his own business, when Whiskey spoke. "I didn''t know you cared for the rebel cause. Whiskey is your name?"


    If the viceroy thought he was talking to a random peasant-turned-warrior woman, he was mistaken, and Whiskey let him know it.


    "Listen here, you cretin! I am a rebel and proud of it! I will not be happy until I topple your entire rotten government! Now that the big truth is out, piss off in your own shit!" Whiskey said, snarling at more than one point.


    "Yeesh... I had no idea you employed such ruffians, Winters. Times are tough, though," the viceroy said, returning to his own matters, chuckling.


    "Anyway!" Winters said, clearing his throat. "The matter of how to proceed still stands. Whiskey. You and I share trepidation in Zan''s plan albeit for different reasons. I must say something, however. Although Zan''s plan is bold, us dressing as rebels would serve as plausible deniability. You and your rebel friends, by your own admission, seek to replace the power of the king. Why not hasten the process in the event the route turns sour? Would coming into conflict with the royal army sooner rather than later be so bad?"


    "There are strategic reasons for me to say, ''yes, it would be very bad.'' Engaging an enemy before one is ready leads to destruction!" Whiskey said.


    "No doubt. You''re right on that, but we also do not know if the events would turn sour. You know something? We do need to get moving. Whiskey. I don''t like Zan''s plan, but he has given us a go. If we disguise ourselves as rebels and it turns sour, I promise to do what I can to de-escalate the situation. Can''t you see? Since we can''t predict the future and this is our best course, let''s put aside equivocation and get a move on?"


    Whiskey''s face turned many times as she debated herself on what course she should steer herself. Not so long after Winters stopped talking, though, Whiskey said, "Fine. We dress as rebels. Zan. I really hope this plan of yours does not lead us to the gates of perdition!"


    Everyone, even the viceroy, turned to look at Zan.


    Zan? He felt awkward. But he continued to grin broadly. He said, "Thank you for your trust in me, guys."

 Chapter 129

    With the decision made, Winters put into action his men. "Clear it all up! Let''s pack it in!" Winters yelled as he thrashed a bell repeatedly.


    Throughout the camp, the tense peace which prevailed before came to a stop. Men roused themselves, their commanders look of surprise urging on their whirlwind of activity. Dozens of people whisked their tents and blankets back into their packs and doused their firepits. Their speed impressed Zan who saw the whole camp ready to move out hardly ten fifteen minutes after he left Winters''s command tent.


    "How far is the trade route?" Zan asked.


    "Half-a-day''s ride," Whiskey said, slightly frazzled by the meeting.


    Zan had started to unfurl his bike when Winters interjected. "No! I''m sorry, Zan. Your bike is impressively fast, but we can''t have anyone falling behind, dragging the entire unit down. Ride with one of my men or Whiskey, please."


    Stopping mid-furl, Zan slowly put his bike parts back in the folded position. Then he placed the bike back on his back. Zan looked at Whiskey with a facial expression. Whiskey rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. Get on my saddle."


    "Where is Jiehong?" Zan asked once he got on the back of Whiskey''s horse.


    "He is with the wounded near the middle of the host. He is fine. He has energy but loses it quickly. If he''s smart, Jiehong will be resting."


    "Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure he was okay," Zan said.


    Whiskey willed her steed forward and it took off with much gusto. While it rode, Zan felt raindrops fall on his head.


    "Are you really okay with this plan?" Zan asked at a point in the ride. "I mean. Soon you won''t even be a rebel anymore. So, what is it to you if the rebels get a bad rap on the king''s behalf?"


    "You forget, Zan, I am not yet in your Order. I could still back out. Regardless of that, though, even if I do go ahead with it and enlist in your martial order, that doesn''t mean I want my former friends and family harmed by my actions. Whether I am with them or not, I want them to succeed!" Whiskey replied, her voice risen to compete with the stampede around them as dozens of horses, voices, and equine sounds blared into nature.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "I never thought of it like that! I live in the moment!" Zan replied.


    "Of course you live in the moment!" Whiskey shouted back. "You''re a man of action, Zan! People like us, who want to change the world, we don''t settle. We can''t afford to be passive and accumulate resources like a blacksmith''s hammer. We have to be bold and snatch what we want!"


    "I never met someone who thinks like you!" Zan replied, his voice becoming sore from all the yell-talking.


    Whiskey made a noise. She simply shouted back, "Village life for ya!"


    Zan had always considered himself happy. Or at least content in life. This, despite his orphaning. How Whiskey talked, though, about village life and insinuating its limitations, caused a swell in Zan''s emotional heart. Jiehong had been a friend to him for his whole life. But he and he were two very different people. Was Zan lonely? He didn''t know if he was, but he knew he wouldn''t mind more people being in his life. People, specifically, of a different mindset than Jiehong. Or came from... a different family.


    Whiskey broke Zan from his contemplation. She said, "Who was that other guy? The one you were fighting?"


    "The guy in the mask?" Zan shouted back, to confirm, not as though Whiskey could have meant anyone else.


    "Yeah. He packed a feckin'' punch!" Whiskey said.


    "He did! Said his name was ''Mentality.'' I''ve never seen anyone with his power before!" Zan shouted.


    "Me either! He must come from an extremely wealthy family. Only the richest aristocrats have the money to raise a mutant!"


    Confusion! Mutants? Had Zan heard of mutants before? Was that what a mutant was? People like Mentality? What did that even mean?


    "A mutant?" Zan asked, taking the plunge.


    "Someone with genetics tainted by eldritch energy. Poor bastards!"


    "Is that bad? Why?!" Zan yelled, eager to know.


    "WELL! I wouldn''t say ''bad'' but not a selling point, either! Mutants cause trouble. We can talk about this later, Zan! Too much ambiguity to leave to the thrills of wind while we all are run ragged!"


    "Okay!" Zan said, understanding Whiskey''s desire to not talk about a complicated situation while their lives were dependent on Whiskey remaining focused riding.


    "I think he is a teenager!" Zan said suddenly.


    "Mentality? Why?" Whiskey said, the conversation simply darting back to their original point.


    "His height? The way he acted. His voice. I got the impression he is no older than you or I."


    "I don''t understand why a kid would want to go to war -- willingly!"


    "Me either! What does he get out of it?" Zan replied.


    Obviously, neither he nor Whiskey knew why a young person would intentionally throw themselves in harm''s way. For pride of house? Personal honor?

 Chapter 130

    The rest of the ride was uneventful. Some beautiful sights. The sun was rising in full, now, and Zan reckoned it was early morning. His belly continued to rumble; it showed desperation on the scale of starving big cats, but Zan could do nothing but push it down. He regretted not getting something to eat at the encampment. Everything had spiraled and so quickly, though. One minute they were departing Whiskey''s steed -- they talked strategy -- and then the next minute they were getting back on Whiskey''s steed.


    Throughout the ride, Zan allowed himself to rest. He held on to Whiskey as gently but firmly as he could. Then, he watched as the unfolding natural reserves of creation skaddled by him, his headset System attempting to integrate elements into his map-in-miniature. How much it was adding, Zan didn''t know. Or if it was even adding anything to its databanks. Every so often he would hear, though, the System telling him, "Map Updated. Map Updated..." Zan figured it had to mean something was going on. Would he now have an actual map to navigate the land? Only time would tell.


    Stopping, Zan recognized they were at a forest clearing. Beyond the forest''s edges lay a hilly landscape dominated by Sunstar Principality Investment Towers. Each tower stretched dozens of meters into the sky. Connected by massive cables, engineering at the base of each tower allowed for cargo to be hoisted by an ingenious levy system, allowing for even the heaviest of shipments to find its way to the tower''s tip.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Zan saw this much but none more. He saw how packages were hoisted through till they reached the top of the tower, but he didn''t know what happened to them after that; how did they actually ship items to customers once an order at the base had been picked? Was there an air-ship docket stationed at the top of each tower? Zan was curious. He never before had seen Sunstar technology for himself. It was incredible!


    "Stay focused. First time, I take it?" Whiskey said, helping Zan dismount.


    "Yeah. So, another strategy meet?" Zan asked, seeing the other riders dismount as well.


    "Yes. The Sunstar towers mean we''ve reached the secure trading route. If we are to dress and sneak through as rebels, we must know who is doing what for the duration of our mission."


    "I understand. Oh! Before I forget, please? I am so hungry!" Zan said, making his needs known.


    Whiskey smiled. "Join the others. I will find you something to eat."

 Chapter 131

    Nibbling on some dried meats and thick, creamy cheese, it was not the fanciest meal Zan had ever eaten, but it was filling him. He drank water copiously as the meeting transpired:


    "Okay," Colonel Winters said, opening the meeting to anyone who had concerns. "Where do we stand? Everyone feel good about this?"


    Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zan had a thought: was it normal practice for a commanding officer to ask the enlisted what they thought about a battle plan? Then again, conditions were different. Among them were a fair few civilians who fled the villa''s destruction. Perhaps Winters wanted to salvage as much local support as possible?


    Or maybe, Zan told himself. It is none of that and Colonel Winters is just a standup guy?


    Thinking odd thoughts to calm him down, Zan remained silent and said nothing.


    "Zan. You feel good?" Winters asked, breaking Zan out from his idle thoughts.


    "Yeah. I feel good about this, still. We don''t cause trouble. We go in, we go out," Zan said of the situation.


    Winters sighed. His resolve, though, remained strong. "Spoken true, Zan. I still don''t feel fully confident in this plan. But we have our plausible deniability. If we can manage to get through without incident, we will be easily put the enemy behind us while linking up with reinforcements. It is everything we need. Careless? Maybe. Inconsiderate to property? Sure. Sorry. I''m rambling."


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    A few others spoke up. Zan continued to eat while the others shared their concerns.


    Taking control once again, Winters said, "How many of us have actually seen a Sunstar tower?"


    One a couple of people raised their hands.


    "What I thought. But you''ve all caught a glimpse of them by now, right? Huge. Imposing, too. Those towers are connected by shipping and receiving zones at the base of each tower. Sometimes, there are more than a single zone at the base of the tower. This is important. Why? Because different zones have different color call-signs. We have over a hundred in our host, including civilians. We want to give these fine folk no reason to grief us. We keep our distance, remain respectful, and give them no reason to attack. Am I understood? We are armed civilians under the king''s banner. Rebels if we must go that route. But we have every right to be on this land as they do, royal charter or otherwise."


    Knowing their place, the warriors nodded.


    A few of the civilian coordinates departed in order to prepare the non-combatants for how they were to act during the upcoming situation. Zan wished the civilian aides'' safety in their efforts; remembering how hard it was for him to balance the military and non-military end of things when this whole mess started, Zan had given up, and turned the reins over to the Wardens. Theirs was a difficult job. Zan sure as heck knew he didn''t want it.


    Joining the meeting late was Jiehong. He sat next to Zan. Slyly fist-bumping to show their solidarity, Zan felt happy to see his companion back.


    "Rest good?" Zan whispered to Jiehong as Winters and the rest discussed matters.


    "Gods. You have no feckin'' idea," Jiehong said, a few petty laughs escaping. "Good to see you back, though. I was worried."


    "I know. Whiskey told me. You would get up, look for me, then crash."


    "That''s it. Yeah. I couldn''t rest knowing you might''ve been dead. I just... couldn''t," Jiehong said, his expression grave.


    Seeing his friend at truly being uncomfortable with the situation, Zan told him, "Worry no more. I am here and I am not going anywhere. Get used to it."


    Tap-punching him ever so gently on his arm, Jiehong smiled. "I know, bro."

 Chapter 132

    "Our plan is simple, then. One final review," Winters said to everyone. "We run this mission as a group. Civilians stay in the middle protected by everyone. Zan, you will be by my side at the front and help me with co-planning. This is your idea, after all. Jiehong and Whiskey. I need reliable folk protecting our rear. You up for the job? My loyalists need someone to egg them on and I think two rebellious young shots like you can provide this relief. We run straight for the city. We don''t stop to engage and wipe out automotron groups we might come across. We don''t launch a counterattack if attacked. We flee."


    "We can do that," Jiehong said. "Though please be aware, sir. I am not a rebel myself."


    "Understood, Jiehong, young sir. I did not know since you spend a lot of time with Whiskey when she is here. Apologies."


    Zan then said, "Shall I just ride with you then, sir?"


    "Excuse me?" Winters said, confused.


    "You said I would need to ride with Whiskey or one of your riders. If I am to consult, I should be at the front, on your horse, so as to allow Whiskey the back position with Jiehong."


    "Oh. Yes. I did say that, didn''t I? Apologies, Zan. In my old age, I forget what I say. Yes. Ride with me," Winters replied frankly.


    Not knowing what to think about his senior commander admitting to memory lapses, or if he was even seriously at all, Zan still felt safe with Winters. It was a hectic situation. Everyone was entitled to a memory lapse or three. Four lapses were where people got concerned. So, until the fourth came, Zan would not interview his premonitions. Gripping Winters tight, Zan said a prayer for their safety.


    "To ride!" Winters said, urging his horse into action.


    "Echo beetles, activate," Zan said, several tiny devices breaking away from his headset to go to Jiehong and Whiskey in the back.


    Behind them, the other riders took off to their rear, directing the civilians to stay in the protected center of the group. Ahead, was the first large tower.


    Before they even arrived at the tower, alas, trouble boiled.


    While urging their steeds forward, a once supple earth turned into red and black muck. Horses stumbled and progress slowed. "What is this crap?" Zan asked.


    "It''s a byproduct. Supposedly. That tower, Zan? It was built long ago by a civilization we are lucky to know existed. We don''t know the original purpose of why the ancient society built these towers, but through many decades of research, the fine folk over in the Sunstar Principality managed to re-activate these buildings. Before Sunstar, these towers were just strange and inaccessible mysteries dotting the landscape. Now, they form a transportation network Sunstar uses to bolster their economy. Although this trade is a boon for both Sunstar and the local economy, usage of the towers generates this nasty, muddy byproduct. This ''crap'' as you call it. We have to push on and find dry land. Prolonged contact with the ''crap'' will strip a man of his skin if left dried on too long."


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Wider than every devil upon every rock, Zan''s eyes shot open in shock.


    "Poor horse," Zan uttered, feeling contemptable for the situation.


    "Don''t fret, Zan. Water takes care of it nicely. You''ll see. Onward! Come, steed! Let''s go!" Winters urged his mount.


    Winters drove his four-legged companion hard. Neighing abounded then multiplied as dozens of riders encountered the same muck. Winters asked Zan to take out his old shouting horn, hooked to his backup bedding rollup, and to use to to shout encouragement to the men while they bravely fought their way through the skin-eating mud.


    Unlatching the horn, Zan readied to speak into it, but stopped as he took his first big breath. He did not know what to say. Thinking it over, he took another breath. Then took the plunge. "Never give up!" Zan shouted to the crowd. "I mean it! Never give up! Remember your pride as Kingship soldiers! Flesh-eating mud is NOTHING compared to your iron wills. Think of the common man! Is he here with us, stalking tower goo? NO! He is back home, reaping the benefits of your service! Strive on now and forever!"


    On and on Zan went as the men thrashed their way through the swamp. It took over an hour, Zan counted, to make their way to drier and less muck-ridden ground. "Pour water! Get it off!" Zan shouted into the horn, informing every rider of how to remove the deadly corruption from their skin.


    Snatching the horn from Zan, Winters shouted into it, "We have no time to sit and clean ourselves like cats! Clean and ride! We can''t afford idle moments! Clean and ride!"


    Winters returned the horn to Zan. Following his mater''s commands, Zan dumped what little water he had left over his skin. Some of the muck was caked in and dried enough where water did not fully remove it. Winters said, however, "we will find a river later and everyone can clean themselves to their hearts content. We can''t stop now."


    "You guys alright?" Zan asked. "Be on the lookout for a river. Or pond. We need everyone to get clean."


    "Understood, Zan. And we''re doing fine. Not much got on us since we were at the back. We went around those in the deepest part of the muck. You got it full and center though, right?"


    "Yeah. We did. I am fine, though. You guys doing okay energy-wise? I could use some quality rest. I''m so tired..."


    "We''re doing fine. We haven''t had as intense of a day or two as you''ve been having. Keep up. Then we''re have a supple rest when we''re safe."


    Logging off from the check-in with his party, Zan could have looked at his HUD''s ''Team Status'' informational box. Zan remembered how the Screen Master said the graphics and display of the headset was not reflective of a true, deeper reality. It only approximated reality. So, Zan had the grace of mind to simply call his friends using the echo-beetles.


    Thinking back to Winters and his pace, Zan knew why Winters was so eager to reach the city. He couldn''t be too hard with the man. He was eager to reach said city because it was a major trading post, of course. The noble they had saved would be happy to reward the colonel with a hefty tip for his safe passage in a timely manner. Even Zan, country bumpkin, knew this. It was why Whiskey was battling alongside them. Money. Compensation.


    Yet Zan was not so jaded as to believe Winters didn''t have his overriding sense of honor. That and the knowledge of how once they arrived in the city, no more struggling by themselves. They could struggle with more people, with walls and cannons, and really bring it to the enemy. In their current state, Zan knew how little they were apt to ''bring'' to the enemy.


    Free of the muck and feeling only a slight unpleasant itch, Zan, and Winters, trod onto ground which became increasingly more stable the closer they came to the first tower.

 Chapter 133

    Looming ever closer like a magnificent god-palace come low to the earth, Zan saw the massive shape of the tower gradually come into focus until it seemed to dominant everything, like an elaborate mine at the base of a colossal mountain. Are we going inside? Zan wondered. He did not actually know. He knew the war group and he would be riding hard to ensure safe and uneventful passage, but this was about it. If asked, they were independent fighters. That is the sum of what Zan knew about the plan.


    "What''s the inside of one of those towers like?" Zan asked.


    "Just wait and find out," Winters replied his gaze fixed on the gate ahead.


    When Zan and Winters approached the guardhouse before said gate, the guard -- dressed in a uniform denoting the dual loyalties of the Kingship and Principality -- said to Winters, his gaze never leaving the many other riders, "What does your merry band of troublemakers have to say?"


    "Greetings, good gentleman," Winters said. "As you are able to plainly see, we are wandering fighters with civilians, non-combatants. We need safe passage to the city beyond this trading branch. If it makes a difference, we have a citizen from Sunstar with us..."


    The guard looked into Winters eyes. Then the men behind him. His eyes squinted as he searched for the civilians. Grunting, he found them at the center. To Zan, he seemed oddly let down when he saw the civilians. Could mean trouble for his numbers, perhaps.


    "Hmmm, fine. Go on through. Wait in the atrium while we figure out what to do with you." The guard said, pressing a button which made an obnoxious noise. The gate descended and allowed the frock inside. Leading everyone to the well-designated atrium, Winters warned people against getting complacent. ''Stay on your guard,'' Winters said.


    "Do we have to stay on our guard?" Zan asked, genuinely interest on his tongue.


    "Why wouldn''t we?" Winters asked.


    "I don''t know... seems like we would have ample time to prepare for an Expanse assault. The workers here look formidable, too," Zan said, eyeing the workers who pushed and pulled heavy carts full of shining ores.


    "Formidable or not, these workers will not defend us should we come under Expanse assault."


    "They are our countrymen, though. Why wouldn''t they help ward off the enemy?"


    "Tower workers are a different sort, Zan. They work for the company. Not their country. Let''s stop talking about this for now. Please order your friends into a rotation watch. We must keep our guard," Winters said.


    Obeying, Zan brought his friends to help protect half of the civilian circle. They were pleased with their assignments. Zan held the impression, now, of Whiskey and Jiehong preferring civilian matters over military. Searching his feelings on the matter, Zan enjoyed the military issues more. They were easier to solve than the social alchemy of people and their needs. This is not to say Zan would''ve described himself as a warmonger. He liked defending his country. He liked the discipline in life which came from military affairs, but this was it.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "Okay. They are patrolling. What are we doing?" Zan asked Winters. "Shouldn''t we be searching for a way through to the other side so we can be heading to the next tower?"


    Regarding Zan as one would regard a pet who had eaten the family''s meal, Winters said, "What do you mean? Were you thinking we could traverse the trading passage by horse?"


    "Of course... how else would we traverse?" Zan asked.


    Winters groaned or sighed -- Zan couldn''t tell which -- and told Zan about the strange ontology of trading passages. "They aren''t normal, Zan. These towers were once commanded by powerful magic users. Magic users who knew the secrets of creation and were able to build monuments to their power."


    "So, the towers are the monuments?"


    "The learned class thinks so, yes. That is not important, however. What is important is the terrain the towers are built on. It isn''t normal, Zan. We wandered into the tower, yes, but believe me, this is mostly by good fortune. We could have missed the rotation cycle..."


    Zan couldn''t keep up with what Winters was trying to say. "What are you talking about?"


    Grunting, Winters cut to the chase and said to Zan, "The space surrounding the towers are not the actual space of the trading corridor. If we were to wander away from the grounds of the tower, beyond the walls by a certain distance, we would not find ourselves in the Kingship. Rather, we would be somewhere in the Deep Woods."


    "Deep Woods?" Zan asked. Confused. And becoming agitated.


    "The Deep Woods is the endless expanse of forest which covers immensity around the edges of our World Zone. And before you ask! A World Zone is our home. Our section of Creation, of the planet, where all the countries of our lives live, have lived, and will live. Beyond the limits of the Deep Woods are more World Zones. Zones with their own people and nations. I have never been to another World Zone, but I hear stories of those who do."


    Recently having fed himself an energy and protein heavy snack, Zan was able to process Winters''s history lesson effectively and to integrate it into his current situation regarding the towers. "So, if I am understanding this right, what you''re saying is something like this: the towers were once ruled by powerful magic people, people who cast spells on the towers to bring them into connection with other towers. Because the towers connection, reality broke. Now we have a sort of ''bleeding'' effect from Super Large Forest. In other words, we can enter towers, since they literally exist on the territory of the Kingship, but we can''t leave one tower for another because we are likely to become lost in the mire which bled over from the Deep Woods. Which is why I also guess we can''t just go straight for another tower, because the further we get into the corridor the more likely we are to become lost?"


    "Bingo, kid. On the money," Winters said, impressed.


    "Why were we able to enter this tower, then?" Zan asked, weary of the mechanics of towers.


    "Oh. We don''t know why, but it appears to be standard practice for whoever built the towers to build the first and last tower within a specific articulation of the limits before the Deep Woods. This allows people to safely traverse the network. Usually... always remember to follow the signs if a tower approach has found it necessary to put signs up in the first place. Assuming you can read."


    Signs... reading... getting lost in an endless forest...


    Not ideal. None of them were. The notion filled Zan with anxiety. Though he did make a note to be extra careful. If he wasn''t, he was liable to get eaten by something horrible. He didn''t want that...

 Chapter 134

    Unfathomable as everything here was, it looked little different from the command center. Looking at the tower''s design, he saw wide spaces of flat gemmetal tinged with a purple and magenta coloration. It was easy on the eyes, Zan thought. Colored metal seemed to be a feature of old technology civilizations. Black for the command center; white for the Backroads chamber; and now this purple, blue-ish hue.


    Churning in his mind the complexities of ancient society along with their architectural philosophies as he waited for something to happen, Zan heard a voice. The voice was loud and dominated the air. Attempting to find who spoke, Zan looked in every direction he could tilt his head before admitting defeat. "Who is speaking?" Zan asked. "It''s the intercom, boy," Winters said. Intercom? Must be a city thing?


    The voice said "Attention" several times before settling into a pattern. "Attention: Guests in Atrium: a senior director will see you now," the female voice said from devices called ''speakers'' which Winters pointed out for Zan.


    "I''m taking it the senior director is the boss of a place like this?" Zan asked, Winters in an easy patrol near the front of the warrior-circle protecting the civilian clutch in the center.


    "Yes. He is somewhere high in the rankings of this place. He will either grant us or deny us passage."


    "If he doesn''t like us? Rebel time, yeah?" Zan asked.


    "If he doesn''t allow us to pass? Let''s hope we don''t come to that pass. Because if we do, no one will have a fun time." Winters said, directing his horse to a gate near a part of the atrium stationed by armed guards. Climbing down from Winters''s horse, Zan was happy to be stretching his legs. He and Winters walked through the person-sized gate stationed by the guards and were ushered into a small office. Inside, the office was not made from the same materials as tower''s original construction, suggesting to Zan the workers and supervisors here did not do all of their working and living in the tower.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Zan and Winters took a seat before the senior supervisor. Piles of parchment filled with desk along with fly-ridden meal trays. Zan could not get a good look at the papers, but he saw tables and graphs with lines of numbers. The supervisor finished his work at a turnstile desk in the corner before addressing Winters and Zan. "I am told you want safe passage from one part of the war zone to another part. One where one faction''s allies are mustering? Is this correct?"


    "Whether one side is mustering or not I do not know, good sir," Winters said. "What I know about is how I need to protect those who can''t protect themselves. I need to get these fair folk out of this battlefield. That-there city? T''ould be the perfect place," Winters said, using the formal version of ''it would'' instead of the more familiar and commoner pronunciation of simply saying it in full. Zan wondered if it was necessary for Winters to show off his formal education.


    The supervisor looked at Zan and Winters closely. "Who is he?"


    "My assistant," Winters replied, looking in the supervisor''s eyes.


    "Your... assistant?" the supervisor repeated. The man looked at Zan for an uncomfortably long time.


    "Is there a problem?" Winters said, calmly.


    The man continued to stare. "He... just reeks, is all."


    "Yes. Well, he is a young man and could have better health habits, but what can you expect of the youth in war?"


    "Yes. Verily-on-a-hairly," the supervisor said. Zan did not recognize the words or expression, let along what the supervisor meant. Continuing, the supervisor said, "I will grant you provisionary passage."


    "Excellent! Thank you, sir! Thank you!" Winters said. Zan beamed broadly to show his happiness at the decision.


    "If you damage anything, though, I will be billing your government. Am I understood?"


    "Of course. Let me make it know, however, we are not officially under our master''s employ. We are his subjects but nothing more--"


    The supervisor interrupted. "I don''t care. I am still billing them. Okay? Now, before you leave, let me inform you of the conditions of your contract and--"


    Now, it was Zan''s turn to interrupt. "Wait? Contract? What do you mean? I thought you were letting us pass?"


    "I am, child. I am not letting you pass for free, though. You will earn your passage. And you will earn it by working."

 Chapter 135

    Zan was gobsmacked. This supervisor expected refugees from a war zone to work for their safe passage?! "Are you daft and cruel?!" Zan said, raising his voice, his inner idealist no longer to take holding it all in.


    "Boy! I expect you to show some gratitude to those who help you. Perhaps I will rescind my offer to teach you and your mutts a lesson?" the supervisor said while Zan''s face turned first white with shock, then red with anger. Finally, Zan and his face returned to normal, some help from Winters calming him back to a talkative state.


    "No. I apologize, sir. I will do the work," Zan said, swallowing his anger.


    "Good! That is what I like to hear, boy! Either of you ever hear of ''dungeoneering'' before?" the supervisor asked.


    Zan said he had not. Winters said he had heard of it but knew nothing but hearsay.


    "Simply said, it is glorified cartography and some light mining. I work for Sunstar Enterprises. A big part of the company''s purpose is exploring these towers once we''re contracted on a premise. Due to the quality of the work, not many people sign up for this valuable occupation. The company therefore always needs able hands to probe the depths of each tower," the supervisor talked in a way which made Zan think he had given this speech a hundred times before.


    "Quality?" Winters asked, curious himself.


    "The work is labor intensive. Tedious if you are doing it on your lonesome. Nothing your party of warriors can''t handle easily, though, I suspect."


    The supervisor then explained the exactitude of what they would be expected to do but did not go into details. He explained what they would be mining, what they would be mapping, but only in brief. "I will let my assistant direct you to your labor site and the conditions. Honestly, just go. I''m tired of looking at ya..."


    "Will do, sir. Thank you again," Winters said, directing Zan to leave with him.


    "I will be right with you," a woman said. "I only need some words from my boss. Wait a moment with your party, please."


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Alone and outside, Zan wanted to storm off and cuss, but Winters held him back.


    "Zan, enough. What was that back there? Are you trying to get people killed? I didn''t ask you to come with me on this engagement so you could act your age and mouth off to people we desperately need to help us. What were you thinking?" Winters said, demanding answers.


    "I was thinking we would shove off past him anyway. We have people to protect. We have the swords, the shields, and the numbers. What does he have? Workers unwilling to take up arms and defend their own home. We shouldn''t have to accommodate walking, talking piles of traitor."


    "You are proposing, then, we simply force our way through this place by sword''s tip?"


    "Yeah, why not?"


    Winters regarded Zan cooly. He took a few steps to Zan until he was in front of the boy. Then, with great restraint but well-forged practice, slapped the boy from one side of his face clear to the other. Zan''s whole head erupted in pain.


    "I expect more from you." Winters said. "Men of the king do not behave like barbarians. Or like your rebel friends. The men who run this tower are directly allied with our king. We will not do anything to jeopardize this, wild plan or no. You will learn this." Zan turned away and cried a single tear. Not for the pain he felt, great as the swelling red throbbing felt, but he shed his tear for the shame he felt at letting Winters down in his eyes as well as his own standing.


    Until the supervisor''s assistant returned for them, Zan stood by himself, clearing his head.


    He took a deep breath and exhaled. He repeated this several times while trying to clear his head and sort his feelings.


    The Colonel is right. I am here as a free blade fighting under the king''s banner. I have to listen to Winters and how he wants the job done. Whether I agree with how he does things is irrelevant. Zan thought this while he leaned against the wall, shaking with rage as he thought of the supervisor''s nerve; the way he casually exploited refugees for cheap labor. It was sickening.


    "No more. I let my pride show and it cost me face. I will behave myself," he said to himself, composing himself after his precious moments alone.


    Returned to Winters, who was getting back himself from talking with his direct subordinates, Winters asked the youth "Feeling better?"


    "I am. I had a moment, but I am back to my normal self. I''m sorry, sir." Zan replied looking directly into the Colonel''s eyes; to show he meant it.


    "Good. Because while we were meeting with the supervisor, a less-than-ideal development occurred."


    "What does that mean?" Zan asked.


    "Look at the sky and see for yourself," Winters said, motioning toward the sky.


    Zan looked up and saw an airship. On its side was the banner of the New Woodland Expanse.

 Chapter 136

    "What is the hecking-shet that? An airship... why it is... are they following us?" Zan stuttered.


    "It is an airship. As for the rest, I don''t know. It could be coincidence. Until now, I did not even know the Expanse had airships," Winters replied.


    "Does our strategy change any?" Zan asked, close to Winters.


    "No. Good or bad, we keep our pace. We can''t go back. Only forward."


    Then, the supervisor''s assistant came back out.


    Despite the situation growing worse by the minute, the assistant kept chirpy. "Okay. Please follow me and I will bring you to your division. Have your readers take care to inform your group to not touch anything while we are heading to your division. Please and thank you!"


    Winters nodded. He informed the civilian supervisors -- Whiskey and Jiehong included -- of the assistant''s demand for nothing of the company to be touched, damaged, or even looked upon badly. ''Well,'' Zan thought. ''That last part is all me. I thought it belonged, though. Considering their disregard for honor and overvaluing of themselves.''


    Back on the horse with the colonel, Zan kept his guard up, as Winters had repeatedly told him.


    Guard up or not up, there was not much to see in an ancient society tower. The building''s construction material was easy on the eyes, cool non-reflective, and had lots of strange albeit garish movements inside the material, likely from some long ago absorbed magical energy. Other than gangs of laborers, however, Zan saw nothing of note while following the assistant through the maze-like structure of rooms and passages packed tightly into each floor.


    The assistant brought them to a section of the tower which had an illuminated section and an un-illuminated section. While following, Zan saw similar things, darkened and well-lit rooms. He thought nothing of it.


    "And here is where you will be working. Please direct your attention to the pickaxe rack on your left," the assistant said.


    Following her directions, Zan took a look. He saw a line of pickaxes neatly nudged into place on a holding section of the wall.


    "As you can see, the pickaxes here are not your standard pickaxe. These tools are coated with a special mineral which makes for the easy breakdown of Misermint. What is Misermint? Let me show you," the assistant said, opening a door and moving into a darkened room.


    Following her while most others in their group stayed behind, Zan and Winters and a small select number, entered the darkened room and saw what the assistant meant. Misermint. It was a huge crystal, plant-looking thing!


    "Yes. This is misermint," the assistant continued. "It is a special crystalline plant-ore. Although extraordinarily rare outside these old towers, it is a common resource within the towers. As you can all plainly see, the room we are in now does not lack the resource as it has it in spades. This is good. Because to secure your passage to the other end of the trade corridor you will be mining plenty of this. I will demonstrate the proper technique."


    Requesting a pickaxe, the assistant took the pick and with an ease Zan didn''t expect from a lovely lady, smashed away at a growth of misermint like she had spent her whole life mining. With the plant in pieces, the assistant said, "Now for the next step. Collection. Collect the pieces however you want. But there are dumping bins in the pickaxe wall. Please, bring me one." Word spread and from the tool wall to her, people passed a bin down the line. The assistant neatly swept the pieces into the dustbin and brought it over to the far-end of the wall.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Zan followed. He saw a dark wall, overgrown with grime. The assistant spoke, "Once you have your pieces take and deposit them into your nearest misermint conversation slot. Like so," the assistant demonstrated by dumping the shattered ore into a wide-angle slot in the wall. As she did so, the wall glowed. It was faint at first but eventually grew until the whole wall illuminated and could be seen through the muck of whatever mold or fungal growth had claimed the stone-like building material the tower was forged from. Whatever force was at work, Zan saw sections of the moldy growth singe from flame before the illumination stopped.


    "What is that?!" Zan said, no longer able to hold in his intrigue.


    "Young man. Speak only when spoken to, thank you," the assistant said to Zan.


    About to bite back, Zan remembered the indignation at the supervisor''s office. He kept his mouth shut thought barely. Winters took notice of his challenge, though, and tapped him on the back in support. Later, when the assistant was out of earshot, he whispered, "Good! You controlled yourself well. Keep it up!"


    For now, the assistant continued to drone on. Zan hoped the explanation was near it end.


    "The tower needs this crystalline substance to function. In your assigned area, you will breakdown the ore, deposit it within slots like the one I used to demonstrate, and you will advance through the local section. You should not encounter any wayward dangers while employed with Sunstar Industries. Not on these base floors, that is. Should you encounter any danger, I trust with as many warriors as you have in your party, you will suffice regardless. In such a circumstance, however, please do inform I or another supervisor of the dangers you found," the assistant said at length. Zan was ready to get a move on and do something other than listening to a woman. Alas, the assistant was not done with them. Not yet.


    Continuing once more, the assistant said, "Now, one last thing before I leave. You have noticed the well-lit rooms versus the darkened rooms? This is the other task your party will perform as you mine. If you discover any unlit rooms, you will take this device, hold it in the air, and turn the room on. It will register automatically. No magic needed. Once more, I will demonstrate." Holding in her hand a small star-like object, the assistant rose the tri-pointed object above her head. Using her free hand to tilt and spin the star -- "Yes, sorry. You do have to spin the object! Keep this in mind!" the assistant said while the device started -- Zan saw the device build energy while it spun. He knew it was building energy because he felt it in his skin and bones. While walking before, he hadn''t thought anything was out of the ordinary, but now with the device disrupting the dormant energy, Zan felt an immense amount of inert energy become reorganized.


    Then the device stopped spinning.


    A gentle warmth from the room''s stone-like material emerged. The warmth generated light and banished every shadow. From somewhere in the traveling party, someone exclaimed, "It''s like those dwarven gas-powered lights. Wow!"


    The assistant handed the device to Colonel Winters. "What is it?" he asked.


    "We call it a Spark. Do you have any questions before I leave you be?" the assistant asked.


    "Yeah. Where are we working to, and do you have a map? Will food be provided?"


    Without missing a beat for a thought, the assistant said, "You are working to the end of the unexplored corridor. You will know when you''ve arrived at your destination because the corridor will lead out into the natural world. There will be another secretary there to confirm your progress. A map will not be needed as the zones of interest your team will focus upon will be marked by de-activated lights. Focus on the dark areas, move through the corridor, and you will be fine. Regarding food, there will be a small spread of preserved fruits and cheeses. Due to the size of your party, however, expect this to only be a snack and nothing more. If there is nothing more, I will point you in the right direction and send you off."


    Zan saw Winters think it over. If he had any more questions for the assistant. When he thought over if he had any questions, Zan wasn''t sure he did. It seemed basic. Mine this weird ore, dump said ore into slots, and spin a weird thingy in the air above your head. How hard could it be?


    "I have no more questions. Leave it to us. We will get this done before long. I do have a question concerning the situation outside the tower, however, which I hope you can answer," Winters asked.


    "I''m sorry. I cannot speak about the nature of outside events. Remain calm, do your job, and all will be taken care of; we here at Sunstar Industries have defense pacts with every known culture and geopolitical entity within our World Zone. Work first, then worry," the assistant said, taking her leave.


    Everyone looked to Winters. He looked outside the room to the endless passages beyond. He said under his breath, "Boy. It would be nice to have a map..."

 Chapter 137

    Finding himself useful right away, Zan told Winters, "My fancy headset has a built-in map. It keeps track of the inside of buildings." Zan darted his gaze to the upper-right as he saw bits of the map form already. He hadn''t been thinking about territory mapping as the assistant led them to their workspace, so his map was unimpaired from the many passages they had traversed before coming to this room.


    "Yes? I think I remember you saying something like that before. Will I be able to rely on you, then, to act, in part, as our cartographer?" Winters asked.


    "I will try my best," Zan said. "I still don''t fully know how it all works. I think it only works when I pay attention to it, because the passages leading up to here, I don''t have on my map. Here on out, though, I will pay attention."


    "Excellent. I will trust you to be our guide if we get lost," Winters said, turning to the men and giving everyone a review.


    With the group informed of their task and how to do it, Zan did as he was told by Winters. Which was not any different from what the rest were doing. He grabbed a pickaxe, hammered away at some misermint and dumped the shards into the slot. With over a dozen people hammering away in the room the assistant gave the tutorial inside, the shards quickly filled the slow until -- suddenly -- a rumble came from the wall. The mold burned away. Then, etching itself from the wall as though a wizard had cast some spell of transmogrification, a door emerged.


    No one moved a muscle while the door appeared. ''Is this normal?'' someone said. Zan shared their curiosity.


    "I guess this the function. Dump the ore, a door appears?" Winters said aloud though Zan thought he was only thinking to himself but aloud.


    Hand on doorhandle, Zan turned the handle, and opened the plain-looking door. He crossed over into a hallway. A short hallway, the twin-doors at the end were bound by a grotesque fungal infection similar to the infection which had possessed the previous chamber''s wall. Seeing misermint growths in the hallway and likely in the adjacent rooms, Zan reasoned filling the slot with enough ore would grant them passage beyond.


    Conferring with Winters, a shrug meant he agreed with Zan''s assessment. "Into teams! At least one warrior to a team! One team to a door!"


    "Zan. Take a commanding lead. Have your friends do the same. I want all of you to gain experience in leading men. Hammer away at the ores and fill the door. Help other groups where you can. I will be doing the same," Winters said.


    Nodding, Zan was nervous to lead men not his own, but he knew it was an experience he would have to learn if he wanted to be useful and help free his homeland.


    This being the case, Zan saw a problem, and acted like how he thought Winters would like him to act. Standing on top of a nearby slab of stone, Zan shouted loud enough for everyone to hear him. "Can I have your attention? Please! Everyone! Listen to me! We have more people than teams than we have rooms to explore. If you are not currently in an entryway team, remain together and wait for your turn to ''tag in'' for a team who needs rest. I want us to do this in rotation!"


    No one opposed Zan, not even Winters, he was happy to see. Giving Zan the thumbs up, even, Zan barely contained himself to keep his smile from beaming, as he did not want to appear unprofessional.


    At the head of his own team and before one of the handful of doors which lined the small hallway which culminated in the twin-doors, Zan introduced himself and asked for the names of his fellows. The soldier answered, "Pippy." A female worker from the villa said her name was "Sunny." Then there were two male labors from the villa: "Chet" and "Wheat." Five people, Zan told himself, whatever was behind this door should be easy work.


    As the leader, Zan took point. He opened the door to find an empty room whose only notable feature was the many misermint ore-growths; dotting the space along its corners and up a certain stretch of its walls, Zan knew there would be no issue with hacking away at these ores.


    "Spread out. Hack at ''em. When you finish picking enough to fill your bin go and dump it into the slot in the hallway. You don''t need to ask my permission or anything," Zan said, letting them know he did not expect full deference.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Heading to a nearby ore to begin his fair share of the labor, Zan thought the encounter ended. Yet a half-life lingered. As he walked to the ore, he heard one of the male laborers half-whisper to his buddy, "Good. We weren''t going to ask permission anyway." Snickering, he and his fellow male worker got to work and started to pick at the ore.


    Was that about me? Zan asked. Why wouldn''t they ask their team-lead permission to do something? Do they think they''re above me or something?


    Although the interaction he overheard rubbed him the wrong way, Zan did not let it overpower his otherwise determined nature. He worked on his own ore deposit, gradually breaking the growth down, until it was but dust. Sweeping the remains into his collection bin, Zan left the room to go and dump the ore into the slot. On his way out, he saw the two male villa workers. They were huddled in close to each other whispering while pointing to someone -- on his way back, Zan saw it was a girl.


    "Guys. Now isn''t the time to discuss who''s cute enough to meet your hog. It''s work time. Get back to the room, please," Zan told the boys, who sneered at him in a way kids from his village would have never dared to look at an adult.


    "We''re taking a break..." one of them, possibly Chet, said.


    Zan looked at their collection bins. Maybe-Chet''s bin was only half full while his friend, Maybe-Wheat''s bin, was only partially full. What they had done was not enough to warrant a break. Especially not while an enemy airship was doing gods-know what outside the tower. Time was of the essence, and they had no time to waste which wasn''t already being wasted performing this guttersnipe labor for a foreign company.


    "Fine," Zan said to the boys. "But from here on out, you fill your collection bins completely, then go and dump it. Understood?"


    Taking a step to Zan, Chet didn''t say anything, but he did make an obnoxious gesture where he took his hand and cupped it around his ear, as if to say, ''did you say something?'' Wheat laughed hysterically.


    Not taking any more of their insubordination, Zan countered simply: meeting Chet''s stride by taking a few steps of his own, he glided in close to Chet and asked him, "Do I need to involve Colonel Winters? Because while you and your friend here are traveling under our protection, and as long as I am under the command of the Colonel, I am your commanding officer. If you have a problem with this just because of my age or where I come from or some other pointless fecking reason, how about we sort this out like adults?"


    Bravery drained from Chet''s face in an instant. He muttered a sorry and looked away. Zan thought for a moment he would push for a better apology but thought against it. He didn''t want to exacerbate the situation any when he already won. "Thank you," then, was all Zan said.


    Receiving no more problems from Chet and Wheat, for the time being, and with Pippy and Sunny hard at work, together, they cleaned out the chamber in hardly half-an-hour. Back and forth they went from the room to the twin-doors. Over again they lifted their bin''s cover with their foot, then leaned their bin close to the slot, where they emptied their buckets. Passing other teams from other doors, and while taking quick looks into the other chambers, Zan saw similar sights. Every door they had entered led to a simple, empty room filled only with crystals meant for mining.


    With his chamber all cleaned out and a line forming to use the twin-door slot, Zan told his team they could go on break.


    Zan wandered into the other rooms to see if those teams needed any help. No one did. With Jiehong, Whiskey, and Winters, plus the ever-capable Scouts who traveled with Whiskey, not to mention Winters''s regular subordinates, and what this all resulted in was one well-directed group. No delinquency. Everyone worked toward the common good. Zan liked this as he thought people needed purpose. He sure-as-feck knew before the war he did not have a purpose.


    Asking around for spare food, Zan felt his stomach rumble, and he knew he needed sustenance. A lot of people said they had nothing to spare. Several of the elderly, however, who eat little due to their age, offered his rations of died and salted meats. Plus, some warm berries to wash it down. Was it tasty? Not really. Plain, nearly flavorless, if it hadn''t been for the salt. Thanking the villa workers who gave him food, Zan eat his offerings and returned to the twin-doors at the far-end of the hallway.


    Seeing the door light up and burn away the gunk which seemed to eat away at the stone-like substance of the tower, several people cheered.


    "Before we head in do you want me to go around the rooms and activate them using the Spark?" Zan asked.


    "The spark?" Winters replied, confused. Thinking, he seemed to remember at the last second before Zan was about to explain. "Oh!" Winters yelped. "The Spark. Yes! My attention is better spent helping direct people. I will entrust this strange artifact to your care. Go and quickly light the rooms."


    Taking to his new orders, Zan popped into every room and used the Spark device in the same way the assistant had used it. He brought it over his head, spun the tri-pointed wheel, and boom, done. Energy became redirected... or whatever happened in this place when the artifact was used... and the chambers all lit up until such light spilled from them one would misbelieve a bonfire was raging within. Shielding his eyes as he ran back through the hallway, Zan returned to Winters with a huff and said, "''Kay! I think I got them!"


    "And so, you do!" Winters said. "Onwards."

 Chapter 138

    Again, at the head of the advancing group, Zan entered into another hallway. A capital ''L''-shaped hallway, Zan and Winters and all the rest entered where the line segments met, on the bend. Therefore, to Zan''s right was a passage they could take, as was ahead to them, which was another passageway they could take. "We take both," Zan said to Winters while they were attempting to figure which route to take.


    "Bold idea. I figure we have to go both ways regardless. One of these doors ought to lead deeper into the tower. Should you find such a route, please let me know through one of your weird flying fake bugs," Winters stated.


    "An echo-beetle? Sure. And exactly! My thinking as well. So, we ought to get a jump on it. Both of us know what we are doing. If I have an idea and you approve, then two great minds thinking alike!" Zan said, feeling he had made a fool of himself. Why, he questioned himself, did he think grandstanding would be a good idea? Boy, did he pay for it. Cruelly, in the melodramatic way, Winters asked Zan, "Great?! Big and bold words coming from a lad who hasn''t even been with Another!" Laughing, Winters playfully slapped Zan on his back.


    Both groups split with an even divide between the segment led by Zan and the segment led by Winters. Throughout the duration of his command, Zan kept in constant communication with Winters. "Room One, clear. Room two, cleared," Zan said as he heard of his teams and their progress.


    Truly, other than labor, only things uninteresting happened. Work crews jibbed on the work ethics of the other crews. Somewhere in earshot, Jiehong cracked an insensitive joke. Sound muted for Zan as his mind forced all the non-essential to flee; the feel of the pickaxe, the handle''s girth, and how its pang-fangs hung before each venom-strike bite sunk away at the misermint ore; the sound of impact: a clink, or a long-lost sound effect of creation; the dust-puff after the blow. And if you were lucky, a sweep of the fleet, of whatever had come away from the ore, into your bin.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Room''s done," Zan said, gazing, hardly aware it was he who had talked.


    Although in each room they had filled the slot to the slot''s heart''s content, no new pathway opened. "Did anyone see a door?" Zan asked.


    No one sprang up their hand in revelation.


    Wait, Zan asked himself, had he lit every room with the Spark?


    "Rejoin with the others at the hall''s joint. I want to confirm I opened every room to the light," Zan said, directing the others to continue the labor.


    Heading through each room, Zan saw he had, in fact, remembered to light the rooms only half of the time.


    He took a few minutes and corrected his error. It will take me a little while to remember. This is a new responsibility for me, Zan told himself.


    Meeting up with Colonel Winters, Zan asked if everything was in order, ore wise. "Yes. Every slot has been filled. Now, we only need our resident Spark holder to ignite the rooms. Have you found any trouble, yet?" Winters asked.


    Catching his breath before heading into the rooms on Winters''s side of the hallway, Zan said, "Nope. Nothing. Nothing but crystals. Why? Did you?"


    "Heavens no. I was only curious. I''ve been around for a while, so I''ve heard some stories about these towers. Wild, fantastic stories. Judging from today, though, I guess ''only stories'' if what they will remain. It''s nice to find out for yourself if the drunken sailor you''ve chatted with was telling the truth of not. Turns out most none of them are telling the truth! Ha!"


    "It is soothing to learn firsthand," Zan said, wondering who the ''sailor'' was...


    Ending the conversation with Winters, Zan rushed his way through the few chambers of Winters''s side. His process here was the same as ever -- Spark held over his head; spin the tri-tip; spin it faster; let it circulate energies (or whatever...), and presto-bingo, the room lights up like a campfire.


    "Find the passage?" Zan asked. "I didn''t see any door on my side. And I didn''t see anything on your end... did one appear somewhere?"


    Winters ordered everyone to search for a new passage. One had opened up. It seemed at random, but a pathway emerged in one of the first rooms ''completed'' by Zan''s side. Walking through, Zan and Company, walked face-first into the crisp, humid air of the glorious outdoors.

 Chapter 139

    "Wonderful! I had no idea we would already be at the edge!" Winters said, his voice raising with his optimism.


    Taking a moment to look at his new surroundings, Zan saw an unusual environment. Part-forest and part-jungle, oaks and vines grew within one another like a cross-over tango. Trees, their images, earth, even creatures and water at the edge of their consciousness, fritted in and out of existence, like a shutter frame in existence itself. If he looked too long at the weird earth Zan got a headache. He tried his best to avert his eyes of something he literally could not ignore but through his luck of not lacking his sight.


    "What is this place?" someone asked.


    To answer their question, an assistant came forward, just as the previous assistant had said would happen when they arrived on the tower''s edge.


    "Welcome to Side D! I have been prepped on your situation by my superior, who''ve you''ve already met. Let me check the status of the area you were assigned. Please hold," the assistant said, before vanishing behind and into a gated enclosure holding several desks.


    More than the desks, however, what took Zan''s attention inside the cage was the placement of a strange contraption. It looked a lot like a pipe organ, a device Zan had once seen while on pilgrimage to a nearby village when he was younger. What made this device different from a pipe organ, however, was a number of glowing glyphs on the would-be ''pipes.'' As the clerk touched the pipes, the symbols changed color. Pipes moved up and down and even twisted into new configurations; while glyph touching, odd sounds came from the machine. And even an odder scent. Zan wondered more than ever what that machine was -- so he asked.


    The clerk, unfortunately, disregarded his question.


    Crossing his arms and asking again, Zan found himself again ignored. Seriously! He told himself. What is with everyone here being so rude?!


    Coming back, the clerk said, "I have confirmed your labors. I have also arranged the pathway for you. Follow the signage to the next tower. It will take you to your next labor assignment. Any questions?"


    "Yeah. Where is the food?" Zan asked, wondering if the clerk would answer that question.


    She did: "Behind you and to your left." She spoke.


    People turned and saw the table filled with already picked over munching foods. Clearly, other workers had arrived before them. Winters took command and evenly divided the partly sum of food among the group. Everyone got a couple of small bites before it was time to move out.


    Following the path, Zan and Company were taken along a wide trail. To their sides, beyond deep ditches, and up jagged ridges, were iron fence segments set in an intricate design; within the body of this fence were strategically placed precious mana-stones, which glowed and flickered as it processed magical residue from the land. We''re sealed in, Zan thought, once he got a good look at where they were. No escape if an enemy attacks us...


    Was Zan worried about an attack? Not exactly... but Winters told him to remain on guard. And though he saw no enemy airship in the sky, at the present moment, he was sure it wasn''t far behind. There was something about it, the ship, being too inconspicuous to consider it gone.


    Walking forward, however, Zan could not help but worry over every noise. ''What''s that?'' ''What''s this?'' ''Is a monster nearby?'' Cables ran the length of the trail. Cables, along with strange machines which performed a number of tasks Zan couldn''t even begin to guess at. Uneventful as their trek had been, when they arrived at a circular gate, everyone worried. Beyond the gate was nothing. No more trail extended. If they couldn''t find a way to activate this device, they were screwed.


    "Everyone remain calm while we figure out the way ahead!" Winters yelled, ordering everyone into a calmed state.


    Zan investigated along with Winters and his underlings. Although there were a lot of machines which sparked a lot, suggesting to Zan powerful electro-magic within, nothing had been clearly delineated for an audience unversed in the function of the tower. The assistant had said everything was ready for them, but this clearly was not ready for them! Zan grew frustrated.


    Taking a break from searching, Zan talked to Jiehong and Whiskey. "What is with this crap?"


    "Calm, buddy. I know it''s frustrating," Jiehong said.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "Easy for you to say. You''re not the one who is having your requests denied and ignored. The people here, crap on a cracker is all I will say!"


    Letting his words linger in the humid air like flies buzzing, Whiskey said, "I can''t believe this is the shorter path. I am so tired. And out of this. This place is really weirding me out."


    "I know what you mean," Zan replied. "Inside, I was doing my thing and I felt something weird. The stone feels like it has weird pulsations in it, I don''t know if you guys noticed. And outside? One wrong move and we are lost. I am not positive what this Deep Woods thing is all about, but it sounds like certain death if we get lost in it."


    "I didn''t notice anything about the insides," Whiskey said. "You said you felt an energy? In the stone?"


    "Yeah. In the stone. Why? Can''t you guys feel it? Or at least the energy in general?"


    Both of his friends shrugged or made a little bodily gesture which told Zan no one other than him had felt what he felt.


    "When you say, ''energy in general,'' what do you mean? I''m with Whiskey here. I''m curious," Jiehong said.


    "I mean, like..." Zan said, taking a pause, a moment to think. "I mean do you ever sense the magical energy within an object?"


    "No," both Whiskey and Jiehong said at the same time.


    "Never? You''ve never, ever felt magical energy within an item or nature?" Zan asked, troubled.


    Each shook their head. "You saying you can feel it, though? You can feel magic within things?" Whiskey asked, giving Zan an important look.


    "Yeah. Not a ton. Mind you. I can''t communicate with magic or anything like that, but I can sense magic in stuff. I thought everyone could..."


    "No. Not everyone can do that, Zan. It is a rare gift."


    "Oh... I guess I''m just a freak. What else is new?" Zan said, his humor hiding, he hoped, his confusion.


    "We can discuss your freak-qualities later, my man. I think we should help get this gate activated," Jiehong said, pointing at the gate with his thumb.


    The group broke off from their brief but awkward conversation. Zan wandered around the small, enclosed area, searching for anything which might look like a lever or activation switch. Per the norm, he found a lot of levers, as well as a lot of switches, but nothing which looked so natural as to belong to the gate naturally. Seeing cables on the ground lead from the gate to consoles nearby, Zan figured one of the consoles had to activate the gate. The question was, which one?


    Thinking back on the conversation he just had with his friends, Zan closed his eyes. He had a radical idea; shifting his perspective, Zan concentrated and attempted to sense the magical energy within the console. Normally, he did not ''work'' at sensing energy. It was something he simply could do, like it was another of his senses. No different from taste or smell.


    Slowly moving around the space, Zan focused his attention not on the exterior of the many strange contraptions but on the inside. He attempted to understand what was moving on the inside. Did Zan know what was inside these machines worked? Not exactly, but he had guesses from the many people he met who talked of their encounters with these machines. Zan knew the inside had sedimented magic in the form of precious stones. That was it. Yet he felt that magic.


    Coarse, smooth, dry, wet, chunky, slimy... different stones and different articulations of magic felt to Zan unique. Letting his mind waft outward, like he was intently thinking of a topic and its component parts without letting himself become distracted, Zan found the words coming to him as if to represent their true nature. Though they be refined and functioning inside a machine, Zan wondered if a part of their original form remained, trapped in some primordial essence? Maybe. Though Zan knew not what and how to think about magic, being uneducated in such matters.


    "Here!" Zan said, surprising even himself. Standing before a console, Zan pressed a button.


    Whirrr--kk--ing, the gate sounded as function returned to the gateway-looking device. Inside the arched gate, a swirling pattern appeared inside rotating inside the gate.


    "What did you do?" Winters said. Zan told him of how he pressed the button. "I figured the flow of magic. After looking at all the consoles and cables, I ruminated on the logic of it all. Then I had my bright-burn moment, and this button made sense. So, I pressed it."


    "Excellent. You are sensitive to magic?" Winters asked, holding his fist in the air to hold the others back from entering the gate before them.


    "Yeah. Some, I guess. Apparently, to Jiehong and Whiskey, it is not a common trait."


    "It is a rare talent, boy. Hardly unheard of. I wouldn''t recommend giving this too much thought."


    Hearing Winters casually talk of his magical sensitivity like it was nothing more than an allergy, made happy in Zan''s heart. Ever since Jiehong and Whiskey had given him the second degree over his sensory abilities, he had become increasingly nervous to how he figured himself in relation to others. With Winters take on the issue, Zan felt back at ease.


    Crossing to the portal''s other side, Zan and the Rest found themselves in an area not unlike the zone they previously left; jungle and forest mixed in a strange, heat-induced haze, animals or monsters from some beyond yelled, and the muggy, hot air soaked their bones. Ahead, a road lined by deep ditches. To their left and right, iron-made fences adorned with magical stones. Much like previously, Zan wondered what the purpose of the stones were in a place like this. Walking ahead and keeping himself concentrated on the ground and the many cables and wires protruding from every angle and even rock, Zan gave as little thought as possible to what lay beyond the confines of this tower.


    Their new tower loomed overall. Zan thanked the gods for its closeness to them. He did not like the idea of having to traverse more than the barest possible minimum of this wild outside. Zan''s heartbeat here fluttered like a feather on the wind. Though he could not see the danger, Zan knew many deadly things lay inside whatever forlorn, monster-infested zone of the Deep Woods this tower -- by force of magic -- manifested as part of its normal operation.


    Nearly to the new tower, only a final obstacle confronted them.

 Chapter 140 [New Threat: Monsters]

    A huge trench-blocked passage. The workers here, knowing people would need to cross, built a lift system to transport people and goods over the gap. Although the lift would have been generous to most people''s needs, especially the needs of the common worker as they went about their day, to Zan and Winters and the odd-hundred or so mouths along for the ride, a lift any size other than ''gigantic'' would have presented problems. A lift hardly big enough for ten people? Big problem.


    "We need to get people across as soon as possible," Zan said to Winters.


    "Obviously. But look! I''m sorry. This is frustrating. The machine is not even powered! I didn''t mind so much at the gate. Oversights happen. But again? I am with you, boy. I thought the assistant said everything was all up and ready for us? Sigh."


    "I will try to sense how to turn it on," Zan said, getting to work, but also saying he needed quiet.


    And quiet he did need! Hearing his stomach grumble distracted him, which caused him to focus instead on the fluttering of insects and the festering of bugs. Focus, Zan! Refocusing, Zan shut his eyes for a moment and visualized the whole scene being wiped. No more bug or breathing focus. Magic! Where is it? Zan asked.


    Opening his eyes and thinking of nothing but the simple control mechanism before him, a basic lever with a keyed ignition slot, and a button, Zan reached out to touch the device. It was not made of an exotic material. His touch knew the materials were basic metal. The wire supporting the lift was steel, rare though it was, steel and metal were hardly unknowns to people such as Zan.


    Going deeper, Zan willed himself to attempt and seek out the magics within the console. His searching, poking need found its leverage when the magic within flared to meet his enquiry. Unknown even to Zan, the flaring magical essence inside the console leaked into his mind. Connected to an inert source of magic in a way he never had connected before, and with drool forming at his lips, eyes catatonic, Zan felt and saw in a single image the flow of the magic within the machine and its logic. Zan''s hand snapped into twisting fingers. With a jerk of his thumb and index finger, Zan forced the magic to flow, and the machine turned on.


    Rumbling, stinky exhaust puffed from a nearby stack. With such an acrid stink, it was impossible for Zan to not immediately break from his stupor.


    Coming to, Zan realized Jiehong had been shaking him. "W-what?" Zan asked, dizzy.


    "Oh! Finally, you''re speaking again!" Jiehong said, nearly shouted.


    "What happened?" Zan asked.


    "You went into some kind of trance," Whiskey explained, as Jiehong continued to hold Zan in a brotherly embrace.


    "I had no idea. I was so focused on trying to sense the magic I guess I blocked everything else out?" Zan asked.


    "I guess--" Jiehong began but was overridden by Winters who began shouting for people to enter the lift.


    Hearing the bustle of people, Zan snapped back to his present reality. "Good job!" Winters shouted to Zan. "You came through, bud!"


    Zan returned the appreciation and thanked Winters for his sentiment. Though a part of Zan wished Winters used a more mature honorific than ''bud.'' What was he, a child? A young child? No. He was old enough to be considered at least manly in many places. But Zan shoved the momentary feeling of inadequacy down. It was only Winters acting grandfatherly, after all.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The lift automatically activated when a certain number of people crammed inside and lowered the safety gate. With the haste of a slug-snail, the lift inched its way over the gorge. No one could avert their eyes. Everyone seemed transfixed on the lift''s rickety passage and whether some grave disaster would happen, killing all who boarded. Zan wouldn''t lie. He always thought of some horrendous trouble when he saw the immensity of some grand building or war engine. Gods be praised, however! For the lift made it over safely. Hitting some unseen button on the other side, the lift began its return passage.


    ''Should be a good moment for some down time,'' Zan thought to himself. Too late, though, as Winters stepped toward him and said, "Send yourself and your friends to the back of the group. We are too big to be secure or to believe we are safe. I need you protecting our rear!"


    "Right!" Zan said, nodding to his friends. They took off and quickly secured the backend of the group. Naturally falling into line with the few nearby soldiers, Zan was not concerned about everyone making it to the other side, though he asked the people close to him, "Any trouble?" Their answers were what he expected: cusses at the weird environment, questions about what was making the bloodcurdling howl, and why it was so humid. Answering every question was easy as the answer was the same. "I don''t know," Zan would say.


    By the time the fourth group of ten crossed the gap using the lift, Zan''s eye lids drooped. His engagement dipped as well. His System gave him a notification: [Stamina Levels Critical]. As though he needed the reminder.


    Jerking himself awake, Zan thought it nothing less than astounding how despite the surreal horror of another part of reality bleeding into his own little section, he remained so tired as to be on the verge of falling asleep. He couldn''t help it! The last couple of days, even with his forced rest, were not easy on him. Now, more than ever, he longed for the comforts of the command center. A cool bedroom, a kitchen, and who could forget, the wonderful Wardens who had helped him so much...


    "Focus Zan!" Whiskey snapped at him.


    "Sorry. I am just so..." Zan said, not able to finish the thought.


    "I get it. You''re exhausted. Heck-on-a-bet, we''re all tired beyond reason, Zan, but we''re pulling through, aren''t we?" Whiskey said.


    "Don''t worry. I am stretching now, see? Just gotta keep my blood moving," Zan said as he started his basic stretching.


    "You''ll have more success with this. I made some black tea a while ago. I have a little left. It''s only lukewarm but it should give you a tiny edge. Could you believe one of the soldiers had tea on him? What a world!" Whiskey told Zan as she handed him a cup with an enclosed lid around a straw. She took the cup off her belt as though it were a grenade; don''t want to mix up those two, Zan thought to himself and smirked at the thought of someone trying to take a sip out of a grenade. How silly!


    Zan smiled before he even took a sip. This caused Whiskey to say, "What''s it like in your head, guy?" Zan smiled and drank down all of the remaining beverage.


    "How would I know? What''s it like in your head?" Zan asked, throwing the question back at her.


    "Calm. Composed. I think through with things. Logically, I mean. Not the kind of person who can easily picture the abstract, but I enjoy making sense of the world in such a way which allows me genuine insight into how people and society function," Whiskey explained.


    Zan wasn''t at all expecting such a concise answer. He meant the counter half in jest!


    "I had no idea. I''m the opposite, I guess. I like to know my place in the world before I care to learn about anything else."


    "Interesting way to live. We will have to talk about this more later. When we''re not on duty."


    Looking at the lift and then the remaining people, they still have a long while yet to go before everyone was across. So, of course, trouble decided to set in and begin. It started with s shriek, like always, and escalated from there, until a section of the iron fence blew inward and into the steep ditch. His attention affixed to the spot in the fence that had caved in, Zan hard gasps from the crowd as horrific monsters with more limbs and mouths than bugs emerged from beyond the fence.

 Chapter 141

    Rushing to the edge, Zan looked into the ditch. He saw the grotesque beasts surely climb their way toward the top. "We have to confront them the moment they reach the top!" Whiskey shouted as she pulled and let fly several arrows she had scavenged and made from local materials.


    Zan agreed with Whiskey. If beasts like these were allowed near the civilians, it would be a massacre.


    Readying his blade, Zan prepared to take a Life. Abominable as the life might be, and as guilt-free Zan would feel knowing the useless, murderous beasts were put out of their misery, it would still be a first for him, swinging his sword into something and drawing blood which was neither his own nor that of a deer. Feeling it important to be the one who draws blood first, if nothing else, then because he had to show his subordinates his leadership qualities, Zan stabbed his sword through the first monster which surged from the ditch; his tip pierced through several layers of deformed hands which sprung from the canine-esque body like wicked hairs from a twisted god. Finding his way to the creature''s heart, once the heart punctured, it deflated the creature like a balloon. The body burst and a puddle of blood formed at Zan''s feet. Feet and hands; without the monster''s heart sustaining their parasitic relationship, the limbs crawled away and into the ditch.


    "Fecking horrible!" Zan spat, feeling grotesque himself for merely having endured killing the monster.


    Along the line, the other soldiers and civilian volunteers met their own monsters. With the help of Whiskey and Jiehong, however, Zan successfully countered each time a group of monsters sprung from the ditch. Between the experience of Winters''s men, the combat they were fresh from tasting at the villa and just the fact some still had a touch of magic on them, the disorganized mob of monsters found themselves sliced and diced before long. Still running between combat zones, the places on their road where monsters emerged to attack the group, Zan released his held breath. ''No more monsters,'' he said to anyone who could hear.


    Splotches of blood coated the ground. The walkway. Bodies littered it both. Throughout it all, there weren''t a time when someone wasn''t screaming for mercy as the sight of monsters set people to panic.


    Zan did not hear any of the chaos.


    He heard nothing as his System headset blaring warnings about strange toxins. He heard none of the soldiers while they screamed profanity while slaying the creatures. And he blocked out the bloodcurdling pitch from the regular folk. His heart slammed his soul; the bare motions of combat -- arm up and around, forward, swing, block, stab -- became as a perverse theatrical performance as Zan moved his body not to entertain, as he did at times in the tavern during festival season, but to kill.


    Across the pathway, far too many severed limbs lay. No battlefield could handle such a number of limbs contrasted to the number of combatants and still live within the grace of the gods. No battlefield except those visited by an abominable monster horde.


    Glancing behind, Zan saw how after the battle, less than half of the civilians remained. This was good. Less space gave them more insight when an enemy charged and lessened the risk of an injury. Less space to protect meant the people who remained could be protected better. Even so, half? He felt panicked. Though adrenaline poured through him, he still shook from the encounter.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Anyone ever see a genuine monster before?" Zan shouted once the bloodletting ended.


    Silence. "Really? No one?" Jiehong asked. Everyone still remained silent.


    The fact no one, not even the professional soldiers under Winters''s command, had ever before seen a monster proved thought-provoking to Zan. Were monsters so rare outside of liminal places like the Deep Woods? Were there monsters in the old wizard towers they were exploring?


    No one among Zan''s cluster knew the answers to questions like these. Who did? The learned of society, perhaps. Not the bulk, though. Not the masses of people who go about their lives and occupations with a humble intensity to their daily efforts. Zan would understand, one day, he hoped. For now? Zan counted his luck that the enemy did not come back for a second wave. Looking at the next to last group board the lift and take off for the other side, breathing came a stich easier with the final group nearing the point of boarding.


    When a howling began, however, Zan''s troubled peace shattered. "What the feck is that?!" he slurred.


    Whiskey spoke. "Werewolf? I have never seen one in person. I am not sure how many people have. Now might be a good time to pray to the gods for their assistance."


    Zan forced himself against grinding his teeth. Both hands on his blade, Zan fearfully and resolutely stood to the front of the pack, ready to confront any danger which came his way, all while hoping against hope, to meet nothing of the beast which produced the howl.


    "Final group across," a soldier said from the lift. "Once we''re across, we''ll send the lift back for you!"


    Zan voiced acknowledgement of the soldier''s intent and counted down the seconds until it off-loaded its people and returned to Zan, Whiskey, Jiehong, and the two soldiers who stayed behind to confront the danger on the edge of the fence.


    One, Zan counted. Two. Three seconds.


    Another howl. This time much closer to the fence. Zan heard the beast''s guttural cry. Four seconds. Five.


    A scuffling of claws on dirt. Sounds like an overgrown beast sniffing the earth, turning up dirt as its nose dug into the soil. Then a snort and another scuttling of limbs upon the natural coil of the land. Zan openly tumbled his fear as his body was close to panicking completely. Was he about to confront an actual werewolf? A near-mythical beast?


    Six seconds. Seven. Eight.


    Zan glanced behind. The lift was only barely on its way back to them. Zan''s whole body continued to tremble. He sweated so quickly; his whole body wet itself unnaturally. Nine seconds.


    A section of the iron gate exploded outward and into the opposite ditch. Ten. Eleven.


    Drenched in matted fur so disgusting Zan smelt its coat before he saw the beast, what came from the hole in the fence looked like a corpse who stole a strongman''s muscles. Tall, gangly, and covered in scars, the creature''s body was mostly wolf, but with a humanoid frame. Its face featured a prominent, protruding snout with fangs like the bastard offspring of a lion and a snake.


    Twelve seconds...


    The color drained from his face when Whiskey said, "That''s not a werewolf."


    Thirteen. Fourteen seconds.


    "Then what the feck is it?!" Zan screeched.


    "I don''t know, but I am saying more of my prayers. Guys! If you can hear me, hurry that lift to us if you can! Please!" Whiskey yelled to the folk across the gap.


    Fifteen. Sixteen.


    Leaping in a single bound to the roadway, Zan felt blessed when he saw the beast land well ahead of them. It would take at least a minute for it to charge them and engage them in mortal combat. One more minute... Calm yourself. Get ready. That thing it going to come right at us!


    Seventeen seconds. "Whiskey. Jiehong. I don''t dare to look back. Is the lift nearly here?" Zan asked.


    A moment later Jiehong said, "Nearly here. Thank the fecking gods!" Eighteen.


    Still not able to take his eyes off the beast, Zan had to force himself not to hyperventilate. He was sure had he not had all the combat experience he had gained in the last month or so he would have wet himself and fainted. Blissfully, Zan neither wet himself nor lost consciousness. The losing consciousness part he had already done recently -- when he fought Mentality -- and so he did not want to do so again. He controlled his breathing, gripped his blade handle tighter, and readied himself for--


    Then the ''Not-werewolf'' jumped toward them.

 Chapter 142

    Taking steps back, the sudden movement startled Zan and Friends. Though the beast remained fairly far away, it was now much closer to them. What disturbed Zan most of all, however, was how its nose, once hovering through the dirt like snake through sand, now was in the air and pointed at them. Both of the beast''s nostrils flared with snot flinging off it. Zan now held his blade so tightly he threatened to drain color from his flesh. "Get ready, guys. It has our scent."


    Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one seconds. "Where is that damn lift?!"


    Unable to resist looking anymore, Zan glanced back to see the lift nearly lock into place. Nearly!


    Twenty-two. Snarling and howling, the beast looked directly at Zan and Company. Its eyes met Zan''s own and then it charged.


    Twenty-three seconds and then Zan heard a loud click.


    "Jiehong! Smoke grenade!" Zan shouted.


    "We only have one left!" Jiehong replied but tossed the smoke in a can anyway.


    The smoke spread as the creature charged at them. Finding its visibility changed for the worse, the creature did what Zan hoped it would do. Slow down. Take caution. Grunt and slowly renew its approach. Twenty-four. Twenty-Five.


    A green light blinked into existence. The gate opened.


    Just as the werewolf-like beast tore its way through the smoke, Zan and Whiskey and Jiehong (along with the two soldiers who stayed behind), were safely aboard the lift and pulling away from the site.


    Taking in a big pull of air and then howling like Zan had never heard it howl before, the beast forced Zan to cover his ears. This was when the beast scampered and ran off but not to flee. In stunned horror, Zan and Company watched as the beast got a running head start and leaped with wild abandon across the chasm, landing on the outside of their lift like a fly in a spider''s web.


    Shouts, screams thundered from the lift, Zan included, as everyone lunged their blades at the beast, hoping to land a lucky killing blow.


    Up closer to the monster than he ever would have liked to have been, Zan saw firsthand its bloody forest fur interrupted with gigantic parasitic creatures of a kind Zan had never seen and hoped to never see again.


    As he was stabbing the beast (poorly...) while it ripped apart the partly walls of the lift, the Screen Master chirped into Zan''s ear. "Aim for its joints. Creatures in the werewolf family are susceptible to their joints being targeted. Without their ability to leap and jump, their fighting ability is dramatically reduced. As it their ability to deploy their claws."


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Not overthinking it, Zan saw the creature drop into the lift with them. Without even thinking, Zan screamed, "Kill it! Don''t give it an inch!" as he charged at the creature with his sword. Because he had haste on his side and acted bravely in the moment, Zan''s quick acting successfully saw his sword stab through one of its arms. He withdrew the blade in shock -- shock at him having the courage to assault the beast -- and renewed his efforts with a second attack.


    Missing, Zan''s second attack was merely the prelude to a flurry of blows from his allies, who likewise charged the beast. With nothing to lose, the battle everyone knew would be vicious and bloody began in earnest.


    The beast stumbled back in pain. Though its body language screamed horror, the creature did not relent and surged ahead, using its good claw-arm to clear space for it in the lift. Circling to its rear, Zan searched for a good time to attack; Whiskey did likewise, but she slid herself underneath the beast and began slicing at its body. Realizing she did not know about the joints, Zan yelled, "Hit the joints! Hit! Joints!"


    With a kick, the beast sent Whiskey tumbling to the other side of the lift, her impact against the crude safety rail causing the entire lift to swing thereby dislodging everyone and thing within. Everyone except the two soldiers, who, by the grace of their well-forged boots, managed to hold their ground. "Die beast!" both yelled as their spears struck into the beast''s body; Zan again shouted for them to target its limbs.


    Nearly at the other side, Zan hoped the group would see the were-beast and rush to their aid. They were so close! They just had to hold out for a little longer!


    Steadying himself once the cage stabilized, Zan Lunged himself at the creature with the tip of his sword going first and through one of its legs, just as a soldier struck its other leg. It howled once more and this time with such ferocity, everyone, as though it were a reaction inborn, covered their ears least their sanity and ability to hear vanished with its roar.


    The beast used this opportunity to take revenge. Following a massive unhinging of its jaw, the beast bite the upper half of one of the guards, nearly engulfing him whole. Zan could do nothing while the guard was assaulted. Once the howl ended and their sense of space returned, Zan acted, but by then, it was too late. Innumerable teeth markings etched the man''s body by the hundreds. By the time the beast released the man, he bled out nearly instantly. Zan saw only the shock in his face as one moment he was alive, rationalizing the damage inflicted on him, while in the next instance, he died.


    His face looked confused. Bewildered. Then he died. Zan would remember his face for a long time.


    And the werewolf-beast fled. It tumbled its way out of the lift with its one good leg and vanished into the distance below, clearly preferring its chances to survive an incredible drop than with them.


    Glancing at how far away from the other side they were, Zan felt little relief in seeing them nearly there. Blood, viscera, and shattered metals littered the lift. Images from the encounter -- the smells, the horrid sights -- obnoxiously filled Zan''s head despite his distaste for them. He heaved and heaved, trying to puke but so worked up, he could only make the motions. Zan''s body shook with an intensity he never before knew. He felt wicked, chained, terrified, sure, but he also, paradoxically, felt alive.


    With a heave and a click, the lift secured itself onto the station.


    They had made it across.

 Chapter 143

    The lift''s petty gate opened.


    No one met them on the other side.


    "Where is everyone?" Zan asked. On the verge of tears, he couldn''t believe no one was here waiting for them. "What the feck?!"


    Rushing from the lift the moment they could, everyone remained in shock at the encounter. No one could believe they had made it out safely. Other than the slain soldier...


    Jiehong embraced Zan. "Calm," he whispered to his friend. Joining in on the hug, Whiskey and the remaining soldier did the same. "We survived," Zan said to the group huggers, his face and theirs on top of each other. "We did. We lived. Praise be to the gods, we lived!" the soldier said with intensity.


    Breaking off and drying their tears, the group now approached the topic on everyone''s mind: what happened to the others? Where were they and them? Zan wanted to know if tragedy befell Winters and the rest or if they made it inside the tower safely.


    "Looks like stone," Jiehong said, touching the cool flat surface which lay ahead.


    Walking forward, Zan saw the dirt end and the stone begin. Around this tower was a massive courtyard. Why? It doesn''t matter why, Zan reminded himself. Whoever built this thing is long dead. With them, its original purpose. I can''t waste time thinking about these things.


    Before they arrived at the main gate, Zan and Friends walked up a series of staircases. At the end of each staircase was a resting section. These sections were basic. Benches made from some heavy slab or mineral. Unusual potted plants for decoration. But every section was sandwiched in-between the upcoming flight of stairs like a hidden world. So large was the flight leading to the doors, they needed to partake of the rest several times as they made their way up.


    Between breaths, Zan uttered, "Is this... what they... had to... do?! No wonder, no one heard us!"


    "That is assuming they even came this way," Whiskey said. "I am not seeing any traces of people. With a group as large as Winters''s, I know there would be at least a scuffed mark somewhere. There isn''t, though. I find the lack of evidence troublesome."


    Jiehong did not contribute to the debate. Though he remarked how they needed to stay focused on reaching their goal. The tower entrance.


    Reaching at long last the top of the zig-zagging path, Zan collapsed and fell to the floor. The cool marble floor. He groaned. "Whiskey! That tea you gave was nice. I am done, though. I need something to eat and to sleep. Badly. I can''t keep doing this..."


    Zan worried for a moment Whiskey would think less of him for being open with his feelings. For not putting on that bravado a leader should always wear.


    Yet he worried for nothing.


    "I''m right there with you," Whiskey replied, she on her knees with the rest. Jiehong was the only member of the group who remained standing, his watch redoubled while his teammates suffered and rested.


    The surviving soldier was silent. No doubt still shocked by the encounter with the were-monster.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Let''s... crawl," Zan said, flopping to his belly and inching his way forward like a worm.


    "No, bud, just rest," Jiehong said, being the voice of reason.


    Zan didn''t argue and continued to rest. Once a firm quarter of an hour slipped through their fingers, Jiehong helped Zan and Whiskey up.


    Recovered some, enough to move and think, Zan said, "My appreciation, buddy. I was losing myself there."


    Jiehong didn''t speak. Instead, he smiled, nodded, and let his hand linger on Zan''s shoulder as a show of comradery.


    The team entered the tower. Inside, they saw a large lobby with artificial ponds to the left and right. In the center back of the room was a desk manned by a chirpy young lady with fire hair, but hair bundled into a fashionable statement.


    Not wanting to talk until they were within normal range of reach other, Zan endured the awkward stares as the receptionist gazed and smiled.


    "Hello," Zan said. "Where is Colonel Winters?"


    Complete silence reigned.


    Widening her smile, the receptionist belatedly said, "Excuse me?"


    "Oh... sorry. My friends and I were with a group. A group this trading branch''s supervisor approved. We''re refugees fleeing the war," Zan said, hoping he had his story straight.


    Once again not replying right away, the receptionist lessened her smile. Turning his attention to a nearby mechanism of some kind, she palmed her hand over it. Lights and colors washed over the board. Looking at Zan once again, her face was blank when she said, "I understand. It seems your lift somehow became divested of its original path, the path your associates took."


    "So, what does that mean? Where are we?" Zan asked, growing impatient.


    "No need to become agitated sir. This sometimes happens--"


    He couldn''t take it anymore. Zan exploded. "What do you feckin mean don''t become agitated?! Feck you! Do you feckin'' know what feckin'' happened out there?! A feckin'' were-beast attacked us and nearly killed us! Don''t tell me to feckin'' calm down you feckin'' piece of shet!"


    Letting his voice curl into violent sarcasm, Zan cried as he yelled, finally letting himself feel some of what came of the encounter with the monster.


    It feels good to let loose, Zan thought.


    "I understand, sir," the receptionist said.


    Slack jawed, Zan stared at her, not knowing what to say. He wanted to cuss her out again but felt drained.


    Speaking again, the receptionist rolled her palm over a couple of similar mechanisms. Like the other mechanism, this one lit with colors and gentle sounds. She said, "I have let our on-site extermination teams know of the encounter you had. If the monster survived and is still on Sunstar Industry property, it will be exterminated. We are sorry for this bad experience. Please, allow us to make it up to you with a generous contribution to your health and service fund?"


    Zan didn''t know what to say to that, so he sputtered before settling ineffectually on "Yeah. Sure. I guess... what is that? My fund? I didn''t sign up for a fund or whatever."


    "Health and service funds are a mainstay of working with Sunstar Industries. Everyone who works for or on the premises of Sunstar Industries Ancient Societies Division are automatically given accounts as per our standard labor agreement with many local governments. Please take a moment to verify your account now and add impenetrable security," the receptionist said, handing Zan a piece of paper and pen.


    "Sorry. I don''t know how to sign my name..." Zan said, embarrassed for one of the first times in his life about his lack of an education.


    "No problem. Use the pin to prick your finger and sign your blood. This is actually the most secure way to lock-in your account," the receptionist said, handing Whiskey and Jiehong their own sets of papers.


    "Wait... is this a magical contract of some kind?" Whiskey asked.


    "No contract. I do not know if it is magical. Once signed, however, you are under no obligation to perform or buy or behave in a certain capacity."


    "If I sign this what will happen?" Zan asked, still unsure of the situation.


    "It will give you secure access to your Health and Services account. Which will enable you to purchase Sunstar Industry products at any trading kiosk in the world. By signing, you waive your legal process concerning the monster attack. But you will receive the account credits by signing."


    "Okay..." Zan said, still confused about what exactly he could buy but not wanting to press the issue further. He pricked his finger, smeared the paper, and that was that.

 Chapter 144

    "Wonderful. Thank you, Mister... Zan?" the receptionist said.


    Both Whiskey and Jiehong signed or pricked their identities onto the paper and slid them back toward the clerk.


    "My name is Zan. Correct," Zan said. "Why?"


    "No reason. Basic information comes up on my end when a client secures their account, and I always like to check and make sure their information is correct. Magic might be perfect, and our machines are the best around, but mistakes still happen!" the receptionist-clerk said.


    "Understandable. But what happened to our compatriots?" Zan asked, getting the conversation back on track.


    "Yes. Your traveling party is where they were supposed to go. They are safe and fine. Likely beginning on their next labor assignment. I will return you to them or... sorry, I have to take a call," the clerk said, who then left the room.


    As soon as the door closed behind her, Whiskey said, "Something is happening."


    "Things feel weird. That''s for sure. Think it is bad?" Jiehong asked.


    "No idea. I doubt it''s anything hostile. Don''t get me wrong. I am excited to have my own Sunstar Trading Account. I''ve wanted one of those for a long time! Yet what is happening here is unusual. Let''s think about it: a group of over a hundred people safely cross a chasm without issue. Then, when it comes time for us to cross, not only are we attacked by a monster--" when Whiskey mentioned the monster, Zan blocked out the memory of it -- "but our lift''s redirected to this tower instead? All so we can be given highly prized trading accounts. It seems fishy, to me."


    "Do you think we shouldn''t have accepted the accounts?" Zan asked.


    Whiskey shrugged. She had no answer. "I don''t know. I think it wouldn''t have mattered one way or another. I''m only saying it feels to me like things are happening without our approval and those things are causing us grief."


    Zan couldn''t disagree with Whiskey, but the situation was complex. "Things happening without regard for us is just how it is now, though. No one asked us if we wanted to fight for our lives in a war; no one asked us if we wanted to devote ourselves to a Martial Order bent on eradicating evil; and I am not sure about your life, but even before the war, no one so much as even asked me about my feelings. Seems all for the course of fate."


    Whiskey grunted her approval. She was pacing back and forth, however, and did not pay much attention to Zan''s words. Neither did Jiehong, who seemed almost embarrassed, somehow. Though what he had to be embarrassed about he couldn''t say.


    Time passed with everyone keeping to themselves. Zan had a headache. Jiehong was pensive. Whiskey nervous. Sitting down and resting his eyes, when he stood back up, Zan had to ask, "How long as the receptionist been away for? It feels like she has been gone for hours."


    Perking up and looking for a moment at Zan, Jiehong said, "That is a good point. Where the heck is she?"


    Until now, Zan and Friends strolled in the empty lobby. They looked at the ponds on either end, near the room''s middle. They sat at the available benches. But they didn''t look too closely. With the receptionist''s lengthy time away, the few sights in the room became more intriguing. Zan investigated more closely the artificial ponds.


    Artificial or not, the ponds were boring.


    Becoming restless, Zan went up to the door the clerk used. He wanted to see if he could hear anything if he pressed his ear up against the cracks. Hearing nothing, Zan threw himself from the door''s crack in disgust. He wanted out. Or in... he wanted something to happen!


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Pacing himself now, Zan was grunting and cussing to himself when he noticed something. "Has that always been there?" Zan asked, pointing to a door behind the receptionist''s desk but to the right instead of left.


    Jiehong and Whiskey looked to where Zan pointed. "I have no idea if that''s been there. I would assume so. Doors don''t just magically appear," Whiskey said, approaching the door.


    "What does it look like?" Jiehong asked Whiskey as she investigated.


    "Like a normal door," she said, leaving it be after only a moment, sighing in resignation of waiting.


    Zan approached the door. Once he did, strange symbols illuminated the door''s surface. Jiehong and Whiskey gasps and pulled Zan back. "Careful! We don''t know how this place works..."


    Looking to the nearby door the receptionist went through and finding it as still as ever, Zan allowed angry feelings to rise in him as he thought about the receptionist''s rude practice. What could be keeping her? Monsters? An angry boss? Zan knew his thoughts were irrational. More so with each passing idea. ''What ifs'' surfaced within Zan''s head explaining why she hadn''t returned to them yet and such thoughts varied from her taking a long lunch break to her standing just inside the doorway, cruelly listening in on them as they slowly went mad. "Screw it. Screw her. Screw all this," Zan said and opened the door.


    Whiskey and Jiehong followed in Zan''s wake. They gave him cautions about wandering alone in unknown spaces but even they, Zan believed, didn''t really believe the words which came from their mouths. "Guys. It was either continue waiting there forever or go through that door. I took the option which got us out of the place. We have Winters and his men to meet up with, remember."


    "Sure. But Zan, we don''t know our way around this place. Look!" Whiskey said.


    Slowing down to ''look,'' Zan the door they had taken had led them into an open space with wall segments at an odd angle. It wasn''t so much as a ''room'' or series of corridors as it was many partially constructed rooms tossed together like a builder''s salad.


    "What is this place?" Zan asked, taking in his new environment now instead of passively absorbing.


    Obviously, a rhetorical question, no one in Zan''s party knew what the issue was with the new space. Such architecture seemed more an art display than an intentional design. Whatever its purpose was, Zan concluded, none of them would ever know. So, why bother lingering in odd spaces?


    "Let''s keep moving," Zan said, passing through the wall fragments.


    Jiehong, having trouble moving between the tightly packed wall fragments due to his bulk, had to ask Zan several times to take consideration when sliding between wall fragments. ''Sorry, Jie. I would take more heed, but I am as lost as a kite on a windy day,'' Zan thought to himself as the second request. Of course, he did not want to admit that to his companions.


    "Zan. We''re lost. We should try to find our way back to the lobby," Whiskey said, her tone impatient.


    "We''re not going back to the lobby. We''re-- did you hear that?" Zan said, suddenly growing serious.


    Growing silent and listening, no one heard anything. Not right away. Jiehong moved close to Zan and Whispered, "What are we listening for?"


    "I heard something, you guys. We''re not alone. Keep your guard up," Zan said, drawing his sword and readying his offensive stance.


    With a groan, Jiehong and Whiskey did the same. "I still don''t hear anything, Zan," Whiskey said, for the record.


    Under their leader''s duress, the trio continued to move at a pace through the strange interior. He knew it was wishy-washy at best, but Zan attempted to sense out any holy energy within the building. Thinking himself a failure at first, he felt nothing. Gradually, however, he felt more energy within the confines of the tower. It was merely trapped or too deeply embedded for Zan to easily feel. Trying again, then again, Zan failed each time to adequately sense the holy radiation. Quickly growing frustrated with himself for his lack of skill, Zan slammed his first against one of the wall fragments.


    "Calm down, Zan. We''re not getting anywhere with you acting like a child," Jiehong said.


    "I''m sorry! It''s just -- argh! It''s so frustrating! I can sense the energy in the building, but I can''t sense it enough to guide us out of here. It''s not like the lift controls where all the radiation was on the surface!" Zan returned.


    "Isn''t your map on your headset thingy any help?" Jiehong asked.


    "No! It isn''t. Not in a place like this, where we''re treading water in the same big room. My map shows us where we''ve been but that doesn''t help when every step is as the same as the step before!"


    "I can imagine this is frustrating for you, Zan, and can sympathize. I can. But I have started to hear what you talked about. Us not being alone? Something is lurking close to us," Whiskey said, changing the subject.


    Jiehong''s eyes widened. "Really?" he whispered to Whiskey. Whiskey nodded.


    With the situation growing graver by the moment, Zan considered how his recklessness in the lobby was now endangering his crew. He regretted ever going through the mysteriously opening door...


    Breaking Zan out of his self-pit Jiehong yelled "Look out!"

 Chapter 145

    Not having time to react before Jiehong tackled him to safety, Zan scrambled to his feet in time to swing his blade and see what Jiehong saved him from: a tentacle with a wolf''s rabid face and many disgusting little legs all squirming as one. Zan blanched as he fought against the puke attempting to work his way up from his terribly empty stomach. He resisted and swung again at the creature. Its snarl was not enough to stop his blade, though. While the first swing of his sword only gave the creature miniscule damage, the second swing came just as the beast bore its neck while it came up for a striking fang attack. Zan''s blade met true and nearly decapitated the creature. Flop-drop.


    Any gods-fearing creature would have taken their token to the afterlife once nearly having its head decapitated, but not this creature.


    Dead on the floor wasn''t good enough for this creature, it seemed, and to his disgust, Zan saw the tentacle-wolf''s many off-putting legs move. Though the head only remained attached to the tentacle by means of a thin flap of skin and muscle, that was enough to keep it attached as the tentacle-body retreated, leaving behind a trail of blood in its wake.


    Looking to his friends, Zan was breathless. "We need to get the feck out of here -- now!"


    As if to emphasis, a massive roar split the sound barrier.


    Terror fresh in their minds, Zan couldn''t believe they had somehow encountered another monster. Running alongside as fast as their legs would take them, the trio bounded through the mismashed room fragments as they slid between and through the jagged walls. Giving caution to the shadows, the monster who had fought them returned with more tentacle-heads bearing snarling wolf heads ready for their tasty bones.


    Bounding through the sharp room, Zan felt himself become detached from the situation. His life was in danger, again. He was not happy about it.


    Yet he somehow stood strong. He did not succumb to the horror of running for your life; with the life-or-death excitement running through his veins, Zan''s mind sharpened: he felt holy energy. Not very strongly, no; the magic remained too deep in the tower''s walls for him to sense it as anything more than a wisp. Yet it was enough for Zan to home in on a pathway. Mentally catching a hundred tiny emanations of magic as he ran, Zan pierced together a route which would take them to an open space. What would be in that open space? Zan asked himself. Knowing their luck, another monster, but if they were to make a stand against a multi-limbed demon-of-a-beast, it ought to be in a space large enough to fully draw the creature out.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "Now, we fight!" Zan screamed as they entered the large open space. No monster, thank the gods, Zan muttered.


    Yet the room was sparse. Only a single heavy door leading to celestial-knows-where. The trio spun on their heels and posed for combat. Though everyone shook violently, with both physical exertions and mental slippage, they were ready to make one last stand for their lives.


    Somewhere inside, Zan felt his Shining ability whir. Looking to Jiehong, he nodded. Jiehong is feeling it too, Zan thought.


    Holding his blade and ready for a fight, no one could anticipate what came for them until it had fully reared itself out of the fragmented room and into the open space. A hairy, bulbous body supported by at least eight spindly, but muscley, legs thrashed its way into the open space. From the bulbous body emerged squelching tentacles bearing the familiar wolf face; as the tentacles emerged from the monster''s body cavity, blood trickled down in gushing squirts. Horrified into memorization, Zan felt himself shake more as he attempted to wrestle with what kind of monster this could possibly be and if he had a chance in all of oblivion at conquering it.


    Just as the beast was to rear and strike them, however, its limbs struck not them but a transparent wall which slid down from some unseen crack in the ceiling. With mighty roars audible even through the glass-like pane, the monster attempted to attack them again and again. And every time, the translucent wall held firm.


    From the door behind a woman came out. She was much like the receptionist from the lobby except much more pissed off.


    "Give me a feckin'' reason why I shouldn''t toss you little shits over to--" the woman said as the start to a much longer tirade. Zan won''t lie. At the start of her rant, he was quivering in his boots. By the end, he was happy to hear her stop talking. All while verbally ripping Zan and Company a new twat, the monster behind slowed in its assault, clearly growing bored of its relentless yet futile attempts to claim food. With the minutes turned to seeming hours, the monster eventually grew tired and went to sleep. By the time the monster had entered its REM dreaming state, the Sunstar Industries lady finally stopped yelling.


    "Oh," Zan said. "We''re super sorry about all that." He was not being sarcastic, either. Zan was sorry for his actions, evidently, causing people a great deal of grief. He was, truthfully, sorry about the whole affair. Yet he was done. He was tired. Hungry. And the excitement hormones flooded his body? Yeah, those did not help, either. With those hormones now removed, boy, did Zan crash. Blase as it seemed on the outside, Zan considered his answer wholly appropriate despite his actions.


    Staring at Zan as though he had said the most insulting, controversial thing imaginable, the woman restrained herself and did not resume her screaming. Even Zan could see how tuckered out she looked. She had been yelling for a long time, after all.


    "Okay. Thank you," the clerk said, defeat in her voice. "Follow me."


    Following the clerk, Zan leaned into Jiehong and asked, "Did we do something wrong?"

 Chapter 146 [Advancement: SPIDER Exo-Suit]

    The receptionist led the trio to another lobby.


    "Wait here," she said, leaving the room, again, through a door behind and to the left of a desk placed suspiciously-perfectly in the dead-center of the lobby. "Don''t worry. You won''t be waiting for long!"


    Once the door shut, Zan started: "I''m so feckin'' tired."


    "And we''re feckin''s tired of you not thinking things through, Zan!" Jiehong yelled.


    "Now hold on! We both followed Zan into that weird wall-fragment place. Neither of us tried to talk him out of it, Jiehong. It is our fault as much as his!" Whiskey interjected Jiehong.


    "Maybe so! But it shouldn''t be his first fecking inclination to wander into random fecking spaces through way of mysteriously opening doors! Behaving like that isn''t conducive to a long life!" Jiehong said.


    While arguing, Zan went silent. He was too confused. Too tired. Too... done.


    Zan turned around so his back was to his friends. He pushed his arms over his face, covering them, as though his face was a baby bird in a nest. Secured, Zan silently cried; people are blaming me, maybe I''m not a leader, maybe I''m... Though his mind wandered into dark places, once he shed a few tears and moaned, he felt better, and his blacker feelings faded. He turned again to his friends and said, "Let''s table this for another time. All of us are at our wit''s end."


    Agreeing with Zan or not, the receptionist returned, and with her, several brawny men wearing black, skin-tight body armor, wielding clubs. With conversation changed to their most pressing demand, survival, the team prepared to justify themselves against a powerful multi-national enterprise.


    "Please follow me," the receptionist said. She was the same woman as before, though she seemed much calmer now.


    Things were going to get stressful and demanding and more likely than not, Zan thought he was going to go insane while trying to defend why he went into the weird room and-- yet this train of thought never came to be.


    Although the black-clad guards stood on all sides while they were escorted to their destination, not one of them said a word during that time. Not a single utterance meant to intimidate, which surprised Zan. When the group entered a massive new space, the receptionist thanked the guards and dispersed them.


    "Where are we?" Jiehong asked.


    "In a transition space," the clerk said, refusing to elaborate.


    The receptionist brought them deeper into the meeting-hall sized room. The clerk brought them to a space Zan thought was likely to be its middlemost section. Beyond, Zan could see a large pane of glass only occasionally interrupted by the tower''s massive stone-esque framework. ''Where were they indeed,'' Zan wondered, reiterating Jie''s point.


    "Please avail yourself of the refreshments," the receptionist said, waving (vaguely) toward a half-table with several stools at either end.


    Atop the table was a spread of the dried meats and cheeses which Zan expected. But also, ice-cold water which felt so cold, it seemed as though the pitcher had only been recently brought out from being underneath a melting iceberg. Zan adored ice-water, especially if it was in a transparent serving container. Zan loved watching the ice melt and water drip from the edges from bergs within the drink. he poured and drank himself several glasses, as did Whiskey and Jiehong, while the clerk sat herself behind a humble desk near the refreshment table.


    Looking around, Zan wondered where they were...


    On the ground, was a monumentally large carpet. Atop the carpet was the refreshment table and the work desk the clerk now labored at; yet there was more, too. On the rug also were questionable tubes of human size. Nothing seemed to be within the tubes, but they stood with only a small dust tarp to protect them from the wear of time. ''What is this place?'' Zan wondered while gulping down the water, snacks, and the third food curtesy he saw -- slices of fatty beef!


    While the three young people eat their fill, more plates materialized upon one plate''s finishing. It took the group a good while into their feast to notice. Zan assumed magic. However, if it was magic, he mused on what sort of people lived in this tower, where they were so powerful they used magic for a thing as frivolous as removing and placing plates of food. Whoever lived here, Zan reasoned he should start showing such people more respect. He did not want to get on these people''s bad sides.


    At a point, the plates stopped appearing.


    Still hungry, though far from starving, Zan wished for more than more food. His stomach growled with the ferocity of a tiger on the prowl. Though the copious pitcher of iced water remained ever full, and Zan knew, intellectually, he shouldn''t eat anymore, regardless, least his feasting causes in him the sleepy calling, Zan wanted to continue eating. Alas, the receptionist chose now to address them.


    "I have finished inputting your destination coordinates," she said.


    "Oh. Cool?" Zan said, not sure what he should say.


    "This will take you straight to your compatriots. You will not need to worry about problematics in locating them after this. I want to take this moment and inform you this is also your final chance to utilize the Sunstar Industries Mercantile Kiosk System. Would you like to access this shop now?" the receptionist asked.


    "I think we''re good--" Zan said before Jiehong cut in and said, "Yes. We will."


    "Very good, sirs," the receptionist said, her tone back to her fully calm state. It was like she never had cursed them out, Zan thought.


    "Do you think we have time to buy things we don''t need and can''t carry?" Zan said to Jiehong.


    "Zan. Stop it. It''s not like we''re going to buy home decor. Sunstar Industries has and sells everything. They gave us some credits in their shop as part of some arbitration arrangement they have with the Kingship. We should use the credits they gave us. Even in fear, credits work. I am going to purchase some medical kits for us. I would recommend you two do the same," Jiehong said to both Zan and Whiskey.


    Whiskey agreed. The receptionist hauled from underneath her miniature desk a large book -- a catalogue, apparently -- bound in rigid yet un-metallic material. It was like well-shaved wood but smoother. Zan did not know how to describe the material. Within, was many pages. Each page had a picture of an item with a description and price point. Jiehong flipped through the catalogue''s pages like a pro. He seemed to know precisely what he wanted.


    "I will take four of your Medical Emergency Response Kits; plus, a few rolls of gauze -- scratch that, twelve rolls. And a case of Dehydrated Meal Pills," Jiehong said, ordering those items plus a few more.


    "Right away, sir. Anything else I can help you with?" the clerk said, keying up Jiehong''s order on a device hidden on her side of the desk.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Huh, nope. I think that is everything -- wait! What is this?!" Jiehong replied, pointing to a glossy, full-page image of an unusual device.


    "You''ve noticed our Super-Physical Intravenous Defense Exosuit Resizer," the clerk said without missing a beat.


    "Yeah. I have. What does it do?" Jiehong said.


    "It is a labor-oriented technological enhancement system. Using it, a common worker can move dozens of times as much heavy cargo in the same amount of time as he would be able to pull otherwise. Through the use of an external machine which is fitted onto the user, one is able to shoot powerful magically retrofitted chains which will penetrate and/or stick onto nearly any surface. With our proprietary Mankind Ancillary Nervous-System attachment, avoid accidentally setting off the chains when Life Forms are present. Truly, a rare engineering marvel, one which took our Holy Researchers decades to make!"


    "Looks like it!" Jiehong replied, whistling as he read through the description. "Is this price point correct? Wow... an immense cost."


    "The price point is correct, sir. Although your account has been credited a substantial sum -- at least compared to many of our accounts -- you will lack the necessary funds to buy the product in full. However, looking at your customer information, I see your surname. And your family''s status as a goodwill family. If you remove the medical items your added to your purchase que, you would have enough to make a downpayment on the operating system," the clerk explained.


    "That is amazing to hear, but... what about the other payments? I am currently part of a martial order helping repel an invasion. You''ve might have noticed, then, I don''t have a source of income. It is not like I am some trader or day laborer. I will have to decline. Tempting though it may be," Jiehong told the clerk.


    "I understand your position, valued customer. Before you make a final decision, however, please let me inform you of a final option available to you. With your downpayment secure and your family''s legacy within our system -- I can see your Parents''s accounts on my sheet -- you have the option of sending future payments to them for collection. Our records indicate your parental units not only meet but exceed our bylaws on loaning practices."


    From Zan''s position, it looked as though Jiehong had a hard time with the decision. Though he lived with Jiehong''s family all his life, Zan, like Jiehong, was never in a position to know the household''s finances. Though Zan always suspected Jiehong had a much better, albeit still fuzzy idea, of the money-situation. As goodwill diplomats, Jiehong''s family were not exactly typical peasants. Zan''s life reflected some elements of their relative freedom, though he was never, not, kept in the dark. Seeing Jiehong wrestle with the choice, Zan''s suspicions were seemingly confirmed as he watched Jiehong say, "Yeah. Send them all future payments; they can more than handle such payments. That would be great. Thank you very much."


    "Very good, sir. I will credit their account accordingly at the recurring date. That is one SPIDER system. Give me one moment to credit your account and recall your purchase. Hold, please," the receptionist said.


    Beeping noises came from the receptionist''s desk as they performed a clerical action on the same machine from earlier.


    Jiehong turned to Whiskey, then Zan, and asked, "Can one of you please pick up the medical stuff I had to put back? We''re going to need every bit of help we can to survive long journeys like this."


    Zan stepped up. "I can pick it up. You think I have as many credits as you?"


    "Excellent. Thank you, buddy. And I wouldn''t see why not. You can see how much when you make your order."


    "Absolutely. Is this going to be fine with the ''rents? Is this system something you really need?" Zan asked.


    "It''s fine, Zan!" Jiehong said. Rarely had Jiehong talked to Zan in such a manner. Other than during the numerous times when Zan had been annoying during their childhood. Other than such periods, however, they always got along famously.


    Jiehong stared away from Zan. He didn''t talk and seemed wholly beside himself to talk.


    "So... this thing is going to be useful for battle?" Zan asked.


    "Yes, Zan, yes! Why are you giving me the third degree? Do you think I would buy something without seeing and needing a use for it? No! You know me better than that!"


    "That''s fine! I wanted only to know how it was going to be useful while we''re in battle!" Zan said, nearing the limit of his calm.


    "Of course it will be useful. I can use this system to drag things to me from a distance. I can also use its empowered mode to swing across chasms and to anything bulky enough to maintain itself. What part of that don''t you think would be helpful?! It is right there in the description and--" Jiehong said, suddenly stopping once he saw Zan bunching his fists, his face red.


    "I can''t read, remember? Our parents didn''t deign it important to teach me. Unlike you..."


    Violently, the two met eyes, then suddenly broke. Looking to the ground, Jiehong said, "I''m sorry. I forgot. We''re under a lot of stress. We want to take it out on each other. I''m sorry."


    Bing!


    Letting the tension break, Zan no more accosted Jiehong over his insensitivity. Their argument was done. Besides, Jiehong was right: he and Jiehong had been snippy lately. Whiskey stood tall amongst them as the sole part of the team who hadn''t yet submerged into adolescant hysterics.


    Bing-Bing!


    "Here you go, sir," the receptionist said, as she pulled from a hidden elevator to her back a large box.


    Placing it on the ground before Jiehong, the clerk said, "I forgot to mention, but you qualify for a value-saver feature. Would you like free installation?" Jiehong said he would. Zan watched as the receptionist effortlessly open the sealed box and lifted from its interior a series of metal tubes. ''How can she lift such a heavy box?'' Zan wondered, watching as the clerk assembled on Jiehong''s back the SPIDER system exoskeleton.


    Piece-by-piece, the clerk dutifully assembled the purchased item despite the fact it looked to be extremely complicated, from Zan''s assessment. She knows what she''s doing, I guess, Zan thought.


    "There you are sir! All assembled and ready for labor and combat!"


    Jiehong thanked the woman as she returned behind her desk. She curtseyed to Jiehong.


    "What would you like to buy, sir?" the clerk said, addressing Zan, now.


    Zan asked to see his credit amount. Just as Jiehong had said, his account held just as many credits as his account once held, before buying the SPIDER system, anyway. Contented at having so much yet not knowing what to do with the credits, the pull of desire tempted Zan into buying his own SPIDER system. Yet, his childish nature took himself aback, and proclaimed how he did not want anything Jiehong already had; Zan wanted -- and had! -- his own gadgets. Like the headset!


    Buying only the medical kits, Zan decided against looking thoroughly at the catalogue. They had places to be. They needed to leave.


    "And you, ma''am?" the clerk asked Whiskey. Whiskey only said, "A quiver of arrows, that''s it."


    With their final purchases made, and his frayed will nervously attempting to reassemble into their shared sanity bundle, Zan asked the clerk, "Alright. We are ready to leave. Please."


    "Understood. However, with your party a high-spending client, you have unlocked the ''Special Features'' perk of customer privilege. Your purchases today entitle you to a free session of Vita-Pod Therapy! It will only take a literal minute, and you will leave feeling refreshed!" the clerk said.


    Groaning, Zan didn''t know what any of that meant. Vita? Pod? Therapy? He looked to his friends who nodded ''yes.'' They turned their gaze toward the empty, human-sized pods.


    "Are those the vita-pods?" Zan asked.


    "Yes! You are an observant lot. It will only take a minute, and it is free!"


    "Fine. A literal minute? That is good."


    The receptionist helped Zan enter the pod. She had to spend a few minutes getting the pod ready, however.


    In the pod, Zan heard a voice soothe him into relaxation by spouting peaceful mantras about what he could and could not control in life. Lights of several colors repeated themselves in some pattern. Then, the chamber door opened. It was done.


    He stumbled out feeling... what was the word? He thought. He felt fine. Refreshed. He did not feel like all his energy and stamina returned. He was far from a hundred percent, so to speak. Though the restoration was enough that his headset took notice and told him, [Stamina Levels: 50%].


    This did not concern Zan as he watched his friends enter the pods. Half of his total energy reserves? Way more than he had before he entered the pod. However, that pod worked, Zan thanked its creator. Like his session, a minute later, his friends emerged.


    "Weird, right?" Zan said, smiling for the first time since the trouble began.


    "Super odd!" Whiskey said, emerging from the chamber with a vigor Zan hadn''t seen for a similar length of time as his smile.


    "Agreed. Unusual, but I like it. If we pass through a trading corridor like these wizard towers in the future, we should make an effort to reach whatever spending threshold we need to reach to access pods like this in the future. It might make the difference. You never know," Jiehong said of the experience.


    Not doubting his friend''s statement, Zan still thought the concept was misguided. Who was to even say if a situation like today would even transpire once more! An enemy force chasing them to a trading corridor, where they were, chased again, by a monster, until they arrived at an even weirder tower, where a credit buyout happened to keep them quiet before another monster attacked them?! Rare, was all Zan had to say on the matter.


    Zan kept his mouth shut. He was enough energy to at least do that. Praise be to the gods!


    "Excellent. Now, without further company policies to belabor, allow me to return you to your party. Please, enter the tubes."

 Chapter 147

    For the time being, we must pull away from Zan: eager as he and Jiehong and Whiskey must be to return to the safety of the group, and eager as we must be to see their reunion, and the pained flames sure to sing when all has been reunited, we must take a brief diversion.


    Pulling away from Zan as he enters the transportation tubes, we glide across the greenhouse-styled room and fly into the shadows, where we pass through a high-security door. As we speed through the corridors at an eagle''s rate, passing through more high-security gates, each with more ''security'' than the last.


    Our flight takes us through the hidden passages of the tower, where the ruler has made themselves a home where others call work. We pass rooms filled with boxes of goods. Kitchen utensils, food, while other rooms hold shelves of books. Slowing our approach, we come upon a final doorway heavily enchanted with powerful wards preventing entry. Do these wards mean anything to you and I? Of course. They mean weakness.


    By the grace of our unstoppable meta-narrative magic, we pass through the door with no more trouble than if a boulder were to act as a ward.


    Entering a highly decorated chamber filled with a computers and machines of a magical variety, as well as a few decorative pieces, like luxury curtains and houseplants, we find a figure in a black research coat. She is disheveled. She has been up for many hours watching the unfolding drama. More than anyone, she is invested in the transpirings'' which have occurred here ever since Zan and Company graced the property with their presence.


    When we enter, she is alone. Soon after our entry, however, a male co-researcher, identified by his own black research coat, black enters the room. It is the clerk from the first lobby.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "An auspicious day," he says to the black-clad research coated woman.


    "Absolutely. My faith has never been stronger. To see fate enacted before your eyes so powerfully. It humbles you, doesn''t it?" she replied.


    "Agreed. Were you able to sign Zan up for an account?" the male co-researcher asked.


    "Yes. Along with his traveling companions. An interesting bunch he keeps. We should look more into them and where they come from."


    "I will take the lead on that if you are fine with continuing in here," the man said, pouring himself a cup of bean juice.


    "Sure. Please get going on that soon. I would like to continue sifting the data we collected."


    Without further ado, the male co-researcher left the room with his fresh cup of coffee.


    Hardly noticing her partner''s departure, the woman slunk back into her office chair and rubbed her temples. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the bigger things driving her forward. Her goals. Her hopes. The purpose which drives her academic pursuits.


    She opens her eyes and begins reviewing her data. Though much of it is irrelevant and relates to trite tidbits of ''deep magic knowledge'' of no concern to the masses of the world, aspects of her data are more prosaic. More and more, it is impossible for us to not to notice how Zan''s name repeats time and time again.


    Gradually, the researcher narrows in on the data focused toward Zan. Isolating his data to investigate minute characteristics, the researcher spares no expense in analyzing every detail. Through hours of intense inspection, the researcher finally pinpoints what she has been so desperate to find.


    On her screen displays an element of her find: a graph of the data arranged in complex symbology.


    Whispering to herself, the researcher becomes giddy. This is the culmination of a lifetime of effort. Of sacrifice.


    Cooing to herself, she says, "Soon, Zan. Soon..."

 Chapter 148

    Entering a nearby set of tubes close to the pods, Zan was surprised he hadn''t seen the tubes before. In the shadows, they hid from him.


    The receptionist helped them buckle in. The process seemed the same as it was for the vita-pods. Soon, the tube door closed, and Zan was left completely in the dark. He felt a motion. Machine parts coming to life. Then he heard a voice. "Beginning asset transfer. Please, controlled breathing only to ease the disquiet of passage." It was the clerk''s voice. Where was it coming from? A speaker?


    Not having time to dwell on process similarities before the machine activated in earnest, the clerk''s voice said, "Tubes are now being lowered into the transitory passage. You may feel a slight pinch."


    ''A slight pinch?'' Why would he feel--


    And then Zan felt the pinch.


    Except, it wasn''t so much a pinch as it was several. And they hurt!


    The whole of Zan''s body shook after the pinches nipped his whole body. To be fair, the pinches did not last for long. But boy, what they lacked in duration, they more than made up for in sheer shock!


    Then the machine stopped rumbling. Bing!


    ''Another bing? Is it done?'' Zan wondered.


    Instantly, the straps which had taken the clerk so long to affix loosened. With a steaming hiss, the tube door automatically swung open. Zan gently lowered himself to the ground, stumbling out, but with the grace of only a mildly drunken bum.


    Where had he come to? He did not know. It looked like a large, white-silver room? It was faint, but he heard people nearby.


    Then, someone was shaking him. "Zan, Zan! It''s really you!" a voice said.


    Zan looked at who was shaking him. But it was hard. His eyes saw everything in triple and details on what he did see where indistinct, at best.


    "I can''t see well. Is that you, Winters?" Zan said, knowing he heard his voice but not letting himself overly trust; until he could see and comprehend everything with his own senses, Zan didn''t want to leap to conclusions. Though, the voice did confirm what Zan thought: "Aye! It is me, boy. Winters. What happened to you! And why can''t you see?! Jezzum-heckum! Tell me everything!"


    Hearing the voices of Jiehong and Whiskey call out to Zan, Zan returned their calls. "I''m over here, friends!"


    His eyes adjusting, Zan began to talk, content the man who said he was Winters was, in fact, Winters. Zan told Winters their story. He told of the were-beast attack, their accidental collision into a wizard tower not meant as their destination, and the surreal, vicious assault of the unknown creature before the glass wall slid down to protect them. And to finish his spiel, Zan mentioned Jiehong''s big purchase.


    "Wow! What a misadventure! We were looking everywhere for you guys. No one in the tower''s administration could tell us what happened to you. With time of the essence, though, we had to plod forward. We worked, collected the misermint ore like we were ordered. Once we reached the end, though, and you guys still hadn''t returned to us, I demanded answers. Nothing came of it, alas. We were about ready to cut our losses and resume our trek, when a clerk suddenly stopped us on our way out and said they had information on what happened to you and how you would be back soon. It was bizarre behavior. But we waited. And now here you are! They never gave us that ''information,'' though. Not that it matters now." Winters explained.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Though it saddened Zan to learn Colonel Winters planned to leave them behind, he also understood. This wasn''t a civilian situation. It was military. Winters could not endanger the group for the sake of a few youngsters. Understandable or not, the thought of being left behind did not amuse Zan.


    "What you''re saying is ''we really need to go,''" Zan said. "I understand. Give me a moment to orient myself, please."


    "Take a few minutes. I need to brief the men on the situation," Winters said, ending the conversation.


    Walking with a slight unsteady swing to his gait, Zan prodded himself toward Jiehong and Whiskey, who were nearby, and still slightly on the woozy side. "Dizzy still? I am. Its good Winters didn''t leave us behind. We got that going for us at least."


    Whiskey and Jiehong muttered agreements. Still out of it due to the side-effects of being transported by Strange Tube Pod, Zan knew his friends only needed a moment of rest.


    "Zan," Whiskey said, moving to a far side of the room, motioning for Jiehong to join as well.


    Alone, Whiskey asked Zan, "Once we get to this delta hub place, the city, what is our plans? Are we going to continue campaigning with Winters? I am not so sure I still want to join your order if we are only ever going to be acting an auxiliary force for the loyalists."


    "You don''t have to worry about that, Whiskey. As an order, we are still finding our footing, finding allies. It''s been a slow process. We help the loyalists because they are defending our country. It is not my intent to act as their hired gun. We have our own objectives. Part of which involves that bunker location you gave us the location of; once my contact in the Expanse translates a location list, we will be busy reawakening a local defensive system previous adherent to my Order, or a related Order, perhaps, created a long time ago. If it wasn''t for this sudden influx of automotrons, we would already be on our way back to the command center," Zan explained.


    "Okay. That is fine. Thank you for letting me know. I will hold you to that, Zan," Whiskey said.


    "Hold me to what?" Zan said.


    "Not becoming a mercenary. For the loyalists, I mean. I think I remember you telling me something about the bunker network a while ago? If you think this is the best way to go, then I support you. For too long has our part of the country been ignored. This bunker stuff is better than acting as a side-gig for the loyalists, anyway. If you take too many missions for the loyalists, I''m going to bounce. Understand?"


    Zan nodded. "I understand," he said.


    "Jiehong?" Whiskey said. "You''ve been awfully quiet. Have something on your mind?"


    Grunting under his breath, Jiehong said, "If she is allowed to bluntly put a cap on how often we help our King, then I demand the same, but for the rebels! If we as a team take on too many missions where rebels benefit, then how about I bounce? Not all of us are anti-King, remember!"


    It was evident Jiehong was angry. Angry with Whiskey for sneaking her measure in under the guise of ''what we do next'' but also angry with himself for going along with Whiskey''s proposal without lifting a finger in opposition. Zan had no other option. He told Jiehong he would be fine with having a similar measure. He looked to Whiskey to see if she had any objections. She shook her head no, saying, "I''m fine with a similar countermeasure. It is only fair, right?" Whiskey spoke without vitriol. She held her ground while letting others share the ground. An ideal teammate, Zan considered.


    "Now that we have our ''Order Philosophy of Engagement settled,''" Zan said, a tinge of annoyance to him, mostly born of draining energy, "We should prepare for us leaving this tower. I have a feeling we will be encountering that airship sooner than we would like."


    Nodding and grunting their agreement, the team broke off for a moment of personal cooling off time, then rejoined when Colonel Winters was done briefing the soldiers on the developments, specifically, of Zan and Company''s misadventure. Zan joined Winters and his men as he finished the recap and proceeded to talk about the route they would take once outside of the wizard tower.


    Came at just the right time, Zan thought, as Winters started in on their course of action.


    Winters said to everyone, "So, with everyone returned, we are heading out of the tower. Our exit is yonder," Winters vaguely waved.


    Continuing, Winters said, "Unfortunately, not all is good news. Though our destination is but a stone''s throw away, not all is good. A supervisor took me aside to let me know of an enemy airship patrolling outside the bounds of the trading corridor. They told me there is no good reason for an Expanse strike force to be anywhere near the trading corridor unless they were hunting someone or group. Meaning, us. Once we leave the tower''s limits, the airship will likely launch their assault. We must be prepared for a battle once we leave. I will give everyone a final moment of preparation."

 Chapter 149 [Major Advancement: Power Levels]

    Rejoining Whiskey and Jiehong, Zan and they held out near the back of the room, going over their purchased medical supplies. Hearing a wind chime in his ear, Zan excused himself. Luxley, he told himself. It was a small thing, the wind chime. He only recently had started hearing it when Luxley contacted him. It came before his voice. He told his mates he had to take a ''call'' from his Expanse contact and excused himself.


    Waiting for the soft chime to die down, moments later, Zan heard Luxley''s voice. "Zan. You there?"


    "Yeah. I''m here. What''s up?" Zan said.


    "I wanted to give you an update. The translation is going much slower than I anticipated. It will be another few days at the least."


    "That is okay. I am at least a few days out from my base. As I said when we were together, take as much time as you need. How have you been?"


    "I''ve been stressed out. And thank you. I know I told you a certain time and I tried to hit that time. It has to do with my dad. Since I started focusing on techy-mag engineering again, he has been sending every tutor in the land to me. I hardly have time to eat, let alone amuse myself, anymore!"


    "No. That sounds bad. I guess you''re not in a position to say no to your father, then. It would cause you trouble?" Zan asked.


    "Yeah. Big trouble. Or big disappointment. Not that I care about that stuff. If I stopped with the techy-mag stuff, I would have scrutiny on me. We can''t risk that. I will just have to get used to living an unamusing life, if you know what I mean," Luxley said with melodramatic sigh at the end.


    "Well. If I was there, I would make your day more amusing. I usually do, right?" Zan said as a quip.


    Luxley laughed. His sharp giggles betrayed his developing voice.


    Zan smiled. Did he say something? Rescuing the situation, he said, "Maybe not amuse you in that way, but others. Like doing adventures together. Ha!"


    Settling down from his laugh, Luxley said, "I would like that, Zan. How have you been? Staying safe on the battlefield?"


    "As safe as I can be," Zan said, who then began a truncated rundown of the events which happened since they had disbanded.


    "Whoa!" Luxley said. "You live an exciting life, Zan. I''m a little jealous."


    "Don''t be. It is stressful living this way. Fulfilling, yes, in exerting one''s destiny and self in such a way, defending your home, but I would prefer a normal life over this war story..."


    Luxley and Zan chatted for a few more minutes, talking about nothing in particular. Before long, thinking it was time to leave, Zan told Luxley, "I have to go. Let me know when you are getting closer to finishing the translation."


    "Will do. Talk later, friendo," Luxley said before ending the call.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Friendo? What did that mean? Obviously, it was a term of endearment, a substitute for ''friend.'' Did Luxley consider him such a pal it was time for nicknames? If so, then nothing made Zan happier than to realize he had made a new good friend! A real friend. Not only an acquaintance. Jiehong had never given him a nickname. Neither he to Jiehong, but Zan''s point stood, he thought.


    Zan turned back to his traveling companions. Whiskey, Jiehong. On the other side of the room, the soldiers and civilians of Winters''s entourage reassembled. It was time to leave and face whatever terror lay outside, lying in wait for them.


    Or he would have, if he hadn''t received a System notification.


    [New Feature Unlocked: Power Levels], the System spoke.


    Zan sighed. Power... what?! Another headset thing? Now?


    Zan turned his gaze to his bottom right. Where the status screens of he and his companions were. Over he and Jiehong''s and Whiskey''s icons -- little portraits Zan had mentally created from memories -- now stood something which had not been there before. A number.


    Zan knew basic mathematics. Tens, hundreds, thousands, and so on. He learned from the traveling priest. Good man.


    Whiskey''s number was the lowest: a mere five (5) stood next to her name.


    Jiehong''s number came next: a ten (10) stood next to his icon.


    Which put Zan in first place. His icon displayed a fifteen (15).


    "Wait up, guys. My headset is doing a thing..."


    Pinging the Screen Master, Zan asked him, "What is this? Power levels?"


    "Ah! So, it finally unlocked! I was wondering when and if it would unlock for you. When you are not about to head into battle, we can discuss this system in-depth. To give you a curt answer on what it is, ''power levels'' are an approximation of the world. By paying attention to power levels and how they rise and fall, and under what conditions they rise and fall, you will be able to train yourself to ever-more-significant martial and magical heights. Currently, its most useful feature would be its ability to display the power levels of your enemies. Useful for when deftly conquering large groups with multi-enemy types and for new adversaries you haven''t ever faced. Be warned! The Command Center System''s depiction of power levels is only an approximation, a guess. Many factors go into how the System prefigures a power level. Do not use it as an absolute ray of Truth. Understood?" Screen Master Simulacrum explained.


    He thought it over for a moment and found he did understand. "I understand. We will talk about this more later. So many new things... it is a lot to keep track of."


    "I know it is," the Screen Master said. "When you return to the command center, you will have access to many new training manuals. With the completion of the Command Center System, Sigma-Prime and myself have been busy in repairing the databanks. We''ve salvaged many of the aforementioned training manuals. These manuals will be of great use to you. I am seeing through your feed the others look ready to depart. I will leave you alone for now. Screen Master, over-and-out."


    Overhearing the exchange through his own headset line, Jiehong said, "Power levels? Sounds kitsch. I like it."


    "I don''t know how I feel about it," Zan replied, in a better mood than he thought he would be in at enduring another change to his vision and self-conception. "I guess I''m rolling with the punches!"


    "You must be pretty good at that by now," Whiskey said.


    "I''m not bad, admittedly. I am far from an expert, though," Zan spoke.


    Sharing a moment as they rejoined Winters and his men, Zan patted Jiehong on the back and forced a good face for Whiskey. He asked, "You guys feel like rolling up in punch river while an airship harasses us to death?"


    Whiskey and Jiehong exchanged glances. "Tired though we are. I think we''re ready for one more heaping serving of chaos before we find refuge in the city. Once more into the fray, eh?" Whiskey and Jiehong told Zan, though not in so many words.


    Before them slowly opened a large set of double doors. Large enough for a crowd of their size to march, Zan and Friends took rearguard. The plan, essentially, was to ''wing it.'' However this airship was to be handled, Zan knew it would involve him, magic, and his friends. And with such power on his side, what could go wrong?

 Chapter 150

    Walking with all the rest -- with Jiehong and Whiskey, plus her Scouts, and Winters with his men; not to mention the civilians rescued from the viceroy''s villa -- Zan had felt trepidation at leaving the wizard tower. He had a fear the moment they left the tower, the New Woodland Expanse airship would be waiting for them and drop a crude explosive on them, killing them all. No such thing happened, though.


    Leaving the tower, the group had come upon the tower''s final defensive wall. At a call from the office, the wall brought the gate low, its cast-iron visage lowering into the ground like an earth imp returning to the soil. Fresh air whooshed over everyone''s sweaty skins. It smells so sweet, Zan thought as he freely breathed the air and found himself psychologically bandaged.


    And no airship! Not yet...


    Leaving the inner grounds of the wizard tower, Zan was happy to be outside again. He would not be truly happy, however, until the trading corridor lay behind them; too much had Zan and Company seen inside of the tower, too many monsters, somehow, too much unskilled labor. He felt fuzzy through the whole tower escapade. Zan wanted nothing more than to never again return to these Wizard Towers. Whatever they were, they did not agree with his fragile constitution.


    Ahead, the territory (proper) of the Kingship -- and the war, Zan bitterly knew.


    The first time the group spotted the Expanse airship, they had left the inner property of the trading corridor. The cast-iron gate lay behind them as a smudge on the horizon while the Kingship lay as another smudge but only to their north. In the distance, the airship clinked to the border between Sunstar Industries property, where Zan and Everyone were currently traversing, and the war-torn lands of Zan''s homeland, the Kingship. Once we cross over, Zan told himself, we will be fair game. That''s why the airship is hovering so far away. It''s waiting for us...


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Colonel Winters broke Zan out of his reverie. He was using the echo-beetle to communicate. "We are going to have to confront that airship. Any ideas? I''m also concerned about the civilians. How are we going to protect them?"


    Winters brought to light important questions. Zan had never thought about how to fight an airship. Why would he? If Winters was right, no one even knew, until now, the Expanse was capable of building airships. Wasting time on theoretical confrontations didn''t behoove anyone.


    And yet... here they were. Now in the position of not only needing to battle one but do so while protecting non-combatants. With their destination a day or less away, Zan felt too close to their goal for them to give up their bellies. They would fight. They would protect. But the question remained. How?


    Zan and Company exchanged opinions with Winters through their own echo-beetles. Unfortunately, no one had any bright ideas. How could a ground force oppose an air-force? They might get away with hiding the civilians in the bushes. Maybe if they were lucky, the enemy would let a civilian caravan pass to a protected zone without harassment. Yet it was a risk they couldn''t take, for if they were wrong, then dozens would be murdered.


    "If we don''t have a better idea then we will have to risk the woods," Winters said.


    The Woods. Zan remembered back to the start of the invasion. When he was tangling with that four-legged siege engine. The people from his village were open and vulnerable. They had hid in the woods. It worked back then, but this was different, Zan knew. An airship was different from a walker.


    "What is that?" Jiehong asked. "There. In the distance."

 Chapter 151

    Scrunching his eyes to attempt to focus his vision, Zan saw nothing. Grumbling, he unfurled his seeing lens. Age-worn buildings dotted the horizon near the border. "Ruins?" Zan replied.


    "Ruins?" Jiehong repeated. "In the Kingship? I didn''t think the Kingship had any ancestral grounds."


    "Other than the weird Order of Shiv stuff we''re a part of you mean?" Zan said in good humor.


    "That''s different. Orders set up here and there with no regard for personal territory. They set up wherever they feel they will have the highest recruitment rate and local society be damned!" Jiehong said, unveiling an animosity toward Orders which Zan had never before seen.


    "So, how''s this different, then?"


    "Actual ruins like these denote an actual civilization. People. Laws. Real order. Like the Kingship. I thought the Kingship was the only entity to ever claim the land. I guess that''s a silly notion, though."


    "I don''t know if it is silly or not, but I am guessing these Wizard Towers have a bunch of weird stuff surrounding them. Remember the much on our approach? I bet ruins are a feature of the towers," Zan replied.


    "Why would you think that?" Jiehong asked.


    "These towers are highly advanced technology from another age. Right? If you lived back then, you would have flocked to a place like a Wizard''s Tower. I bet there''s ruins near a lot of towers precisely because of their advanced-ness, so to speak."


    "We''re see in time, I guess," Jiehong said, ending the conversation.


    Nearing the ruins, Zan saw they were of a medium size. Not something as large as a city, no. Nor something as small as a hamlet. Clearly, a town.


    "Boy. We''re now surrounded," Whiskey said. "These ruins snuck up on us."


    Zan saw what Whiskey meant. What had once been a smudge in the distance now cornered them on every side. Weather-worn remains from another time and place became their new sight. In the sky, the airship loomed, larger than ever.


    Speaking into his echo-beetle, Zan said, "We should split the group."


    Winters replied back: "To what end?"


    "Survival? The airship can only track and attack one of us. We can use that to our advantage. Split and hide one group while the other runs."


    "Not a bad idea, Zan. I will take on group. You with my sub-commanders can take the next. I will take the viceroy."


    "Understood, sir. Over and out," Zan replied.


    Zan let his friends know of the situation change. Of course, with Winters''s men corralling and dividing everyone moments later, Zan''s words were hardly needed. "We''re heading up this half of the group," Jiehong said, Winters''s men close to him. "Now what? Are we looking for something to use against the airship?"


    Some chatter amongst the guards and the soldiers. A small debate on whether they should focus on felling the airship or evasion.


    Ending the annoying chatter, Zan said, "We''re looking for a secure place for the civilians. What else would we be looking for?"


    Getting closer to the border and by extension the airship, Zan''s worry multiplied. ''What if we can''t find refuge for them?'' Zan thought. The answer to Zan''s question, however, was plain: if they couldn''t find shelter, it would be a murder.


    Slowing the group down, Zan pinged the Screen Master. "Simulacrum. Do you have any information on what might help us? You see everything, yeah?"


    "I do see everything. Unfortunately, I am not sure I have anything which would be of assistance. I''ve been scanning the ruins. I think these ruins are of a middle period between the construction of the Wizard''s Tower and our current period. Meaning, they are ancillary and would not belong to a civilization I have records on; not that my memory banks are well-healed on this front. With the headset project completed, however, please know Sigma-Prime and me are hard at work in giving the memory banks our full attention. When you return to the command center you will have many more educational resources at your disposal," the Screen Master replied.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Crap. Do you have anything useful?" Zan asked.


    "Per general advice? I do have one piece: seek underground shelters for the civilians."


    Zan thanked the Screen Master and reported to his friends. Whiskey said, "Shit. I could have told you that. Of course, we should look for underground spaces. Assuming they''re stable, they can act as impromptu bunkers."


    Normally, Zan was quite chirpy with his teammates. Currently, he was running out of steam. "If you could''ve told us that then why didn''t you?"


    "I''m sorry. I was focused on personal thoughts..."


    Letting it go as quickly as it came on, Zan ordered everyone to spread out and search for shelter. A large basement of several medium sized basements was what Zan had in mind. Zan updated Winters on their progress and also said, "We might be late crossing the border. Finding shelter for the non-combatants is more important than our doom-date with an airship."


    Winters and Zan did not converse, though. Winters thanked Zan for the update and returned to whatever it was he was doing.


    Precious minutes passed. No basements of note. To Zan''s displeasure, it looked as though whoever had built this town many years ago, had not built the town with basements in mind. Some broken buildings had cellars, but they were tiny, and therefore impractical when they had dozens of people to hide. His so-called ''map-in-miniature'' was no help as it only showed tiny shapes and half-shapes which represented buildings and the destroyed interiors they visited. Zan was thinking finding shelter for everyone was an impossible task when a radical idea came to him.


    Zan drew in Whiskey, Jiehong, and Winters for a group chat via echo-beetle. Darn, I''m loving these beetles, Zan thought. The situation might be fraught, but at least communication was easier than ever!


    "Guys. We aren''t finding any underground structures. I think I have a solution, though. Can we just leave the civilians in the border ruins? If the Expanse isn''t going to cross the border to get to us then surely, they wouldn''t cross the border to get to the civilians, especially while fighting us. Right?"


    Hearing the crunch of gravel underfoot, Zan could tell his proposition took everyone off guard. The silence was the giveaway.


    Winters finally replied and said, "That is a bold plan, Zan. I love it. I do agree with you. The Expanse is many things -- brutal, authoritarian, expansionist -- but they are lawful of the pacts they make with the Wizard Tower Authority and Sunstar Industries. There would not be any reason for them to violate sovereign territory to get at civilians, whether or not they could be used as slave labor. Not worth the risk to their international standing. Not when there are plenty of slaves to be obtained from the country they are presently invading, that is. Find a place for them out or range of the fighting. Then, when they are good and ready, return to my position. Over and out."


    "I think this is how we know we are not thinking straight," Whiskey said. "When our simplest solutions are right in front of us, and we waste how much effort trying to think of a miracle!"


    Jiehong replied before Zan could get a chance: "It''s a high-pressure situation, so please calm your self-flagellation. We''re all still tired and hungry. We''re getting by through the skin of our teeth. Vita-pods, little snacks. Give yourself some credit. I think once we get to the city, we''re all taking some well-deserved rest and relaxation."


    "Yeah. Whatever. I''m just saying..." Whiskey said.


    Stepping in, Zan said, "You''re right, Whiskey. We''re making mistakes. We''re over-extending ourselves. Sometimes in these intense scenarios the correct action does not come to us. This is fine. We''re only human, right?"


    Whiskey did not take the bait and engage Zan in conversation. This was fine, to Zan, since he didn''t like talking too much in general. However, ever since using the echo-beetles, he found himself more willing to talk. Why? He did not yet know. But considered it might have something to do with the distance between he and his interlocuters? Whatever the reason, Zan would be here, as Leader and friend, if Whiskey -- or Jiehong! -- needed him.


    "Okay. Let''s find places for these people. Wherever we stick the civilians, it should be a place which is somewhat capable of hiding them, should the impossible happen and the airship closes in for the attack. Given such a horrible situation, we should make an effort to find ruins where they have a fighting chance at fleeing if crap splatters," Zan said, leaving out the ''whatever a fighting chance means given the ruins all around them.''


    The question remained -- where? No single place seemed good. Thinking it might do them just as well to tell the people to find their own hiding places, Zan knew he couldn''t. If everyone was left on their own, they might wander far away. When the danger passes, and Colonel Winters rounds everyone up, stragglers might be left behind. Of course, Zan considered he could also tell the villagers to not wander too far from each other. Continuing to think the problem over, Zan thought he was getting close to a solution when he heard a loud noise.

 Chapter 152

    Hearing a large rumble, Zan''s heart marched. Were they under attack?


    Turning to see what or who made the noise, Zan saw Jiehong with a splinter group; a dust cloud kicked up from whatever happened. Zan rushed toward them calling out, "Is everyone okay? What happened?"


    "We''re good!" Jiehong shouted, though Zan wished he hadn''t, as the border was so close. One never knew who was listening in, theoretically.


    Looking at the scene, try as he might, Zan couldn''t understand what happened. "Care to explain?" Zan asked.


    "Sorry everyone!" Jiehong said, yelling loudly so all heard. "I was testing out my new exo-suit thing that I bought. I used too high a power setting and so I lost control of it. Won''t happen again!"


    No one among either the soldiers or the civilians knew what Jiehong was talking about. Zan knew it was because no one here came from a background where technology like that which clung to Jiehong''s back or Zan''s head was common. To be fair, had it not been for the war, Zan would have remained as ignorant as they. Which wasn''t saying much, since, as Zan told himself many times, he still did not know the how or the why of what happened to him and the invasion.


    Approaching Jiehong once the worst of the cloud cleared, Zan saw a broken pillar laying in pieces on the ground. Seeing etched carvings on the pillar which took in sun to use its shade oddly, Zan reasoned it might have been something like a sun dial many years ago.


    "Did you really need to destroy a piece of the old society?" Zan said, unimpressed with his friend''s archeological destruction.


    "What? Oh, that? It''s nothing. I was testing out my new SPIDER system and lost control. Turns out, ''high power'' really means high power."


    Ignoring Jiehong''s destruction of old sites and hoping the site had already been catalogued somewhere by researchers, Zan asked what he was testing specifically.


    "The super-arms, of course! You see the two oversized pauldrons? Inside are the tippy tips of my two mechanical arms. What you see over my back is where the extra coil length is kept, but the actual heads? Inside. I wanted to grab onto something stable. So, I chose the pillar," Jiehong explained.


    "And you didn''t know how powerful high power meant. Boom. One thing led to another, fallen pillar. About right?" Zan recapped.


    "Absolutely. I did think of a use for this, though," Jiehong said.


    "What kind of use?"


    Zand and Jiehong discussed what it meant. As bold as Zan''s plan had been with trusting the indistinct bounds of treaties and border politics, Jiehong''s took the cake when it came to a physical version of boldness.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    With Jiehong''s suggestion discussed, all which remained was the implementation.


    Allowing everyone to find their own hiding spots (within reason), Zan warned the civilians to stay close. Zan displaced the echo-beetle reserved for Jiehong, giving instead to the highest ranked soldier among the civilians; when the threat passed, the civilians needed some way to know to come out of hiding. Zan assigned several from his half of the group to protect them while he and Jiehong and the rest were riding into battle. Jiehong would not need his echo-beetle as he and him would be working closely enough as to render the convenience unneeded.


    "Wild plan. It will probably only work with a horse, though. Any ideas on how to compensate?" Zan asked, continuing the tactical discussion.


    Jiehong and Zan already were on their way toward the border. With the civilians scattered through the ruins -- a couple here and there, but never more than three to a single collapsed hut -- the only thing left undone was the fighting.


    "Jiehong. Zan," the Screen Master interjected. "I have a solution for your speed problem. Simply join your bikes and you will obtain faster speeds than you would alone."


    "Wait! What do you mean ''join the bikes''?" Jiehong asked. Zan was confused, too.


    Walking them through it, the Screen Master gave them step-by-step instructions on how to join their bikes. It was a simple process. The front of one bike had a tiny latch near the front. Opening and extending that latch, while aligning the latch with the other bike''s end bit, allowed for the two bikes to become a single tandem-bike. Small additional connections were required to connect the two bikes, but with Simulacrum''s guidance, it was an easy affair.


    United as one, the new bike was a much lengthier device than their individual bikes. Four wheels, one body; two handlebars, one curve. Seating himself, Zan felt a surge of energy which wasn''t there before. Did the bikes become stronger simply from being united? Zan thought. I would''ve figured it needed magic before we saw results.


    Once he considered the use of magic, Zan shot his attention toward the sky.


    Until now, he didn''t like looking at the sky. The sky had the airship. The airship wanted him dead. Therefore, the sky was the enemy. For now.


    Watching the horizon for the Slipstream, Zan saw a faint outline begin to emerge. His heart stuttered. Finally, Zan thought. Magic. We might have a fighting chance after all. "Keep your eyes peeled on the sky. The Slipstream''s coming out," Zan told Jiehong, then the others via the echo-beetles.


    "Ready, buddy?" Zan asked, on his half of the bike.


    "Ready," Jiehong replied.


    Shooting forward, Zan informed colonel Winters they were on their way.


    "But we are not going to stay with your guys," Zan told Winters. "We are drawing the airship out. Leading it astray. Once it takes the bait, talk through the echo-beetle. Get the civilians up and bring them to safety."


    Winters replied with an angry grumble. "Already, you guys are at it again with the disobedience?"


    "What do you mean ''disobedience''?" Zan asked. "You literally did not have a plan. We do. Your plan is to huddle together and shoot some arrows at it. Our plan is dynamic and accounts for the situation."


    "That''s not the point!" Winters yelled. Then he calmed. "Do what you want. I will be in contact. Gods bless your safety. Over and out."


    Zan and Jiehong soon came upon -- and slid on by -- Winters and his men. They crossed the border not long after. When they did, Zan and Jiehong had only been on the road for perhaps fifteen minutes, if that, when the airship took notice of them and began to move its bulbous mass slowly toward the two boys on their bikes.

 Chapter 153

    The boys sped through the plains. Far to the side -- more a blink on the horizon than an actual place they might retreat toward -- was a stretch of forest. Neither Jiehong nor Zan thought any of utilizing the forest. Their focus was on saying as close as possible to the border. Staying as close as possible to the ruins was their goal.


    "Keep the heavy bits of the ruins in mind when you''re looking for something to grab onto, remember," Zan reminded his friend.


    "I know my own plan, Zan," Jiehong replied.


    Zan knew Jiehong knew. But with exhaustion piling on their other concerns, Zan thought it no issue to remind him more. Better safe than sorry.


    Though the airship''s size would have made one think it was slow-moving, as the boys discovered, it was anything but.


    Only ten minutes had elapsed since the airship had noticed them cross the border. Yet already, the airship was moving into position to strike them. Zan shouted for Jiehong to keep his eyes strained. "We''re going to need that plan of yours, buddy! And soon!"


    With Jiehong on the lookout for something to attach his mechanical arms toward, Zan''s attention remained affixed to the sky. Specifically, the Slipstream whose outline had seen start to emerge. By now, the Slipstream glowed as bright as a festival firestick adorned with dyes and popping-dust set aflame. Zan reached his hand toward the sky and chanted the simple, holy prayer. His body filled with magical energy from the gods. Instantly, he felt as though someone splashed a cold bucket of water on him, especially once he used his partly skills to heal himself and Jiehong''s bodies using his entire reserve. Empty on magic, Zan simply stretched his hand to the sky once more, again chanted the holy prayer, and was filled with magic.


    Had Zan been at full strength, he would have only needed a fraction of his magic to perform a simple ''refresh'' incantation. Drained, tired, strangulated as he had been over the past few days, however, and his talents had withered. His body and soul were run amok. In this damaged state, then, magical consumption was inefficient. He would need to use more to do less.


    Zan knew something about the Tolls of magic. Basically, he knew he would need to use magic as frequently as possible if he wanted to approximate his healthier state''s natural mastery of the basics.


    "Let me take control of the bike while you fill up on magic," Zan shouted to be heard as the airship now grew close enough to make its engine be heard.


    Jiehong relented and gave control over. He filled on energy, used his own restorative magics -- not that magically derived healing could do much for chemical energy, but alas, Jiehong would take what he could, when he could -- and refilled once more. "I have control again, focus on dumping magic into the bike. Let''s test this out!" Jiehong shouted.


    It was Zan''s turn to relent. He placed his hand on the bike. Magic flowed into the bike, allowing the bike to enter its super-charged, and super-fast, mode.


    Like an urged upon horse, the bike kicked into a higher gear of movement. It flew across the ruin-dotted landscape like an eagle rushing to its nest.


    While imbuing the bike with magic, Zan received a System notification. It read-said, [Constant Magical Usage Detected. 1.5% Use Per Two Seconds].


    Relaying the information to Jiehong, neither cared. The Slipstream had recently come out and so it would be out for a while. Which meant magical use would be practically unlimited during the battle. So as long as they did not enter any kind of building, they could refill whenever they wanted.


    "We''ve got its attention. Now it is time to keep it!" Zan yelled. With magic flowing through the bike, its wheels sped so fast and churned up so much dirt, the sound from the churning alone threatened to block out communication despite Zan and Jiehong''s closeness and the echo-beetles. The airship, of course, didn''t help matters.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Jiehong nodded his agreement and scanned the horizon. "Found one!" Jiehong shouted.


    Taking aim using the SPIDER system, Jiehong found a target and locked onto it. With a press of a button, his pauldrons exploded steam and out came two thundering snake-like arms which blasted toward and locked onto a pillar. With the speed they were going, it would not have long to remain attached until forces of nature ripped the arms free. This was exactly what the two friends intended, however.


    "On my cue -- full power!" Zan shouted. Imbuing the bike with all his energy at once, the bike surged forward as though a hurricane had propelled them with naturalistic fury only known by Divine and Eldritch deities.


    Jiehong took the bike''s inhuman movement as the cue -- which was just as well, as Zan''s actual cue, a spluttering of words, became lost in the cacophony. Turning the SPIDER system to full power, like he had during his testing earlier, the arms easily whipped the modest stone tower from its foundations. The tower tumbled behind them, tearing itself to pieces as it thrashed into the many lesser stone buildings throughout the ruins.


    The tower''s destruction caused a giant dust cloud to emerge. "It''s working!" Zan screamed. "It''s working!"


    "Good!" Jiehong screamed back. He wasn''t paying attention to what he said as he was readying another arm-blast. With the cooldown complete, Jiehong again sicked his arms on the nearest, appropriately shaped pillar capable of being caught by two mechanical arms.


    Feeling the impact as the arms struck their gold, the tower hadn''t long to live as in the instance after the arms attached, the tower was ripped from its bedrock. Like the precious tower, it dragged behind Zan and Jiehong''s bike for mere moments before being annihilated and turned into a cloud of debris as it struck -- and destroyed -- the many buildings alongside it. Again, and again Jiehong repeated this action. He tore up a total of five towers before all through the battlefield a massive cloud of smog choked visibility.


    Visibility for everyone except Zan. Who, through the use of his Command Center System, could navigate the inescapable cloud; icons flashed on his visual display when he had need to evade. How the System did this was by unknown means. Zan thought it had to do with the magical echo-location stuff the Screen Master was talking about. An icon popped up and Zan shouted at Jiehong to move in whatever direction the system demanded.


    Concerning the airship''s location, however. The System could not pick up on where it was: icons flashed all over, yet Zan saw no airship. Which, by extension, meant one of two things for the airship: it would either drop and descend on them to continue its hunt or rise above the cloud and deliver itself to safety. Zan and Jiehong knew the airship would take the latter option. Airships were too rare, expensive, and symbolic of power to risk them going after two teenage warriors on bikes.


    "Feck yeah!" Jiehong screamed. "Let''s get our asses back to Winters. We have a city to-- wait, where is the airship? I can''t see its shape in the sky."


    Zan frantically searched as he drew magic from the Slipstream. Unfortunately for both Jiehong and him, not only could he not see the airship, but his ''pull'' from the Slipstream became further limited. Now, not only tiredness taxed his efficient use of magic, but the dust cloud obscured his intake, rendering the quality of magic he pulled as being inferior to what he would have drawn from the Slipstream had the dust cloud never formed. Considering the airship as a major threat, though, Zan still considered the strategy necessary, however badly he felt for the ruins he and Jiehong destroyed or how he felt about the lesser quality of magic.


    And then, a moment of destiny: Zan discovered why his System couldn''t pinpoint the airship -- because it was right in front of them and so big, Zan could not see the forest through the trees. It happened so fast. Jiehong, the Screen Master, Zan thought he heard even Sigma-Prime yell. Everyone screamed as through the heavy cloud came the thunderous and titanic form of the airship. Neither youth could understand why the airship was so low to the ground. Was its captain insane?! Did they have a blood vendetta against he or Jiehong?!


    More as a reflex than reaction, Zan and Jiehong both dumped all their magical energy into the bike. They became as a bullet and fired straight into the massive airship.


    Every hair on Zan''s body stood up straight. He couldn''t stop screaming, hardly able to believe such a massive ship was someone so close to them, attempting to snuff them out. The airship''s size made it less a vehicle and more a small town onto itself. Incredible as its size was, however, the speed and angle of Zan and Jiehong''s blast-off closed the distance all too quickly. What happened next, surprised even the airship.

 Chapter 154 (Airship Skirmish - 1)

    Whether natural or a gust from the airship, just as Zan and Jiehong''s bike launched and was about to slam them into the hull of the ship, a powerful gust of wind lifted them up, and directed their rocket just high enough to crash atop of the spectator''s hull.


    Landing violently and with too many crashing thrashes to bother counting, both boys were flown from the bike to be laid splayed. Their limbs contorted. Crushed. Jiehong handled the crash better than Zan. Who, disoriented, dizzy, and in pain, still managed to gather himself up at the urging of both the Screen Master, and his System giving him [Enemy Alert!] repeatedly.


    Standing back-to-back, Zan and Jiehong gathered their breath as they saw a small horde of gold-colored golems congregated around them. Leading the packs were a couple of platinum-golems, their electro-magical energy sparking off in disconcerting displays of power.


    Zan saw he and Jiehong were standing on the observation deck. Nice hardwood floors stretched across an open space maybe about as large as a city''s central square. Not so far away, Zan saw doors leading into the airship''s inner passages. Which meant, the captain was nearby.


    Processing this while attempting to regain their breath and step, Zan felt Jiehong''s body shake as they each attempted to mentally right the chaos. "What are we going to do?" Zan asked. "I figure we should go for the captain?"


    As System notifications flashed on Zan''s HUD warning him of low energy, no magic, damage, Jiehong said, "Sure. But we can''t fight our way there with our increasingly spent bodies. We have to be more strategic about this."


    "Fine by me. What do you propose?" Zan asked, the surprised golems now having shambled close enough to launch attacks.


    Backstepping to their enemy''s advance, Zan tried to find his own solution to their problem. But what could he do? He reached toward the sky and chanted a prayer, filling himself with magic. He began a healing spell. Yet with his stomach rumbling and his body close to breaking, the healing spell was superficial at best. [Alert: Magical Reserves: 50%]


    Fifty percent? Half? I used one spell! Zan mentally shouted.


    "You might have mixed feelings, but how about you climb onto my back," Jiehong said as Zan finished another prayer to absorb magic.


    Jiehong caught Zan off-guard. "W-what do you mean?" Zan said.


    "Climb abord and act as my rearguard -- we''re going to slam and dash our way through this shit!"


    Slowly, the idea came to his mind: "You can''t mean! You want to use the mechanical arms on an airship?! What if we fling ourselves over the edge?!"


    "It''s a risk we have to take! Let''s go! The enemy is upon us!" Jiehong shouted.


    Not wanting to risk their compromised position, Zan climbed aboard the racket on Jiehong''s back as the airship''s alarms came alive.


    Zan carefully climbed onto his buddy''s SPIDER-y back, locking himself in by securing his arms within the metallic mesh.


    From his new vantage, Zan saw more golems enter the observation deck. To his sides, Zan also saw the vastness of the region before them, the ruins just off to the side, the forest in the distance, and the Wizard Towers on the horizon. The airship had gained some altitude since Zan had boarded, but not much, and so a massive dust cloud was visible in the airship''s wake.


    "Hold on tight!" Jiehong said, powering up the SPIDER system.


    Gripping Jiehong''s back cage until his fingers were sore, Zan readied himself for the imminent-- !


    Not having time to even finish his thought before Jiehong acted on hid plan, he shot out his mechanical arms. Zan quickly hid his face away from the blistering steam escaping from Jiehong''s pauldrons. The arms latched onto the airship''s cabin on the far end of the observation deck, brashly careening through and scraping by golems. Instantly after, Jiehong pressed some button on his controls, and the arms retracted, pulling Jiehong and he at extreme speeds through the deck, knocking out of the way many automotrons which attempted to impede them.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    With splinters on his face and legs wobblily, Zan continued to hold tight as he heard Jiehong''s pauldrons latch back into place.


    Looking backward, Zan saw over a dozen golems knocked down and attempting to get back up. "We don''t have time for them," Zan said of the golems. "We should move into the interior of the airship."


    "I agree," Jiehong replied quickly as he caught his breath. "It''s not like we are attacking one of their outposts and have to eradicate them all to protect some village. Let''s not go out of our way to destroy every single automotron simply because they exist. We can''t do that. Not in a situation like this, where we are already at our wit''s end and on the brink."


    "Try the door," Zan suggested to Jiehong once he finished catching his lungs.


    As Jiehong opened the door, both boys received through their echo-beetles an update from Whiskey: "Are you guys still alive?! It''s turned to shit down here!" Zan replied quickly as he did not want to hold up Jiehong who was busy attempting to force open a battle-damaged door. "Yeah. We''re still alive," Zan told Whiskey. "But coming to end of our wicks. How are you holding up?" Whiskey replied curtly: "Airship unloaded some of its guys; so many gold golems. We''re barely holding out down here!" Zan was not pleased to hear their good fortune at encountering few gold golems came at the ground force''s expense. "Hang on tight. We''re making our way to the captain''s nest," Zan said and then motioned for Jiehong he was ready.


    Jiehong opened the door with hardly a tussle. No security? No lock? Whoever captained this ship was bold. Or stupid.


    Entering, Jiehong and Zan found themselves in cramped conditions. Although the halls were large enough for a couple of people, with people like Jiehong, that ''couple'' downsized to merely one. Zan acting monkey-like on his back notwithstanding.


    Gold-painted golems mobilized against them in the hall. "That''s a lot of gold," Zan whispered. "What''s the plan?"


    "What else?" Jiehong remarked. The ''but'' was silent as was the implication of Jiehong''s plan.


    "What do you mean wha-- no, you can''t be serious! In here?!"


    "Searching for a grip now," Jiehong said, his eyes gazing over every detail in the tight space. Finding one, he said, "Locking on to grip, now. Confirmed. Warming boosters."


    While Jiehong continued warming his boosters, Zan saw too many enemies surround them for comfort. Though he tried to encourage Jiehong to move to a better defensive stance, especially with the outside golems -- as Zan saw through a window -- again mobilizing after their searingly rushed encounter with Jiehong''s mechanical arms, they needed a better position. Yet, Jiehong remained in his bulky, ''come at me!'' defensive stance saying, "I can''t move, Zan. The thrusters are on and gathering power. I am rooted in. Please protect us. For a little while!"


    Grunting as he lumbered off Jiehong, Zan drew his sword, not realizing how much of a badass he looked doing it.


    Zan took a forward slash at the nearest golem. Thanks to Jiehong''s SPIDER exo-suit and its devastating impact against automotrons, Zan had time enough to regain some stamina and therefore his initiative. Continuing to lung at and slice-away golems as they approached, Zan only had to destroy a few of them before Jiehong called him back. Zan rushed back to Jiehong by sliding underneath his legs. He sauntered himself onto the metallic cage and resumed his watch, only needing to stab a single golem through its head which had approached Jiehong (and he) from the outside.


    "Hold on tight!" Jiehong yelled.


    Zan made sure to as he stashed away his sword and clung to the cage. ''Okay,'' Zan whispered.


    He didn''t think Jiehong heard him whisper. Once Zan was ready, however, the mechanical arms blasted from their pauldrons. They flew at incredible speeds down the hall, punching clear through at least a dozen golems before smash-and-grabbing the wall opposite. Securing himself to the floor, Jiehong pressed the same button from his outside rush and released the tension in his legs. Together, Jiehong and Zan screamed toward the wall, and thanks to the heavy bits of his exo-suit to his front, Jiehong smashed through not only one wall, but no less than four.


    More alarms blared. Then explosions; Jiehong''s charge, evidently, set off a chain reaction when something they destroyed in the wall could no longer perform its function. Fire started and then a water-control system went off to douse the flames. In the midst of this chaos, Zan felt many things. Though what came to his mind more than any else was ''I have a headache.''


    About to ask where they had ended up and how to reach the airship''s bridge, Zan kept his questions to himself when he realized he and Jiehong had crash landed into the bridge.


    The bridge was the largest room they had yet seen while abroad the airship. It was longer than it was wide. Many desks splayed with maps and tactical figures abounded. Though by now, the clerks who manned the desks were in full retreat, Zan and Jiehong were in full advance.


    The captain''s chair lay at the end of the room. Zan saw too many golems for comfort. Few were higher than red. Maybe two gold.


    "One more thrust?" Zan asked.


    "I can''t," Jiehong replied. "I am too dizzy from that last thrust. The suit needs some time to recharge anyway. We''re on our own, here."


    Cursing lively, Zan wondered how they would surmount. If they would surmount. He had to admit, it wasn''t looking good. Wondering if they should beat a retreat or not, Zan knew they couldn''t even as he entertained the idea. Doomed or not, they had to march forward. All he could do was hope his doom would be lively if he had to face it.


    Luckily, he did not have long to wait to see how his ''doom'' played out.


    As the far end of the chamber, whoever was in the captain''s chair turned. The chair swung and Zan saw the fighter from the villa. He saw Mentality.

 Chapter 155 (Airship Skirmish - 2)

    Jiehong must''ve recognized Zan''s shocked look. He asked, "Is that him?"


    "Yeah. How are we going to do this, bud?" Zan asked, really feeling the pressure.


    Although Zan really needed to hear a strategy, Jiehong was silent. Zan nudged him but he only replied, "I really don''t know, man."


    Feck-on-a-stick! What were they going to do? Zan drew his sword and equipped his buckler shield. "We''ll fight our way through the old-fashioned way!"


    Trudging into the mass of golems Zan struck out and destroyed several as he let his sword do the talking. Unfortunately, the few he destroyed with little effort were merely regular golems. Now, he came upon several red golems intermixed among the normal.


    Zan knew continuing his bladed assault was the best option against these slightly reinforced red golems. Because the red golems had a defensive veneer, however, Zan would need to break through their partly defenses without overextending himself. He conjured magic into the same hand as his buckler while blocking an attack; launching a counterattack right after he blocked, another golem fell.


    To his right, Zan saw Jiehong destroy an equal number of golems, though he could not see, totally, his fighting style, he knew Jie must be ragged himself. Shaken from the exo-suit if nothing else.


    With the magic energy gathered in his palm, Zan shot out a basic fiery blast. The blast consumed the red golem, quickly eating away at its exterior, until only ash and a weakened and burned frame fell to the floor.


    Continuing their assault, Zan mowed down more golems -- upper-slash, downward slash, full-skewer. Zan fought with whatever made sense in the moment. He didn''t let himself become too bold. He knew he had to conserve energy. Which meant letting the enemy take a blow at him, so he could responsibly block and counter.


    His System continued to give him notifications regarding his stamina levels and magic levels. Both were under half. Both notifications were not something he found useful. Zan already knew he was tired. Knowing or not, the System gave him notifications regarding Jiehong. He fared no better than Zan. Jiehong''s energy levels were the same if not worse than his own; his one advantage over Zan was the metallic cage which surrounded his body and could act as a shield to block simple attacks from cruddy weapons. Zan would not encourage Jiehong to overly rely on the cage to block attacks, least the one attack he attempts to block overwhelms the cage and breaks it, but for now, Jiehong did not need to worry over blocking. He could focus solely on attacking.


    "Light your sword!" Jiehong shouted.


    "Oh, right! Fire sword!" Zan replied. Seeing the next enemies still several steps away, Zan had time. He placed his index finger to his thumb and hummed. Sometimes, humming helped Zan focus his magical generation. He slid his fingers carefully along the blade, giving birth to powerful flames.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    With his sword alit in flame, Zan stepped toward the automotrons and took a running cleave at a gold-painted golem. The blade had force behind its motion, allowing Zan to wholly cut in half the golden foe with only one swing -- a new personal best!


    Zan kicked the partially melted slab of a golem into a nearby group of automotrons. Ready to do more battle despite his tiring condition, Zan''s eagerness to defend himself was interrupted when Mentality''s voice called out over the enraged room, halting the automotrons advance.


    With everything silent, all eyes turned toward Mentality in the captain''s chair.


    "Arrogance! What else do you call it?" Mentality shouted. "Before I butcher you and your friend, what is your name?"


    "It''s Zan! Didn''t he already tell you?!" Jiehong shouted back.


    "And what do you mean butcher? Like, kill? You can''t kill us. That would go against that holy legal thing. From the gods?" Zan added.


    Mentality did not have an answer: "Destroy them," he instructed his automotrons, admitting his verbal defeat. But the automotrons did not move. "Shet," Mentality said, though some ways from the microphone-device, as Mentality''s cursing was hardly heard as he attempted a troubleshooting process for getting his golems activated again.


    "Ignore the asshole!" Zan shouted as he and Jiehong ignored whatever it was which Mentality was saying and pressed their advantage: if the golems weren''t yet moving, that was to their benefit. And the benefit of their flaming swords.


    Though over-driving themselves wasn''t the smartest move, they couldn''t be picky when their enemies offered their lives up on silver platers. Both friends drove their blades with a frenzy. Golem after golem fell to them, the gold-golems fell first. "Crap!" Mentality said, not to them, but to the situation. "Why are the golems -- wait. I didn''t say the action word? What was the action word?"


    Mentality continued to mutter to himself as Zan and Jiehong continued cutting down golems. Sweat flopped from Zan''s hair and face as he worked himself to get to as many golems as possible before Mentality got his crap together and became a threat. Zan remembered how formidable Mentality could be as a foe. He didn''t know exactly what trouble was unfolding for his foe, but Zan welcomed the trouble all the same.


    Before long, Mentality found a solution to his trouble. Barely heard above the din of waging war -- blade on wood -- and with the room smoggy with smoke from the burning dead and emblazoned sword, Zan saw the golems jerk before coming back alive. "Finally!" Mentality shrieked. "Why was that the code word?" he added to himself, cussing


    Launching several fire balls at the enemy, more automotrons vanished into damnation and collapsed to the floor in piles of ashes. [Ally: Jiehong: Magic Depleted], the System informed Zan.


    ''Okay. That''s fine. We just have to... what do we have to do?'' Zan speculated as he turned his attention to the figure in the dyed porcelain mask.


    Do we have to defeat Mentality? Zan questioned as he looked Mentality''s way. I guess that depends on how the airship is flying without a captain...


    Was Mentality the captain or was it another person or golem? Zan''s thoughts were interrupted immediately. An alarm came on the airship''s intercom system. Zan did not have the time to appreciate how another structure aside from the Command Center had an intercom system. A very rare find! With the ship''s voice saying, "WARNING! WARNING! Ship is losing altitude. Please correct or crashing is imminent." The warning repeated itself before a violent and unwelcome CRASH made everything go dark.

 Chapter 156 (Airship Skirmish - 3)

    Zan came to right away. The many blaring systems and not to mention the Wardens voices in his earpiece made unconsciousness impossible. Though even Zan knew, intellectually, that was not how unconsciousness worked in traumatic situations.


    "Zan! Zan!" the Screen Master said while in his other ear Jiehong shook him. Or was attempting to grab ahold of his head. One of the two.


    His vision gradually came back to him. Coming to, Zan saw triples of everything and couldn''t keep his balance. He was walking but only at the behest of Jiehong; who, though looked banged up himself and even wavering while on his feet, kept himself upright. Zan''s headset gave him notifications. None of the notifications were positive and Zan swished them out of his mind.


    Flames spiked around them as pieces of the crashed airship settled and explosions burst. What was exploding? Zan wondered as he and Jiehong slowly made their way up and over pieces of the ship lodged deep within the earth; climbing over their tippy points which stuck from the ground, Zan''s vision came back to him like normal once he had followed Jiehong for some time.


    While navigating their way, Zan''s headsets continued to give them notifications. [Auto-Detection Mode Activated] the headset said at a point. Once activated, it seemed to Zan what its purpose was, was to alert him to dangerous bits of his walking path which required dodging or careful footing to overcome. It seemed mostly a stability reader for when Zan walked on unstable flooring. The feature was helpful, and assisted Zan as he barely knew up from down on his way out of the ship.


    "What... happened?" Zan asked as they reached a part of the airship which used to belong to the observation deck.


    With Jiehong busy trying to find them a path from the wreckage, Sigma-Prime took over to give him the lowdown on what happened: "The Screen Master and I determined your fighting destroyed enough of the navigator golems to preclude safely operating the airship. Thus, with their pilots destroyed, the ship crashed. Upon impact, the ship broke into thousands of parts."


    While Sigma-Prime talked, Zan saw what she talked of: on the observation deck, Zan glanced down to see a drop-off. The piece of the observation deck which they had come up on had dislodged into a hill. The ground must have been a hundred feet or more. The large hull piece not helping the height. "I take it climbing down isn''t an option," Zan huffed. He felt like puking. So, he did. Feeling better, he turned to see Jiehong. He wasn''t looking at the far way down. Rather, he was looking at Mentality''s fallen body.


    "Is he dead?" Zan asked, fearful of the answer.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "No," Jiehong said. "He still has a pulse. Why?"


    Zan looked weirdly at Jiehong. "What do you mean ''why''? Cause he is a person, like you and me?"


    "A person who tried to cause our deaths by crashing an airship. Yeah."


    "An airship which he was on and... I don''t know. Do you really think he would have been able to intentionally crash the ship to get at us? Seems like a huge risk. And a violation of holy law, right? Impossible, I mean. Plus, Sigma-Prime just said we were why the ship crashed."


    "I don''t know how the whole ''you can''t kill thing'' works, Zan. I''m not a theologian. But I do know we should get a move back to our allies. His life doesn''t matter in the same way ours do. He is fine anyway. I felt a pulse."


    "Fine. Let''s go," Zan said, leaving the ethical debate for another time.


    Leaning on Jiehong, Zan and he found another way down the observation deck piece, then down the hill. Once they found their way to semi-solid earth not effected by the impact, their travel down became smoother, especially as they relied upon gravity to slid them down most of the hill. What else should they have done with a large metal -- and sled-like piece of slab -- from the airship? Take the long way down on battered bones?


    While descending the slope, Zan got a good look at where they were... much closer to the woods than the ruins, which appeared as a weathered skyline against an abode of natural beauty. If one could ignore the impact site and the debris.


    "Which forest is this?" Zan asked.


    "Like I know," was Jiehong sarcastic response. "Our country is mostly forest. Does it matter? We just need to find our way to the city. Or the Wizard Tower. Then we can use the tower as a marker, go north to the city. I think it was north..."


    Zan had no clue where the city was... or what its name was... had anyone even told them the name of their destination? "We can just return to the command center, right?"


    "I guess? But that is a long way away. It makes more sense to find that city where the others are at. Besides, Whiskey needs to go with us to the command center if we are going to induct her into the order," Jiehong replied.


    "Very good point. Let''s search here and-- argh!" Zan said before pain became his world. "My head! It''s throbbing! Like it''s going to explode."


    Falling to his knees, Zan grabbed hold of his head, and squeezed where he felt pain hoping to alleviate the pressure somehow by touching it. Zan panted as he fought the pain. He felt the Shining bubble within his belly. He then felt himself growing hot as the Shining gained more energy.


    "Simulacrum!" Zan gasped. "What is this? Why is the Shining coming alive now? I don''t want it! It''s hurting me!"


    "It is an extreme reaction, Zan. Shining is more than a strong, albeit temporary, attack boost. In certain situations, it can provide emergency defensive measures. But these measures come at a cost. I think the Crystalline creature within you is under immense stress. It is attempting to use your core essence to heal your body, but since you have no magic, its drain is taxing you too greatly and triggering an early on-set mana sickness" the Screen Master explained.


    "What?!" Zan snapped.


    "Calm yourself, Zan. Becoming agitated is only going to exacerbate the symbiote''s attempt at saving you. Calm yourself and convince the symbiote your need only to rest. If you enter your Shining state in your condition, you will likely die."

 Chapter 157 (New Threat: Mana Sickness)

    Simulacrum telling him he might die did nothing useful for his state-of-affairs. He panicked -- of course -- but pulled himself back once he felt the agony within his stomach. He sharpened down an intake of air and released it. Again, he breathed deeply, then released. He closed his eyes and Zan talked to the entity within him, the same entity he willing inserted into his stomach not so long ago when he inducted himself into the order.


    ''Entity... crystal buddy,'' Zan talked to the crystalline creature inside of him. ''Calm down. Or I am going to die. Okay? Simple matter. Please chill and let me live!''


    While speaking to the entity, Zan''s heartrate spiked, slowed, spiked. He felt incapable of getting a hold on himself. Every time he slowed himself, his rate picked up again when he heard nothing from the entity. ''What does Simulacrum expect from me?! I don''t speak Crystal-Beast!'' Zan wailed against himself as he continued to speak to the entity and plead with it to calm down. Yet, Zan only felt himself get warmer.


    "What can I do to help?" Jiehong asked.


    Zan looked at his friend with wide eyes. "Nothing," he said, loss of hope.


    He sank down to his knees again after trying to stand, but with his skin overheating again and Zan feeling the weight of the biological light within himself start to burn all the brighter, he couldn''t keep his stance and fell to the ground. Tears slid down his face as he felt he was on the verge of death.


    Punching himself in the stomach in a last-ditch attempt to slow the creature''s churning, Zan used his remaining strength to roll over. "Punch it for me. Please." Zan asked of his friend. Not wanting to let his best friend down, Jiehong began to hit Zan in the same zone his own crystal entity was located. Abdomen-stomach area. What a sight it must''ve seemed for anyone who happened upon them, Zan thought, even though they were alone. One large youth violently assaulting another at their behest. One doesn''t come across that every day.


    While Jiehong kept his assault, Zan let himself go.


    Though his friend''s fists kept their assault both firmly and relentlessly Zan felt little of the attack. Maybe it was the crystal creature absorbing the blows. Maybe it was his nearing death rendering pain mute. Whatever it was, darkness came and surrounded him, darkness which wasn''t merely the black of his closed eyes.


    Continuing to plead with the entity, Zan swallowed his pride as he reasoned with the entity and said, ''I don''t want to die, you freaking, fecking, idiotic parasite! If I die you die too, so WAKE UP!''


    And what happened then was something Zan only could describe as he felt it: collapse.


    Suddenly, the intensity faded.


    A cold wind seemingly blew over his body and his soul. His ''core essence,'' as Simulacrum had explained it. Then the heat vanished, like it had never been chewing on his muscles and skin in the first place. ''How am I so chilled? A moment ago, I was ready to combust!'' Zan thought this as another part of him addressed the crystalline entity within him: ''Did you do that?'' Zan asked it. ''Are you finally understanding?''


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Zan did not receive a response. Though the darkness of death did creep back from his body, leaving only the regular black of his closed eyes.


    Opening his eyes, Zan saw his friend and his fists which continued to pummel him. Gently holding up his hand -- a stopping motion -- Jiehong pulled back. Watching for a moment, he saw his friend, weak, offer him a small smile.


    "You okay now?" Jiehong asked.


    "I dunno...?" Zan said, not knowing what he should say. Or if he could say it... he was very weak. He felt himself grow weaker.


    "How are you feeling?" Jiehong''s attention was affixed only to Zan. Though he did notice somewhere in the sky the fading of the Slipstream.


    "Like sawdust. And I feel the thing inside me getting warm again. Not out of the woods yet--!" Zan said weakly as he felt the entity within sputter and churn and make him worry once more.


    Jiehong grabbed hold of Zan. He gently laid him across part of his exo-suit''s cage, letting his limbs curl inward and hang onto the cage. Zan barely could maintain his consciousness as he once again pleaded with the entity to calm down. ''I can''t go into my Shining state right now, Crystal Beast. Please understand. If I start to Shine, it will kill me. You will kill me and by extension kill yourself!'' Willing himself to live, Zan repeated mantras and chanting he learned growing up. He knew not what the words meant, however, and so their effectiveness was questionable. Yet he clung to such mantras now as a frightened child on the verge of death.


    Zan focused only on himself as he chanted. He kept his eyes shut. He attempted to grow closer to the strange entity within his belly. He blocked out the outside world focusing only on him and the entity. His sense of reality wavered. The black splotches within his closed field of vision danced with light. Fading in and out like a mosaic. He could almost hear a hymn. But what hymn and for who he could not say. Undoubtedly a half-remembered song the village priest had sung one day.


    Feeling his belly slow in its gradual warming, Zan did feel hope. But the heat of Shining slowing down did not mean it was stopping, per se. It only meant Zan had a moment to reflect before, potentially, falling prey to the ignorant will of a parasite. In another way, Zan felt even more hopeless; he felt as though nothing he did could or would stop the creature inside of him. He wanted to sleep. But he couldn''t as every time he was close to unconsciousness, he slipped from the cage and his reflexes woke him, causing him to hold on again. Too many times this happened before Zan opened his eyes and again talked to Jiehong.


    "Do you know where we are?" Zan asked.


    "No. I thought I was on my way back to the Wizard''s Tower. Somehow, I''ve gotten turned around. I don''t know how that happened. I had the tower in my sight. Maybe what I thought was the tower was something else? I don''t know. It''s getting to me," Jiehong replied, under immense stress himself.


    "Let''s find a place to rest," Zan offered. "We both should sleep."


    Jiehong didn''t argue with him. He found a small clearing next to the forest''s ridge and plopped himself down.


    Releasing his grip on Jiehong, Zan detached from the cage and plopped onto the earth himself. He laid down and closed his eyes, continuing the hopeless and one-sided dialogue with the parasite. Jiehong, by unlatching several straps and unlocking several more bounds and locks, unbuckled his SPIDER exo-suit. He let the cage fall way to his sides; Jiehong breathed easier without the immense weight of the cage of the equally immense weight of his friend. Zan heard the change in demeanor simply from Jiehong''s breathing.


    Before Zan lost consciousness, he heard in his ear the voice of the Screen Master. But what he was saying was lost.

 Chapter 158 (Journey to Hope-Ridge)

    Zan was asleep. Jiehong checked his vitals. He was fine.


    Physically fine, Jiehong reminded himself as his entire body was slick with sweat. Inside, he knew Zan was fighting a battle. A battle which would determine whether he lived or died.


    Though he did not want to worry him, Jiehong wasn''t doing so hot either.


    Inside his own belly, Jiehong started to feel the very same churning-burning he knew Zan felt. The difference was Jiehong felt like he had a handle on the burning. When the airship crashed, Jiehong had the luck of many golems breaking his fall. Zan had no such luck and was violently flung like a ragdoll. Jiehong tried to reach him, of course, but when your whole world shook, when you felt as if your bones were attempting to shake their way out of your body, what could you do?


    Nothing. Which was all Jiehong did before the ship destroyed itself against the soil.


    Although he felt he had his handle firmly planted against the parasite wiggling out-of-control, Jiehong knew he should take it easy. Overexerting himself might result in the parasite gaining in power as it attempted to save him. He could end up like Zan without even knowing it. Then, both of them would die. Which was beside the point anyway. Despite how much Jiehong wanted to take it easy, though, he knew it was only possible so much. They were in some wood. Jiehong doubted he would need to build a shelter anything more complex than a basic tarp covering; predators in this part of the country were rare and would not bother them on the precipice of a field and forest anyway as this was not their habitat. And though gathering some firewood would be nice, he did not need to build let alone light a fire now. Jiehong tried to think about what would be most helpful. Yet he drew blanks. He was so tired. So hungry. So... done.


    Stomping around the clearing as he thought, every thought he had about his situation faded to the back of his mind when Jiehong saw Zan''s satchel.


    ''There''s medical kits in there,'' Jiehong muttered to himself.


    Kneeling by Zan''s side, Jiehong told Zan he was only searching for the kits within his satchel as he gently moved his adoptative brother. Zan made no stir, however, as he was firmly asleep. Jiehong removed the satchel and returned Zan to his resting position.


    With bag in hand, Jiehong unlatched the satchel and saw a pack full of medical kits. ''Why hadn''t we thought of these before?!'' Jiehong uttered. Though to be fair with himself, he reminded himself they had only recently acquired the medical kits. Until now, they had to make do with whatever was on hand or what their local allies had. Having their own kits was a novelty.


    Holding the kit in his arms, it was about the size of a ledger a traveling merchant used to take note of transactions. As Jiehong remembered seeing one day when one such merchant came through town and traded for rest and food. He opened the kit and found bandages, pills, oils, and more. Though Jiehong knew not what half of the kit''s contents did, included under the kit''s cover was a simple engraving of words denoting what each element of the kit was used for and how to use them; Jiehong thought that was awfully clever of the manufacturer, including the instructions within the body of the traveling case.


    Jiehong read through each description for each item. The pills were called ''Rescue Pills'' and seemed to act as an energy supplement. The oils had concentrated magical energy in them, somehow, and functioned essentially the same as the pills, but they restored some magic to the user instead of energy. Also in the kit were a number of painkillers, fever reducers, and anti-bacterial aides. For the time being, Jiehong took the gauze and applied it generously over his own bleeding form and that of his friend. He took a swig of the oils; Jiehong figured if his and Zan''s conditions were caused, in part, by a lack of magic, hence the mana sickness, then some emergency magic energy oil might help, even diffuse as it likely was in the tiny bottle he held.


    After Jiehong took a generous sip of the oil he gave the rest to Zan. He gently held it to Zan''s lips, urgently whispering to him to drink. Only in a semi--unconsciously state, Zan slowly swallowed the liquid, though his throat was encouraged by Jiehong''s gentle petting. "That should help, bud. Hang in there," Jiehong said, acute worry for his friend wearing his face.


    Jiehong would have liked to continue coaching Zan''s recovery, but sleep was threatening to overtake him. With his last energy, Jiehong erected a simple tent covering using a rope and blanket. He grabbed from their supplies a cozy emergency resting mat and threw it to the ground under the tarp. He maneuvered Zan underneath the tarp. More roughly than he would have liked, but when he was a blink''s away from unconsciousness himself, some edges had to be sawed away, such as being gentle with his friend, whom he had to mostly drag under the tarp.


    Done with his final task, and more ready for sleep than he ever had been before, Jiehong slid himself alongside Zan.


    A sound: pod, pid, pod, pid-pid-pid--


    Rain.


    The temperature dropped and Jiehong fell fast asleep.


    Jiehong''s awakening was not a clean affair. Although he ''came to'' several times over the course of his rest, he did not spend any longer than a second awake. He fell back to sleep and drifted back into a dreamless, restive calm.


    Even when he did finally awake for real, it was not of his own volition. Someone was shaking him.


    "Zan... Zan!" Jiehong muttered, eyes still crusted with drowsiness.


    Still, he shook.


    "Come on. Zan, please!" Jiehong said, until he stopped cold.


    What made Jiehong cease his mutterings? He saw Zan still as a stone next to him. Yet, Jiehong''s body continued to gently shake.


    Jiehong felt a hand shoving his body. Back and forth. Snapping around, and dislodging the hand, Jiehong turned and snarled, "Who''s there?!"


    Going with his bare hands as his weapon of choice -- just to save time as his sword and buckler was currently in a pile back in the tent -- Jiehong emerged from the tent to see... someone. Or something. It looked human but wasn''t quite human.


    "Who are you?" he asked the Other.


    "I am sorry to disturb you. I only wanted to know if you were dead or not. Or if you might be painfully dying. I am a Wood Elf. My name is Charlez," the Other, Charlez, said.


    Jiehong had no reason to distrust the Wood Elf. Other than the fact he knew nothing about Wood Elfs and have no clue what their temperament was like.


    Then again, Jiehong could not afford to be so mistrusting. Not when they were weak. And the will of the Gods and their Holy Laws against killing, drove all Life Forms.


    "Nice to meet you, Charlez. My name is Jiehong. His is Zan. We''re Martial Order affiliates who were participating in a battle nearby. You probably heard it -- the whole world probably heard it. An airship crashed. We''re trying to reach a nearby city. Perhaps you''ve seen it?" Jiehong asked.


    "I have! I actually debarked from that city only so long ago. I can bring you back to it if you want," Charlez said to Jiehong''s immense satisfaction.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Yes! Please, do! Let me gather my stuff and friend. It''ll only take a minute!"


    "Sure. Take your time. I have research papers to read."


    A learned Wood Elf? Like many things in the world, Jiehong was ignorant of if it was common practice for Wood Elfs to have an education or if they went un-educated. Jiehong technically had an education, though it was home schooling instead of a fancy state school.


    As he packed up camp, Jiehong sweated profusely. His rest made him feel no longer like a piece of smooshed bird crap, but his body wasn''t used to such exertion and excitement so soon after waking. Drip, drip, drip... sweat fell from Jiehong''s skin as he hurriedly packed the camp.


    "Okay. Ready," Jiehong panted.


    Charlez nodded. He put away a scroll he had been reading and stood. He was ready.


    Jiehong hoisted the SPIDER exo-suit back on him. Per the norm, he then encouraged Zan to grab hold and hold on in his semi-sleepless state. He was awake, or so Jiehong thought, but was not responsive.


    Jiehong followed just at the back of Charlez. He did not know the lay of the land like his new Wood Elf companion, so he wanted him to take point. Almost side-by-side, however, they could keep up a lively conversation through the hours they walked. Or Jiehong hoped they would have a lively conversation, anyway.


    After walking for some time without any serious conversing, Charlez asked, "I hope it is not too bold of me to ask, but it''s been tugging at me ever since we met. May I ask you a personal question?"


    "Go ahead," Jiehong replied with a grunt, Zan''s weight starting to take its toll.


    "Are you juveniles for your Form of Life? Humans, I mean? SORRY! Human children?" Charlez asked.


    Not knowing where such a conversation would go, Jiehong simply said the truth. "Yes. Why do you ask? We are teenagers, specifically. More adult than child."


    "Oh, I am curious about this stuff. Biological arcana, differences and similarities among the Life Forms and Kinds. I am a researcher. Unfortunately, it seems I picked a bad time to visit your country, I am afraid."


    "Yeah. Boy, you did! Not like you could''ve done much to know ahead of time. Who can count on an invasion?"


    "Lots, actually," Charlez said.


    "What do you mean?" Jiehong asked.


    "It''s just that... if you run with the intellectuals of certain power blocs, you hear whispers of things. Rumors. Invasion plans. Before I departed my home, rumormongers became insistent the Expanse was to attack your home. I did not listen to them, however, and departed anyway," Charlez explained.


    A knot formed in the bottom of his stomach. Jiehong felt mixed about hearing a foreigner talk so blatantly about his home being invaded. As if it was just another statistic in a political game.


    Not wanting to sour someone who was giving him aid, however, Jiehong did not take Charlez to task over his insensitivity. He had to be smart. Not emotional, which was the opposite of smart, as far as he was concerned.


    "Regardless, you''re here, now. So, what are you doing in this neck of the woods? Visiting the Wizard Tower, maybe?" Jiehong asked.


    "I was considering visiting the tower. The tower though is not the initial reason for my visit. I am here in pursuit of a rare and legendary creature known as The Questing Beast," Charlez said.


    Jiehong was to question Charlez, but they entered an overgrown area of the forest. Coming upon a rough patch in a deeper part of the woods, Jiehong had to slow down and watch his step. Still conversing with Charlez, Jiehong became worried for a moment Charlez was to overtake him. Charlez seemed to know, however, he was gaining on Jiehong and slowed himself to match Jiehong''s clumsy path-forging. With an exo-suit and an unconscious half-brother on his self? Anyone would have trouble. Charlez seemed sympathetic to this.


    "I have never heard of this monster. What is it? The questing beast," Jiehong asked.


    "It is a beast my family has hunted for generations. It has the noggin'' of a snake, the girth of a leopard, haunches like a lion, and feet like a stag."


    Listening to Charlez explain the beast, he could honestly say he had never -- in his life -- heard of or encountered such a beast, either in his physical existence of in his metaphysical, as might happen when absorbing a learned man''s lecture on the grassy field.


    Jiehong gently made his way around a stubborn root system. "Well. Incredible. I haven''t heard or seen it, though. What reward will you receive if you slay it?"


    "I know not!"


    Staying himself, regaining some energy from hauling around another human plus his cage, Jiehong said, panting, "Then why are you on this quest?"


    "It''s the family goal. Isn''t that enough?" Charlez asked.


    Jiehong thought he had a response. He had opened his mouth in anticipating of giving that response. And yet, when he went to vocalize, nothing came out. He closed his lips. Considered Charlez''s statement. Then said, "I guess it''s enough. We all make our own destiny and purpose. I guess I don''t see why it is worth the effort if you don''t have anything more than a familial reason. What will you do with your life once you kill the beast?"


    "Oh. I don''t expect to kill it. I expect to hunt it. My contribution to the hunt will be to take all of my family''s accumulated knowledge of hunting the beast and perhaps contribute something of my own. Maybe make a new weapon to better hurt it. Or invent a custom armor piece to protect future generations of my family from its aspect. If I could do that, I would be happy," Charlez explained as Jiehong resumed his trek.


    "A simple goal in life," Jiehong said. "I can appreciate that. You know your place. You know how to extract value from your existence."


    "Not sure I would go that far but I understand the basic contours to my life. How to live it."


    From here, the conversation petered out as the two made their way through the deepest part of the local section of the woods. They worked through their doubts and pushed ahead, Jiehong holding up remarkably well, he thought, despite the immense weight cast upon him.


    The conversation picked up again when Jiehong felt a strong breeze on his face. By seeming cue, Charlez asked, "And what about you?"


    "Huh?" Jiehong answered.


    "What about the contours of your life? I can see your honor. You wear it like a badge. You and I, despite being strangers, share in our existence our burden. If you are anything like me, you are searching for ways to relive that burden. I have my gadgets. What do you have to live by?"


    Charlez''s question took Jiehong off his guard. "I have no idea how to answer that. I am fighting in a war to free my homeland. Isn''t that all I need?"


    "No. You need more," Charlez stated.


    Anti-verbiage permeated the still between the Wood Elf and Human. Jiehong did not want to say anything, for anything he did say would result in his defeat. He wanted to ask what the Wood Elf meant, he needed something more, but he did not ask. He didn''t want to know if his aspirations were, in fact, not enough. Life, however, did not care about what Jiehong wanted. Charlez spoke freely. He said, "Statistically speaking, your homeland will fall. The Expanse has never been militarily defeated, before."


    "We will be the exception. I know we will. I am part of a Martial Order with advanced weapons. And people with unusual properties," Jiehong said, thinking of the Wardens. "We can do it."


    "Your hope is catchy," Charlez told Jiehong. "But it is misplaced."


    Breaking off again, the conversation ended there. The two resumed their travel with their minds focused only on taking one step in front of the other.


    The field they had come onto was unimpressive. It was like any of the hundred-of-thousands of similar fields spread throughout the nation. Flanked by the forest on either side, the field continued as nature''s carpet, leading Jiehong and Charlez to unknown ends. So less a field, Jiehong thought, and more a forest clearing. Jiehong knew if they continued along this grassed carpet, they would reach another wood and have to traverse through another neck of the woods. Predictable as the sky was blue.


    The two traveled all day. Zan remained asleep. Or moaning. Jiehong did not know what his friend''s status was other than ''in pain,'' as the oil he gave Zan seemed to help, but not by much. Jiehong himself was feeling better but what did that mean when his Order Master and half-brother still was on death''s door?


    Sitting by the fire, Jiehong and the Wood Elf had a simple stew dinner from herbs and vegetables they gathered in the forest, plus fresh rabbit. It was a light stew, everything considered, but filling. Kingship hare, apparently, was a delicacy, as Charlez kept many praises for the meat.


    "Will your friend make it?" Charlez asked as they were close to finishing their meal.


    "I hope so. I don''t know what I would do without him," Jiehong said, his worry after a long, hefty day of traveling clogging his mind. Worry caused him to muse on ill-tidings when he knew he should be rejoicing in the silver lining which always came with the less agreeable aspects of life.


    "What does he have?" Charlez asked.


    Jiehong tried to explain to Charlez the condition, but it was a hard thing to accurately convey when Jiehong himself only knew the basics. Crystal-parasite, mana sickness, the parasite-reacting-to-the-mana-sickness, now the parasite''s relation to Shining. And all of this egging each other on until Zan''s body was pushed too close to the edge.


    "I see," Charlez said, offering what little he could in a confusing situation. "You should search for spiritual solutions to your companion''s issues. Gods have all aspects of reality under their control. There are many gods, Jiehong. Surely, somewhere, there is a divinity who specializes in symbiotic life."


    Symbiotic life? Jiehong had never considered the notion. The crystalline entity within him and Zan he always thought of as a parasite, true and simple. Shifting his thinking into considering they and the parasite as a new entity was a bold way to live. Yet nothing Charlez said was false. A god for symbiotic life did, surely, exist. How would he find it, though? That was the question.

 Chapter 159 (Journey to Hope-Ridge - 2)

    Jiehong thanked Charlez for his observations. Turning in for the night, Jiehong made sure Zan was in a good place before getting into his cot. Jiehong sleep deeply that night, though his rest was tainted by concern for Zan.


    Camp was quickly packed. No animals or worse had disturbed them through the night, so it was an easy clean up. Zan seemed more cognizant of himself, and could form words, but his eyes were clouded. He still writhed like a beaten creature whenever someone touched him, so that wasn''t good. Like yesterday, though, Jiehong hauled him to the back of his exo-suit cage and didn''t move until he was sure Zan was fine.


    Again, on the road, for the first half of the day, Jiehong and Charlez did nothing but travel. Small talk could be done once progress toward their destination was made. No sense in tiring yourself before one advanced oneself. When it was about lunch time, a big fat serving of nothing was all theirs. Berries from a nearby bush was all Jiehong had. That and something called ''mineral crackers'' from Charlez.


    "Where is our destination? Are we close?" Jiehong asked.


    "Yes. We are close. Around a few more bends are we are there," Charlez asked as they shoved off from their berry break.


    "I didn''t realize how far away the city was... it is extraordinarily kind of you to bring me to a city so far away," Jiehong said.


    "It''s no problem. To us Wood Elfs, it is not nearly as far. We live longer than you humans, after all, and when not encumbered by our traveling mates'' limited mobility, we can travel times as more miles as your folk."


    "Handy," Jiehong quipped as they crossed a tame river by foot.


    There was something about Charlez''s statement which triggered something in him. Wood Elfs could travel many times further in a day than Other Kinds. As a human, Jiehong couldn''t keep up, sure. That was a given. But Jiehong had something normal humans did not. He had a special bike.


    Stopping for a moment to unfold the bike, once the bike was ready to use, Jiehong said, "On the bike I will be able to keep up. Go faster and I will try to keep up. I can imbue this bike with magic to make it go faster. Since the Slipstream is out, I will not have an issue with keeping a faster-than-normal pace. Ground forgiving, that is," Jiehong said, hoping the terrain would be agreeable to his newly remembered mobility.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "You sure? Alright..." Charlez said as he started to run or fast walk.


    As he expected, Jiehong, especially with a thinned magic flowing through his body, which he put into the bike, kept up with the Elf. The terrain was smooth. It long ago stopped being that overgrown, rooted land which made bike riding so difficult.


    "Wow! You ride well. I have to say, though, I did not expect to see eldritch technology being used by humans," Charlez spoke, shocking Jiehong.


    "Eldritch? What are you talking about?" Jiehong said, coming to a stop after a few hours of biking. "This is the technology of my Order."


    "It looks like eldritch technology. That''s all," Charlez replied bluntly.


    "Which doesn''t necessarily mean it is eldritch technology. A passing resemblance is hardly one-in-the-same."


    "True. But that bike of yours is eldritch technology... I know eldritch technology when I see it. Your bike is eldritch technology -- which isn''t a bad thing!"


    "Not a bad thing? How so?" Jiehong asked.


    "It just... isn''t? I know you Humans are suspicious about everything which isn''t holy in nature, but eldritch entities are little different than divine entities. Different strokes for different folks, ya know?" Charlez said, speaking as though he were talking to a child.


    "I am not sure I would agree with that," Jiehong stated, trying to keep himself true to how he was raised.


    "Why not?"


    Once again, Jiehong did not want to respond. For he had no good response. What could he say? He was raised with a certain set of beliefs, beliefs he himself did not come to, and wants to stay with those beliefs despite them, perhaps, not making sense to the rest of the world? Jiehong didn''t want that. So, he took the other road: "I do not want to talk about this right now, Charlez. I will respect your beliefs, but legitimating pro-eldritch talking points is not something I am comfortable with right now. Let''s save this for another time. Perhaps if we should meet again, for example."


    "If that is how you feel then consider the matter dropped. Let''s resume our path," Charlez replied.


    Resuming their march, Jiehong and Charlez made good progress. Near the end of the day, the city heights were in sight.


    Traveling with the Wood Elf, Jiehong had expected him to act like a human and keep pestering him about the ''eldritch bike'' point. He did not, though. He dropped the issue and didn''t try to bring it up again. Jiehong appreciated that about Wood Elfs. They were humble, simple Kinds with wholesome sets of social etiquettes. None of that psychodrama Jiehong admitted Humans liked to partake.


    "Alrighty, there is your destination. The city of Hope-Ridge! One of the finer human settlements in this part of the country. I hope your friend makes a full recovery. I would go in with you, but I should start on my way back to my research site. If we should meet again, I will take you up on your word, and we will discuss the bike''s origin. In the meanwhile, live well, and tread the soil of this world firmly!" Charlez said, taking off quickly.


    By himself once more, Jiehong thought little of the Wood Elf with him out of sight. A kind stranger, Jiehong thought, thanking him silently.

 Chapter 160 (Threat? Strange Encounter!)

    Turning toward the city, Jiehong redoubled his march. He wanted to rest but knew he needed to use every ounce of daylight.


    His approach, then, was slow, but thankfully uneventful. As the sun began to set and the day wore to evening, Jiehong slowed himself to stay well-gained on energy. The cooling wind picked up, though not by so much as to become a burden to his core body temperature. Chirping crickets joined the soon-to-be moonlit glow, as wolves -- peaceful, proud -- cried somewhere far off.


    "It''s so peaceful," Jiehong said to Zan, hoping he was listening. "You would love it. We made it, Zee."


    Crawling, the wind encouraged tree branches innumerable to dance. Scrapping like the subtle steps of squirrel ballet.


    For the next couple of hours, Jiehong enjoyed himself. He slowed his thinking. "The wind here is so crisp. Zan, it''s crazy!"


    "Zan?" Jiehong queried.


    Tilting his head back to steal a look, Jiehong saw drool drip from his face like slobber from a dog. His eyes were rolling in his half-open sockets, as though his hidden eye was attempting to soak in all of reality.


    Fear struck Jiehong. Yet he did not let it overwhelm him. He remained calm. There was nothing he could do to help Zan. Jiehong told himself these things many times. Whatever battle Zan was fighting, he had to wage it himself.


    "Hang in there, Zan. Keeping it up!" Jiehong said to a semi-conscious Zan.


    Zan''s body made chaotic jerks. Violent as sometimes they could be, most were of a gentle nature. Jiehong gave his attention to the road ahead. He would not rest tonight. He couldn''t, not with his brother''s life on the line. Jiehong dismissed invasive thoughts pertaining to Zan''s potential death. He would not die. Jiehong knew this. He couldn''t die. He was too important to die. Too important to me, Jiehong mouthed, choking on dry tears.


    Walking unencumbered by bleak premonitions, after a while, Zan slowed his convulsions. This allowed Jiehong to do his best part and walk and walk and--


    "Where are we?" Jiehong suddenly asked. Zan was asleep, Good, Jiehong thought. He needs the rest.


    It had been subtle. He hadn''t realized it at the time. But something had happened; while Jiehong was walking, he had, somehow, been affected by something or wandered into... something. Jiehong felt strange movements in his head. His face felt warm. And the world around him? It felt significant.


    Jiehong''s difficulty in articulating what happened stemmed from him not being able to understand what exactly had changed about the physical world. The world remained as it had been -- trees, wind, wolves -- and the rough path ahead of him used by traveling merchants. But something about that physical world shifted. Like a pervasive aura had enraptured existence itself to make it more than how it appeared. Jiehong knew something was up when the bends to the trail seemed a little too perfect.


    Qualifying what made a ''bend'' perfect was tricky. Each bend was different. The incline varied. As did the decline. Sometimes roots struck near the path, but never on the path. The path''s soil could only be described as well-kept. Which made no sense, of course, as no one was repairing these paths. Or put very little maintenance effort into them, at least. No animal tracks soiled the path. And somehow, the air tasted sweeter.


    Jiehong considered these things as he walked. Unsure as he had been, he did not dare break from the path, not with his destination, and help for Zan, right in front of him. More and more Jiehong fell into a trance-like state. Falling, the world became more and more perfect. Sequential, somehow; branches, trees, even contrails of wind and the forest critters festering among the forest floor, felt powerful.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    A violent shake.


    So violent, Jiehong did not have time to react.


    So powerful was the shake, he was sent out of himself. Not for long, hardly a moment escaped before Jiehong was back in his body. What Jiehong saw, though, made the moment worthwhile, terrifying as though it were: Jiehong saw an image out of place. Superimposed over reality, Jiehong saw a perfect recreation of reality as it existed on Hope-Ridge''s approach. But that image was not an image, per se. No. Jiehong glimpsed how this perfect recreation of reality was linked together -- it moved and breathed, using the swaying of the wind, as its animals were its blood and veins, the vestiges of objective reality its host. It mimicked reality, attached itself over reality. Then used reality to move.


    The revelation came to Jiehong''s mind: it was alive.


    "What the shet-feck is going on," Jiehong whispered, struggling, now not to succumb to his fear.


    As if testing the waters, Jiehong stepped forward several paces. All appeared as it had been. Perfect.


    Breathing in deeply, the sweet air tasted of coffee and earth. Bold Moss intermingled. He felt calmer. More relaxed. With his fear subsiding, Jiehong did not consider himself in danger, though he knew he was walking among a very strange Life Form. Pretexts against killing imposed themselves upon all Kinds, both divine, mortal, and even eldritch. And though fates as bad, if not worse, then death did exist, Jiehong remained ignorant of them.


    The trail ahead of Jiehong seemed to wind, curving along a nearly infinitesimal, repeating bend. Animals, root meshes of a unique nature, repeated. Jiehong did not receive the impression, however, the repetitions were some cursed after-image of something which ''once was.'' Jiehong, rather, felt the repetitions to be the same impressions of those same animals, but at a different point in time. Which was, to Jiehong, common -- of course, all of life only went in one-direction. Forward in time.


    "What am I seeing?" Jiehong wondered. "If it isn''t the afterimage, then what is it? Is the animal behaving unnaturally? How and why? Is it even relevant?"


    Such and Other Questions dotted Jiehong''s thinking head.


    Falling deeper into this not-a-trance-but-similar-to-a-trance-like state, Jiehong glimpsed a slow, easeful move of earth. Of soil.


    The soil was sliding toward a point in space-time like a river flows through bedrock. "Is it really moving?" Jiehong thought.


    Before he fully articulated the shift, Jiehong''s route rearticulated itself and guided him along the same course as the soil-river. Walking, Jiehong felt at peace, one with reality. Like he was an experienced angler enjoying his favorite hobby in retirement. Eyes heavy after a long day of contemplation. Of the water rocking the boat, of the sheet blue sky reflecting the ground above without a cloud to be seen. Every step became an oar''s push against the water; every lure''s sink an appreciation of Jiehong''s nature walk as he advanced through the altered stretch.


    Walking without realizing it and conforming to every inch of the path''s peace, arrayed exactly as Jiehong would find it best, as would be best suited to his walking speed and fashion, his concentration focused to a pinprick point. What he knew as reality blurred; phantom fragments from reams of existence he was hitherto as now unaware of, came into focus, crossing his eyes. Jiehong saw reality, but a version of it distorted as an entity came from the apparent disparate portions. Rain drops. Plop. Leaves tussling. Sounds which repeated themselves until new suggestions came into being. Lulled, Jiehong felt as he fell into himself, his vision swerved as do wagons nearly colliding into innocent babes in the streets. More sounds: the trod of his feet upon the ground and its crunch; an exhale of breath; and the evaporation of sweat intermingled with magic, as gray bleeds into white. It was a new language. Before all of his perception broke, Jiehong swore he heard a word in this new language. "Hello."


    But with another step, he was out of it.


    Reality returned to as it had been. Peaceful, yes. But not as significant or ordered as it had been in the caress of... whatever that phenomenon was.


    Looking all around him, Jiehong felt a pack of goosebumps roll over his skin. His hair rose to its edge. He took several more steps, away from the strange cloud of significance which had clouded him as he walked. With each step he took away from the significance patch, he felt the normal duration and beat of life resume.


    "What in the blasted realms was that fecking nonsense?!" Jiehong quietly sputtered to himself. He was not angry. Nor was he traumatized -- nothing of the sort. Rather, Jiehong was confounded. Nothing in his studies had remotely hinted at the phenomenon he had just encountered. He wanted answers. He had half a mind to return to the cloud of significance, assuming it remained in the area. Yet he couldn''t. He had Zan to take care of and get to Hope-Ridge. A city which was still a very far way away and--


    Once more, Jiehong stood befuddled.


    Before him was Hope-Ridge''s front gates. He had arrived at his destination.


    But how? Jiehong mouthed as he signed in with the guards and entered the city, more confused than ever.

 Chapter 161 (New Location: Hope-Ridge)

    Jiehong had not expected to arrive in Hope-Ridge so early. The cloud, or whatever it was which he encountered, likely had a role to play in his swift arrival. How exactly, he did not know. And neither was he likely to find out, he reasoned with himself. Which meant he should not question his good fate. As mysterious as the encounter had been on route to the city, right now, he had to put aside his confusion to help his friend. He tucked the unusual encounter into a fold of his brain and said he would muse on the issue later, with a learned person.


    Passing into the city, Jiehong turned to a guard and asked where the city''s medical square was located. "Follow the main street until you arrive at an intersection. Follow the path marked in red paint. I hope your friend makes a speedy recovery. We don''t get many people--"


    Jiehong thanked the man but could not wait to hear the guard out. Rude as it was, Jiehong made a beat down the street, on the lookout for some red sleek. He found the intersection. To each street a different color corresponded over a modest stone arch. Jiehong found the red-painted stone arch and followed it until he found the medical square.


    By the time Jiehong arrived in the medical square most of the vendors had left for the day. Finding one who was only just beginning her packing-up, Jiehong begged her: "Please, ma''am," he said. "My friend is deathly sick. Mana sickness! He needs immediate attention."


    Muttering a polite rejoinder to herself, the nurse, who weathered many a year, as her face bore witness, said, "Fine. Lift him onto the table. I can''t promise he''ll be fine, but I can give him a look."


    Jiehong placed Zan onto the table. The nurse searched for her handbag of medical equipment. She rediscovered it behind her. She reached inside and pulled a grinding bowl with its pestle.


    "Sit, sit! You''re in my way!" the nurse cried at Jiehong.


    Taking a seat several paces away, Jiehong gave the nurse room to work as he kept vigil over Zan.


    The nurse rushed over her workstation, grabbing bags and boxes from a nearby cart. Probably uses that cart to haul her many potion ingredients and tonics, Jiehong thought. She threw many ingredients, plus some water and other liquids Jiehong did not recognize, into the mortar. Then she ground the selections for a long while until they were well-blended.


    "Open his mouth. I need to pour this down his throat," the nurse said.


    Jiehong got up from his seat and stepped next to the table. He gently opened Zan''s mouth to allow the nurse to pour the medicine. Jiehong saw the substance as it slipped from the bowl into Zan''s mouth. Its odor was pleasant. Judging from how easily it fell from the bowl and into the mouth, Jiehong saw the substance was not sticky. Zan coughed some as the substance entered his mouth but with gentle coaxing from the nurse and his half-brother, Zan swallowed the goop.


    The nurse stood staring at Zan for a moment. "Is that all?" Jiehong asked.


    "Ha!" the nurse yelped. In a more somber tone, she said, "If only it were that easy."


    "Do you know what is afflicting him?" Jiehong asked.


    The nurse gave Jiehong a mixed look. "It''s a strange condition," she said. "Sometimes, those chosen by prophecy exhibit such symptoms. You mentioned ''mana sickness'' earlier. His body shows its weathering, yes, but I see nothing on his body suggesting the continuation of the condition. Whatever is effecting your friend, it will require, either a hand more practiced than mine, or the grace of a divine to solve."


    Jiehong did not know what to make of the nurse''s words. He had never before heard of the ''prophetically selected'' having any condition, let alone symptoms of conditions similar to that of mana sickness. The whole notion was new to Jiehong. As was the idea Zan could be ''chosen'' for a prophecy of some sort. Yet he had to think back when they were inside the Wizard Towers. Zan sensed holy energy. Not only that, but passages previous locked, unlocked for him. Something was amiss with Zan. Jiehong vowed he would help his brother until the end, whatever the course of his condition be.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Don''t sugar coat it. Do you think he has a chance to recover?" Jiehong asked.


    The nurse examined Zan closely. She bent his arms, legs, gauged reactions.


    Looking at Jiehong, she said, "Maybe. I gave your friend a potent spirit tonic. With any normal person, a tonic as powerful as what I administered would be more than enough. I have a strange feeling in my tummy, though, young man. You and he are not normal people, are you? I sense unusual fluctuations in your personal auras."


    Shrugging the question off, Jiehong came back with the truth. "We are members of a Martial Order recently re-awakened. Zan, here, as well as I, have unusual, crystalized entities within our bodies. ''Power Crystals,'' they are called. Allowing them to comingle inside of us was a perquisite of the order. Plus, Zan has all the weird technology-stuff, as you''ve seen. I never thought about how all this crap could complicate our health."


    Putting her items away, the nurse shrugged. "I have seen many strange things in my career. You would be surprised, trust me. Load your friend onto my cart and I will bring you both to my humble flat. We have room for a couple of travelers. Inns and bars are full of refugees from the war. So, your options are limited, I''m afraid."


    Thanking the woman repeatedly, Jiehong moved Zan to the cart and then helped the nurse with her many boxes of flowers, herbs, plants, and animal and monster parts. She had an impressive number of goods. Jiehong could tell her career had been lengthy, and interesting.


    Walking back to her flat, the air was dry, but pleasant. Stars shone overhead; each glittering twinkle marked where a lounging god claimed court, lumbered, as they did, in the High Depths of the horizon. The thought made Jiehong smile. He imagined how it must feel to step atop a Divine''s throne and talk with them as though they were a mortal. What was the god of bread''s opinion on the god of jam? Somewhere out in the infinite sky, both gods reside, and somewhere, they might, theoretically speaking, meet for an exchange of the minds.


    Then, Jiehong felt a pang of sad.


    The only thing preventing me from stepping forward and speaking with a Divine is my own self-pity, he imagined and told himself.


    Another thought came to him, however. One which restored self-assurance: perhaps a pilgrimage after the war is on the table? Researching the major sects of the day, finding where they hold themselves, going there, learning with them. And then, after a time or more of practice and study, making the immense journey to the throne of the sect''s deity? When Jiehong imagined himself leading that sort of life, it did not repulse him.


    Food for thought, Jiehong thought.


    "Here we are," the nurse said.


    They had stopped in front of a large Mudbrick building. Layers of stone and wood snaked their ways throughout the building''s layers. Several stories tall, constructions made from Mudbrick often housed the majority of the city''s inhabitants, with the wealthier folk living in their private houses. Such buildings were common in larger settlements, Jiehong knew from his private tutorials. He had never seen one in person, though. It had an intensely earthy smell.


    The front was open. Nothing like a door could be seen, though inside, lesser doors made from iron bars, could be seen. "You live here? And run your business, here?" Jiehong asked.


    "Yes, I do. Why?"


    Thinking back to his youth, Jiehong remembered how the people of his village lived in the communal rest homes. Though the rest homes retained peacefulness throughout the majority of its days, the collective areas also saw their share of personal property disputes and space issues, especially when tourists from nearby cities came trouncing through the countryside and needed a place to stay. When you threw into the mix personality clashes, Jiehong thanked his lucky stars he and Zan had the comfort of a private hut. "Aren''t you worried about theft or bad apples?" Jiehong asked.


    "Heavens, no! Everyone knows my work is important. It benefits everyone who lives in the city and is given to everyone freely by decree of the King and His Peasant Association allies. Many social customs honor my trade and afford me respect. There are many laws which protect my goods and offer high punishment to a ne''er-do-well who wishes me harm. When I leave my goods about, more often than not, I find my supplies higher than it was when I left them be!" the nurse said to Jiehong''s surprise.


    The nurse left her goods in a side-garage next to the building. Going inside, they used a stairwell to go up a flight of stairs. Then another. They were on the fourth floor and at the end of a long hallway before the nurse stopped before an iron-bar door in the same fashion as the many other apartments.


    Pushing the door open, if iron bars could even be called a door, Jiehong carried Zan into a large room with dozens of sleeping mats, most of which had occupants. "Use your indoor voice," the nurse whispered before they gently made their way through the room to the very back.


    Jiehong laid Zan to rest on one such mat and pulled up another mat next to him. He wanted to keep an eye on his buddy in case things took a turn for the worse. Should that happen, though, Jiehong knew he would be of no help to his half-brother. He would be a mess and not know what to do. Still. All the same, he wanted to be here and be next to him should the impossible happen and Zan passed. Dark as it is, Jiehong said to himself, I will be here for my friend in his darkest hour.


    Resting alongside Zan once again, as they had done many times when younger and allowed to run free, Jiehong fell asleep nearly the second his head hit the pillow. When he woke up, the sun was shining. And Zan? He stirred.

 Chapter 162

    Hearing a labored breathing, Jiehong did not connect the sound right away to Zan. When he did, he rolled over and brought himself to his knees so he could check on his friend.


    Jiehong saw Zan still asleep. Yet his chest breathed deeply in before wheezing out. Jiehong did not know what to think of this development. Did Zan have an infection or virus?


    "Don''t worry. He is fine," a voice said from nearby.


    Seeing who it was, Jiehong saw a younger girl approach from through the room. "Hi. I am Mimsy," she said. "I''m Marsha''s daughter. The nurse who helped your friend from last night. She is back at her booth in the square, but she instructed me to keep an eye on your friend''s condition. And to help you with anything you needed before you were all set."


    "That is very kind of your grandmother," Jiehong said. "You said his condition is stable?"


    "Yes. You''ve slept nearly half the day. Earlier in the morning before she left, my grand-Marm checked on him and said he is stable. He should wake up soon. Whatever sickness he was fighting seems to be over. Just keep an eye on him for the next bit and let us know if we can do anything, okay?" Mimsy said.


    "Absolutely! I wanted to express my gratitude once again at your help. It really did save us!" Jiehong said, even as he knew he couldn''t actually point to anything the nurse had done as being pivotal to Zan making a recovery. She likely did help. But for all he knew, Zan had fought the sickness off himself as her supplements did hardly anything. Maybe or maybe not that was what happened -- Jiehong did not know. But he knew it was only polite to thank her and her grandmother regardless for their kindness and treatments.


    Mimsy gathered up some of her grandmother''s goods and said she was leaving on her rounds. Jiehong waved her off and kept close to Zan, watching his every move, thankful evermore for the kind actions of strangers.


    Just as predicted, Zan woke up.


    Slowly opening his eyes, he barely could hold them open. Several times he opened only to close. Then opened again.


    "What happened?" Zan asked.


    Jiehong told Zan but he knew he did not hear him. He nodded but his eyes were far too hazy and ill-focused. He went back to sleep.


    Feeling great relief, Jiehong rested himself against the mudbrick wall, a nearby window carrying the smell of a nearby outhouse up. Hardly pleasant, but Jiehong mustered through. He did not want to risk leaving Zan alone. Of course, Mimsy said the city was safe. I am sure there''s no harm in searching the city real quick for any sign of Winters and his men.


    He couldn''t bring himself to leave Zan alone. Every time he left the room, he was soon back, telling himself he wanted to keep an extra vigil on him, just in case...


    "You''re still here? Goodness!" Mimsy said, returning from her rounds a few hours later.


    "I am over-protective. What can I say?" Jiehong said, laughing it off.


    "Please," Mimsy told Jiehong. "Your friend is fine. Looking him over, I see nothing wrong with him. Get up and stretch your legs. Find a place in the city to eat and have a time. If you don''t want to spend coin, in this building''s basement, there is a gaggle of ladies who do nothing but cook. They will gladly give you a meal and some ale if you''re of age."


    Jiehong was tired. Sure, and though he wanted to stay true by Zan''s side, Mimsy was right. He had been faithful to protecting Zan all day. It was time for him to stretch and break. He really should try to find Winters, he told himself. Besides, Mimsy is a nice girl. Zan will be safe with her.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "Okay. I''ll go out for a bit. I am trusting him with you. I will return soon," Jiehong told Mimsy.


    "Good! Your friend is lucky to have you. But you still need to make time for yourself. His condition might be strange, but my grandmum knows a stable person when she sees one. Go on! Grab a drink and a meal, see the city, then come back and keep a hold of your friend with a nice book. The building has quite the collection, you know."


    Practically being nudged out the door, Jiehong stepped into the midday air. Breathing too deeply of the city air to think much more of it than ''ew!'' Jiehong told himself he would get used to the smell. Venturing into the city and searching for better smells, Jiehong thought about where he should go.


    Thinking to himself, Jiehong said, distracted and in bits: I guess Winters would be at wherever the mayor or main barracks for the city is... We had nearly a hundred people in our party, so I will surely bump into someone soon enough. Once I find a guard, I should ask him where... crap! A tavern! I can drop by for a drink. Just one...


    Though only midday, the tavern was in full swing. Local soldiers, town guards, and local men and women took up the space. Most seemed to be taking advantage of the tavern''s afternoon deals for their work meal break. That made sense, Jiehong thought. Otherwise, Hope-Ridge had a distressing number of alcoholics.


    A busty barmaid brought him to an end chair tucked away into a corner of the bar. Packed around him, jostling against his back and side once in a while due to how many people were crammed into the establishment, Jiehong sat down, but uncomfortably, his large stature hardly helping the situation.


    "What can I get for you today?" the barmaid yelled. Even then, she struggled to make herself heard over the din of talking and bardly singing.


    "Give me a pint of your finest ale!" Jiehong yelled back.


    "WHAT?!"


    It took a while and a lot of screaming, but Jiehong eventually got his order in. A pint of local ale and a half-chicken breast seared and sauced, seasoned, and with the house gravy. The chicken came with a side of steamed vegetables tossed with salt and pepper then coated with a special fungal-based cheese crumble. With the midday deal in effect, Jiehong paid only half price, which was a few copper pieces.


    Jiehong waited for his meal and drink.


    As he waited, the voices of the merry drowned out even his own thoughts. The singing bards nudged his worries to the side. To his back, people; to his side, people; directly ahead, wall, only a poster alerting of local attractions. Crammed in as he was, Jiehong did not feel enclosed or trapped. He felt happy.


    Crammed tightly in, resting on an unusually comfy stool, pleasant odors of smoke and mirth filled the air. It allowed Jiehong to forget himself, his worries, his future, and how his present actions effected the future. Sometimes, it was a lot to handle. Here, in the corner of a tavern he had never been to in a town he never had even heard of before, he was a nobody. He knew nobody. And no one knew he or his agenda or of his plans, so much as they could be called plans. He was but one adult-looking and acting person among many in an adult-only space.


    He let his eyes rest for a moment, giving himself to the sound. He breathed deeply only to release it slowly. He thought of his parents and why he fought. He repeated his breathing many times, each attempt a more fruitful attempt to calm himself and accept the ebb and flow of where he was.


    He opened his eyes and saw his ale pint.


    Not seeing the barmaid around to thank her, Jiehong would have liked to thank her in person for bringing him the drink. It was fine, though. The barmaid had much to do and Jiehong merely one customer among many. He would thank her on his way out.


    Taking deep swigs of ale, Jiehong felt immediate relief. It quickly spread through his body, warming and numbing him better with each subsequent pull.


    Highly botanical, though the drink was bitter, Jiehong continued drinking. An aftertaste built in his mouth. What was once a bitter flavor turned into a pungent and sweet flavor. By the time the barmaid dropped off his meal, his drink -- nearly gone -- vanished once the barmaid offered him a refill at half-price. He gladly accepted and thanked her heartily.


    Jiehong hardly needed the utensils which came with the meal. He was so famished, he only used the fork, and only to pick up the largest chunks of the meat, which was so tender, he hardly had to apply pressure to the fork to shred the meat. Jiehong filled with fork not unlike how he filled a shovel and tossed every big bite into his mouth with abandon. Wiping his face with a community wet cloth, surprised at how pleasant smelling the cloth actually was, despite its high and varied usage among strangers, Jiehong returned the cloth to its liquid filled resting bowl.


    Jiehong wondered outside feeling the decrease in sound as a transition from one world to another.


    So quiet, here... he told himself as he walked down the street. While the ale had clouded his mind some, he remained cogent. He also remained unperturbed in his steps.


    Quickly finding a guard, Jiehong asked where he could find the mass of people who had recently come to town. Meaning, Colonel Winters.


    The guard, however, gave him a funny look. "I don''t understand what you''re talking about."

 Chapter 163

    Jiehong explained. Of the group he was a part of and of Colonel Winters. The guard, however, remained stoic and strident in his ignorance. "No such group has arrived," he said.


    Walking off and finding other guards, Jiehong asked them similar questions, making sure to let them know Winters and Others would only have recently come to town. However, each guard he asked, gave the same answer. "No group like the one you''ve described has come through town."


    He couldn''t believe it. Colonel Winters, Whiskey, and the rest, they hadn''t come through? What could that mean? Jiehong asked himself this repeatedly, like a small child asking a never-ending string of partially related questions.


    Refusing to believe they could be dead or captured, such thinking only left for Jiehong one option: Colonel Winters and Whiskey simply haven''t yet arrived in town. And no wonder, Jiehong mused to himself at an exclamation tone. They had nearly a hundred people. After the battle, it was only me and Zan. Much easier for two people to travel than a hundred!


    Feeling distraught for a time, thinking and rationalizing the issue further, Jiehong figured he could do nothing but wait.


    And wait he did -- Ought to make waiting a touch fun, though, right? Jiehong told himself.


    Returning to the bar, Jiehong waited through the mess and ordered another pint.


    He left the bar after an additional three pints. Not able to stand the noise anymore, nor the wobble of the world, Jiehong wandered back to the mudbrick building. Difficult though it was for a moderately inebriated Jiehong, thanks to the building''s distinctive sewage aroma and the large cart parked next to the building, which was unique and clearly belonging to Marsha, he would have been scared about not finding his way.


    Although Jiehong considered it an easy travel back to Zan, in actuality, the walk had been anything but simple, with Jiehong shoving his way into several incorrect buildings and rooms before he had found Marsha and Mimsy''s flat. Due to the ale''s intoxicating qualities, however, his understanding of his actions blurred. Had the people of Hope-Ridge not been accustomed to all manner of people stumbling in and out of the public buildings, he might have caused a scene. As it stood, Jiehong swerved about town without a hassle. When he finally came to lie alongside Zan once again, his night on the town seemed nothing remarkable. Except, perhaps, in his coin purse.


    Though it was only early evening when Jiehong placed himself next to Zan, he felt the pull of sleep. The alcohol hurried slumber''s approach and knowing too much about the drink to deny its due, Jiehong closed his eyes. He fell asleep quickly and when he awoke, everything was exactly as it had been before he slept. Zan''s chest breathed steadily, up and down; a number of people remained in the room, Mimsy in and out, though clearly watching over things. By midnight, though, even Mimsy rested, leaving Jiehong and Zan wholly alone.


    Awake and feeling refreshed from his night on the town, thankful to his due process for not overindulging, Jiehong wondered what he should do.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Temptingly, he considered returning to the bar for a third time.


    Then killed the idea.


    No more booze! Jiehong scolded himself. Don''t let yourself become distracted!


    But if alcohol were not on the agenda, then what?


    Heading outside to see the city, he knew there was hardly anything to do. At this hour, he could drink, but obviously would not. Jiehong would walk, he decided. Take a simple stroll outside and walk around the block.


    Doing so, he encountered several patrolling guards. Each guard he met was nice to him. Even made banter for a while before continuing their job.


    A far cry from our reception in Thundervale, Jiehong remembered. How fair is that, though? Thundervale, Feathervale, the whole region had a rebel problem. Obviously, the guards in that part of the country would be suspicious and paranoid about everyone who came through, invasion or no. How else is the king supposed to enforce his will?


    Jiehong heard in the distance a ruckus from a tavern. People yelping, making noise. The bard bands making far too much ruckus for their size. Out here in the city -- the real city -- Jiehong met a slower pace of life. Hardly a handful of people were out. And they always hung around the outside of their mudbrick building. During his stroll, then, Jiehong only needed to take a few steps to encounter a whole new set of faces once one set grew predictable.


    Talking with the folks in front of their flats, Jiehong found himself feeling proud for not having gone back to the tavern. He enjoyed chit-chatting with the people he encountered and liked hearing about their lives and tribulations. Small details about daily life always grabbed Jiehong''s attention. One woman talked about how she had herself running errands all day for her neighbors in a fruitive effort to generate magical energy.


    "Excuse me? Generate energy? What do you mean?" Jiehong asked the lady. "Can''t you simply call down more form the Slipstream?"


    "Ideally! It doesn''t always work out that way on certain days. Like when the Slipstream isn''t up? We can''t do anything. So, we have to hold in the magic we have and water it down with constructive labor."


    "Water it down? I have never heard someone talk about magic that way before... did you study?" Jiehong asked.


    The woman, however, only let out a boisterous laugh. "Study?! Haha, you have a wit to you lad, never lose it!"


    Jiehong smiled, made some small talk, then left the woman alone. Constructive labor? Watering down the magic? Holding magic in? He hadn''t heard of or about any of what she said. Though the idea did intrigue him. He wrote a note in his journal to talk about these ideas with another learned person.


    "I guess I should be getting on back," Jiehong said under his breath. He had been walking for a good three or more hours enjoying the conversation and company of other night dwellers. It would be light in a few more hours. I should get a nap in before the new day.


    Cruising on through a few more streets, seeing no more people out on their building''s fronts, Jiehong made a quick passage back to Marsha and Mimsy''s flat. Perhaps on the final corner before returning to ''his'' street, Jiehong encountered a lone youth. He could not tell right away at their gender or proportions as few street torches remained casting light. Though Jiehong believed the youth was male.


    "Hey there. New in town?" the youth said, upbeat, but cautious.


    Jiehong flashed a quick smile, not knowing if it was even seen. "Yeah. I and my half-brother are in town. We won''t be staying long. I am on my way back to my flat now, actually."


    "Very cool! I adore meeting travelers. I won''t keep you as I know you are tired. Anyone would be after the ordeal you went through..."


    "Absolutely. Listen. How about we talk more in the morning if we meet again? Or maybe tomorrow night if I haven''t then left? I really need to get to bed. You understand." Jiehong replied.


    "Have a merry night," the youth said, taking a step into the shadows and vanishing.

 Chapter 164

    It was an encounter. That was it. Jiehong thought nothing of it. Until, that is, he reached Zan and sat down on his cot. "What did he mean ''after what I''ve been through''? He doesn''t know anything about me or my situation. Weird? Unbalanced? Or more horrifying yet, magical in some omnipotent way? No... He must simply assume all travelers have been through tough times." Jiehong told himself these things and then slept. It was one reason among many he liked city life. You met a lot of folks and a lot of them something about them. For someone as extroverted as Jiehong, urbanism was like a drug.


    Waking. Light streamed in through the windows. Many bugs and insects flew in and out through the screenless holes in the building; on his walk, however, Jiehong noticed many blankets and sheet adoring windowpanes. Likely there for privacy reasons, Jiehong knew he would want something between him and the world at large, especially if he was becoming intimate with a person or was sick or had to care for the overly young or overly elderly.


    Finding Zan on his feet, Jiehong''s heart skipped a beat before resettling into ''bro mode.''


    "Good to see you up, man," Jiehong said, walking the few feet to stand by Zan as he breathed in deep from the window.


    "Wow. It smells so bad here..." Zan''s first words were while as a traveler in a new place.


    "Yeah! It stinks!" Jiehong laughed. "It''s good to see you up and on your feet. I was worried about you."


    "I was worried about me. Help me find a chair. I want to sit in front of the window," Zan asked of Jiehong.


    Jiehong found a lone chair packed to the back of the room. He dragged it over and plopped it right behind Zan. "Okay. Sit."


    Sitting, Zan exhaled, sweat visible on his forehead.


    "You''re really exhausted, aren''t you?" Jiehong asked.


    Zan muttered a response. It amounted to ''yeah, please don''t expect me to talk a lot.''


    Looking at Zan as he saw and enjoyed the incoming breeze, garbage smell or no, Jiehong realized something: Those stains on his clothes. They are not from dirt or grease. I don''t remember ever pulling to the side of the road while traveling for a bathroom break. Nor do I remember helping Zan to use the chamber-pot when I was watching over him. So, those stains are...


    Gaging at the realization, and likely where part of the awful stench had come from, Jiehong told Zan, "We need to get you clean. I am going to see if there is a bath somewhere in this building or a public wash somewhere."


    "Good idea..." Zan panted. "I feel gross."


    Although Zan did find a wash tub in the building, the spigot to fill the tub was inconveniently located. Joined with the fact he saw no wood nearby to light a fire under the tub for warm water, Jiehong thought they would be better off finding a public wash. Filling and heating the tub alone would take up a quarter of the day, let alone cleaning Zan.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    With his exo-suit cage still back in their shared flat, Jiehong had Zan grab hold of him, with Zan''s arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. Jiehong brought his brother to the city''s best public wash and paid for a private room so he could help heal his brother in privacy.


    Once in their private washing chamber, Jiehong helped Zan removed his clothes. He averted his eyes when he saw the mess in Zan''s breeches, socks, and undergarments. "Gods-be! I am so sorry Zan. I should''ve asked if you needed to relieve yourself. This is so gross, and I am so sorry!"


    "Don''t worry about it," Zan said, directing his gaze to a corner of the room to avoid linking eyes with Jiehong. Awkwardness and modesty, even in small amounts, went a long way when you and family were naked together in a public bath.


    "I think we can just toss those clothes," Jiehong said low. "They''re way too messy. Way beyond saving. It''s not like any of this is your war gear."


    Zan nodded along and muttered acquiescence. He still seemed drained. That and humbled.


    Jiehong used the bucket provided and gently dumped water over Zan''s lean body. Zan took care of his scrubbing. Family or no, Jiehong didn''t want to touch his brother''s skin and bodily despair unless he absolutely had to, and only if it was in a medical way.


    The better part of an hour elapsed. By then, Zan''s body looked -- and smelled -- much better. Thanks in part to subtle perfumes mixed into the scrubbing brushes. As Zan attended to cleaning his Ranger-Knight gear, Jiehong told him he was going out to buy Zan some civilian wear to replace the garments he lost.


    He was not out for long before returning. In hand were an inexpensive set of garments he bought from a stall vendor in the market district.


    By the time Jiehong returned, Zan had finished scrubbing his badly soiled ranger-knight gear. It looked a pain to clean, but Zan had no other choice than to clean as it were tools and special garments which defended his life in battle. Zan thanked Jiehong for the clothes. Jiehong helped Zan in putting the clothes on. Before heading back to the flat, Jiehong assisted in cleaning and combing Zan''s hair; thanks to his headset, Zan''s hair grew unbalanced, as it stood between several wires which threaded through his skin and bone. This left his hair in an odd position.


    No matter the cleaning issue before him, Jiehong helped Zan in any way he could. It wasn''t long before Zan stood upright and asked, "How do I look?"


    "Like a new man. Let''s get you back to the flat. You can get some rest, and I will maintain my vigil for the others," Jiehong said.


    Part way back, Zan''s stomach growled so loudly, Zan did not have to ask for food before Jiehong jokingly groaned, "Okay, okay! I''ll get you something to eat!"


    They both dropped by a food vendor selling street food. Pieces of meat and vegetables on a stick.


    They eat three sticks a piece plus paid for two more each. Jiehong said he wanted a couple for later munching. Zan did not argue as Jiehong was the one paying for everything.


    Zan thanked Jiehong for his generosity, though both knew it was only a formality. One of them had said it before: but when they are traveling together, one''s expense is the expense of all. No way around it.


    Stumbling up to the room, Zan was about to sit down before Jiehong stopped him. "It''s dirty. Look! The bedding."


    Zan looked and saw what Jiehong meant. Zan''s bedroll was covered in a thin layer of muck.


    "I''ll replace it. Don''t worry," Jiehong said and did exactly that. He found Mimsy, asked how to go about in paying for a replacement, as Zan had ruined it totally, and with a giggle, Mimsy said, "That is all right. I or one of the maids will clean it. We''re used to extreme sums of filth in our traveling rooms. If you would like to make a donation, however, I never refuse coin, not when it goes to bettering the building."


    Jiehong made a donation, larger than expected of him, and Mimsy removed the dirty bedspread and replaced it with a clean one. Zan fell asleep instantly, though he managed one question before he slept. "Where are you getting this money?"


    "The parents," was all Jiehong replied before Zan lost his battle with drowsiness.

 Chapter 165

    With nothing else to do, Jiehong napped. He woke during the evening hours. Zan remained asleep. With himself fully recovered from the few drinks he had the previous night, Jiehong wanted to get an early start on the evening''s investigatory work. He wanted to explore more and ask people if a large group had come through town over the past day.


    Coming up upon a group of people in front of a building, Jiehong gave them a greeting and engaged them in simple conversation. He and they talked for a few minutes covering the basics. "Speaking of which," Jiehong said, transitioning from a conversational thread about travel, "have you seen a large group come through town recently?"


    Saying they hadn''t seen anyone, Jiehong thanked them for their time and moved ahead to the next cluster of building dwellers.


    Though he had many thought-provoking conversations with people, none of the conversations hinted at the presence of a group of travelers nearby. No one hear anything and Jiehong''s spirits were lessened. Where are they? Jiehong asked himself.


    As with far too many things in life, Jiehong did not have an answer. He could only sigh and move on.


    "There is no reason to be dispirited," Jiehong heard a voice say.


    Turning to the voice, Jiehong saw the same youth from the previous night. Still cloaked in shadow and therefore difficult to parse details about them, Jiehong took a few steps closer.


    "Greetings. We talked yesterday evening, didn''t we?" Jiehong replied.


    "Yes, we did. How have you been?" the youth asked.


    "I have been fine. Yourself?"


    "Fine. As I said, don''t lose hope. Yours will be coming soon," the youth said, cryptically.


    "I hope so. Who are you? I don''t think we''ve been properly introduced. My name is Jiehong. And you?"


    "I have many names. Many identities. This identity, however, you may call Meow."


    A moment of inaction passed. "Meow?" Jiehong thought he heard incorrectly.


    "Correct. Meow," the young man said, stepping forth.


    Leaving the shadows, the youthful figure came slightly into the light, away from his building. Jiehong saw a gangly lad. Taller than Zan but with less distinction to his skin. It was unusual to see, Jiehong thought. He couldn''t tell right away what about the guy it was. Something, though, threw him for a loop. Less hair on the skin? Smooth? By the time the youth transformed from human to cat, Jiehong knew something was amiss.


    Startled, Jiehong removed himself a few paces from the boy. "Who are you? What are you?!"


    Before him now was what appeared to be an ordinary house cat. Jiehong knew better, of course, having witnessed its transformation.


    The cat spoke to him, but it was not through a moving of its mouth and lips. It kept its mouth open and from it came its voice. How Jiehong understood the sound he did not know. Yet it came from the creature all the same. A glinting light sparkled around its fur as it talked.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "My name is Meow. I am a traverser of the unseen. I have taken an interest in you; for you have moved unseen yourself, haven''t you? I watched as you cut a remarkable path through the phantasm fantastique. You know what I mean?" Meow said, his mouth wide open as he talked.


    Did he know what Meow meant? Only one thing came to mind. The journey through the countryside as he lugged Zan on his exo-suit. On the outskirts of the city he encountered... something.


    "I think I know what you''re talking about. I know not what it is or what it is called, however. It was why I arrived so soon in the city, wasn''t it?" Jiehong asked.


    "Observent of you. And yes, it is the reason why you made great time. The entity you encountered is called an eldritch being. They are the primeval gods of this realm. You have heard of them, I trust? Even if only as the primal spirits, the off shoots of the Divines. Yes?"


    Jiehong had heard of eldritch beings, of course. He needed to in order to know what to generally avoid as far as spiritual practice went. Which was also why he was so reluctant to endorse any opinion of the Ranger-Knights and their technology as being rooted in eldritch influence. With eldritch influence came trouble. Emotional. Psychological. Trouble all the same. Eldritch beings were a different breed from gods. If one wasn''t careful, it was too easy to lose yourself and your beliefs while attempting to understand the illogical. And yet... Jiehong did not think what he had gone through had been an eldritch deity. He knew of eldritch beings conceptually but had never heard someone describe what they were like. Encountering one in the wild had been unbelievable.


    "I can tell from your face you understand. The idea bewilders you, doesn''t it? If you would like to learn more, that can be arranged," Meow said.


    "Oh. Sorry. I have beliefs against associating with eldritch entities. Though my encounter was ''bewildering,'' yes, I can''t change my worldview at the drop of a hat. I have obligations, besides. We may talk but that is all for now," Jiehong explained.


    "Talking is fine. Shall we talk about these obligations of yours? Or maybe these beliefs? I am curious because you wear eldritch technology, yet you speak against it. I am confused," Meow asked.


    He ''wore'' eldritch technology. "What did he mean? My headset?" Jiehong asked.


    "If that is what you call it, yes. I can sense traces of eldritch design on it. It is a lackluster influence, though. Hardly any influence, truthfully speaking. Even so, a mortal engineer taking inspiration from the eldritch is not something you see often."


    Again, with the ''headset is eldritch'' stuff. What was this all about? Jiehong wanted to know. "Why the interest in my headset? Do you know the Wardens, by any chance?"


    "Wardens? I don''t know who they are. It''s hard for me not to take an interest in your equipment. It is leagues more advanced than anything in the area. You must be associated with a Martial Order. Are these Wardens the Grandmasters of the Order?"


    Jiehong explained to Meow who the Wardens were and what the Order of Shiv was about. Meow appeared extremely satisfied with the answer. His tone was happy and Jiehong, using his extroverted social graces, did not sense anything malevolent to him. He seemed only curious as to the nature of Jiehong and his purpose in the world.


    "What about you? A shapeshifter? I have never seen one such as yourself. Are you common?" Jiehong asked point-blank.


    "Am I common?" Meow asked before breaking into a laugh. "Not in this part of Creation, no. Other parts? You can''t throw a stone without hitting one of us -- which we often do endure, unfortunately."


    Jiehong and Meow chit-chatted. Their conversation''s frayed ends splintered but eventually reformed.


    "People throw stones at you here? I''m sorry. I do have to ask, though, why you''re here if it is so bad for you," Jiehong said.


    Meow, however, did not want to continue the conversation. "The short answer is I wander. The longer answer can wait for another time. Speaking of which, tick-tock, I must be going. As do you, considering the time..."


    Suddenly becoming aware of the passing hours, Jiehong saw daylight pierce the night sky.


    Turning back to Meow, Meow had vanished.

 Chapter 166

    Around Jiehong were the beginnings of morning with roosters and people cawing up a storm. Moving away from the crowd, Jiehong stepped into the alleyway Meow spent most of the conversation. He found no sign of Meow. The sun grew brighter as did Jiehong disbelief at how the whole evening had passed. Their conversation had been pleasant but hardly lengthy. What happened?


    Gradually, Jiehong heard a sound in his ear. It repeated his name several times. Only after the fifth or sixth utterance did Jiehong recognize the voice of the Screen Master.


    "Simulacrum? Is that you? Sorry. I-I... uh, had a rough night?" Jiehong said.


    "Jiehong! It is good to hear your voice again. I have been attempting to call you non-stop. I tried to warn you about the reality warping nature of eldritch associations. I was not in time, unfortunately, and you lost the evening to that entity. The one you know as Meow," Simulacrum said.


    "Is that a bad thing?" Jiehong asked.


    "If you are unprepared, it can be, yes. Those without experience with eldritch associated beings can find much about their lives changed if they do not keep guard. It seems the entity you encountered was not a hostile creature for it stopped associating with you before anything more consequential came to pass. Several hours is nothing compared to several years or even a dissolution of one''s physical body."


    Hearing the Screen Master speak made Jiehong worried about encountering more eldritch beings. He did not want to let down his family and battle-companions should he be unprepared the next time he met an eldritch association and inexplicably lost himself just as people needed him most.


    "We will talk about eldritch self-defense techniques later when you and Zan return to the command center. It is not something which can be easily explained and taught over such a distance," Simulacrum said.


    Holding him to his word, Jiehong said, "Fine. But we must make this a priority if I am to give it my all to help Zan, the order, and my country."


    Ending the conversation with the Screen Master, Jiehong came from the alley and brought himself to a growing crowd.


    Looking to the sky, the sun told him it was midday. Jiehong saw the Slipstream and chanted holy to gain its magical energy. It felt good to feel so invigorated. Being midday, Jiehong belatedly realized why so many people were about: the lunch hour. And the hour where outside merchants are allowed into the city for a few hours. Jiehong made his way through the backstreets and back into the main avenue. There, he saw a beleaguered bunch of civilians'' streamed into the city. Flanked on all ends by battered troops, Jiehong forged his way to the column''s top where he saw none other than Colonel Winters at the head.


    If Winters was here than Whiskey must be close by, in which case, Jiehong figured, the echo-beetles might be functional again. Jiehong commanded a line to open. He said, "Whiskey. Can you hear me? It is Jiehong. Whiskey?"


    Moments of cackle passed. Then, a rush of static. Within the static came definition. Tones formed to word. "Jiehong? Jiehong! Where -- what happened to you guys? Can you hear me?"


    Jiehong answered right away. "I can hear you! Whiskey. I am by the main gate. Where are you? We need to regroup."


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Whiskey and Jiehong then arranged to meet. Minutes of yelling key words into the bustling bazaar passed. The key words were to make themselves distinctive in the murmuring crowd. Gradually, through the echo-beetles, and their voices, they spotted each other. Five final minutes of fighting the crowd, which seemed to move in whatever direction they needed to move to find one another, and Jiehong brought Whiskey into a hug.


    "I am not used to city life! I thought we would never work through the people -- there''s so many!" Whiskey laughed.


    "I feel the same. From what Zan has told me about you, you must come from a similar background as us, right? To me, a large crowd is anything more than two or three dozen people. Our village growing up only had so many people."


    "Yes. My village was close to another village. My people tolerance is slightly higher, but not by much. Nothing like this!"


    Finding a quieter area to scope out the best route away from the tangled masses, both searched the square. Unsurprisingly, Whiskey found the quickest path based on where Jiehong said he wanted to go. Across the street and to Zan. He could find his way back to Marsha and Mimsy''s flat, if they could cut through the main road. With horses, carts, and people and their animals, it was much more difficult than one might initially imagine.


    Insisting upon themselves like a phalanx, Jiehong used his girth to nudge a path for he and Whiskey. Whiskey followed in his step''s shadow, always within reach, moving upon her instruction as they braved the instantaneous challenges of traveling through a busy city street.


    Navigating the chaos with hardly a few bumps and bruises, each of them breathed a sigh easier knowing the worse was behind them.


    Jiehong escorted Whiskey through the tangle of backstreets which he had grown to know over the last few days. He caught Whiskey up on the battle he and Zan encountered once they boarded the airship. Then the crash. "And then we moved through the countryside. Zan on my back, fighting his mana sickness and the parasite-thing-in-us which was tearing him apart. We went through a weird cloud. That was maybe an Eldritch being? But I don''t know what to think about anything right now because the person who told me it was an eldritch being was a shapeshifter cat-person-guy... Zan is stable, though. That''s good."


    Whiskey listened to Jiehong with increasing shock. By the end of his tale, she clearly felt profound for their trials.


    "We had it much easier," Whiskey said. "Once the airship was out-of-sight, chasing you and Zan, I guess, and then crashed, it was far away from the colonel and myself. We were attacked by groups of automotrons, yes, but with our many skilled warriors, we fended them off; when the airship veered off-course, huge groups of the golems followed in its wake. Some of us wanted to launch an attack on the retreating golems, but their number was so many, Winters thought it prudent to flee while we could and go to the city. We encountered no eldritch being. Our actual journey was fine. Just boring. And long. We''ve been marching non-stop to get here."


    Walking down the final street and into the mudbrick building where Zan rested, Jiehong felt it impossible not to dwell on how different their experience had been. Although the encounter with the eldritch beast had been as terrifying as it had been abstract, he had (somehow), through some bending of space and time, arrived at Hope-Ridge days ahead of Whiskey and the Colonel. Meanwhile, Whiskey''s journey post-crash, were inconsequential. A boring trek through seas of trees.


    "You lucked out. What I wouldn''t give for an easy time. Then again, if you''re still wanting to join our cause, you''ll be feeling the pain of a power crystal infusion yourself here soon enough. So, I won''t begrudge the universe. I''m paying my karmic dues. Which means, I should be owed a break pretty soon," Jiehong said, laughing at his lot in life. Mostly kidding, though.


    "I''ve heard Zan talk about it. And your own infusion, too. It sounds painful. Is it really worth it?" Whiskey asked.


    "Call me a fool to believe someone who came with the building and who is made of fancy light, but the Wardens seem true to me. For joining the order, you receive access to powerful weapons. Our exploits on the battlefield are only possible because of our advanced equipment. I have figured once we master these weapons we will be near unstoppable. Against golems, anyway."


    Whiskey nodded along. "Sounds like sacrifice. I think that is exactly what I need right now."

 Chapter 167

    "What you need?" Jiehong asked.


    "I was on the wild side before the invasion. Hence my name. Defending your home from attack sobers a person up awfully quick. I find living this rebel-solder''s life works for me. I am more in one with nature. And myself. I feel better when I blend my life with the ebb and flow of the world. It must sound idealistic. It isn''t, though. I am ready to push myself to the limit. I won''t find that limit, though, if I sit on my ass and hand-out-fliers as my ragtag rebel group is ''besieging'' a city. I know I can do better," Whiskey said as they neared Zan and his room.


    "Does this mean you''ve given up on your rebel beliefs?" Jiehong asked.


    "No. I retain my beliefs. I only acknowledge how, right now, circumstances beyond our control are forcing me to re-consider how I should best use myself and my aspirations. As much as I enjoy making trouble for our monarch, rebel activity is extremely limited. We should be fighting the invaders, primary, not only when our fellow citizens think differently than us. Don''t get me wrong -- I see how you''re looking at me, Jie -- I fully support those people who want to besiege. It is just that I feel like I can do better with my time. If my investment pays off, I will then be able to utilize this experience to advance my cause. I am thinking long-term. Not short. Miss me with that shortsightedness."


    Feeling Whiskey''s intensity, he gave her an honest answer: "I think you will benefit more from being with us. We''ll still so small and powerless. But with each Advancement, made possible by the Wardens and their research, and with each victory under our belt, we grow. We will find and befriend allies and flourish under a new banner all manner of comrades, smitten to elect our adventure as their own. Our lives will never be the same."


    Whiskey flashed Jiehong a smile. "You do speak so formally. Do you plan out everything you say in your head?"


    Laughing, Jiehong said, "Nah! Zan does, though. He used to tell me about it. It is how he talks when he and I are alone. Some of it must''ve rubbed off on me!"


    Their inside joke finished, and feeling closer to Whiskey, Jiehong brought her right over to Zan so she could survey his condition for herself.


    "Oh my," she said, falling to her knees. "He''s been through damnation and then again! Tell me again what happened."


    Recounting the story once more, Jiehong told Whiskey of encountering the sickness after the airship crashed. How touch and go Zan felt for a while. Then of finally reaching the city after a confusing travel through an eldritch being. There, they met Marsha and Mimsy. Marsha treated Zan and was kind enough to let them stay in her flat. Now, for the past few days, Zan has been recovering, Jiehong tending to him as a brother should.


    Within the confused tumble of everything happening, Jiehong did not consider telling Whiskey anymore of his encounter with the shapeshifter.


    "Okay. If Marsha is a well-known city healer and says he is fine, then I have no reason to doubt her. I guess we have to wait for Zan to heal up some before heading back to your command center. That and inform colonel Winters of your safe arrival. You should be compensated for your actions, as is fair. I intend on asking for my payment shortly," Whiskey said, triggering in Jiehong the vague memory he had tucked away in his head of why Whiskey elected to join Winters''s assault in the first place -- payment.


    "I love it," Jiehong said. "I would like payment myself. We are hurting and the rescue kits we bought, helpful though they are, don''t have everything we need. We need a lot more goods. Plus, some general funds might be nice. Especially while we''re out on the campaign trail."


    Stolen story; please report.


    Whiskey stayed with Zan for a while. She laid hands on him and used what healing energies she could use to help his progress. Jiehong didn''t know if it did anything for his spirit, but Zan''s body had to be in great condition by now. After Jiehong, the rescue kit pills, Marsha, and now Whiskey, on top of good old-fashioned sleep? Whiskey looked a touch jealous; but she would be after so much tedious horse riding.


    Zan woke up shortly after Whiskey finished her healing incantation. Jiehong thought the timing coincidental.


    "Hey... long time no see. I guess this means I''m going to make it. Yay..." Zan said, weakly.


    "Come off yourself," Jiehong said, inflecting his tone so he took a mock-serious approach. "You''ve been out of danger for a day or two now. No more worrying about ''not making it.'' You''re strong, Zan. Whiskey and Colonel Winters just arrived in town. We came to see you as soon as we could. We would''ve been back sooner but it''s a mob out there!"


    "It''s cool..." Zan whispered. His voice was sore as Jiehong imagined his throat, too.


    "What happened to you?" Whiskey asked.


    Slowly, Zan explained what his experience after the airship crashed and Jiehong helped him away from the site. "I was never unconscious, believe it or not."


    Jiehong''s eyes widened as he considered the implications.


    Continuing, Zan said, "I saw a lot of lights... I flew through the sky and mountains of our world... went to different world zones, or so I felt... I was connected to the gods. Oh, how my heart filled! It didn''t last. My connection faded and then the darkness came. I felt abstracted from my life. I met new entities. Primal entities who embodied emotion. Then I returned to the light. I saw how primal and holy worked together..."


    "And then what?" Whiskey asked.


    "Nothing. I saw the whole picture. The entire idea, philosophy, whatever you want to call it. Then, nothingness. Just me and my crystal talking. Not directly. But talking through echoes. It''s alive, you know," Zan told his friends.


    "Alive?" Jiehong repeated.


    "Yeah. Alive. Like you and me," Zan stated.


    "What did you talk about with your crystal?" Whiskey asked, taking a keener interest.


    "I would like to know, too," Jiehong added in. "When I left you, you were fighting the crystal to not go into that Shining mode. You were begging it to ease off its turbulence."


    "True. For a long time, it was me and the crystal arguing. I can''t remember exactly what it said... it spoke more in images than words... but some words... It''s hard for me to describe," Standing up and bracing himself, using his friends as support, Zan took in a deep breath and continued talking as he looked at Whiskey, then Jiehong. "And... yeah. I somehow communicated to it how it needed to stop making demands my body couldn''t handle. It stopped -- finally -- and I fell into a weird state. I was half-awake. Half-asleep. I felt disembodied. Floating. Eventually, I came to the horizon of the gods. There, I explored."


    "A surreal encounter," Jiehong said of the situation. "Do you remember me telling you any about my encounter?"


    "Bits and pieces only. Sorry, bud..." Zan replied.


    Saying it wasn''t an issue, Jiehong repeated his encounter again. How indirect he felt from his body and how he hypnotically interacted with the world. Thinking to this time finally speak about the shapeshifter, Meow, Zan''s face looked ghastly as he tried to make sense of Jiehong encountering an eldritch being at the same time as he encountered a holy situation.


    "I''m no mathematician," Whiskey said. "But all this seems too coincidental to be a coincidence, right?"


    The three of them talked over what they knew about divination and prophecy. Which was very little.


    "Could I really be among the prophesied?" Zan asked. Odd things were happening to his friend, Jiehong reflected. He finds passages otherwise closed-off to people. He befriends strange guys in strange, far-away palaces, and now visions? Odd things are afoot!


    Far off a bird trilled.


    "What would that mean for me?" Jiehong asked.


    Whiskey replied, "Let''s not jump boats. Even if Zan has a prophecy about him, that doesn''t say anything about you. Encountering an eldritch being is rare but far from impossible. Eldritch beings are not associated with prophecies, either. They''re kind of the reverse, from my understanding."


    "I''m not saying I am prophesied. Maybe prophetically-adjacent, though...?" Jiehong said. "It is not unheard of for prophecies to effect multiples."


    The group continued talking on the matter. Able to reiterate only the already discussed information, none of their confusion or anxiety lessened. Eventually, they dropped the issue, Zan vowing to find an educated man on the matter. To which Zan replied, "Aren''t we in a big city? Couldn''t we find such a man here?"

 Chapter 168 (Update: Reward Meeting)

    Thinking it was possible such a learned man could dwell in a city such as Hope-Ridge, the group vowed to look into the matter once they were free.


    "We should... Winters," Zan said. He fell back to his cot on the ground.


    "Stay put!" Jiehong said, raising his voice. Having silenced every one of his friends, Jiehong said, "Sorry. I didn''t mean to appear upset. You should continue to rest, Zan. Whiskey and I can go and approach Winters."


    "I''m the grandmaster of the Order, though..." Zan said.


    Of course, this was when the Screen Master poked his head in on a multi-line, addressing both Zan and Jiehong.


    Listening to the Screen Master, Jiehong heard, "A momentary interruption! Zan. I must be clear: you are grandmaster in name only. Later, once certain requirements and milestones have been met, you will be grandmaster. For now, your title is merely technical. Honorary."


    With a cracked voice, which Jiehong thought was only partially related to his illness, Zan said, "Does that change anything about my role?"


    "No. It does not," the Screen Master said. "You remain the de-facto leader. You should, perhaps, be there to meet the Colonel. Considering your condition, however, sending Jiehong as a proxy might be best."


    "I''m so hungry," Zan said.


    Hearing his own stomach rumble, Jiehong felt a similar need roar to life.


    "Let''s go grab a bite," Jiehong said, who, as he turned to lead the party outside and find a tavern, they encountered Marsha and Mimsy.


    "Oh! Marsha! This is Whiskey. My battle-sister..." Jiehong said, then introducing everyone formally.


    "I hope you guys have a great night one the town! But you know. If you''re looking for a meal, try the ladies in the basement. They''re so good!" Marsha said, being helped by her granddaughter.


    Jiehong said they would try the basement ladies... someday. For now, he wanted to take them to a nice spot.


    Jiehong did not dawdle on finding a spot to eat. He knew how beat Zan felt. And after her journey and then Jiehong filling her ears, Whiskey would surely want to rest her feet. Her face. And simply eat.


    Buying some meat and vegetable skewers from a street vendor and then eating them in the public park, their skewers did not fill enough of Zan. Heading inside to an actual tavern and inn, Jiehong procured for them a table in a busy place through use of a well-placed bribe.


    Together, the table ordered plates of food to share. And more than a few merry drinks. Everyone had a nice time enjoying hot food, intoxicated company -- the locals were holding some kind of annual drinking competition, so everyone was merry beyond convention -- and could relax while letting themselves bob-away to whatever fragment of the bard band could be heard above the drunkard''s din.


    Wiping his face and belching loudly, Zan looked satisfied. Color also appeared to be returning to his skin.


    Jiehong paid the tab, with some help from Whiskey, and the group left the tavern. Talking outside, Zan rested on a bench as the group plotted their next move.


    Zan said, "I''m well enough to meet Winters. Whiskey -- do you know what you are going to ask of the colonel? As your reward for participating in a royal-affiliated mission, I mean. And do you still want to join our order?"Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Jiehong looked at Whiskey. Then held eye contact.


    Whiskey did the same with Jiehong and then Zan. Slowly, she said, "Yes. I know what I am going to ask the Colonel for; and also yes: I still yes to join your martial order. I know the demands which will require me to conform. I think this is what I need in life and how to be most useful." Whiskey''s response seemed enough for Zan who nodded along, showing active listening.


    "If you think you''re well enough, let''s fine him. He''s probably out of range for the echo-beetle things, yeah?" Jiehong said, trying his beetle only to find silence on the other end.


    The group explored the city as Jiehong and Zan continued to try and hail the colonel. Through a combination of actively trying to find him and asking for directions from guards in unfamiliar corners, they found the garrisons where the troops stayed.


    Between waiting for confirmation from several secretaries, personal attendants, and more, hours of uneventful tedium eloped. When they finally came to stand before Colonel Winters, Jiehong felt Whiskey had to be sour at ever leaving the procession of soldiers before she knew where everyone would be marshaled toward upon their entry to the city. Had she stuck with the group, she could have avoided all this trouble. Circumstances aside, Jiehong was happy she came with him to check on Zan. It showed her commitment to the Order. And more importantly, people.


    "Zan! And friends! I am happy to see all of your alive and in one piece," Winters said.


    Filling in for him when Zan tired of explaining, the group then filled Winters in on everything which transpired once the airship battle begun. Winters nodded along to every word of the story, showing great interest in the tale.


    When the story ended -- over an hour later -- Winters could only say, "Your heroism knows no bounds, lads. Incredible work! An airship tallied to your kill count is an impressive accolade. And your survival skills. Jiehong -- you are an honorable young man, are you not? Few men of ill-traits can tread the astral waters of an eldritch being and live to tell the tale. You two are something else..."


    Jiehong wasn''t expecting praise. And certainly not from Winters, a man he thought highly of, and as a respectable member of society. What had he done except walk and think? How did that make him heroic? When Winters spoke about him, Jiehong welled inside as a flower does on birth. If Winters could speak so highly of me, he thought, then maybe there is something to me after all? I am not merely my Parents''s plaything. Their mini-thems.


    Looking at Whiskey first, Winters asked, "Alright, las. I promised you a reward for the service of you and your Scouts. What can I do for you?"


    Looking carefully at Whiskey as she made her request, Jiehong considered her face and tone as she talked. What someone expected as a reward could reveal a lot about their character. Jiehong wondered what she would pick. Whiskey said, "Gold is fine. Or jewels. Any precious stones capable of being fenced."


    "I understand. I will beseech our rescued viceroy and call upon him to surrender a few of his no-longer wanted valuables. I saw a trunk full of shiny junk. I can''t give you a timeline on when I can hand you the reward, but it will be soon. Is this acceptable?" Winters asked.


    "More than acceptable. I will check in with you every day until our departure," Whiskey said.


    "Departure? Plans?" Winters asked.


    "I do not have to tell you of my plans, Colonel. But I will. Out of respect for my new allies, comrades, and battle-companions. I am joining Zan''s order. To do so, I will need resources to buy-out my contract. Plus, some funds thereafter."


    "Say no more. A wonderful course of action, Whiskey. Not merely because I think you falling away from those rebels is a good thing but because I do believe your talents would be better served elsewhere. Do let us know if you need help. If it does not cause an issue for me, I am always ready to provide help to upstart organizations,"


    A conventional answer, Jiehong thought regarding Whiskey''s asked-for reward. Practical. Pragmatic. He didn''t know what he had been expecting. He was happy Whiskey wisely selected. And how she planned to continue helping them and wanted to join them formally.


    "Jiehong? Zan?" Winters said. "What can I do for you?"


    Wanting his half-brother to conserve his energy, Jiehong spoke first: "A bundle of local currency is fine. Funds for our coffers is more important than anything else. So, that is what I would like my reward to be, sir."


    "Understood. I will procure some local funds before you depart. As a word of warning, however, the economy is unstable right now because of the war. Some places might take advantage of the situation by charging excessive rates. Then there is inflation. I plan on giving you a tidy sum of bills, lad. However, these bills are unlikely to take you far. Use them very wisely."


    Showing he was listening, Jiehong nodded along actively. He made eye-contact. All that jazz Zan didn''t know or bother doing.


    "And you, young sir?" Winters said, addressing Zan.


    Zan took a deep breath and said, "Sir. I want nothing."

 Chapter 169

    "Nothing? Lad, you can''t be serious," Winters said.


    "You''re not letting him finish, sir," Jiehong said, speaking softly to show respect.


    Zan took another deep breath. Then said, "Sir. Nothing except," another deep breath. "A formal recognition of my ''autonomous'' status."


    Caught off-guard, Winters did not expect a request such as Zan''s. "Formal recognition?" Winters asked. "I''ve already dubbed you an autonomous agent empowered to take control of royalist forces under my command. I am merely confused about what exactly you are asking."


    "I mean -- that, what you said -- but for the entire royal army," Zan said.


    Winters could not but chuckle at Zan''s request. It was not cruel laughter, Jiehong felt, but it strangulated the nonconfrontational tone of what so far had been an uneventful de-briefing.


    "Lad... that is a heckle of an ask! I do not have the power to extend autonomous status over all of the military. Only the Supreme General or King could authorize such a request," Winters explained.


    Everyone expected a reply from Zan. But he remained quiet. Tired?


    Holding himself firmly as a wounded youth could, Zan remained stoic. He simply said, "You said anything."


    "Within reason, lad..."


    He continued to hold. Zan''s face could pass for a gambler''s static. He did not snarl or put on a bad show. Zan simply maintained his request.


    Winters broke first and said, "Fine. If you are insistent on this, I will see what I can do, lad. I will talk to our viceroy. See if he can''t speak to someone higher than him. Get an audience. Then there will be meetings... This will not happen overnight, understand. It will require powerful people meeting and talking."This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "That''s fine. I am patient," Zan replied.


    Trying a final attempt at negotiation, Winters asked, "Are you sure you would not like a more tangible reward, Zan? Something to help your burgeoning order, such as what either of your compatriots asked for? I know people. I could procure for you land deeds. Honestly, the land might not be the best land, but you would own it. Tax-free!"


    Although the idea of tax-free land did intrigue Jiehong, being only a teenager, the idea was more an idle curiosity than anything with tangibility. How tax-free land would fit into Jiehong''s image of his future was as of yet an unknown. And therefore, moot.


    Jiehong did say, though, "Just to add my opinion on this matter. It might be worthwhile, Zan. Land ownership could help us a lot long-term."


    Zan shook his head. "No. I want the status. There is a lot of ways to own land. Owning urban property would help us how? Same question for land we can''t get to or is unvaluable. My status, though? That could help us on the battlefield. It could save lives."


    Jiehong debated Zan about this for a long while. Winters poked his opinion in as well. Whiskey mostly stayed out of it, though she did say she thought the ''status'' might be worthwhile for the moment because they already had and requested certain property-oriented rewards.


    "If it will make everyone feel better, I will sleep on it," Zan said. "But consider my final answer the status."


    "Okay. If that is what you really want, then forget the sleeping part," Winters said.


    Thinking the conversation had ended there, before they left the room, Winters stopped them and said to Zan, "Actually. One last word. How about this? I solidify your autonomous status under my command when you work for me. That is, after you''ve filled out some forms. After you''ve touched on royal army protocol -- since you''re still iffy on the general dynamics. Do this, take a lesser reward, and I promise I will, when the time is right, advocate for your status across the whole army when and if you continue to prove yourself capable of leading massed throngs of men in battle."


    Clear to Jiehong Zan was thinking Winters''s request over, Jiehong hoped to heck and back Zan would take the offer. Anyone could see how this offer was not only the most generous yet but the most stable politically speaking. All Zan had to do was say ''yes.'' So, would he?


    Zan''s eyes drooped before he spoke. He said, "Fine. I accept. I will be back tomorrow to do those forms and trainings."

 Chapter 170 (Deveolpment: Contract Buyout)

    "It''s getting late," Whiskey said. "We should turn in for the night."


    No one argued with Whiskey. Jiehong sure as heck didn''t argue. "What a great idea. We all could use some relaxation."


    The trio returned to the mudbrick building which seemed to Jiehong almost like a second home. Zan barely was cognizant about what was happening. After the debate-debriefing with Winters, he collapsed onto Jiehong like a tuckered-out toddler after running amok through a harvest festival.


    Jiehong laid Zan down to rest on his cot. He said to Whiskey, "Care to join me for a drink?"


    "Sure. But only one," Whiskey said.


    Noticing how many more vendors were now on the street selling local drinks and street food, Jiehong and Whiskey, of course, had more than one drink. By the evening''s end, they had half-a-dozen. For their limited constitutions, it was more than enough to loop them silly.


    Falling against the wall of a mudbrick building while on their way back to their complex, Jiehong burped, excused himself, and said to Whiskey something which had been on his mind for the last few hours but had not said anything least Zan take it the wrong way. "I am happy Zan took the deal," he said.


    "Me too! Absolutely," Whiskey said, with hardly a slur to her tongue.


    "Because, like... a leader needs to know and balance what is good for the group with what is realistic for the group. It''s like, a balance, yeah?"


    "Yes! Hard yes! Your friend sure knows how to gamble with his fortune. An autonomous title throughout the whole royal military? He was practically asking to be made a supreme general... if I know my royalist military structure. Which... I don''t!" Whiskey said, giggling uncharacteristically because of the alcohol.


    "W-what do you t-think he''ll take for a reward?" Jiehong asked, stopping and starting his speech as he attempted to think of what to say through the intoxicated cloud.


    "No idea... ugh, I''m dizzy. Bedtime, methinks!" Whiskey said as she set the pace and resumed walking back to the mudbrick flat.


    The group returned to their room to find it packed with strangers and travelers passing through town. Despite the noise generated from the life of a dozen families, Zan remained undisturbed and still sleeping. Despite the roar, Whiskey and Jiehong turned in and found sleep easily.


    When they woke, it was early morning. They did not get up, then, however. They slept in late, deciding not to rise until it was nearly the afternoon. They rose and had some water. Stale bread. Then more water. Rest.


    Before they split into their own affinities, Zan, Jiehong, and Whiskey had lunch. It consisted of cabbage and kale soup seasoned with local spices meant to sooth the stomach. Each slowly finished their soup, their hangovers limiting their hunger. Zan was the first to finish and said he felt well-enough to return to Winters and finish up their discussion from the other day.


    "Okay. Sounds fine. Before you leave, Zan, what shall we do for the day? Once you''ve returned, that is?" Jiehong asked.


    "Uh, I don''t know. I am not at a hundred percent yet. And the stuff today I have to do with Winters is probably going to drain me back to zero. Let''s make it easy on ourselves. Have today, tomorrow too, be a free day. We can do what we will. Rest. Then we depart back to our province. Everyone in agreement?" Zan asked.


    Jiehong said he was fine with the notion as did Whiskey. "Just let us know when you''re done," Jiehong said.


    "Will do. I will use the beetles," Zan replied before heading off to the barracks.


    "What are you going to do?" Jiehong asked Whiskey.


    Smiling, Whiskey said, "As if you have to ask..."


    #


    WHISKEY strode down the busy thoroughfare, deftly angling her way through the bustling crowd. Her aim was to find her scouts. She knew they would be near to the barracks. Before arriving in the city, she gave them explicit instructions.


    Meeting her comrades in an alleyway which, although full of people, seemed nearly a ghost town compared to the horde in the main street, Whiskey found them easily enough, if she discounted the two-plus hours of battling the maddening crowd. Finding them near the back of a ''Smokery,'' or a place where one could puff holy herbs in peace, Whiskey approached. "Friends. Sorry for the sudden abandonment. I found Jiehong and that led to a whole thing... I have news. I am joining Zan''s Order."If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Her scouts gave her a blase look. Part surprise, part confusion, they clearly were out of the loop. So, Whiskey explained to them the situation.


    "So, you are going to just abandon the movement?" Pim said.


    "No. I know it seems I am abandoning everyone, but I am not. I want to be clear on that point. I am leaving the proper way. I will buy my contract out and continue to support the rebellion but in my own way. This is my best course of action," Whiskey explained.


    Taking more drags from their smokables, Whiskey could tell from the light odor what they were smoking was inexpensive, beginner stuff. She could hardly whiff the output from the herb''s burning. Her comrades, then, were mostly sober. They asked her what she knew about the order and if it was really worth spending the money to buy her way out. "I''ve never heard of this ''Shiv,''" one of them said.


    "It''s because it is an ancient order. From the time before reliable records were kept," Whiskey said, not wanting to explain to them intricacies of the world which she could only grasp at.


    The explanation was basic, but her Scouts accepted it, even so.


    "We''ll miss you, Whiskey. A strong female voice like yours is what we sorely need."


    Whiskey commiserated with her comrades and partook in their puffery. Drinking and herb smoking. Aren''t I just living it up? Whiskey told herself after taking a few pulls.


    "I''ll miss you guys. For sure. It was fun in the beginning, wasn''t it? Standing up for ourselves, finding each other in the confusion, forming our group. Bonding... Come on, ladies, if this is where we part ways, let''s have a night on the town. I have the day. You can steal some R&R for a moment, right? For old time''s sake?"


    Whiskey looked at her comrades-in-arms and personal friends. Pim, Pym, and Pem. Triplet sisters and who rocked Whiskey''s world.


    "Gah, who can say no to that face? For old time''s sake and the trouble ahead," Pem said. "One day on the town."


    Whiskey had a wonderful day. The festival was merely a small local tradition to celebrate the harvest. Though Hope-Ridge had only a small wheat basket to its name, its fields provided hope for many a small farmer who claimed the land as their own. Here, the situation was different from what Whiskey had known, where her community had toiled away for the benefit of a lord. From street chit-chat, Whiskey learned how in Hope-Ridge, something called a Peasant''s Assembly held power; she also learned how because the assembly held power, independent farmers could control and sometimes own their land.


    Thinking on the notion, it made Whiskey happy Zan had made the right choice and did not insist on his ''autonomous status'' request. Crap land and more resources were what they needed now, not a pipe dream based on finding glory within some monarchial mythology handed down to you. While touring with her scouting buddies, Whiskey found it impossible not to think how ripe the conditions might be in Hope-Ridge for expanding the rebellion.


    But how? Whiskey could not stay in Hope-Ridge. Her scouts, though, could...


    Nearing the outer edge of evening, Whiskey held each of her friends in clutch, and whispered to them, "Have you seen the people, here? This place is ready for a new way of life..."


    In turn, each of the scouts made their reply through veiled gestures meant to conceal their meaning from the ever-possible presence of royal spies.


    "We''ve noticed it to. Wonderful weather... but what can you do about it?" Pim, Pym, and Pem said in their own way. Coded, of course.


    "I''m but a humble woman on her way to ascetic grace," Whiskey replied. "Once my contract is sealed, perhaps an investment here might yield fruit?"


    "Bountiful fruit. A place for consideration indeed..."


    Hope-Ridge might be ready for revolution. Yet, ready or not, the spread of the revolution no longer required her explicit help. Whiskey''s goals were larger, better. She would have to leave the urban conflict to others. Waving her friends by as they slid out the city gates and readied their return journey.


    On a normal night, talking politics and movements with her comrades would have been enough. Whiskey would retire to her room or tent, if she was besieging a place, and muse on history and how to advance the local movement. It was never more than a couple of hours before she conked out and fell asleep. Tonight, though, was different. Whiskey felt different.


    Sure, she had some papers to sign, her contract buyout. But that wasn''t something she could do until later, once Winters gave her, her reward. For now, Whiskey was a free woman. Free from obligations and deeply held truths, sure, but free.


    No longer shackled by behaving responsibly -- whether for her unit if not herself -- Whiskey felt no desire to return to some flat and (poorly) read a history or philosophy book. She had her future ahead of her. A future which would include radical politics and... what more? What else? That was tonight was about. Finding something which stroked her soul and made her feel a stirring.


    Torches went up all throughout the city, marking the transition from ''family fun time'' to ''adults-only.'' The night scene began.


    With a step, Whiskey began her march.


    Sampling local wines and watching local street performers entertain for tips and handouts, none of it held Whiskey''s attention. She wanted something more gratifying. Something with an art to it, a practice, and purpose, beyond mere scrap copper pieces.


    Discovering a section of the city where the festival turned from consumption into socializing, Whiskey found booths and groups of people carrying flags. Each flag or booth represented a different ideology or belief of some kind. Most were not, in fact, political in nature, Whiskey discovered. Most were oriented spiritually and represented different heavenly sects. A minority were of a political bent and Whiskey enjoyed arguing with loyalists about some aspect of royal policy. Formal debates, though, was not something Whiskey had an interest in doing. She wanted something more abstract, where swaying people meant interacting with them on their own level as they went about their day.


    Hearing a rumble nearby, then a loud noise, Whiskey thought a wagon crashed.


    Whiskey rushed to help. If a wagon crashed, then a good number of people could be hurt. She had to help heal them. If others weren''t too intoxicated, then the victims of the crash would be fine. If too many people were too intoxicated, however, and if there were many victims, then only the divines themselves would know how the wounded would manage. Using healing magic while intoxicated often did not produce the desired effects...


    Arriving on the scene, Whiskey saw unmounted horses. Broken planks of wood. And then, piercing the darkness, a torch lit. Whereupon a man with ghostly skin stepped nearby and addressed the audience...

 Chapter 171

    WHILE Whiskey waged an intellectual battle to determine how she would best live her life, earlier in the day, before Whiskey''s scouts drained themselves off the proverbial stage, Zan encountered his own difficulties in forging his path to his future.


    Leaving behind Whiskey and her scouts, and Jiehong, whom Zan wondered what he would get up to, Zan marched himself to the barracks while the sun still shone hot in the sky.


    "It is good to see you well and rested," Simulacrum spoke into his ear.


    Touching his earpiece, Zan replied, "I feel better. It was awful being so weak."


    "I understand. Men of responsibility, such as yourself, place themselves under immense pressure. It is important to remember to take things slow at times. Take breaks when you need it. Healthy as you are, even you can be broken down."


    "Believe me. I know," Zan replied.


    The conversation ended there, but Zan knew the Screen Master and likely Sigma-Prime were watching through the headset even now. During the moments of quiet nothing, such as now, where Zan strode through a bustling city without anything of consequence happening, he wondered if the Wardens ever felt bored. Watching him as he went about his missions and purpose.


    If they did, Zan told himself. They never admitted as much. I guess they really aren''t human.


    While walking to the barracks, Zan fought the crowd like everyone else. No one gave him a side-eye for being unattended. Yet, being in the city, wandering through the streets and taking the long way through, just to see how the urban folk lived, he always thought he would do this with his parents. Adopted or otherwise, Zan was a part of Jiehong''s family. Had the war not happened, Jiehong would be preparing to enter the royal university. Zan always thought he would be there with Jiehong at university. If not as a fellow student, then perhaps -- formally -- as a live-in aide and roommate while he worked somewhere close to the university. Verbally rubbing his mind raw as he thought about the altercation some months back between he and them, Zan told himself a keyword: was. He was a part of Jiehong''s family. Jiehong''s parents were his, for better or worse. And now? Who knew. Nothing was ever going to be the same.


    When Zan entered the barracks, his face must''ve been heavy, for Winters took one look at him and said, "What ghost has gotten ye down, lad?"


    "Nothing," was all Zan could say.


    "Break a smile for me, then, lad. Come on, get chipper and shake off this lethargy!" Winters told him with a smile.


    Encouraging the lad by gently moving his arms up and down, suggesting he do some jumping-jacks, Zan gave a reluctant half-smile as he got some amusement out of a grandfatherly figure soothing his mood. Soon, Zan had done a dozen. Landing well on his feet, he gasped while sucking in fresh air and said, "Shall we get to it, then?"


    "Eye, lad, we shall," Winters replied, leading Zan into the barrack''s back classroom.


    Entering the classroom, Winters led Zan to the very back, where his private office was located. Winters encouraged Zan to take a seat as he rumbled through his desks and scroll cabinets. Mumbling to himself, "Reward form, reward form, where is that reward form?" Winters eventually found the reward form he sought and placed an ultra-thin piece of parchment before Zan.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Zan looked at the form. Words. Spaces. Lines. An emblem.


    "I know you can''t read, so I will explain to you this form. This is a basic reward form. By filling it out, it grants me the ability to grant you certain rewards based on services rendered to the monarchy. This form covers a wide range of possibilities. So, whether it be money or property or a combination thereof, I am empowered through this form to grant it. Before you arrived, I started filling the form out. Please give me a moment to finish writing in the specifics," Winters explained as he got right into the form with his feather-quill pen.


    While Zan waited for Winters to write in the information, he stopped at moments to ask Zan specifics about his role during the battle. What he did, when he had done it. How he fought the figure calling itself ''Mentality.'' Winters''s questions covered everything from the battle at the villa to the destruction of the airship. He said the more information he could put on the form, the more of a reward he could justify in giving Zan and his up-and-coming Martial Order. Winters went on to say how the formation of Martial Orders were an important part of any war efforts, so with any luck, the larger-than-normal aid package Winters was preparing for Zan could retroactively be justified as the war drags on and as the king attempts to push back against the invaders. "No one''s ever beaten the Expanse before," Winters said, talking more to himself than Zan. "All the more reason to get you guys as much resources as I can justify. If we lose, it won''t matter what I give you. We''re all in the same boat."


    Nodding, Zan thought he understood where Winters was coming from. He hoped this would come back to benefit him in the long run. It sounded like it would. Though Zan knew how finicky the world could be with its will.


    Minutes more passed. A couple of hours in total between the questions, replying, and writing the answers. Zan got jittery in his seat.


    Finally, Winters said, "That will do it," he said, finishing filling out the form and sliding it back toward Zan.


    "Apply your mark and a drop of blood," Winters said, pointing to a line near the bottom of the page.


    Scribble. Prick. Smear. Done.


    "Very good. Now, before we move onto what reward you would like me to grant, we need to go over one last thing. This next form--"


    Strangled in his throat, Zan stifled a sigh. He was getting antsy. He wanted to stretch his legs.


    What Winters went over with him next was a form detailing how his nomination as an ''autonomous general'' would go. This was the beginning of the process, or so Winters said, on how his elevation from autonomous local commander to military wide-general would go. Winters once again reminded Zan about how slow the process would be and how much more would be expected from him should he be granted such a rare and high honor. Winters finished by saying he would deposit the form at the proper place when the time was right. Once he deposited the form, it would be a race. Zan would need to pile on the victories and show his closeness to the royal army, thereby justifying the power he wanted, and all before the Supreme Military Council made a decision. "This is actually partly why slowness is key," Winters said. "Because as great as your victories are, an airship here or a mutant mercenary fought does not make an autonomous general. You will need more honors under your belt, first."


    Nodding as seriously as he could, Zan made all the right facial signs to show he was listening, and he knew how important this moment was. As such, he even added a few slanted ''yeses'' on top of a couple ''of courses,'' to show his engagement. "I''m here until the end," Zan said.


    "I know you are," Winters said, finishing his spiel. "Okay. Now that understand the document, same procedure. Scribble. Prick. And smear."


    Scribble. Prick. Smear.


    "All done," Zan mentioned. "Now, about the reward?"


    "Yes! On to the real reason we''re all here. What do you need? Keep in mind, I want to do what I can for you. Yet I can only give you so many stars and moons for helping with a rescue operation. Noble or not, what you ask for here, as your primary reward, must be in line with what your contributions were. Now, with that said, do you have something in mind?"


    "Yes, I do, sire," Zan said, switching to formal speech. "And it is not what you are expecting..."

 Chapter 172

    Winters patiently listened to Zan explain his reward. His face told Zan it was an audacious reward.


    Once Zan finished speaking, Winters turned his chair to the blank wall behind him. He was thinking.


    Swinging back to face Zan, Winters said, "Boy, lad... you never ask for normal rewards, do ya?"


    Zan shrugged. What else could he do? How was he to know what a ''normal'' reward be for a teenager fighting a war?


    "Fine. Just to get this straight, let me recap your request. You want me to revoke the local provincial guard''s independence and bring them under my authority? Local guards supported by the king do, technically, have to report to royal army commanders. But this rarely happens in practice. Considering the nature of things, though, I doubt anyone would object to more aid, even at the cost of a touch of operational freedom. Why would you want me to do this?" Winters asked.


    He hid nothing. Zan replied with the blunt truth -- "Local guards fighting under my Order''s banner creates a sensation. ''New Order emerges. Everywhere they go, local warriors bend-a-knee and fight alongside.'' Good for recruitment."


    At first, Winters''s face did not change. "I see," he said, thinking on the deeper ramifications of why someone might want to control a number of local militias. With a sigh, Winters said, "I will do this for you, Zan. If for no other reason than to give you another opportunity to show us your capabilities. Do not make me regret my trust, young man."


    Zan''s eyes locked with Winters as he tilted his head in a half-nod, a gesture Zan half-remembered as originating from his village''s elders, and which Zan thought showed his utmost seriousness. "I understand the power and responsibility behind this gesture. I promise you I will only use my powers as an autonomous commander when it comes to the defense of the province. That is it."


    "Good. Very good..." Winters said, breaking eye contact and turning his head for a moment. His face looked sweaty.


    Winters continued and said, "Well, loaded as that request is, on paper, it is a simple request. Should a senior commander have asked this of me it would not be an issue at all. Me assuming control of the local guard outfits is actually something I should have done a long time ago. Do understand, Zan, the kind of stress I am under. Since this is more protocol than reward, I will still offer you a smaller, albeit conventional reward, so the records clearly state not favors, but concrete payments. What else do you want?"


    Elation bubbled inside him. He had played his reward close to his chest. Now, it was turning out better than he could have imagined. His status was being considered, his intent to put the local guards at his disposal would be soon enacted, and now he was to receive another reward on top of everything?! He beamed. It was a good day to be him.


    "Blank property bonds. Labor bonds, too," Zan said.


    Winters smiled back and said, "Now we''re talking."


    How did the rest of Zan''s day with Colonel Winters go? To Zan, it went fine. After being given his blank bonds, Zan stashed them in the back of his satchel. His headset System, a device which, although was always on, Zan hardly paid attention to unless he was fighting for his life, notified him. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    [Key Item Added to Inventory: Property and Legal Bonds]


    Zan pushed the notification away using his mind. Like a slowly dissipating rain cloud, the notification faded out until it had gone completely.


    "How about a snack before the rest of the day?" Winters said.


    "Rest of the day?" Zan asked, excited at the prospect of something to eat.


    "Yes. As part of our allyship, I had said previously how I thought it prudent for you to take some basic lectures on the history of the Kingship. Every soldier in the armed forces does this before being sent to the front. You cannot expect to attain a title as mighty as an autonomous general, and not be well-versed in your king''s history.


    It came back to him. Zan remembered Winters had said as much. He couldn''t pinpoint it exactly, though Zan thought it was likely before the villa battle.


    "I did say I would sit and listen. And you make good points. Will these classes take the full day?" Zan asked.


    "Yes. Unfortunate, I know. The streets are filled with intoxicated partygoers. War or not, you want to be out there with them. I get it. I was young once. You won''t be able to join in their revelry," Winters said.


    "It''s fine. I am not overly fond of the drink. Jiehong likes all manner of drinks, but I prefer the puff," Zan stated.


    Winters laughed. "Ha, you are an honest lad, lad! Let''s go and find a bite. Then, we will learn!"


    Zan and Winters traveled outside where next to the barracks a kitchen with many firepits had been established to care for the influx of people which came with Winters and Viceroy Gallant''s party.


    Gallant? I hadn''t thought about him in forever, Zan told himself.


    Speaking up as they sat at a wooden table with several of the commanders'' subordinates, Zan asked, "What of the Viceroy?"


    Winters swallowed a huge bite of chicken and said, "What of him? He is safe. Comingling with the local elite. Bit of a ghost while we traversed the Wizard Towers, eh? Just sitting on his mobile little throne, being carried everywhere as if he was the king! Disgusting... don''t worry about the viceroy. He''ll cough up some pretties. They always do."


    "Oh, no. Not that. I was just curious about him and how all that works. Do viceroys own property in the regions they are not empowered?" Zan asked.


    "They are encouraged to only own property near to their seats of power. This is not to say they are forbidden from owning property. Why do you ask? Specific property in mind for those bonds and are worried if it could be owned already?" Winters explained and asked.


    "Maybe? I am only curious about who would control the land back in my home province," Zan said.


    "It would be our esteemed viceroy. Not Gallant," Winters said, a slight chuckle slipping from his lips. "When it comes to property, all wealth be true. Provincial viceroys, lords, guild folk, they aren''t going to be interested in backwaters. That''s what we are, unfortunately. A backwater. Any property owned by people outside the province is going to be centered in the biggest cities. No one will care about random forest thickets or barely tended wheat fields."


    The two finished their small meal. Winters brought Zan to the classroom outside of his office. By now, many more people filled the room. Mostly young recruits recently brought on by the local garrison commander, but a few older faces as well. Was everyone here for the class?


    "I will leave you be now, lad," Winters said. "It was lovely spending some more time together, but I must be returning to my duties. I will be speaking with Viceroy Gallant soon and at that time will procure Whiskey''s and Jiehong''s rewards. Return to me tomorrow at noon. Until then!"


    Winters left Zan alone in the full classroom. A tall man with a white beard came in. He was skinny, frail looking. From his bag he pulled out a small tool. The man then fiddled with the contraption, pulling out of it a series of increasingly small cylinders from the tool which came to a point.


    Slapping the unfurled touching tool, the teacher then slammed it to the chalkboard, demanding silence.


    Instantly, the room''s atmosphere cooled to dead silence.


    "My name is not something I wish to share with any of you. Please call me ''teacher.'' I have been employed with the administration of his king, the majesty, for all of my life. I will be instructing you today on the basics of soldiering. Looks like we have a room full of fresh faces. So, let''s get into it, shall we?"

 Chapter 173

    The lectures lasted all day and touched on a number of topics Zan knew nothing about. Helpful to him, yes. As these were things which the traveling village priest never touched upon. And even then, Zan remembered his religious lectures more as parables and stories. Less as hard-and-fast rules on how and why the world worked. If the priest had touched on issues of social service, it was only as part of his duty to the king.


    Zan''s time spent sitting and listening to the lecturer gave him a taste of what he imagined university would be like for Jiehong. He liked the change of pace which came from sitting down and absorbing information. It was better than his body becoming sore and unwieldly while traveling all day.


    Even so! It didn''t change the fact that, being accustomed to traveling all day, Zan felt cooped up from sitting too long. While talking with Winters, he could control himself, however, here, it felt ten-times worse because he was stuffed into a room with so many other people. People who breathed heavy, couldn''t stop fidgeting in their armor, causing all sorts of weird noises, and then the smell... farting, burping, grunting, and weird scratching; the never-ending din of squeaking armors brushing up against leathers. It drove Zan up the wall! Almost literally as he did find himself scraping his desk gradually away from his so-called classmates.


    By the end of class, Zan could not say how much he learned. With his inability to write and therefore ''take notes,'' he could only doodle drawings which went with certain content. A crown might represent the kingship whereas a quibble of a tent might represent soldiering. Sun for the day; moon to represent night. Zan wrote in a quick succession, stringing together different combinations of pictures to represent what the lecturer spoke. Many of the concepts which were spoken of, unfortunately, were of a nature so alien to Zan, he was unsure of how to even represent them through an image. Much less, an image he had no clue on how to draw as he was also thinking of a dozen other images. Class, then, heated Zan''s head up and gave him a twirl to his thinking which he could only describe as ''dizzy.''


    And then class ended.


    What had he learned? Basic soldiering. How to address one''s superiors, the basics of flag-waving etiquette, how to use a sword... things which even Zan had found basic.


    His favorite section of class was when the teacher talked of the Kingship''s history. Tales of heroism and loyalty were spoken of and if even a fraction of it were true, then the king was a remarkable man. He even slew a dragon! A dragon!


    Although Zan was too young to look critically at what the teacher said, he found the latter half of the history lecture most interesting: "And it was after the False Rebellion, and the intervention of the Sunstar Principality, when our Lordship secured the future of the kingdom by magnanimously granting certain peasants the right to assemble. Since then, under our proud monarchs and their leadership, the country has continued to thrive and maintain rich diplomatic ties with many entities throughout the world zone."Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The teacher spoke such things but did not pause for questions. "Next. Break. Then, basics of offensive magic use."


    The day dragged on and with nothing to show for it. Initially excited about ''offensive magic use,'' Zan was sure he would learn something new. How to more efficiently channel, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, he never did. The class was too basic. Teacher''s lecture touched only on elementary channeling exercises Zan had been taught years ago by the village priest. Sure, some satisfaction existed. Zan felt elated, for once, that he was ahead of the proverbial (and in this case, literal) class. Yet Zan did not want recognition. He wanted to advance.


    Class dismissed. Zan felt not merely happy, but joyous, to be on his feet again.


    Everyone flowed past Zan hurried to get back to their heaths. Jostling him out of their way, many of the recruits who bumped him looked hardly older than Zan. Some even looked downright younger than him. Whatever their age, none of the recruits gave Zan a second glance.


    To remain safe in the midst of the stampede, Zan held himself still as everyone passed. With everyone now gone, Zan resumed his march out of the barracks. Outside, he saw a few of the younger recruits from class talking amongst themselves. Though Zan was nearby, none of them talked or even acknowledged him. Hanging around the many fire pits, Zan hoped to grab a snack before he found himself with free time. Coming from another part of the city, though, was a multi-wagon caravan transporting barrels of beer. While he waited for the caravan to pass, Zan overheard what his peers were discussing.


    "Want to come over and play with our chickens?" one youth asked the other.


    "Play with chickens? What are you going on about?" another replied.


    "You know... chickens," he said.


    It took a moment for it to click in the older teen''s mind. "Oh. Chickens. No. I''m good."


    "How about we just smoke and gossip?"


    "Smoking is good! I can do that..."


    Zan liked to smoke. He attempted to make eye contact with one of them to let them know of his interest in smoking. With them, of course. Yet none of them gave Zan the time of day. One made eye-contact with him, made a face, and left him be.


    Well, back to... whatever, Zan told himself, feeling oddly defeated despite the fact he had nothing to feel defeated over.


    Minutes later the caravan passed. Zan used the street with the many other people who waited alongside him.


    There was no denying how tired he was. Zan had rested a lot during the past few days. As much as he had slept, though, very little of it was restorative sleep. He had fought to keep himself coherent as he waged his vision-wars with holy entities and those more primal. If he had to guess, Zan thought he would need a few days yet more rest before he was back in tip-top shape. He wanted, then, to speak through the echo-beetles and alert his fellows -- Jiehong, Whiskey -- to his obligations ending. With the sun only about to set on the horizon, however, it was too early to gather everyone.


    Besides, Zan lamented, he had one final thing to do before bed. He had to find a priest.

 Chapter 174

    Searching the streets, Zan found many holy spaces. All of which were closed. A sign reading "Closed for Festivities" came to represent icons of false hope. Zan continued his search. Though he considered asking people for places of holy intent, everyone around him was too intoxicated, so he did not bother trying. They wouldn''t know what he was talking about anyway, assuming he found a way for himself to be heard above the racket.


    Finally giving in to himself, Zan covered his ears with his hands to block out the larger-than-life sounds of too many people partying. Finding a city guard near the edge of a large gathering, Zan got his attention, removed his hands from his ears, and asked, "Good sir! Is there a holy space close which focuses on the self?"


    Although the guard looked at Zan he did so uncomprehendingly. Zan tried again. And once more, the guard blinked. This time he cupped his ear in the universal gesture asking for Zan to repeat himself. City or rural, Zan had seen that gesture many times in his youth. For Zan was not good at expressing himself. Getting in close to the guard and yelling, Zan repeated himself for a third time, saying, "Holy space -- focus on the person?"


    Practically yelling this time, Zan made himself be heard. The guard replied, "Oh! Why didn''t ye say so?!" His voice was booming and easily cut through the roar of the festival. "Just follow the roads until you see the white bricks."


    Zan thanked the man for his time and went off. He recovered his ears to deafen the sound.


    White brick? Zan asked himself. What was that all about?


    Though Zan had never heard of white brick denoting holy spaces, what would he know? As a country bumpkin, very little. His community priest had come to him and his village during the peace. Walking along the jostling winding streets, Zan felt very lonely and stupid. Ignorant. He felt like spending his whole life in the tiny hamlet of his abandonment was a mistake he had no control over. Oh! To start again, but to be born into an urbanite family with means! To dream...


    Wandering for over an hour, Zan found no white bricks. Since the crowd had thinned some, he tried asking some people. As he thought earlier, unfortunately, everyone he asked was drunk or high on some drug. At a point, Zan wondered if every city slicker always stayed so intoxicated. How would they get their business done? Zan asked himself as he received increasingly unhelpful answers which ranged from the annoying ("WHAT?!") to the tedious ("Get away, you street rat!"). At a point in the night and by the grace of another guard''s meandering route, Zan learned he was getting close to the professional district. "Continue that way," a guard told him. "You''ll know if you''re going the right way because you won''t see any of the fun!"


    "Fun?!" Zan yelled back.


    "The people!" the guard said.


    "Thank you!" Zan told the guard as he broke away. He recovered his ears and skittered off like a mouse looking for cheese.


    Fun? People? Did that guard think people were fun? That wasn''t Zan''s prerogative or view. If the guard meant ''fun'' as in being one-in-the-same with the festival, then why not merely say ''continue going in so-and-so direction until the crowd thins. Then you will be in the professional district.'' What was so hard about that?


    This time, Zan was not led astray; despite the swarm remaining boisterous in degrees he didn''t favor, the guard had not lied. In the professional district, not even half of the people remained as were in the hospitality district. With less of the cacophony, Zan could finally take his hands off his ears without fear of having his eardrums blasted out. Once he took his hands from his side, a shiny took his attention on the ground. He scooted in closer to see a white brick.


    ''That''s what I am looking for!'' Zan exclaimed to himself.


    Looking around, he saw no places of business which were open. It wasn''t as though Zan expected any places of business to be open, but still. If this was where the holiest of spaces were centered, then why wouldn''t any of them be open to the public?


    As Zan thought on this question, he heard yet another racket during a night which already exceeded Zan limit on racket by whole oceans. He moved away from the sound -- or what he thought was ''away.''


    Alas, his senses were slightly scrambled. Not only from the sensory loaded evening but from his exertion during the day. Incidentally, Zan collided right into the source of the noise. "Sorry!" Zan yelped.


    Looking at who he ran into, Zan guessed the man was in his mid-thirties. His facial hair looked demure but youthful with thin black strands coating his face in a respectable style. On the ground all around were papers the man was handing out. Zan helped the man pick the papers up. He saw on the papers many words but also tiny images with arrows and drawings. His intrigue captured, Zan asked the man what he was doing.


    "I''m handing out fliers for my church. I am part of a group who advocates for religious practice as a part of daily life. We honor all the gods, not only a handful or a pantheon," the man explained.


    Zan''s face lit up. "Exactly what I am looking for!" He yelled, not realizing his voice had grown in stature. "What are these images?"


    The man looked at Zan with a face as bright and said, "The images are for those people who can''t read. I give them a mini-lecture, hand them a paper, and if I do my lecture right, I hope they can intuit the images as being a transcript of my lecture."


    "That''s very neat. I can''t read myself so this would be useful for me. Are you the head priest?" Zan asked.


    "I am the head priest, yes. I don''t want to come off as holier-than-thou, so I should say I am new in all aspects of faith and argumentation. I only just arrived out from seminary," the priest said.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    An honest man? Zan liked. "Can we talk in a quiet place?" Zan asked.


    "Absolutely," the priest said. "Follow me to my church."


    Like a puppy, Zan followed. The priest brought him back to an entirely white-painted mudbrick building. Unlike many church constructions which were fashion, if what Zan saw around him was any indication, this building''s exterior lacked any steeples or ghoulish gargoyles. It was a plain, white building. It stood out like a sore thumb, nestled between so many places which could afford design and color, yet Zan liked the building. It was simple. It stood for something, he felt.


    Entering, Zan saw a series of small circular tables filling a large room. With several chairs to a table, Zan estimated there had to be room for a few dozen people. The priest took a seat at a table and Zan joined him, opting to sit close.


    "Before we begin, we should exchange names. Mine is Penne. What is yours?" the priest asked.


    "I''m Zan," he said.


    "Nice to meet you, Zan. What is on your mind?" the priest said, conversationally.


    "Much. But I am not here to dish about my personal problems. Not today. I want to talk about the nature of the gods," Zan told the priest and then told Penne about his experience while unconscious. Remembering at the last moment social etiquette, Zan said, "It''s nice to meet you, Penne," though he knew it came out sounding like a husked secret whispered by a ghost.


    Penne smiled and said, "Wow! Quite the story! Geez... where do I even begin?"


    Musing, Penne kept quiet for a moment. He started to hum and mumble to himself. Clearly, he was in deep thought.


    Zan took the chance to say, "No rush. I have all night."


    Chuckling again, Penne said, "Let''s start here. With the prophecy, stuff. It is not the easiest thing to tell if someone is birthed with a prophecy. Thankfully, there is a tried-and-true route to discovering prophetic entanglements. It''s called an Equalization Ceremony. Any religious institution of a certain size should be able to conduct such a ceremony. A church head or high-priest, or even a talented and well-trained secondary priest, could lead you through the ceremony. Unfortunately, I do not believe there is anyone in Hope-Ridge capable of conducting such a ceremony for you."


    Hearing Penne speak, Zan''s face showed his disappointment.


    "Ah, don''t be discouraged, my boy. I can call for a priest from my order. He will come at a time ripe for him and he will conduct the ceremony when the time is right. If you don''t mind waiting," Penne said.


    Elated, Zan said, "That would be great! Thank you! I do mean it."


    "No problem at all. My church''s high priest has not been to Hope-Ridge in a long time, so they are overdue. No problem at all. They will come, conduct your ceremony, and then spend far more time than they would like tending to the spiritual health of this city. Two birds, one stone, as they say."


    "A cruel saying," Zan remarked off-handedly.


    "I won''t argue there. Though I will say, perhaps it is not cruel, per se? Maybe it marks the smart hunter? Everyone must eat."


    "True. I have killed animals. For food and to make goods from their bodies. I do not like killing, though."


    Penne sighed and said, "Who does?" As if he was thinking of a time long ago.


    Waiting for Penne to speak more about his situation, Zan did not realize Penne was waiting for him to speak. Thus, they stood staring at each other for a long while, Penne waiting for Zan to speak, and Zan waiting for their interlocuter to speak.


    Finally realizing what was happening, Penne took control of the situation and said, "I will put in that request, then. It will take a long time for the priest to come. Is there a way for me to contact you? Do you live in town or outside?"


    "I live outside of town," Zan replied. "If it will take a while for him to come, should I simply check in from time-to-time?"


    "That sounds fine. I will send off for the priest. You will come and check in on his status. If you miss the priest''s arrival, though, I cannot say he will be back again anytime soon or if he would even be willing to conduct the ceremony after having missed it once already. Be punctual!" Penne warned.


    Assuring him he would not miss it, Zan laid emphasis on how he would not be a stranger. To emphasize the point, his headset system notified him. [Journal Updated: Wait for and Check-in on Priest. Locale: Hope-Ridge]


    Journal? Zan asked himself. What was that about? As he talked with Penne, he tried to activate the journal feature, but he couldn''t. It required too much of his concentration. Whenever he gave mental impulses to activate the system and brought up his HUD menu, though he saw the ''scroll icon'' within the row of icons at the center-bottom of his display, opening it required more effort than he could spare while he still talked with Penne.


    So, he did what he had to and said to Penne, "Can you give me a moment? Just a moment of silence. I''m sorry. It''s a head thing..."


    Penne did not find this as abrasive as Zan thought he might find it. Normally, when he asked adults to give him a moment, he quickly learned why a teenager should never ask an adult to give him a moment -- because they didn''t like it. Yelling, cussing, was what Zan typically experienced in his village. With the priest, he had but a warm glow to give.


    Focusing again on the book icon, Zan ''opened'' the small book-looking image.


    Now his HUD showed not the statuses and conditions of his squad, along with the other information normally displayed when he focused, such as Power Levels, the map-in-miniature, and his headset picking up on rapidly moving objects and animals as objects of note, but with merely three scroll icons. Focusing on the one scroll a voice read out for him [War Journal] while the other scroll denoted [Order Journal]. The third scroll simply read [Personal].


    Picking the war journal, Zan''s vision filled with a vaguely book-like veneer which simulated how a book or scroll appeared while reading from it. What was on the veneer was a record of Zan''s actions. He knew this because, despite the many, many words he did not know, the System read to him each and every word. He did not listen to the record in its entirety, but skipping around, the record went from his discovery of the command center, through every battle he ever participated in, and right up until recently with the airship confrontation.


    Zan de-activated the scroll. He ''went back'' to the default screen which showed him local information, such as the map and status. Zan liked the idea of calling this ''the home display.'' Hearth is where the heart is, as they say. Blinking, Zan ''closed out'' of the headset''s overlay graphics, returning his vision of the world to how a typical person saw the world. Clean. No wisps of colored lines and boxes or portraits. Just nature.


    "I apologize. I have things about me the normal person does not have," Zan said, cryptically.


    Penne cared not. He continued his soft half-smile, more amused than smile, and simply said, "Worry not. I belong to a church which holds heterogeneity as a core value. Should you wish to join us, you will be in good company. And I assure you, the least strange!"


    Penne laughed for a moment before settling down. "I shouldn''t get ahead of myself! We still have that dream-state of yours to talk about. Care to tell me what worries you about it?"


    "I don''t even know where to begin! Really, I''m just want to understand my role in relation to the gods. If I had that dream, vision, whatever, then I want to know what it means, how the prophecy is involved, why I can sense holy magic--"


    "Holy magic? You never said you could sense holy magic," Penne said.


    "Oh? I didn''t? I''m sorry. I can. Not very well..." Zan said.


    "Truth time: few people who don''t have a prophecy about them can sense holy magic. We should still confirm -- so I will still be contacting my order head -- but for the time being, I think we can work under the assumption you are touched by a prophecy."

 Chapter 175

    Jiehong was his own man. He could do whatever he wanted. He could go to the tavern and drink himself silly... but he didn''t. He had fish to fry.


    Whiskey left for her own errands and did Zan. Hoping to run into that shapeshifter again -- Meow -- Jiehong returned to the series of mudbrick buildings close to Marsha and Mimsy''s flat. He searched, talked with people, and asked around. No one reported seeing a shapeshifter or anyone which matched Jiehong''s description. He did not truly expect to see the shapeshifter again, though. Only hoped. He had more questions for it.


    Figuring the night a failure, Jiehong decided he would drop by the tavern after all. Have a nightcap, or two, but that was it.


    He had the night. And the coin. Once Winters came through with their reward, he would have more coin. With his circumstances bright, Jiehong pushed his way through the festival crowd to the swanker parts of town, where the wealthy lived. There, he found a nice bar which catered to the upper class. In the mood for a fine spirit, Jiehong''s mood couldn''t have been higher prior to its crash.


    At first, Jiehong did not realize he had crashed. He laid eyes on two figures and instantly his mood changed. It crashed, changed course. For the worse? Perhaps, but in other ways, ''not bad.'' For, when one saw their parents, how could one feel anything other than mixed emotions?


    Catching eyes, Jiehong caught his parents'' gaze. He approached them slowly.


    Jiehong''s mother said.


    Jiehong said, telling his parents what he thought they wanted him to say. Instead, a curious event: they looked rattled at Jiehong''s insulting of Zan. Last time they met, when Zan was off in that White Chamber and cavorting with that Expanse contact of his, whatever he was called, Jiehong had spent a little bit of time with the parents. And boy, was he unprepared for how frustrated they were with Zan. Most of his stay there was spent with him superficially ragging on Zan as parental appeasement.


    Jiehong''s father said.


    Still standing outside the bar, Jiehong felt the first nip of the wind on his skin. He could ignore it before. Unmoving, tense conversation, though, often caused him to chill down. Jiehong replied.


    his father continued.


    Jiehong asked, knowing they were clearly intent on entering before he showed up.


    His mother looked at his father. If his father gave his mother an approving or disapproving look, Jiehong could not discern it. His mother said,


    Jie followed instructions. He got between his mother and father, as though he were a little boy, and entered the restaurant with them. A member of the staff brought them to a nice table near the quiet part of the restaurant after father slipped them a generous tip. Looking over the menu, Jie recognized the cuisine as Sunstar food. It was likely the only restaurant in town which specialized in such dishes. Considering the state of the buildings and road, Jiehong was surprised the town had anything in the way of diverse food.


    Had it not been for mother''s cooking, and the occasional outing during special events, such as birthdays, Jiehong would''ve never known his homeland''s native cuisine. Per the norm, then, he ordered some curry. Dumplings were ordered as a side in addition to lemon hibiscus iced tea and a fresh salad. Jiehong wasn''t looking forward to hearing what his parents would say, but he consoled himself with at least getting a free meal out of it.


    To Jiehong''s surprise, his parents did not bring up Zan and the war and his role in it until well after the food arrived. Everyone managed at least half their dish into their stomachs before Jie''s parents said anything intense.


    His mother began:


    She asked the question innocuously. No ill-intent lay behind how she phrased it, Jiehong sensed. It was a normal question asked as normally as ''how is the air''? Refusing to overthink what the question could mean, in part, because Jiehong didn''t want to mentally suffer any more than he was going to throughout dinner, he simply told the truth.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He wanted to continue and talk about the military engagements they saw action. Jie knew his parents did not like him talking on for too long without giving them a chance to comment. So, he stopped himself and let them talk.


    his mother said.


    By now, Jiehong''s confusion reigned supreme. Why were his parents acting so different? He did as they asked and told him that extra information he wanted to tell them a moment ago. All the stuff regarding the fights. Not only did they listen to Jiehong but they held onto his every word. His parents, for the first time in his life, seemed genuinely captivated by him talking.


    Jiehong said, leaving out the part about the shapeshifter.


    By the end of his explanation of events, which included many battles with the automotrons, Jiehong began to stand up, expecting his parents to want to leave. They were not fans of dessert or sugar, so he assumed they would want to go. Surprising him again, they told him to sit down and continue talking about his experiences with Zan. They ordered for the table a round of spiced mango rice to justify continuing the conversation.


    Speaking up after remaining quiet for most of dinner, his father said, his father said.


    He blinked. No words. No animalistic grunt of ascent. Simply his eye closing, then opening. Uncertainty grew itself anew inside Jiehong. This was a side of his parents he had never seen. As much as he harped on this new side of them, it never got old, as his parents never stopped finding new ways to surprise him! Worrying about the suit payment issue, Jiehong had tiptoed around the issue, only mentioning to them the credit direction. He was sure his father would rage. But he didn''t. He did the opposite of whatever rage was. He blissed?


    Finding the means to work his mouth, Jiehong thanked his parents voraciously.


    He wasn''t done yet. Remembering to use his lips for their intended purpose, Jiehong went bold and asked his parents for aid. If some kind of brain parasite was eating away at them and causing them to act totally different, the least Jiehong could do as an accommodating teenager was take advantage of that kindness.


    Despite his parents and their new side on full display, Jiehong did not think his parents would go as far as to help him on this matter. Collateral meant precious family heirlooms. It meant big cash withdrawals from Sunstar''s banks. It meant a fraction less security for when they grew older and needed to be cared for all the time. By all means, then he shouldn''t have been surprised. Yet once more, Jiehong''s parents surprised him. his father remarked.


    With his mango sticky rice half-finished, Jiehong held his parent''s gaze. Jiehong asked. He was tired of putting on a charade. He had to know why his parents were so... weird!


    his father said. We''re only wanting the best for you and Zan. Both of you are in a dangerous situation. We want to see you both protected during these dangerous times. That being said, there is something you have the ability to help us with. Protect your brother."


    Protect... Zan?


    His mother joined the conversation again and told Jiehong how much they loved him.


    Conversation continued with Jiehong feeling much better. With the edge gone from the encounter, Jiehong actually started to feel happy he was here, in a place which knew their lineage and history as proud Sunstar Citizens. He felt a connection to his parents again. Something he hadn''t felt in many months now. Even before the invasion, Jie reckoned.


    So long the conversation went, his parents ordered another round of desserts for the table. Jiehong felt calm enough to order a mixed drink. His parents did not bat an eye. In fact, his father took the water by the hand and said,


    Hearing his father defend his honor as a customer and as an adult capable of making his own intake needs made him feel like a swarm of bees drenched in pollen. Happiness was a word, but it couldn''t convey how joyous Jiehong felt. Elation was more like it.


    By evening''s close, the waiter brought them the bill. His father snatched the bill up once it dropped. His affixed his reading glasses and carefully notched down a tip for the staff. his father gasped under his breath.


    With the bill paid, the family left the restaurant in a wild wind the opposite of which they had arrived. Laughing, joking, and with tongues lessened by a few adult beverages, it was as opposite as they could get. Hailing a transport wagon stocked with a city guard, his parents told Jiehong, his father said.


    Jiehong said, taken aback by their sudden departure.


    His parents turned to look at him. Jiehong said,


    his father said with a glow.


    Jiehong said, thinking nothing unusual about his father encouraging him to seek preferential treatment.


    Piling into their wagon, his parents bid the driver their destination. Using an oversized horn, the driver shattered the disruption in the streets, causing many people who were freely walking from one side of the road to the other, to rush out of the wagon''s way while it rolled out of sight, leaving Jiehong alone and feeling sad to be by himself once more.


    Looking at the time, the moon in full-showing, Jiehong knew he should be returning to Marsha''s flat. Lonesome though he felt, Jiehong was refreshed. His mind felt tingling with the feel-good sensations crawling over his head like hairs standing straight. Jiehong mouthed as he watched their wagon disappear into the night.

 Chapter 176

    In another part of town, Whiskey was having her own moment of revelation.


    Whiskey heard a wagon crash; she ran over to help the injured; but she found no injured. Instead, a man stepped into an impromptu spotlight and addressed everyone. He said, "O Gods, hear me hear me! I am but a humble peasant. I long for freedom! But I am kept in thrall by the land! Won''t anyone help me? Or am I to remain forever the ghost. Am I to remain as this wagon? Broken. Destroyed. What am I to you all?! Nothing. A mote. But I don''t have to be this way! Help repair me! Help me make a land anew where none are kept in bondage. Help me rebuild the wagon!"


    A few people cheered for the man, but Whiskey was unsure of what was happening. What WAS happening? she asked herself.


    As soon as the man ended his speech, he handed out fliers. Whiskey could read bits and pieces but not much. She approached and asked the man, "What is this about? Was this a performance?"


    Rolling his eyes, the man said, "You do not have to chide me, fair maiden. I know my acting is a little wooly, wooden, puffy -- whatever your adjective, I know what I am. Please be on your way if you support neither me nor the movement to liberate the land."


    Attitude aside, the man''s words kindled in Whiskey something she hadn''t thought about before: theatrical performance.


    Whiskey was no bard. She could, perhaps, dabble her feet in such an affair, to try it out. Watching the man act and speak, Whiskey felt insider her a blooming desire to see more.


    "You have me wrong, sir. I am only asking a question. I am new to these larger cities. Is what you have done common here?" Whiskey asked.


    "Oh. I thought you were the peanut gallery... always looking to make fun of me. Or yell a notch too loudly. I am a performer. Elbow is the name," the man said back.


    "Nice to meet you. My name is Whiskey. This all looked very intriguing. Would you mind telling me your process?" Whiskey asked.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Sorry lass. This performance was my seventh already for the night. I still have three more to go. I don''t have time to talk to an aspiring actress. I will say this, in this city, you make your own opportunities. Don''t be expecting to be swept up by a troupe talent scout any time soon," Elbow said.


    "Again, you have me wrong. I am not an actress. You do not have to speak. Can I watch you perform? I will help you set up..."


    Whiskey studied the man''s face. Hard to do when the streetlights only covered the basics.


    Elbow liked the idea. He said, "Fine! I normally don''t take on understudies, but I will make an exception tonight. Only because you offered to help me set up! With you helping, I could cover twice as many locations...!"


    Though Whiskey didn''t know what she had gotten herself into, she was happy the man let her help him and observe him. There was something about this street performance stuff which tickled Whiskey. Never one for formal study of things, Whiskey liked hunting and hands-on activities growing up. She still did! The relish of the kill and bringing home a large deer for her village -- showing up the stuck-up boys -- never failed to fill her with meaning. Satisfying as hunting and crafting could be, there was something missing from her heart. And that something wasn''t the so-called ''thrill'' of war and fighting for her life.


    "If you''re going to help me, don''t just stand there. Help me to gather all this crap," Elbow remarked, motioning around him to the many pieces of wood and cloth tarp coverings which dotted the street and Whiskey could now see were props. Picking the pieces up, Whiskey saw how many of the pieces were merely chunks of wood and scrap. Same with the metal bits. From a distance, they had looked like they were from an overturned wagon. Up close, refuse wood and bobbles were all they were.


    Gathering up everything and putting it into an actual wagon, a small pull wagon capable of being pulled by either a beast of burden or perhaps a couple of people, Whiskey positioned herself next to Elbow and grabbed hold of the handle and pushed.


    The wagon, though heavier than Whiskey expected, was not too heavy. With two people, it was doable and though acting had more physical labor than she expected, it was nothing compared to the drain of battle. Unfortunately, Elbow wanted to perform in all of the busiest locations. Places where, though the moon rang high, the people refused to quit their partying. Thus, Whiskey endured many instances of heaving herself forward to move the cart only to suddenly crash to a halt as some child or drunkard stumbled in front of them.


    Start. Stop. Start. Stop.


    Again, and again and again it went -- start-stop, start-stop, start-stop...


    "Stop!" Elbow yelled. "We''re here."

 Chapter 177

    Whiskey''s head began to whirl. Always on the lookout for people at risk of rushing ahead of them, Whiskey was happy when Elbow brought them to a halt. She had grown tired of flinging her head everywhere as well as her ultra-vigilance. She breathed some relief and followed Elbow''s instructions as she helped maneuver the cart into a secure place away from the bustle.


    "If you''re going to learn what I do, then I guess the next step is setting up our stage," Elbow said.


    "Stage? You''re not speaking literally, I hope..."


    "No, no. Nothing like that. Despite what my detractors say, I am not insane. Stage, here, is not a literal stage. I am only meaning the portion of street we will be taking over for the sake of our performance. See that streetlamp? See that other streetlamp? From there to there will be my stage."


    Elbow then instructed Whiskey on placing the props around the ''stage.''


    "No -- not like that!" Elbow quipped. "Like this!"


    Although Whiskey had only spent the last hour or more with this man, he was getting on her nerves with his constant demands and specificity. He had a process for laying out the props and a vision for that process. If Whiskey deviated slightly, she was rebuked. Accustomed to being yelled at as she was, the man''s demeanor did not bother her, truly. Especially with the knowledge she would be leaving him soon. Yet it did act as a prick in her side.


    Despite this, Whiskey did as he asked of her and carefully placed each and every prop.


    Looking over the scene, Whiskey had to dwell to herself: I see it, now. Our hypothetical wagon is supposed to crash different ways around the city.


    "Is it always this abstract?" Whiskey asked.


    Elbow shrugged. "Depends on what you mean."


    "Like, does the performance change with the place? Is the wagon''s implied destruction supposed to represent something important to the audience?" She asked Elbow.


    "Oh. That. You''re a thinker, huh? I don''t get into it like that. City people love their carts. So, one being destroyed is an easy way to get their attention. The performance doesn''t change."


    Watching as Elbow made the same performance, again, what Whiskey saw this time was how Elbow made the large crashing-sound she heard earlier. It was through the use of a homemade drum. She should have expected as much. Innovative! Elbow wasn''t an abstract thinker. That was fine. He clearly had passion for a cause and could work with his hands. That counted for something in Whiskey''s book.


    Once the mystery of the loud sound had been resolved, Whiskey''s attention plummeted.


    She watched Elbow perform but having already seen the enactment once, there was precious little to hold her attention a second time. She watched, tried to ruminate on the performance''s meaning, but was otherwise unengaged. As she helped Elbow pick up the props and stash them into their wagon, she asked, "Have you ever thought of changing up the routine?"


    "No, someone else gives it to me. I am not a man of words, lass," Elbow said.


    Thinking on what he said as the following performance happened, Whiskey wanted to know who the man was who made the routines. If Elbow was only an actor, one of many, and therefore considered worthless by many, then Whiskey wanted to know who and what this ''man of words,'' was like.


    "Elbow," Whiskey asked. "Could you introduce me to who makes these routines of yours?"This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Sure could. It will be late. Ye look capable of handling yourself, though. Help me with my performances and I will introduce you two."


    "Absolutely," Whiskey said, insisting they shake on it.


    As immediate as Whiskey had been to accept Elbow''s offer, she inwardly groaned with every motion and utterance she made in agreeing to help the man. Knowing Elbow was passion and muscle, and watching the performance again and again, her mind bade her deeper toward the type of folk who created the routines to begin with. Whiskey wasn''t interested in static. She wanted progression, movement.


    It wasn''t the ideal situation. She wished Elbow would just tell her what she wanted to know and be done with it.


    But no.


    He needed help.


    Whiskey knew it was only a fair trade. She helped and did as she was told for the duration of several more performances. With her hands battered and raw, splintered, mildly bloody, even, she needed to call it. "Elbow," Whiskey said, "The crowds are done. We are done. Please, tell me about this man who writes the routines."


    Elbow sighed. "What''s fair-is-fair. You''re a hard worker, lass. I will bring you to him now. Help me push."


    One last time, Whiskey cracked her knuckled after flexing. She took a deep breath in and gripped the iron railing in front of her. Then she pushed. Like manual magic, the cart moved. Through her sweat, her blood, the cart moved. Whiskey knew this -- she had a lot more respect for the toilers of the world who spent their lives pushing and prodding carts for a living; people who woke up every day to do the jobs which kept cities like Hope-Ridge running.


    Arriving at a place Elbow called ''the depot,'' Whiskey reversed the cart into a corner along with a dozen or more other carts. This depot wasn''t anything more than a vacant lot next to a building. They had erected a rickety wooden fence around the lot to secure the zone... but that wasn''t saying much since the fence was made of stuff which appeared to be nothing more than ordinary twigs. Whoever made the fence had some crafting skills, but that was all Whiskey could praise about the location.


    She saw a few people bumble about. Whiskey wondered which of them wrote the skits.


    "Okay. Follow me," Elbow said. "I''ll introduce you."


    Whiskey nodded and followed.


    Approaching a small group, Elbow raised his voice to say, "Hey, guys. Boss. I have a lass here who is interested in our performance. I know she would appreciate a moment of your time to probe your mind if you''re up for it."


    Turning, each member of the group was dressed in very typical commoner''s garb. Greenish, brownish hemp derived clothing personalized with nothing more than some cheap inks they procured from a Sunstar Trading Mobile, no doubt.


    A man who wore a white shirt addressed Elbow and Whiskey. "I would love to. Thank you, Elbow."


    Nodding. Elbow gave a respectful smile, as was typically expected of subordinates throughout the Kingship, then dripped off. "Whiskey. This is Lean. He is our leader. Lean, Whiskey. I worked all hard day, gentlemen, so I will leave all you be. Have a nice evening."


    With Elbow gone, Whiskey gave all her attention to those in front of her: "Nicely met! I met Elbow on the street during one of his performances. I am fascinated by all of this. Please, tell me your intent."


    Lean looked tired. He said, "You get right to the point, Whiskey. I like that. Too much hearsay these days in talk... uh, sorry. I get distracted easily. That''s a thing about me you should know. Anyway! back to your question: I will be blunt. We''re an acting troupe highly political in nature. We stage street performances to raise issue with pressing social causes. Our content is not for everyone, but we believe it has speech-value."


    "Speech-value?" Whiskey asked.


    "Oh, inside term. Sorry. It means something like... philosophical worth. Ideas worth defending. Concepts which objectively better society. Some people don''t believe people like us deserve the right to speak, because of our political views, we mean. Well, that, and our general views on life," Lean said.


    "Are you rebels?" Whiskey asked.


    Lean gave a diffuse answer. "We are not fans of the king," he said.


    Mild as the answer had been, that was all Whiskey needed to invest with them and push the conversation. "I am a rebel. Until recently, I was with a rebel outfit. I''m with a Martial Order now. I sympathize."


    Hearing Whiskey was a rebel made Lean happily dance. He moved his feet back and forth like he was antsy. "We should talk more. Come by here again before you depart. For now, we all have had a long day pandering to the crowds."


    Whiskey told them she would be by soon and thanked Lean for his willingness to talk. It wasn''t as though he was doing her any favors, of course. As the head of an artistic collective, he should be interacting with people and spreading the word at every opportunity. She departed for Marsha''s building, a bounce in her step.


    Suddenly returning to them, however, Whiskey made herself bold. "Actually... can I stay with one of you gentlemen? I would love to pick your minds at the particulars of your trade if you are willing to stomach a stranger."


    Lean turned back and watched Whiskey approach. "You''re a sparkle, Whiskey. Come on. What do you want to know?"

 Chapter 178 (Deveolpment: The Blank Denomination)

    And so, the evening passed.


    Whiskey on her way to a troupe''s mudflat; Zan talking late into the night with Penne; and Jiehong on his way to a traveler''s lodge for substance comforts. Despite the late hour and the evident exhaustion of all, none of them wanted sleep. Fired, intrigued, invigorated by ideas about the world and how it worked, especially once they salacious assumed themselves having a role, none of the young heroes budged from their places, being enamored with foundation shattering ideas about life.


    As all youth eventually do, our heroes tired and found sleep.


    Waking in the morning after an uneventful rest, Zan spoke into his headset. "Hey guys. I''m back. Zan... sorry for not letting all of you know when I was done with my stuff. I finished with colonel Winters and then found myself distracted by the festival. I met a wonderful priest, and we talked through the night. I only got a nap in now. Let''s plan on today being another personal day. I will meet Winters later to pick our rewards for helping the rescue. Once I have that reward, I will let you all know."


    His friends all gave a quick confirmation of his words. Saying a bit about their own activities, it sounded to Zan like Jie and Whiskey each had their own adventures. Good, he thought. Both of them deserved to have fun. They are such good friends.


    Zan finished dressing himself and left the traveler''s room. He and Penne had talked late into the night about all manner of topics. Prophecy took the lion''s share of their time with Penne describing various stories he heard and read about concerning people with prophecies looming over and at them. What it meant and how people reacted. Desperate to understand himself, Zan had kept tossing questions at Penne. By the time Penne''s energy depleted, it was late enough in the night where the line between dark and dusk blurred. Penne brought Zan to a room and bade him to rest for as long as he wanted.


    Up and ready for more, Zan left the small room -- more cloister than room, he thought -- and went in search of Penne.


    Walking around the church, Zan called out, "Penne! Penne! Where are you?"


    Being a small building, there were only so many places for Zan to search. Opening a door, Zan found Penne still asleep in his bed. His priestly accommodation was a mess. Clothes and books littered the floor, the bookshelves were a tangle of half-pulled, partially organized books and knickknacks, and the walls were coated with splotches of layered paint which he used as a palimpsest to repeatedly write upon.


    "Penne...?" Zan asked.


    No response.


    Moving in close, Zan wondered if Penne had died in his sleep. But he hadn''t. Once Zan grew close enough, he saw how Penne''s chest moved up and down as he breathed. He was snoring. How had Zan not heard those Z''s?


    Gently shaking the man awake, Zan whispered to him all the while, "It is morning, Mister Priest. Shouldn''t you be rising to start the day?"


    Shaking the man ever harder, his snoring eventually slowed. Penne''s eyes opened, the lids struggling against the gross gunk crusting on the edge of his face. He slowly said, "Zan? What... you... why did you wake me?"


    "It is morning, sire. Shouldn''t you be getting up? I have a hundred and more questions to ask!" Zan said with the excitement of a child half his age.


    If it had been possible for Zan to understand Penne''s appreciation of him, Zan would have seen himself as an annoying twerp. "Zan..." Penne said. "Please. A few more hours. I and my flock spent all yesterday kicking ourselves into a gallop. Please, a while more."


    Returning to his sleep, Penne snored again before long. Had Zan been a little older, he would have realized Penne was faking the snoring until he fell asleep and snored for real. With the cover established, though, Zan left the man be. What would he do for a few more hours?


    Perhaps one of his friends was up to something?


    Ready to touch his earpiece and speak with his friends, Zan heard instead a voice. "Penne? You still asleep?"This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Zan went to investigate the sound. He found a large woman whose hair came down halfway down her spine. "Oh? Who are you, young man?"


    "My name is Zan. I met Penne last night and we talked into the night. I want to talk with him more, but he is sleeping," Zan said.


    The lady snorted. "Typical priest behavior," she said. "It''s nice to meet you, Zan. I assumed you stayed the night, here? The priest is friendly, but he is not as committed as he needs to be to his schedule!" This last part she said slightly louder than the rest, as if she expected the priest to hear him through his slumber. "Is there anything I can do for you while he galivants with the dream lord?"


    "Maybe? Are you with the church?" Zan asked, unsure.


    "Where are my manners? I''m sorry. My name is Fisher. I am a sub-priest here. I can answer any questions you have about our group and place and history. How can I help ease you?"


    "Fantastic!" Zan practically squealed. "Nice to meet you, Fisher. What can you tell me about this organization? It''s a church? Your place of worship looks a lot less finished than the nearby buildings. Are you guys a new denomination?"


    "Heavens no! We''ve been around for ages. People have a lot of names for us. We typically go by ''the blank denomination.''"


    Mouthing each word back to himself, Zan silently mouthed out the sounds. The blank denomination...


    "What does that mean?" Zan asked.


    "Blank as in we don''t support any one particular god or pantheon of gods. We welcome anyone who want to worship any god or collection of gods. Hence the word blank," Fisher explained.


    "I get it, now," Zan said.


    "Did Penne really not explain this to you?" Fisher asked with a laugh.


    "He might of? I''m not sure. We mostly talked about prophecy stuff."


    "Ah. ''Prophecy stuff'' isn''t my forte. We will need Penne for that. Is there anything else I can do for you?"


    Zan considered. His many questions came to mind. He asked, "What is practice like?"


    "It depends on what you would like to do. Some of us like lots of book learning. History. Others hate that stuff and want to do nothing but help people. Community organizing. That kind of practice. You could do anything from plant gardens like thinking about the gods to studying the history of the heavens. That is only our street-level practice, though. We have also a so-called ''professional practice'' resting on efficiency with heavenly auras."


    "Neat. What does that mean?" Zan asked, Fisher directing all of his attention.


    "It means we pride ourselves in finding solutions to issues between the gods and their followers. Mostly their followers, if we''re being honest. It could also mean a lot of other stuff. Like encouraging the flow of magical energy into a region, building shrines to under-appreciated gods, or even fine-tuning yet unfinished magical attunements. None of this means anything to you right now. Everything I''m saying is jigsaw words, I know it must seem. Everything I am talking about relates to an element of what we do, which is encourage complexity and connections between gods, worshippers, and the practice of therein. Am I making myself understood?" Fisher explained and asked.


    "I think so?" Zan replied, still churning in his head all the information Fisher presented.


    "You''re kind of ''here nor there,'' then, eh?" Zan said, a forced chuckle to keep it lighthearted.


    "We have been accused of being too lackadaisical in our program. What our detractors fail to understand is our dedication to the gods if not so watered-down. It is concrete. And stable in its philosophical underpinnings. Are you thinking of joining a religious movement?"


    Again, considering and thinking to his strange dream-vision, he said, "Maybe? What would it entail of me? I''m in a Martial Order at the moment. Sort of their leader, actually... would joining with you guys'' mess that up?"


    "I couldn''t imagine why it would. Why don''t we go and use the priest''s office to talk about this more?" Fisher suggested.


    Relenting, Zan allowed himself to be pushed into the office so he could chit-chat more. There, he told Fisher about his dream-vision. She stared at him, her mouth agape, as his story was told.


    "And blam! Now I''m here!" Zan said, finishing his tale for the umpteenth time and growing tired of doing so.


    "A remarkable story. Now you''re on your way back to your base. I see..." Fisher said, mostly to herself, as she processed Zan''s story.


    "Yeah. I guess I want to learn more about the gods. My role in worshipping them. If I had this vision, then it might mean something, right? Goes double if I have a prophecy."


    "I can see your point. Your motivation. I know it might seem like I am itching for a new recruit -- which I am; I love to spread our faith! -- but I do think you would be a good fit with us. Your illiteracy might be a small issue but there are work arounds for that. The biggest of which is you could learn to read. We have teachers."


    "Okay, okay. Let''s slow down," Zan said, wanting to put the brakes on topics which were going way too fast.


    Over the next while Zan and Fisher discussed the large events in Zan''s life. Zan did not want to learn to read. It seemed a step too far at the moment. He did want to join the church. Or at least a similar organization.


    "Phew! We''ve covered a lot of ground, today, Zan. Shall we take a break?" Fisher asked.


    "Yeah. Let''s -- actually. Can we get the joining forms out of the way?"


    "Normally we have an application process. We want to make sure people join us for the right reasons. You seem eager and willing and like you know what you want. Clearly, not the typical candidate. Sleep on it, Zan. Let it stew in your mind for the day. If you still feel ready to join up at sunset, come back to us and we will get you started on your journey."

 Chapter 179

    Jiehong woke up later than Zan but not as early as Whiskey.


    He rolled out of his room, paid the fee, and was on his way. Zan had briefly spoken to them earlier. He gave everyone another free day. A younger, more immature Jiehong might have used this day to hit the taverns and get wasted. Being older and wiser (or at least wiser, he reckoned), Jiehong instead went out in search of information about eldritch beings.


    The day after the festival was calm. The city had a noise, but it was noise which made the city run: foremen shouting commands to laborers, chickens and livestock cawing and mooing, the rumble of well-made wagons rumbling in the streets. Guards demanding proof of theft.


    What changed was the party-hardy atmosphere. Where had all the merry makers gone? To work, Jiehong guessed. Or perhaps they were still in bed nursing the aftermath?


    ''Where would I find information on eldritch beings?'' Jiehong asked himself. ''A library? Maybe. Worth a shot, I guess.''


    Off in search of a library, Jiehong hoped he wasn''t wasting his time. He hoped whatever he found would be useful to him. ''Of course,'' he reminded himself. ''What is useful? You''re only doing this because you''re intrigued by the notion. By them as beings.'' Despite his chance encounter with the supposed eldritch being he passed through on the way to town, Jiehong''s curiosity concerning it was happenstance. He did not think himself connected or even ''in support of'' eldritch beings.


    Yet he had to know and understand them. He felt it as an urge inside of him. The being he encountered had been so mysterious. So, unusual. Jiehong knew he had to learn more about them.


    Jiehong found his way to a library with ease. Without the partygoers in-town for the harvest festival, Jiehong could move around quickly. He asked a guard, the guard told him, and then he was off. Twenty-minutes later he stepped inside a humble building whose every nook filled with books and scrolls. Jiehong called out for the caretakers.


    To the front came a gangly pair of elderly folks. Each bore white hair befitting for their age. "How can we help you, young man?" They asked.


    "I''m looking for a book on eldritch beings," Jiehong said.


    "Book or scroll?" they replied.


    "Sorry. Either-or. I care not. I only want something informational. Academic language is fine. I have an education."


    The librarians bumbled about the cluttered spaces and moved shelving''s and heaps of scrolls like people a quarter their age. Several minutes later they handed Jiehong a heavy scroll with intricate filigree throughout its casing. Jiehong carefully unfolded part of it to take a sneak peek at its contents. The words were difficult. Exactly what he was looking for!Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "Thank you very much. Do I owe you anything for using the scroll?" Jiehong asked.


    "Worry not. We don''t charge for readings. You can go over and sit there and read it for free. We only ask you return it to us in one piece. If you love the content and wish to buy the scroll, we have a policy to sell every piece we have for twice what we paid for it," one of the caretakers said. Jiehong thought it was the lady, but they had a hefty beard, so maybe it was the man? But the other had facial hair as well. One was feminine... were they even human? Jiehong did not know and, honestly, he did not care. He gave a smile and found the seat.


    Sitting at a table, Jiehong''s seat was behind a pile of books. ''Don''t fall over, now,'' Jiehong muttered to the books under his breath.


    Placing the scroll on the part of his desk not taken up by literary hills, Jiehong carefully unfurled the scroll and started to read:


    "Amongst all extant Mighty Beings, Eldritch Beings possess unique ontology unparalleled in Creation. Their bodies do not correspond to anything in nature of the heavens. Leading scientific authorities -- Ginin, Freth, Phil, and Gregg, Et All -- conclude their essence are a mixture of sources. Part Holy, part Primal, Eldritch entities move through the world unseen, rarely able to be seen by onlookers who are too dazed or ignorant to understand an Eldritch Being''s complex morphology. The purpose of my research is to provide the reader with an awareness of how these beings work and why they are important to living holistically..."


    Jiehong had to look away from the scroll. His head hurt. And the word in it were bigger and harder to understand than what he expected. The quick survey he had done prior to taking it to a table must''ve been an easy section, since he had to return to the caretakers and ask for a dictionary in order to read the scroll''s beginning. They gave Jiehong the dictionary with a chuckle.


    Done with only the first paragraph, and knowing there had to be dozens, if not hundreds more, Jiehong already felt out of it.


    He sighed. For a moment, Jiehong wanted to give up. ''I''ve bite off more than I can chew,'' he told himself. He knew he was only telling himself lies.


    "I can do this," he affirmed. He looked down at the scroll and continued reading:


    "THE FIRST ASPECT of an eldritch being one must learn, or perhaps, unlearn, rather, is ''non-linearity.'' Eldritch entities do not exist in the same temporal frame as the rest of us. They exist, rather, before our moment as well as after, always living in three-temporal frames at once. Of all their temporal frames, the Present Frame is likely of top importance. Entities with eldritch nature forge their present frame from the past and future. An eldritch being, then, lacks a naturally occurring ''present.'' Non-linearity within the temporal universe thus will play an important role to anyone who wishes to understand the nature of these misunderstood beings."


    Jiehong finished the second paragraph with much less strain than he had with the first. Already knowing a few words helped. Thus, Jiehong made himself a mental note to always look up a new word when he encountered one. He figured there was no sense in trying to suss out meaning when meaning couldn''t be implied by another part of speech. Especially when Jiehong was lucky enough to have a dictionary by his side.


    Nearby a window opened. "Let''s get some fresh air in this muddy old place," one of the librarians said. Jiehong sniffed some freshly cut flowers from an herbalist with a shop close by. Letting the wind wash over him as he took several voluminous gulps, Jiehong released the air slowly to calm his mental sputtering. Cloud by cloud, Jiehong cleansed. His head cleared. He was ready to get back at it.

 Chapter 180 (Advancement: "Praline" Joined!)

    And so, he did.


    Paragraph by paragraph, Jiehong intellectually tackled the densely written content. He worked his way through every line. If he encountered an unknown word, he used his dictionary to look it up. If he didn''t understand a paragraph''s main idea, he re-read the paragraph until he did understand. Even if he had to re-read a dozen times -- or two dozen, as was the case more than once. What Jiehong prized was understanding as much as he could about the material before he had to put it up for the day.


    His enthusiasm aside, Jiehong remained an ordinary youth of merely sixteen. Private tutors could only take a bright lad so far when he saw them but once a week. Two hours turned to three. By the end, four crept up on him. Which was when he knew he had to give it less. Jiehong pushed the scroll away then reclined in his chair. Jiehong rubbed his temples. He had a headache.


    Stretching and yawning, Jiehong saw the nearby librarian and said, "I''ve finally had it. It got me good!"


    They waved Jiehong out and said in a strange accent, "Silly boy. Don''t see many intellectuals. Are you preparing for advanced classes?"


    Laughing. Jiehong couldn''t help it. He managed to say, politely, "No. You have it all wrong. I am curious. I would be attending university soon, had the war not called me to the front."


    "Boys. Boys and fighting. Lordy. Someday I hope you all learn how to cry. Save a lot of trouble for a lot of people!"


    Blood rushed to Jiehong''s face. He felt embarrassed. How does one respond to that? Jiehong''s response was not to respond; old people say odd things, sometimes, Jie concluded and smiled as she looked his way.


    "Emotions aside, it''s what I need to do," Jiehong stated, re-setting the conversation.


    "I know. I know. And you will do fine!" the librarian said, patting him gently on his back in a motherly way. "Now, off you go. Young man like you shouldn''t be inside all day looking at parchment! Go -- go! Go eat a carrot and watch the clouds, or whatever it is you kids do these days for fun!"


    Jiehong gave the librarian a chuckle. Then did as she thought was important and went off for the day. His stomach rumbled for some food anyway.


    With coin in his pocket, Jiehong could go anywhere. But a place like Hope-Ridge, though a larger city for the territory, still was hardly larger than a few villages put together. Wealthier people were moving here, yes, but only because, as far as Jiehong could see, the ''rebellion'' situation was making life difficult for certain people of a certain class. Hope-Ridge happened to be just close enough for a desperate and displaced category of landlords to flee toward despite something called a ''peasant''s assembly'' controlling the city.


    Desperation pulls on desperation, Jiehong mouthed as he entered a tavern and saw all too many idle feet wondering what they could do with their misfortunes. Refugees everywhere we go. If the war doesn''t end, where will they go? Will they flee south, to where the Expanse has yet to attack? Is it actually possible to flee the expanse? A whole nation cannot simply move across borders. Not indefinitely, somewhere along the line, a country will say, ''no.'' And when that happens, then what? Same choice. Will they choose to live under the heel of the Expanse? If ''no,'' then what? What will happen to them? And me.


    Jiehong entered the tavern, sat down, and rang a nearby bell for service. He ordered a meaty stew with some bread.


    Too quickly the meal appeared before him. Jiehong rubbed his eyes. He couldn''t stop yawning. Stopping the barmaid before she could return to her duties, Jiehong asked her, "do you have any hot bean juice?"


    "We sure do, hun," she said and scampered off to quickly bring him a strong cup of the local brew.


    Bitter, mildly chocolatey, thin. Those were the words Jiehong used to describe the coffee''s flavor. None of the words he enjoyed. Yet he drank the whole cup down for just the energy boost it provided.


    Feeling one hundred percent more energized, Jiehong had a curious idea. "Say, ma''am," he said, hailing one of the barmaids. "These beans. Are they for sale by any chance? Could I buy a bag of them?"


    "Let me ask the owner really quick! I will be right back!" she said before setting off.


    A few minutes later she returned. During that time Jiehong did jack-of-all. He could appreciate the interior of the tavern more, being more awake and thus more applied. But that was it. Standard tavern style. Nothing much more to say about it than that.


    "The owner says you can have a full bag for one silver," the barmaid told him.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "One silver, eh?" Jiehong said, talking aloud. Jiehong thought a full silver for a bag was on the expensive end. Especially with the beans already being whole, Jiehong would have to grind them himself; thus, the owner couldn''t even say he was charging for convenience. Throw in the fact the beans were of an iffy quality, Jiehong nearly said no. He argued at the last moment with himself and struck the winning blow: it doesn''t matter the price or quality. Coffee beans for fresh brewed coffee would pay for themselves several times over in the field. "Yes. I will take two bags, please," Jiehong said. "Add it to my bill today."


    With more beans than he thought he needed in hand, Jiehong left the tavern. If he stayed any longer, he would need another currency transfusion from his parents. Last night had been magical. Jiehong wanted to keep it that way least the next time he saw his parents they were back to their old ways.


    Jiehong looked to the sky. It was past noon.


    He decided to find a public square and sift through the contents of his satchel. It was feeling heavy with the beans now inside. There was a three partially Rescue Kits Zan had bought for them with part of his Sunstar credit; then he had assorted pieces of gear he was not yet wearing as the temperature was not right, such as hats and mittens provided by the Wardens, specifically Sigma-Prime; trinkets and currencies then filled part of the remaining space. Finally, the last object to fill his satchel were fliers he had grabbed a couple of days ago when Colonel Winters came into town and Jiehong rushed to meet Whiskey.


    No matter the flier, Jiehong read each he had grabbed. Most were for assorted spiritual groups. Not churches. Groups.


    Hobby groups were the most common. These groups were interest-based and usually had nothing more to do with spiritual practice than a glossing of worship or faith. They might talk once in a while about how their spirituality and the hobby intersect, but they did nothing more than that, talk, and far too little about the contours of their faith.


    Jiehong saw a few genuine churches represented in the pamphlets. One pamphlet was for a group called the Blank Denomination. Jiehong knew nothing about them as an organization, but his parents had talked about them several times. ''Not fans,'' would be a drastic underestimation of how much his parents hated the Blank Denomination. "When you stand for everything, you stand for nothing," his father had a habit of saying.


    His parents and their distaste for the denomination aside, it was never an issue beyond a few rants during what they described as ''the political season.''


    Tossing out the pamphlet for the Blank Denomination with the others which he crumpled on and threw into the wastebin, Jiehong finished reading the tiny papers he had grabbed. Only one caught his eye. It was for an engineer core called ''Praline.''


    As an organization, Praline advertised themselves as pro-royal, hard-working, and ''dressed up'' in the ''down of the day.'' Which meant they fancied themselves as sophisticated but not so sophisticated they weren''t one-in-the-same with the commoners. They did a lot of charity work. Disaster relief, emergency construction and re-construction work, general contractor work, anything which dealt with the functioning of society. They claimed a position for everyone who wanted to help. Being under the royal seal, they were a nationwide group. This and other facts brought Jiehong to their local office.


    They''re only a civil group, Jiehong reminded himself. The parents will have issue with me joining them. Only so much career advanced in a civil society. But Jiehong did not plan on staying in the group indefinitely. He wanted to join to get a head on his affairs in the public sphere. That and to show the outside world that whatever his fellow Order member believed in, such as Whiskey the Rebel, he was proud, pro-king, and loyal to his home to the end.


    A few people puttered about in Praline''s office. None of them looked excited to be there. Jiehong knew enough about life to know that wasn''t a good sign, or so according to the passing merchants which traveled through his village. Jiehong wouldn''t know how it felt to show up to work every day and do the same job day-in and day-out. He was a warrior and a teen. Manual laboring wasn''t ever his specialty. Especially not when, as a younger lad, he received more specialized training to help his village''s leader.


    He walked to the counter and said, "I am interested. Give me the sale of why I should join."


    The clerk''s face sparked up. They went on a tirade which never seemed to end. Jiehong didn''t much care for it, but it was part of the situation. He endured the verbiage and waited for the clerk to stop.


    After the clerk finished explaining the many different sectors of Praline and how management settled on where to send people, Jiehong said, "I clearly don''t have it on me. I do, however, own an exo-suit. Curtesy of Sunstar Industries."


    "A laborious exo-suit?!" the clerk said, surprised.


    "Maybe? I am not aware of how many models and makes exist. What I have is a large cage which surrounds me, and which gives me access to two oversized mechanical arms which shoot from my pauldrons like a cannonball. I could still use some training on it..."


    "Yes! That is a labor suit. It is a new technology. Praline as an organization has a couple of early models. Limited as these early suits are, they have revolutionized our labors at building a better kingly society. I guarantee if you bring that suit to the jobsite, you will make friends quickly. Listen, we aren''t expecting you to donate your suit, but if you choose to do so, you will find yourself not wanting for much. The crown''s men remember their friends!"


    Jiehong gave a polite laugh. "I am not sure we''re there yet, but I will keep such a thing in mind. How about I enlist in wherever, whatever department this suit will be needed most? Now, to be clear. I am not obligated to perform at such a rate. I can sign in on as an ''At Large'' member and not be expected to be at certain places at certain times, right? I only ask because my first responsibility is to my Martial Order. This can''t be a job-job for me, understand?"


    "That is correct, sir. As an At Large member you are not expected to report to job sites at certain times. Correct me if I am wrong. But you will be doing traveling. Is that why you want to join as an At Large, because you don''t know where you will be at any given time?" the clerk said.


    Jiehong did not expect the young-looking clerk to understand his situation. "That is exactly it, yes." Jiehong replied.


    The clerk then shuffled around for a paper somewhere under the back. "Sign here and start your new life of glorious aid to the crown!"

 Chapter 181

    Jiehong walked out of Praline''s office. He wanted to yawn. He waited until he walked a few paces out-of-sight, though, so he could roar like a boar.


    On a deserted side-alley, Jiehong yawned, stretched, and looked to the sky. No Slipstream. So, no magic. But the stretch and yawn kept him refreshed enough. He had to decide what to do with his day. He could return to the library, but should he? No, I need to review the documents they gave me.


    Jiehong found a public bench and flipped through sheets of papers so thin, they were practically translucent. Paper like this was a new creation. Very different from the thick-hide parchments Jiehong''s family had always possessed. That kind of parchment was thick enough where one could sheer away a whole layer to write anew underneath. This paper would tear from handling it even slightly more roughly than the air does on a feather. Jiehong had an impulse to shred it and toss it to the wind, but he merely re-read the contents then stuffed it into his bag.


    As he knew he would, Jiehong signed on with Praline as an At Large member. This gave him the freedom to move through the country and help people but without the obligation to do so. Putting his hand to his gut, Jiehong felt the crystalline entity within. Yeah. I have enough obligations as it stands, he thought.


    Only having removed the papers to confirm his position was a paid position for those days he would be around and helpful, Jiehong now wondered what he should do. Only one thought came to his mind. "I''m going to bed," Jiehong said, feeling drained from the day''s heavy reading and socializing practices. Early it might have been, he wanted nothing more than to sleep in and deep.


    Jiehong was walking back to Marsha''s flat when he heard the ping in his ear. It was Zan.


    "Guys. I am going to meet with Colonel Winters now. Expect news of your rewards soon," was all Zan said.


    WHISKEY heard Zan''s message sometime in the afternoon. She did not know exactly when. For, she had been too busy talking up a storm with the group''s many performers. And the writers.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The performance: the thought which went into each skit, from the shape of the street to how a performance needed different spaces, and how the actors imbued their roles with drama (or lack of, therefore, she thought about in regard to at least a couple of the performers). It fascinated her. Energized her, even. She often found herself pacing back and forth at the depot''s break area, still chattering with the troupe mates as she did so. Whiskey had to pace. Her mind was on fire and she loved it all.


    The morning was spent with Whiskey tagging along for another of the group''s day actions. Lean told Whiskey to tag along with Elbow and another troupe member called Tilt.


    Tilt was among the leadership core. They wore a yellow marked shirt and were classified as a skit organizer. After a writer wrote the actual script the actors followed, people like Tilt brought the skit to life. Tilt brought them to an intersection where they taught Whiskey about the basics of placements.


    "You need to be aware of your surroundings. As a hunter and a warrior, you already do this. If you are not aware of your surroundings, you will miss opportunities to engage with the crowd. If you face opposition from the crowd, then knowing how to control the situation will help the effectiveness of your work," Tilt said, beginning a curt but informative lecture on the art of crowd control.


    Continuing, Tilt said, "Control the street. You have where your stuff is stashed -- a mini-depot is the first thing you should look for when scouting a location. Next, an exit. If the crowd becomes belligerent, you are going to need to know the quickest way out, and fast. And trust me on this, Whiskey. I do mean fast. Finally, after you have your depot-away-from-home and you are setting up, think before you set up! Don''t let your mind get away from you because all your feet can speak about is getting a move-on, you know? Before you lay down a single prop, ask yourself, how can I best inflect the scene based on my location?"


    Pausing to take a breath, Whiskey took the time to ask, "It sounds like a lot to keep in mind. Any tricks?"


    "It is a lot to keep in mind. But no tips. All I can say is this process gets better with practice. The more your start using your mind analytically, the faster you will adapt to new situations. Before mastery comes practice. Which is where you will cut your teeth. Endless practice. You ready?"


    Looking at the intersection, thinking analytically, Whiskey said, "Yeah. So, for our mini depot, how about over there? By the corner? No, the other corner. Not the one infested with dead rats, of course."

 Chapter 182

    The practice was far from endless. Four hours was all the troupe demanded of Whiskey before they returned to the actual depot hub.


    "You were a natural, Whiskey. I''m impressed," Elbow said.


    "Thank you. I tried my best. I''m having a lot of fun with you guys," Whiskey replied.


    "No fun in the war, then? Seems like too many people look at the conflict as a joke. Like they don''t understand the gravity of the situation. Partying, taking late-night lover''s walks outside the protected zones, and so on. It''s crazy, I tell ya," Elbow said.


    "No. I agree. Crazy. Irrational. All that and more. And no... the war hasn''t yet claimed many lives, but it will. And we don''t yet know how the conflict is closer to the capital. How much news actually gets our way? What we do get is slow. For all we know, further west is a bloodbath."


    Elbow heartily agreed. "Hear-hear! I am happy you have taken the interest in performance. Before I joined, I was a rather depressed fellow. This troupe has given me a new lease on life. Friends, community. Purpose. It''s wonderful. I hope you share such a gift with everyone you meet."


    Saying she planned to use every ounce of her acting abilities to better both the world and its people, Whiskey returned to the depot to say goodbye to Lean.


    "You''re not staying?" Lean asked.


    "I would love to," Whiskey said. "My Order-Master-To-Be is going to be contacting us soon. I would like to fit in a cat''s nap before then. Thank you so much for bringing me in and teaching me all of what you do. It''s touched me. Love at first sight. You get my drift. I am going to go and create my own skits for my own activism, now. The next time I am in the area, I will drop by and say ''hi.''"


    "Understandable! Before you leave, let me give you a small parting gift," Lean said before rifling through several boxes of his personal effects in search of something. He returned a moment later with a booklet in hand. "Take this. It is my old copy from school."


    Whiskey took the offered booklet. Relief spread over Whiskey when he realized she could read the title. It would have been embarrassing to have to ask her theatrical mentor to read aloud his gift''s title. It read ''Showman.''


    "That book was practically my holy rites while in school. I even slept with it! It is written in an easy-to-understand way. I don''t think you should have any problem with understanding the material. I only hope it helps you as much as it helped me," Lean continued.


    She smiled widely before giving Lean a friendly hug. Whiskey said her goodbyes to the others in the troupe and she was on her way.


    Walking away from the troupe, Whiskey brought herself nowhere in particular. She wanted to find a quiet place and read her gift. Finding a park, it was pure happenstance she encountered Jiehong sitting on one of the benches.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "Jiehong? How has your day been?" Whiskey asked.


    The surprise showed on his face when Jiehong turned and realized it was Whiskey. "What are the odds we would bump into each other? Ha! What a city! I am good! My day''s been good. I joined a civil service group called Praline. I trust them being pro-monarchial will not be an issue for you?"


    Though Whiskey made a slight show of considering Jiehong''s revelation, she said, "No. Of course not. We are our own people. I might not be part of a rebel organization anymore, but my sympathies remain. And I intend on advocating for myself and my views. As long as you don''t harm me or my personal effects, I will grant you the same curtesy."


    "Ah. Like last time we spoke of this, I intend on giving you a wide berth."


    With them understood, Whiskey asked about the civil group he joined. Jiehong said, "Other than being under the crown, they seem like a decent lot. Being a civil society, though, I am not expecting to be with them for very long. They don''t make enough waves for me to want to do more than the minimum."


    "Then why did you join?" Whiskey asked.


    Jiehong fell into the bench, relaxing. "Boredom, maybe? I felt like I had to. I just want something to help me get my foot into the door at places. I guess we have to see how this invasion and rebellion works out before I can plan for anything more, right? Haha."


    "Yeah. So much is being left to fate. Makes me sometimes feel like I am not doing enough--" Whiskey began.


    "Never think that Whiskey. You''re doing plenty!" Jiehong said, cutting her off.


    Whiskey, annoyed, said, "Jiehong. Please, for future reference, do not cut me off. It''s so annoying! And secondarily, thank you. It makes me feel nice to hear my teammates thinking highly of me."


    Saying he would try to remember for the future, Jiehong looked warmer than he usually was. His face looked calm and mellow under his curly locks. When was the last time he got a haircut? It didn''t matter, Whiskey told herself. He does look nice, Whiskey concluded, looking at her teammate while he lounged back on the bench. His face partially hidden thanks from by a tree branch''s shade.


    "What did you do?" Jiehong asked Whiskey.


    "I performed with and learned from an acting troupe!" Whiskey said with cheer to her voice.


    "An acting troupe? Since when were you the acting type?" Jiehong asked.


    "Never. Or at least never until now. I always enjoyed the big and melodramatic. I saw a street performer blend activism and art. I got hooked."


    "That''s how it is, then? Rebel sympathizers? I ought to have figured. I guess I should''ve expected. Well, how does it make you feel?"


    Whiskey thought about how to answer Jiehong. "It makes me feel happy. Like I can take a little break from me and pretend to be someone else. And then there is the theatre elements, of raising awareness for a good cause, all that."


    Listening to Whiskey speak about her time, he nodded his head at all the major points. "Sounds like your smitten for a guy, with the way you talk about the troupe." Jiehong said.


    The assertion made Whiskey giggle, then deride. "Nothing like that, I assure you! I liked the folks I met but I am planning on sleeping with any of them!"


    For a while, Whiskey and Jiehong chatted. They caught up on how they spent their time. It was nice. Whiskey was about to ask about his family, since she knew it was a sore subject between Zan and he, and she wanted to get her own view of the situation. Alas, Zan sent Jiehong a message. Jiehong relayed the message to Whiskey. He said, "Zan has our reward. He wants us to meet him at the barracks."


    "Then let''s get going!" And Whiskey packed her scant belongings, both of their eyes locked dead ahead toward the barrack tents, whose poles were flapping madly in the wind as a storm set itself upon the land.

 Chapter 183

    EARLIER IN THE DAY...


    Affixing his mark and blooddrop, ZAN gave Fisher the final signature she needed to complete the paperwork. "There. Now what?" he asked.


    Fisher looked impressed with Zan''s eagerness. So, he believed. She had a fun face which told him his behavior was not what she expected to encounter on a typical day. That was fine with Zan! Had it not been for Jiehong, during their childhood, he would''ve always been picked last for sports. By now, he was used to it.


    "Now! Now? You are a brother, Zan! I am excited for how excited you are, but are you sure you don''t want to slow down? Get to know the other members before you continue?" Fisher asked.


    "I would like to continue. I don''t mean to be rude. It''s only me schedule. My Martial Order and I will be leaving the city, soon. I want to make sure I do as much as I can to advance myself in that short time," Zan explained.


    "That makes sense. But I want you to understand something, Zan. Life will pass regardless. There is more to life than advancing yourself. But please, for me, your sister-in-faith, meet a few others from our church. I need a break from all this talking. A bit of personal time. Let me bring you around to meet them and then you and I can continue with your training," Fisher told him.


    He nodded. He really had no interest in meeting people. He wanted the solitary route when it came to church life. At these lowly ranks, however, he would need to pay his dues before idling his days away in pure knowledge bliss.


    Fisher led him on a tour of the church. It was not much of a tour.


    By the time the tour of the four rooms was complete a few of the other members had dropped by. He met them, shook hands, and exchanged stories. By then, Fisher had left to attend to that personal time of hers. Zan had to handle the other members by himself. Which he could do, he simply didn''t enjoy speaking with people. Especially not when they used unfamiliar terms and expected Zan to adhere so perfectly to a language he only had a few years -- just over a decade and a half -- to master since being born and thrown into the world of language.


    Because Zan did not ''do'' conversation well, he withered and dithered in his verbiage. He knew enough about holding a conversation -- thankfully -- to ask the basic questions. Those elementary queries such as ''when did you join?'' and ''goodness! how awful!'' or alternatively, ''incredible stroke of luck by the gods on your behalf!'' took him far; sometimes, another member would go off on a tangent and spend many minutes going on and on about a hardly anything. Lucy, another member who came in mid-tangent on another member, did this about a god blessing her daughter. Her proof? She won a local talent competition.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It wasn''t as though Zan disbelieved the ladies. In fact, he did believe they received blessings from the gods. It was more as though he did not care. Gods would, on occassion, especially during harvest festivals, give their faithful servants blessings. But said blessings were random. Not ''pre-determined,'' as his village''s priest had made clear during the one-time every year, he repeated himself for the erring ears of children.


    With blessings being common enough, Zan did not learn of it from the ladies who spoke to him. All the same, they clearly were under the impression they were teaching him. One told him, imploring heavily, that "we are telling the truth! You do not have to sit there so disbelieving, hun. One day, a god will bless you! We promise!" Of course, Zan believed them. If only they knew his silence was from social anxiety, not ignorance. Speaking to himself, Zan asked when are they coming back?


    Minutes passed to an hour and then more. When Penne emerged from his office -- coincidentally at the exact same time as Fisher returned to the property -- Zan had, had it with the ladies and their gossip. "It''s been a pleasure. I must be going, though," Zan said. He rose from his seat and went to talk with Penne and Fisher.


    "Miss me?" Zan joked. "I missed you."


    "And what are we -- chopped livers?!" one of the ladies from the living area yelled comically. It struck Zan at the last possible moment. Was she drunk?


    "I did," Penne said. "Now that I''ve had more time to rest, let''s get you up to speed. Enter my office and let''s get you set up with a direction."


    With an energetic smile again on his face, Zan crossed into Penne''s office. He sat down and was about to talk when Penne beat him to the punch. "Do you not like talking with people?"


    The question took him off guard. He said, "Why is everyone so concerned about my socializing?" As Zan spoke, his tone was barely a mumble.


    "I don''t mean to be!" Penne said, quickly recovering. "I want to-- sorry, how do I say this?" Penne started and stopped several times as he tried to think of the best way of saying what was on his mind. "Our denomination is very people centered. You will need to learn how to talk with people. That is, you will have to learn if you want to climb the highest ranks."


    "But I''m not good with talking to people..." Zan said.


    Penne laughed and said, "Which is why I said you will improve! Listen. Don''t worry about it. There was a lot of ways to talk with people. As many style of talk as there are gossip."


    Zan stretched his lips to a imitate a smile. "I find that hard to believe!"


    With curiosity, he wondered what next. Fisher had him covered.


    "So, step one? I know you''re curious..."

 Chapter 184 (Deveolpment: Memory Marbles)

    Once chit-chat about talking and socializing got done, Penne got down to business. Zan appreciated this.


    "When we last left off, you wanted to know what the first step is. I won''t lie about it. The first step will be hard. Zan. As a new member of our denomination, you need to learn about people and their faith."


    "About... p-people?" Zan stuttered.


    "Yes. About people. ''Why?'' I can hear yourself asking. Because our church is non-denominational. We accept everyone. Now, let me be clear, Zan. I am not asking you to go out and make a hundred new friends. Nor am I asking you to go out and save a hundred people. But I am asking you to go out and ask one hundred people about the role the gods play in their lives."


    Thinking he misheard, Zan said, "Sorry. A hundred? You want me to ask a hundred people?"


    "That is correct."


    Zan considered saying ''no.''


    He really did. The idea seemed so repulsive to him. But he had to do it. He knew he had to it.


    "Consider it done," he replied.


    Scary as though it had been to say ''yes'' to such a request, he felt extremely satisfied with himself for saying so. It was far out of his comfort zone. He hoped this would be a firm first step in his new religious career.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "How do you want me to do this?" he asked. "Like, I can''t write. Should I..." Zan asked by his voice wandered off. He didn''t know what he was asking.


    "We''re not a suspicious lot, here. Personally, I think the honor system is fine. If I had my way, why, I would want you to simply sit your keister back down when you''ve interviewed these hundred people and tell me all about it. But wiser men than I have deemed it important you record such interactions. To do so, you will not need any writing talents. You will only need one of these," Penne said, opening a drawer from his desk to remove a bag full of marbles.


    "What are those?" Zan asked.


    "These are Memory Marbles. Simple, easy to use, these highly intuitive devices are a layman''s magical device. They''ve been around for ages. You know the basics of using magic already, so I don''t have to tell you how to channel. When you find someone whose story you would like to record, hold out one of these marbles in your hand, channel a miniscule sum of magic into it, and ask them to tell their story. When the story is done, the marble will de-activate, storing the memory safely within. Once every marble has been filled return here and we will review each marble with what you''ve learned over a pot of black tea from my special reserve."


    Penne gave to Zan the whole bag. Exactly one-hundred marbles. The bag was not as heavy as Zan would''ve thought. It was hardly heavier than a small sack of grain. Which still had a pull but not like a sock full of mud or a helmet. Zan affixed the bag to his waist at Penne''s instruction. He said of it, "Always keep a marble within reach. You want to be able to capitalize on any social situation you find yourself in."


    "Any advice on where I should look for people?" Zan asked, knowing he was pushing his luck on advice.


    The response given to Zan was simple: "Anywhere and everywhere."

 Chapter 185 (Deveolpment: The Reward Given)

    Zan was on his way to the barracks. The talk with Penne ended and although Zan was more than happy to talk to people as a way of learning about the gods, he did not want to begin tonight. The idea frightened him too much. So, he returned to the barracks full of tough warriors to speak with the toughest warrior of them all and demand payment for helping them win a violent battle. That was more Zan''s speed.


    For once, Zan lucked out and found Winters right away. Wandering into the barracks tent, Zan meandered through the crowds and lines without hassle. He belatedly wondered if his near-automatic movement had anything to do with his eyes affixed to the map-in-miniature; he looked at the space he already traversed and matched his body''s motions to what the map told him he had taken last time. Using it, Zan hardly thought about how he moved. Or where he moved. He went. And before long, he stood in front of Winters.


    "Zan. Good. I was expecting you. Come out back to the vault. I have your reward and the reward for your companions. Speaking of which, where are they? They should be here with you to accept. Use one of those echo-beetle things of yours to gather them, if you would be so kind."


    He alerted his team. They said they were on their way.


    Minutes later, his team arrived. While waiting for them, he and Winters had a nice talk. "You look well. Something has restored you? Find too much fun in town?" Winters asked Zan with a grin.


    Not understanding Winters''s allusion, he said. "Sure did. I found a church."


    Winters burst out laughing. "Tell me all the sordid details!"


    Of course, he told him everything, but with Winters grinning like a fool through most of his explanation, he wondered if Winters knew something he did not. It was like they each were coming from different expectations. Winters did seem attentive to his speech, though. So, that counted to him.


    "Huh. I never would''ve considered you a church boy. Not like I deride those who make worship an active part of their life. Don''t confuse me. If I had your experience, though, yeah. I can see why you would suddenly develop a fit for the holy," Winters told Zan.


    Saving them from any further awkwardness, Whiskey and Jiehong entered.


    "There ye two are!" Winters said, welcoming them into the back. "Come with me."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Bringing them to the back, laid on a table and protected by several guards was a spread of treasure.


    "Zan. You first. I have already given you most of your reward. Before you go, I wanted to give you one last sum. Take these currency bonds. Both for your own use as well as your order. Use them well," Winters said, motioning toward a pile of strange, large coins.


    "What are these?" Zan asked.


    "Currency bonds. Take them to any guild, bank, Sunstar trading post, and they can be turned in for reams of other goods. You can convert them to other forms of currency other lands use, and more. Bartering, trading, and the sort. Hold onto to them tightly. Don''t let people know how much you have least you attract thieves to your banner. Understood?" Winters asked. Zan shook his head and filled his satchel and Whiskey''s satchel with the coins.


    "Whiskey," Winters said. "Your reward is clear as day. Jewels. The quality of these gems speak for themselves, and I am sure you will have a field day with them. Normally, I would think gems like these are too valuable a reward. But the viceroy only had these on hand. Use them well."


    The gems were incredible. As were the few pieces of fine jewelry which were mixed in with the lot. Whiskey used her arm and shoved the gems and jewels into her backpack. "Fine doing business with you," she said and stepped back into line.


    "Which leaves the noble Jiehong," Winters said. "Local currency. As you wanted. Use it well. You have far more here than I gave Zan. Zan''s bonds are multi-use, but these are only single use. You probably recognize these coins as the king''s marks. What you don''t recognize is the platinum coating. For ease of travel and storage, I took the liberty of ordering the coins coated so you could do more with less. Like Zan''s bonds, though, be careful with how you use such wealth. Strange bedfellows come with great wealth."


    Jiehong shook his head, affirming what Winters told him. He opened the bag, checked the coins, and stashed the coins away in his satchel, though there was hardly room in it with Zan''s bonds taking up so much space.


    "You''re not going to get in trouble for giving us all this, are you?" he asked.


    "Oh? Concerned for an old man''s career? You can always give it back if you are worried," Winters said with a wink to his step.


    Zan smiled and said he would hold on to the reward. "That''s what I thought," Winters replied. "But don''t you worry about it. I am only giving you what is due and what the viceroy could part with without difficulty. Your reward is greater than normal but that is also part of the situation. Grave as it is, our predicament allows for exceptional moments to help us tackle the exceptional times."


    With Whiskey and Jiehong ready to turn in for the day and relax, they were at the door much quicker than Zan. Zan wanted to leave and relax, sure, but he also wanted to stay and talk with Winters. With one foot out the door, Winters said, "I can feel the weight of your aura, lad. We''ll meet and frolic again yet. Say hi to those ''Wardens'' for me. We will beat the bush when there is no war."


    "Sure, we will," Zan said, and left Winters be as he left the barracks with a bag full of means and a heart full of warring emotions.

 Chapter 186

    WITH REWARD IN HAND, Zan and Company therein rested themselves at Hope-Ridge for another day.


    "What do you guys want to do?" Zan asked his friends.


    Whiskey put forward another day of individual study. "We each are consummating new futures. Perhaps the most mature thing we can do is to push ourselves all in?"


    Zan reflected on an afternoon of talking to people. "Jiehong? Thoughts?" Zan asked, hoping he had an excuse for them.


    Jiehong, about ready to put on his exo-suit, stopped and said, "I was thinking we would get a move on. Whiskey''s bending to staying a day. Should we do stay another day, I think we should see the sights."


    "You mean like the thousand-shades of brown which the mudbrick architectural style is famous for?" she said, joking.


    Not letting the joke get to him, Jiehong said, "If we stay, we should have fun. That''s what I mean. Fun or travel."


    Stepping in, Zan said, "I am fine with staying another day. Unless you really think we should be getting back, let''s go have some fun."


    "Hey, I never say no to fun. Let''s do something edifying!" Jiehong said.


    From there, a debate occurred on the day''s content. "Edifying just means educational! I want to do something fun." Zan had to agree with her; "Let''s do something fun," he said. Jiehong looked defeated by in the good way. "Fine. We do something fun. But I am going to pester people with questions every step of the way!"


    They spent the day seeing the few sights worth seeing in Hope-Ridge. The mayor''s house, painted in colors, attracted anyone''s attention: Jiehong asked about its history and where they received their paint from, as if it mattered; then they visited the township''s walls and met the city guard who patrolled the streets: Jiehong asked the predictable questions, such as when the guard was founded and who found it.


    They finished the day with a stop by a festivities tent in the town''s center. Jiehong paid their way. For several hours they were allowed to partake in quality herb and botanical drinks while talking and playing simple games with the other attendees.


    Their day out had been enjoyable for everyone. When the sun set, Zan elected for them all to retire early. "We have a long journey ahead of us," Zan told his companions back in the inn.


    Everyone rested. They tuckered out early and slept in late. They left mid-morning and spent all day walking along the roads leading to the north.


    "I wonder what colonel Winters is going to do..." Whiskey asked.


    "Why would you care? Other than for strategic reasons," Jiehong replied, the total emptiness of their travel starting to weigh him down with boredom.


    "Just curious. I''m no longer a rebel, Jiehong. Even if I learned something, I would not, necessarily, send it along to my ex-comrades," Whiskey replied.


    "So, there is a chance, then?" Jiehong asked to Zan''s annoyance. A conversation like this would only end with huffy hearts.


    "Of course. If it was convenient. It is nothing you wouldn''t also do, so don''t even try to deny it."


    No response from Jiehong. Speaking hypothetically, if this wasn''t Jie''s way of acknowledging Whiskey''s assertion and accepting it, then Zan thought Jiehong had a worse time at communicating than he!


    The way from Hope-Ridge to their command center was an easy trail despite the war. Though the roads were busy with the movement of columns of soldiers from nearby settlements, not one of the columns men pestered them.


    And the enemy... wherever the enemy was, it was clear they had yet to penetrate the king''s defensive line. Easy though their trail was, roadblocks did appear along the way. Obstacles which caused the party to sometimes take tiresome diversions. Often, these diversions brought them within reach of a lodestone. By the end of their trek, and thanks to the many diversions, a lodestone marked every major location Zan and Company visited, from Thundervale to Hope-Ridge.


    At the end of the sixth day of nonstop travel, he vowed to himself he would think more often of using the Backroads lodestone-based ''quick-travel'' network; it might be a one-way portal, but a one-way portal is still a heck-of-a-lot better than a no-way portal. Especially for his feet. Zan had to remember -- the Backroads was a tool. Creepy or not, he had to use it.


    Zan''s momentary remembrance of the Backroads led him to think of another tool. No. Not ''tool.'' His friend, Luxley. He had no checked in with Zan for over a week. I hope everything is okay, Zan thought.


    On the seventh day of travel, the command center came into view.


    Entering the relative safety of the command center, Zan wanted nothing more than to go and sleep. The many days of travel with little rest did much to drain his stamina. He wanted one of chef Paul-Paul''s quality meals with a whole lot of sleeping.


    Too much, of course. Simple requests like food and rest were below Zan''s measure, it seemed, as he and his friends entered the protected zone and were immediately befuddled by a crowd of refugees. "Who are all of you?" Zan asked. Many more people seemed packed into the safe zone than before they had left. Not one of the refugees had an answer for him; inside, though, the Wardens would have an answer.


    "Welcome home, Zan. Jiehong, Whiskey. Before we begin Whiskey''s induction, you are curious about the number of people within the base," Screen Master Simulacrum said, his blue-ish and holographic face still fluttering strong upon the high wall.


    "I would be lying if I said I wasn''t interested," Jiehong said. "I don''t remember this many people in our village..."


    "You are correct. The simple answer is this: with the introduction of Mentality''s host, many villages near the provincial border were affected by the new enemy legion. In the chaos of not knowing where to flee and which direction was safe, a fair sum of civilians ended up fleeing in our direction. After days of travel, they came to the base''s border exhausted and desperate. Since you enabled us to tend to these issues in your absence, and since you have also made clear you did not want to be bothered with these issues, I took the liberty of enacting the solution to their woes. Would you like to counterman my order, sire? Note: every new civilian has agreed to pay the settlement tax; additional note: some families of wealthy means insisted they pay with currency. Understanding the needs of our growing Order from the feed provided, I allowed this. Would you like to countermand?"Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Zan thought about the Screen Master''s policy. Thinking about the practical purpose of what would be required of him to rebuild this Order, Zan said, "No. Fine. Have you taken in everyone who asked? Regardless of their ability to pay?"


    "Everyone who has asked has been granted entry. Troublemakers already within the defensive barrier, however, were ejected," Simulacrum elaborated.


    It seemed a mess. But what could be expected from people when under terror and desperation? Zan remembered how he felt back in the Wizard Tower, when he and his friends were cut off from Winters. The monsters, their horrible -- dangerous -- bodies writhing in slime. Then the claws and shrieking... the blood.


    Facing down those monsters? Zan had never been more scared. He would''ve done anything to survive. Still, troublemakers cannot be abided by. Not when Zan intended on rebuilding a Martial Order. Orders are known for many things, chief amongst all was discipline.


    "Continue this policy," Zan replied. "Screen Master. Sigma-Prime. Once I have the translated list of bunker locations, activating those bunkers and defending the region will be my one and only goal. Fighting alongside Winters, seeing a bit more of the Kingship. Seeing more people... I am getting feelings. I don''t think these bunkers are going to ''dance the night away'' with me. I am going to have to fight for them, aren''t I?"


    "It is likely bunkers like the ones you have learned about are centered within the lives of the region''s current inhabitants. Even dormant, they possess power cores of immense idle radiation. By the virtue of one existing, the natural magics of the land would be more potent. Which would lead to fertile crops. Among other boons. I cannot say, however, if the property will be difficult to obtain. If we are lucky, it will be unclaimed. For the purposes of rebuilding the Order, you will have to secure the property rights through some means, regardless of whether people already live there or not," the Screen Master explained.


    "Some means? What do you mean ''some means''?" Zan asked in true ignorance.


    "To clarify: either through negotiation or force, activation of the bunker cannot begin without dominance over the land. Your control over the bunker must come with the land and it must be seen as ''true'' by the local inhabitants. Think back when you activated the Command Center. By chance, the ruins of this Center corresponded to your village''s rule over the local terrain. You were able to activate it because you -- in some way -- had already possessed control over the land. I suspect this is why this Center remained unclaimed for so long, because no one on the land understood what existed under the soil or had reason to claim it if they did suspect."


    "Why? J-just... all of that," Zan asked, sputtering, as he couldn''t even begin musing on why he couldn''t activate the bunkers and be done with it. Did he truly need to file papers and mess with the tax man?


    "According to Holy Law. As passed by the Celestial Assembly, Motion 10, States all Life Forms and Kinds must adhere to True Status principles when engaging in Lively Activities. Falseness cannot be promoted." The Screen Master explained in his signature dead tone.


    "Okay. I understand. I guess. Gods say directness is key. What does this mean, though?" Zan asked, triggering a conversation with the Screen Master which made him feel like he was back in Winters''s military class at Hope-Ridge.


    At the end of the exchange, Zan learned Holy Laws covered general action in the world but did not prevent actions so as long as the actions would not lead to death. Should a False Action be attempted, in the air, would linger a sense of Falseness which reflected un-true social relations in knowledge and action. This ''falseness'' was like an existential marker.


    Or to sum it up: own the property properly, act in accordance with Law. Martial Orders might not deal with religious practice, yes, but they are governed under principles of Goodness opposed to Monstrosity. So, Martial Orders, according to the Screen Master, get ''grandfathered'' in when it comes to True Status issues.


    This did not bother Zan at all.


    "Rebuilding the Order means securing territory and ground. It means being respected. It means being our goals have not changed."


    "Well stated, Zan. Trouble is something you are wise to expect with the bunkers. Now that you are updated on the situation in the defensive perimeter, do you have any instructions for governance?"


    "Continue the policy of allowing in anyone we can support. Tax each one, whether through labor or funds. I will allow refuge for everyone but only to a point. Speaking of which, if we continue expanding the base''s capabilities, would it be possible to extend the defensive perimeter? And yes, I know! I remember the holy law stuff. Whatever -- but still, is it possible?" Zan asked, uncharacteristically angst-ridden.


    "Of course. To expand Center operations, you will not need any additional compliance with Holy Law. I can sense the outermost level of compliance a land and its people have to Holy Law. As a low-level Cosmic Being born of Human Intelligence, this is my providence."


    "How realistic is base expansion right now?" Zan asked.


    "Currently, base expansion is impossible. Labor and the means to fulfill the labor are not in-synch with the base''s demands. Holy and Martial specialists are required before base expansion can be planned," Simulacrum said.


    "So... how do I get the specialists?" Zan asked, fatigued already at the answer.


    "Through an attraction of talent and the petitioning of the local holy affairs council. Petitioning the council can begin right away. However, Martial Specialists will require reason to relocate to our location and provide the Order with labor. Would you like me to compose a brief message on your behalf? Should you encounter a local official, you can request the visitation in-person," the Screen Master asked.


    "Can''t you just send an echo-beetle carrying the message?" Zan asked of the Screen Master.


    "If that is your order, I will comply. I would advise against sending a beetle, however. We do not know if the beetle will make it back in one piece or even find its target--"


    "Okay. Fine. I will hand them the message myself, then," Zan asked, waiting for Simulacrum to create the message.


    The message ''printed'' out from a machine hidden away in the wall, so it looked as though a random part of the wall had suddenly spurted out a white piece of parchment, like the sole white hair on an aging man''s face. Zan took the message and stashed it in his satchel.


    "Cool. Very cool. I''m happy we got that super-serious stuff out of the way. I can see Jiehong and Whiskey have fallen asleep. Judging by their snoring," Zan said to the Screen Master, not realizing how bored the others must have become to fall asleep as they spoke.


    "Verily. In time, as you acclimate to your role as acting grandmaster, these decisions will come more naturally. You will even grow to like them."


    "Like making headachingly hard-inducing decisions? I doubt it. Still... long time overdue in finally bringing up representatives of the gods and throne," Zan told the Screen Master. His face flashed hot. Stress bubbled inside of him.


    "Long overdue? Considering the extreme and unpredictable nature of your situation, Zan, maybe not. It is not every day one attempts rebuilding an Order while staving off an invasion. Give yourself patience. You have come a long way in a very short time. Do not overextend yourself."


    Hearing the Screen Master''s warning against overtaxing himself brought Zan back to the ground. "I know. I need to go and rest so I don''t do that over-extending thing. I have something to ask you before I get my sleep: what can you tell me about the military situation? Mentality was unexpected... to say the least. What happened with his host? Can you pick them up using your echo-location sensing pings? Whatever?"


    "I sense only vague impressions upon the physic manifold. Knowing you would want an answer to this question, I diverted computing power to run simulations and provide an educated guess: after the airship crashed, Mentality''s automotron host dispersed into the countryside. I suspect many golems are lying in wait throughout the woods, waiting for regroup orders," Simulacrum said.


    Sighing, Zan said, "That''s not good. Is there anything we can do?"


    "Locate Mentality."

 Chapter 187

    BY THE WINDS OF FATE, the sight of a weathered Zan leaves the scene.


    Flopping as if by our ears, we leave through the ceiling of the command center. When we bounce onto the ground, no more are we with Zan and Company at their busy base, but back in time only a small time ago. Back to when the airship crashed.


    Last we left, Zan had pulled Mentality from the wreckage against Jiehong''s judgement. Then, Zan and Jiehong left Mentality where they pulled him, on the husk of the slain airship. Time passed. Hours. After Zan and Jiehong left him alone, he woke.


    Now, we see what Mentality endured.


    Or rather, what imperial engineer Rictus Dawson saw when he surveyed the wreckage under cover of night.


    "Endless night, stars so bright. Oh, where at thee, my lord-commander?" Rictus asked himself.


    Rictus searched the devastated landscape. With night''s shadows abounding, the wreckage was hard to search. It made his task more laborious than it ought to have been. He was under contract, though. His lord-commander was out there. Where he was, he would find him.


    "My lord? My lord?!" Rictus would yell. Though Rictus continued his search deep into the night, doubts about their safety wormed into his mind. ''He''s dead. Move on. Report to the general. He''s not your responsibility, he''s--'' but he would silence his nagging thoughts. He did so with a curt nail: "He''s only a kid. He needs help. Freak or no."


    With the grace of the gods on his side, Rictus eventually found the young master. He finished climbing up the shorn-in-half bow. Lopsided, the young man in the porcelain mask slumped. He stirred.


    "My lord? Can you see me? Are you awake?" Rictus asked.


    Rictus waited for an answer. He slowed even his haggard breath so he could hear a response.


    "...yes..." Mentality said, his urgency hardly a whisper.


    "Gods be thanked!" Rictus said, forming his hands and saying a brief prayer of thanks.


    Rictus looked over the youth. His mask remained on his face snugly. His uniform? It was torn to shreds. Rictus thought of how to heal the many gashes and odd lumps.


    "Hold still. I will heal you with what I have left," Rictus said, holding his hands over the young man, and releasing all of his magical reserve in the form of a healing aura. "I have no natural talent with healing incantations, but through my years of military-adjacent service, I learned. That should keep you," Rictus said as his boss''s young body reacted to the healing magics by mending the blade cuts and pulling all the joints into their proper sockets.


    More as a cough than a sentence, Mentality said, "That hurt," to an understanding Rictus.


    "I know it. Advanced healing magic can be disorienting. And painful, yeah. Healing only means flesh repair. Motivation boost, maybe. It doesn''t mean you will be feeling fantastic as your body repairs itself. That''s a whole ''other phenomena. You''re good, though. Take it easy," Rictus told the youth.


    Slowly, the boy got up. Supported by Rictus, with great effort, they worked their way down the shattered bow of the airship. "Hold on to me tight," Rictus told the youth. "Let''s rappel down nice and slow."


    Finally reaching the ground, Rictus saw how they both sweated and huffed. Mentality remained sore and needed a lot of help. Even basic movement in the dark and in such a demanding manner as descending from a piece of wreckage, took effort. Rictus pulling double-the-effort to ensure the boy got down safely.


    "Normally, I would say we should make camp here. Easily defendable position. Especially with your friends. Unfortunately, your buddies aren''t here. And I am no soldier. We can''t trust we will be safe in the night. We have to move," Rictus told the exhausted youth.


    "I understand," the youth said, coming up from his partially at-rest stance. "I can manage. Don''t worry about me."


    Although the youth put on a strong face, he had trouble moving his body. On many occasions over their travel, his foot slipped, and he fell, requiring Rictus''s aid. "There, you''re fine," Rictus would say, pulling the youth up.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "We are nearly to my encampment," Rictus said. "I built it on the margins of the border..."


    Mentality, however, was not listening to Rictus and his explanation.


    Rictus could not feel the pulsations. Mentality felt each push, every pull. Like ocean waves buffeting a shore. His mask heated, vibrated. Gave him pain...


    Then, Rictus and he left the ruins. The Wizard Towers behind them, they soon found the camp Rictus had made.


    "Did you not feel that?" Mentality asked.


    "I felt nothing. What did you feel?" Rictus asked.


    His boss could not answer. Rictus made up the camp. Intending on making for them a simple dinner, Mentality and he fell asleep right away.


    "Raise and shine, milord. We have a full day," Rictus said as he banged a piece of cookware to wake his client. Rictus made for them a simple but hearty breakfast of meats and potatoes. If they did not make it back to a secure location, however, the scant supplies Rictus brought with him would not last them long.


    For days, Rictus and Mentality walked the forested paths.


    "Sublime, isn''t it?" Rictus asked.


    "It is incredible," Mentality said, keeping to himself throughout the duration of the trek. Very typical for a boy his age, Rictus said, his client''s behavior reminding him of his own family''s dynamic.


    "It''s easy to see why the Expanse wants the Kingship. Endless trees. Young and full of vitality. They would integrate well into the Expanse super-network," Rictus told Mentality, talking of the super-organism which lived within the borders of the Expanse and expanded with each new conquest.


    Mentality only muttered half-baked responses. Rictus could tell the boy was distracted. He was tired of trying to engage his client on safe to speak topics. He went for broke and asked, "Is there something you would like to talk about? You''ve been very quiet. The airship crashing would spook anyone..."


    "Not really. I hold high standards for myself. I let folly take control of the situation. Folly and my own hubris," Mentality said.


    "You are hardly the first commander I''ve seen who makes mistakes. In the heat of battle, anyone can lead themselves astray. I know you don''t want to hear it, but you are only a child. Give yourself some slack."


    The youth said nothing more on that day of travel. Eyes ahead of them, the day filled with blending landscapes of meadow and forest.


    On the second day, Mentality helped with camp, despite the heavy travel and soreness of his body.


    On the third day, Mentality returned to foraging; squatting and rising and twisting still pained him, but he preserved through each touchy nerved jolt.


    "Ready for hunting, then?" Rictus asked on the third day''s evening.


    "I am," Mentality said, who took his bow in hand, and was ready to hunt, kill, gut, and carve. Rictus heard his heavy breathing, which belied his labored body trying its best to pull itself back together after the crash landing it endured. Not to mention Rictus''s healing aura which, although practiced, effected Mentality roughly, as if the spell had been cast by an amateur.


    Has to be because he is a Mutant, Rictus declared one evening to himself. Mutants have trouble healing.


    That night, they came back with a sizable game. Small but plump creatures rabbit-like in demeanor, but tasting of pork, it was hardly the best thing Rictus had eaten, but neither was it the worst. "We will be coming close to the contested zones. Once we cross into the conflict space, we will need to take it much slower. I pale to consider what our fates will be if the Kingship captures us," Rictus said.


    "We are not crossing into the combat zone," Mentality said.


    "What do you mean?" Rictus asked.


    "We are going to pursue the boy. And his friends. Our target..."


    Rictus could not understand Mentality. ''What was the boy thinking?!'' he asked himself many times on the weary road they traveled.


    "Sir! I demand an answer why you are displaying such reckless behavior. Come upon my knee! I will smack you like I do my own boy!" Rictus wanted to say to his client. Knowing most of his valor existed in keeping his mouth shut, Rictus bade his tongue silence. Irrational in the extreme! The boy is unwell...


    On the fifth travel day, Rictus accepted his lot. If his client felt his skills would be best utilized in pursuit of an opposing warrior, their faction, then who was he, a simple engineer, to disagree? "An adult," Rictus wanted to say of his innate ability to disagree, but he did not.


    "It has taken a long time, but we are here. What are your orders?" Rictus asked days later.


    Mentality looked over where they were. Back in the province of Valeim, they stood upon the same overlook as they had at the invasion''s beginning, overlooking the same center of operations. "We will wait and observe their people. Their departure. And then, we will follow."


    Rictus nodded. He had to hand it to the little lord -- they survived.


    Standing upon the same hill he had months ago, where the worst of his concern were the unusual behaviors of his client''s bodyguard, felt bizarre. Rictus endured a twinge of Deja-Vu shooting through his body. Except this time, he wasn''t endlessly starring through a telescope.


    Correcting his misfortune, Mentality ordered Rictus to "Stay put. Observe the base. Report to me any movement of vital personnel in or out. Understand?"


    Spoken too soon, Rictus drawled mentally as Mentality left the scene.


    What Mentality would do now Rictus did not know. The little lord entered a tent Rictus set-up and that was it. Snoring soon after, then total silence. Sleeping at last. Good. Leaves me time to do the things I love to do, like...


    Like, looking through a telescope.


    Not wanting to wake the little lord, Rictus groaned under his breath. "Sleep well, milord. For tonight, I will be contemplating why I ever thought this mission was a good idea." Resigned to his fate -- he was under contract still, after all -- Rictus uncapped the telescope and leaned into it.


    Nothing... nothing...


    Just the base.


    And his fate.

 Chapter 188

    Zan slept soundly. He guessed ten hours as a nice portion of the day had gone when he woke.


    Groggily waking, Zan found under his door a piece of paper with a mark on it. It only said one word, the one word which Zan could read: ''meet.''


    Right away, Zan knew it was from Jiehong. Flicking his earpiece, he spoke into it and said, "Confirmed. We will chat later, ''kay?" Moments later, Jie gave a confirmation. He remained resting in his room and said he didn''t want to be disturbed. Fair enough, Zan thought. We all had been through a lot.


    "Hey, chef," Zan called out as he sat upon a basement kitchen stool. The stool was cold and sent a shiver up Zan''s spine, waking him up.


    Chef Paul-Paul called to him and said, "Oh, hello, Zan! My, how long has it been! You look... well? No missing limbs, by the look. Maybe a missing emotion? One torn off by a monster? Oh! Tee-hee."


    Smiling, Zan told the chef, "I have my emotions in check. Heaven knows I feel them. Thank the gods! I am mostly hungry, though."


    "Which is why I made for you a huge stack of pancakes! It is so good knowing you are back for a little while. No one knew when you were coming back but because I wanted to make sure you had a meal whenever you wanted, I still cooked. Heavens. I wasted so much food while you were gone. I started giving it away to the others," the chef said.


    "That''s fine," Zan said, residual sleepiness creeping back into him now that the stool had warmed some with his butt.


    "Of course it''s fine, boo! Food should never be wasted. If you''re not around but still have a meal, then, yeah, others are going to eat! Get used to it, hun," the chef said but Zan did not care.


    "Yup, yeah!" Zan said, feeling only hunger.


    Before long, Paul-Paul set before him a large stack of pancakes. He slid over a pouring vessel filled with watered down syrup. Zan did not care if the syrup was watery. He was hungry and poured it over with abandon.


    Munching, swallowing, the syrup and bits coming from his mouth if he didn''t properly chew, Zan said, "Thanks -- so good!"


    "You''re welcome, boo," Paul-Paul said, continuing to cook up eggs and bacon. Chef removed from the icebox a container of fresh milk. Zan chugged the beverage with stereotypical teenage enthusiasm.


    Zan did not hear Chef Paul-Paul leave the room once his cooking was done. Though he had said, silently, "You remind me so much of my son, Zan. I hope the gods light the way."


    Wiping down his face after his meal, Zan placed his dishes into the sink. Normally, he would clean them himself, but he had more pressing concerns.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Luxley, Zan thought. It is time I go and get that location list.


    "Are you guys going to be fine if I head over and spend time with Luxley?" Zan asked the Wardens.


    Sigma-Prime chirped up. After not seeing Zan for so long, and because she had been charging for part of his return, she was not able to interact with him much, and so was eager to speak to him now. "We will be fine. Go and do what you need to do, Zan."


    "Neat. I wanted to check in just to be sure. I didn''t know if there was anything you needed help with before I left."


    "Thank you for your offer to help. As servants of the Order, we do not ever need help with tasks. However, if you want to take a more direct control over research and development, you can inform of us research priorities. Depending on your own skills and knowledge, you could hasten development by assisting us in resource acquisition," Sigma said.


    Zan chatted with the Wardens about resource acquisition. There was not much he could do to help research, however, as many of the components the Wardens required could only be obtained through barter or mining. Zan was no miner. Jiehong? Maybe, but Zan doubted even one as physically fit as Jie wouldn''t want to spend hours upon hours mining. Not unless they truly had need for it...


    "I need to get to Luxley," Zan said after settling for ''keeping his eyes open'' as his main means of contributing to Order trade networking.


    As ever, the Wardens did not fret Zan for being his age and position. "You will grow into your role," the Screen Master had said. This wasn''t a lie; Zan understood how he would grow into his role. Right now, with him doing nothing but playing defensive, ''growth'' seemed very far away.


    "Activating energy concentration," the Screen Master said once Zan entered the White Chamber.


    One, two, three... Zan counted down.


    White light filled the room. When Zan adjusted, he was in the Backroads.


    Same as ever, Zan thought of the ashen environment.


    ''Stay along the path,'' Zan heard the words of the Wardens. And he did. He kept along the path, not daring a glance, let alone a venture, outside of the pathway. Zan brought himself to Luxley''s pathway. Ahead, was the light cadence which he knew led to Luxley''s bedroom. He did not walk the path, though. Not yet.


    Instead, Zan spent a moment lingering on the path.


    He breathed in, then out. He breathed in deep. Then slowly released. Zan practiced. In and out. Many times, until calm stretched over him.


    Zan couldn''t explain it. Normally, hiking a trench in the Backroads put him off his game.


    This time, he was different. Zan was calm. Relaxed. He felt safe here. Away from the command center; out of sight of the Wardens; not even Luxley nor Jiehong could find him here. Not when the command center needed hours of time between energy transfers. For the time being, Zan rested, away from it all, away from everybody and the concerns of the world.


    "What is it?" Zan asked himself.


    "Is it the peace?" Other He replied. "Or maybe the fact no one can reach me?"


    Feeling like he could stay here forever as he pondered these and other questions, Zan lifted himself up and onto his feet. Peaceful though it might be, Zan had people to fight for, himself to protect. Zan could protect no one as long as he dawdled his time within interdimensional passages.


    Feeling refreshed in spirit, Zan strode his steps. As always, stopping short of crossing into the light, he stopped and listened. It is always on the threshold, Zan thought.


    Silence. What was he waiting for? He needed to see Luxley, he--


    Then he heard it.


    The voice. It called out to him: "You... are... me..."


    Zan stepped through the portal.

 Chapter 189 (Luxley - 5)

    WHEN ZAN STEPPED INTO HIS ROOM, Luxley had been busy engaged in self-amusement. He quickly buttoned up and dressed, and stood at a shaky attention, hoping his friend had seen nothing.


    "Luxley! Sorry about not waiting for your call but I had to check in--" Zan began to say. Luxley could not help himself -- he lunged and hugged Zan.


    "It''s fine. All fine! I''m happy you''re safe. I d-didn''t hear from you. I tried calling you so many times. W-what," Luxley stuttered out.


    Zan''s face lost color when Luxley mentioned how he had tried to contact him already. "You tried? I never heard your voice. I was out-of-range or something. I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to worry you over nothing."


    "I''m just relieved. When you didn''t reply, I thought, ''does he want to be friends with me still?'' Or things like ''was he killed.'' Obviously, it was just you being busy. With the war and all," Luxley said.


    "No. Super-busy. Oh, gods, what happened, the fancies which transpired. I wish I could tell you all about it. I think I have an enemy, now?" Zan said, his face emoting a range of notes in a brief time.


    "But you''re here for business," Luxley finished, already fishing for where he left Zan''s translated note.


    "Yeah. Sorry..."


    "It''s fine. Here it is. Your note," Luxley said, finding the note and handing it to Zan.


    "Wow!" Zan said, taking hand of and looking at the note.


    "It took me a long time, more than I thought to translate. Sorry about that," Luxley said, remembering how stressed he was when he spoke into the horn that day to tell Zan he would be wait on his work.


    "It''s all good. I was pretty busy with stuff on my end," Zan said. "We had time to spare. I can''t read, so I will assume this is a list of locations I can easily get to in my homeland. You don''t know my homeland, so I guess you wouldn''t know, either. Look at us. A pair of fools."


    "Speak for yourself, Luxley is no fool!" Luxley told Zan in good cheer.


    Looking around the room, Zan then asked Luxley, "Hey, why is your room so sparse? It used to have a lot more stuff..."


    "Yeah. Well, spring cleaning time. But also, I am moving out," Luxley said.


    "Stop the cart! You should have led with that, bro! What, when?!" Zan said, excited in a way Luxley had not seen before.


    "It is for schooling. Essentially... I am going to travel and study under some techy-mag engineers. To work on my boards. These things," Luxley told Zan, pointing at the boards, their circuitry, and a pile of tiny precious gems.


    Going over to his desk, Zan investigated the small pile. "It''s neat. I wouldn''t know the first thing to do..."


    "If I sat you down and made you study -- after teaching you how to read -- you would know what to do. You seem the tenacious type," Luxley said.


    "You think? Yeah. I guess I am," Zan replied.


    "How is this study going to affect us seeing each other?" Zan asked.


    "I don''t know," Luxley replied. "But I need to do this. We''ll just have to make do without each other for a while. Besides, we have the horn. I will update you more often about what''s happening in my life. Then, we will make time to speak to each other in private. Where only the concerns which matter between us will factor."


    "Sounds good to me," Zan said. "Shall we begin that policy now? I have a few minutes to spare..."


    "I never have enough time. So, I will take your spare moments and add them to my deficit. Let''s sit a spell and chat."


    Looking confused, Luxley explained to Zan how what he said was a ''turn-of-phrase,'' and how he wanted to talk.


    The boys could not catch up on everything. Zan told Luxley of his trials in the field, of the airship encounter after the battle at the villa, of Mentality, and his strange discoveries in the Wizard Tower. Luxley listened with rapt attention. Exploits such as Zan''s filled his head with wonder. There was a part of Luxley which hoped his own adventures would be as eventful. He was so tired of the palace life. He wanted something real.


    "And what about you?" Zan asked, once his war stories ended.


    "Me? I''m moving out soon. As I said... but it all feels like air next to you. I didn''t do anything, really. I kept to my studies with my tutors and made good with them. I placed words in my father''s well-to-do places. And now? I am finishing my packing. Below us in the castle courtyard my father''s men are busy attending the wagons which will form my convoy. My first tutor expects me in a fortnight," Luxley explained.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    For a while, Zan was contemplative. "Must be nice," he said.


    "It''s boring. Compared to war? Very quiet. You''re have too much quiet one day, Zan. I know it."


    "I hope so... I would like to spend all night with you puffing and having a good time. I should be getting this list back to my guys, though. I should leave, for sure," Zan said, already on his way back to the bed-portal.


    Stopping him before he stepped through, Luxley said, grabbing Zan by the arm, "Stay just a bit longer. I need someone."


    Zan turned to look at Luxley. "Okay. I''ll stay. For a bit! What did you have in mind?"


    Using the secret passages within the castle walls, Luxley and Zan sidestepped every servant and butler. "I don''t like using these tunnels, normally, but with so many servants about, it is the only way to move unseen. I don''t want to ask questions about why my Humanities tutor is skulking around when my father is heck-bent on me learning the hard sciences."


    "Would he go as far to ban me from the grounds?" Zan asked, moving a cobweb out from his way.


    "No... it''s just easier for me, is all. I don''t mind confrontation, but it gets old, fast. Things are fragile, here," Luxley explained while leading the way to a hidden cache.


    The duo came upon a part of the passageway not used for a long time. It was an intersection leading toward several directions with passages overclocked with distressingly large spiders. Luxley ignored the spiders, though felt as though Zan disliked their presence, so he took care to ensure the integrity of his personal space.


    "My cache is just under here," Luxley said. He loosened a stone tile and pulled from a hollowed-out space a tiny sack.


    "What''s in the sack?" Zan asked.


    "You''ll find out soon enough. Follow me. I''ll move the spider webs out of the way for you," Luxley said.


    Zan followed Luxley to a part of the castle away from the regular castle. Luxley pressed a stone at another intersection. With a rumble, part of the wall made a clicking sound. Luxley carefully pried at the wall, unlatching and pulling free a segment of heavy stone Zan helped him move.


    Luxley stepped through a small passage barely large enough for their still-maturing bodies. Zan followed with a couple stumbles to his record as he clambered through the opening. "Where are we?" Zan asked as they entered a room without a door.


    "We are in my favorite spot. My fort," Luxley said.


    Unlike the rest of the back passageways, Luxley''s Fort was a world its own. Heavily decorated with banners, pennants, and furniture, the enclosed space was like a splotch of color on a pure dark canvass.


    "I always wanted to take my friends here and just hang out. Now that I''m leaving, I won''t be able to. Not like it matters since I don''t have any friends..." Luxley said, settling into his oversized chair and covering himself with a blanket to help with the draft.


    "Hard to believe you don''t have any friends," Zan said, looking around the enclosed mini world.


    "Hand me that silver tray, please. Thank you. But yeah, it''s the truth. I wasn''t allowed to socialize with the local kids," Luxley said, as he emptied the little bag into the silver tray.


    Zan watched as flower buds clanged down onto the tray. Luxley got to work grinding the flower and building their roll-ups. Luxley passed Zan his clove-wrapped Medy-Em and said, "Smoke up. It''s great!"


    Smiling, Zan set the blunted cigar into his mouth. Seeing him look for a lighter, Luxley got up and crossed the distance in a heartbeat. "Sorry! Allow me, please," Luxley said as he removed the blunt-headed cigar and pressed it lightly against his own lips. Touching two fingers to the cigar''s end, Zan watched as a spark shot off, followed by the end lighting. Luxley took a drag, exhaled, and said, "Oh, yeah -- so good!"


    For a while, the two friends smoked. Silence prevailed as the crackle of burning paper met the incineration of a holy plant; exhaling followed; then the coughing.


    Finishing his smokable before Luxley, Zan looked to Luxley truly content. Though he did not expect Luxley to be so accommodating, once Zan''s first finished, Luxley made for him another. "Thanks, bro!" Zan said, already puffing away.


    "What''s that?" Zan asked. Luxley heard the sound, too. "Wind chimes? Or faded music. I could never tell. I don''t know where from where in the castle it comes from, but I''ve often shared my space with the sound as I sit here late in the night. It''s beautiful, don''t you agree?"


    Nodding, Zan''s grin turned dopey looking as he cracked up and started to giggle. "Are you looking forward to getting away from your father?" Zan suddenly asked.


    Not expecting the abrupt and serious question considering Zan''s state, Luxley told Zan the truth -- "Yeah. I hate it here. I can''t wait to leave."


    "I think it''s fine," Zan whispered, mostly as a joke.


    "You only say that because I''m here..." Luxley said.


    "Yeah, so?"


    Luxley swooned. For there was no other word for how his friendship fluttered when Zan so effortlessly confirmed how much he liked him. Never having friends until now, Luxley found the feeling which now bloomed in his heart to be wonderful. His hairs stood up.


    "Let''s get you back home," Luxley said to Zan.


    "Won''t your father be upset with you for smoking during the day?" Zan asked while they re-traced their steps to Luxley''s room.


    "Nah. Not since I resumed my techy-mag studies. Now, as long as my tutors give him good reports and I continue to show an interest, he looks the other way no matter what I do. I could probably get him to fire Miss Maggie Weathers if I asked him to!" Luxley said, laughing more hysterically than made sense.


    "That''s kewl... will you, though?" Zan asked as he crossed through and back into the bedroom.


    "No. I figure I won''t. That might rock the boat too much. I like smooth waves."


    Luxley hugged Zan once more in a brotherly way. "As I said, I will be on the horn more. We will keep each other updated, right? Right. Good. Be careful out there, Zan. I''ve overheard some bad things from military folk. Things are heating up in ways I don''t understand."


    "Is the war going bad?" Zan said, likely with hope.


    "I have no idea. I''ve overheard talk of grand constructions and the need for haste. People seemed worked up, but I don''t know over what, much less why. It''s the best I can do for you for the time being. If I hear anything else, I will let you know, okay?" Luxley said, truly wishing he could have done more for his friend than merely sharing some Medy-Em, giving him a translated list, and giving him a nice pat on the back.


    "I''ll look forward to it!" and in a flash, Zan vanished into thin air as the hidden portal above Luxley''s bed whisked him away to parts unknown.

 Chapter 190 (Luxley - 6)

    WITH ZAN GONE, time was again in Luxley''s hands. He resumed his activity prior to his arrival. Or would have if Gatson hadn''t invited himself into the room. His finger jolted from his lower end, and he turned to Gatson, sighing. "What do you want?" Luxley said.


    "Rude, young master. Rude... I am here to wish you a fair farewell. Considering your attitude, I might rethink my farewell and--" Gatson said.


    Luxley hardly listened. Without care for what Gatson was saying, Luxley told him how he would be missed. "You and Maggie are a pain, but I am in my father''s graces again. You and your shrew maid couldn''t interrupt me now if you tried!"


    Gatson, having been taken down a notch since their last encounter, merely said, "For true. You and your so-called ''tutor'' are up to no good. Is this truly my problem, though? Not after the verbal lashings your father gave me. If you want to be a disgrace, then so be it. Have fun galivanting about the country, you dollop!"


    Tossing to Luxley a tiny box, Luxley knew what it was: a small, customary gift royal tutors were expected to give their pupils at the end of their lessons.


    Luxley stashed the box in his desk''s drawer and removed his own gift which he tossed to Gatson with the same disregard Gatson had given him. "I hope you like it," Luxley commented.


    Snidely making a face, Gatson opened the box in front of Luxley, saying how he "Just couldn''t wait" to open it when he got back to his quarters. Luxley took note of his face when he saw the gift.


    "Gobsmack-sap earrings? Lovely, boy, just lovely..." Gatson said in a way which sounded, to Luxley, not as though he totally hated the earrings.


    Bowing, Gatson took his leave.


    Alone again, for the second time, Luxley did not attempt to finish the monkey business he had begun prior to Zan''s arrival. He would wait for the night.


    In the meantime, the effects of the Medy-Em still in his system, Luxley decided to help the movers pack up the wagons.


    Outside, high in the sky, the stars were gleaming. Inside, Luxley knew not of the stars and their burning gases, he only knew of the herb.


    By his lonesome once more, Luxley returned to his fort and puffed up a storm. The day''s stresses had gotten to him and so he needed quality alone time. Herb, hand, and heart was how Luxley would describe such emergency self-help periods.


    "All clean, now," Luxley said, removing his ''waste'' from his hands by giving them a thorough wash in one of the castle''s cleaning basins.


    He looked around his room. It was empty. Most of the furniture remained, sure, but it looked emptier than Luxley had ever seen it. Which made sense, considering he had never left home before now. He was taking with him only a fraction of his childhood''s items, but it seemed as though whole continents of his soul vanished from his universe, his bedroom chambers.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Luxley sat on the edge of his bed. He ruefully looked at where Zan vanished. How is it he can traverse... whatever all this is? Luxley wondered.


    His bed was bare except for the essentials. Blanket, pillow; everything Luxley helped carry to one of the wagons. The only item left was the sigil-stone above his bed.


    On a whim, Luxley removed from the wall the sigil-stone.


    Carefully removing it from the wall, Luxley placed it on his bedspread. An unremarkable thing, he thought. Luxley only wanted to examine the item out of boredom. Having now done so, he lost interest in it and walked to his desk to ruminate on the nature of his trade-to-be.


    On his desk Luxley had written the next steps. What he would need to soon achieve if he wanted to be successful in life. He liked keeping tabs on his actions, goals, and what he need to do in order to advance himself. He always had; except now, his ramblings weren''t idle dreams.


    So far, Luxley had written the steps he needed. Only a few steps so far.


    First, he would need to travel to and locate his tutors. He had big plans, so he would need more than one. Gatson had on his behalf, contacted the largest university in the land. He, Luxley, and his father had talked about his educational aspirations and how they would flow into his professional life. The head scribe hammered out a plan of action for Luxley, gave him the locations of tutors to help train him, and bade him forth onto the land.


    Which meant, his second point of action: he would study under each tutor and learn all they had to give him.


    Thirdly, once he learned their lessons, he would need to build a ''Proof of Knowledge,'' and earn his tutor''s signature on his diploma scroll. To complete his diploma and ''graduate,'' Luxley needed the sign-off of every tutor... and then some. The requirements of his program demanded extra-curricular studies to enhance his core knowledge. Luxley had an idea of how once he left the castle, his life would be non-stop busy.


    With so much before him, Luxley felt close to giving a resigned sigh. He held such emotional silliness inside of him, though.


    Luxley would have continued to entertain his immediate steps had not something from the corner of his eye catch on his glazed gaze. In the wall Luxley noticed a pattern. Between the stones and the simple shaded difference between the building materials, Luxley saw words.


    It was The Cursive...


    He had not seen The Cursive since his evening meal with father during Zan''s disastrous visit. It had returned. Why? What did it have to say?


    He focused his eyes to gleam the words in the pattern. Luxley slowly made out one word, "Sigil."


    Sigil? Luxley thought. As in, the sigil-stone on my bed?


    Humoring the supernatural occurrence, Luxley returned to his bed and examined the sigil-stone. It''s the same, Luxley noted.


    But was it? He picked it up and examined it thoroughly. Yes, the same...


    Fiddling with the sigil-stone, an old relic of the family which had been around for a long time, Luxley''s heart stuttered when the sigil fell and cracked against the floor.


    Crap--!


    Luxley bent down to gather the pieces. Among the shards, he spotted a glimmering rock he had not seen before. Plucking it from the rubble, Luxley felt the odd stone over in his hand. Palm-sized, it looked rather ordinary. Closer inspection revealed, however, it was anything but when a warm light shone out from inside. Faint carved patterns revealed themselves on its exterior. Luxley had no clue what any of this was or meant.


    Turning his neck back to the wall, Luxley sought to see if The Cursive had any additional help for him.


    It did not. The word was gone, the plain indent of building material visible as ever.


    By himself, then, in his confusing world, Luxley returned his attention to the stone and what it was. "What are you?" he asked it.


    Many minutes of investigation later concluded nothing he didn''t already know. Which was nothing. The stone was magic, in some way. But how, Luxley could not hope to answer. For the moment, he would keep the rock with him, for now.


    Luxley dropped the sigil-stone -- now reduced greatly in size -- into his personal leather backpack. I''ll figure you out later, Luxley thought. For the moment, he had his education to plan.

 Chapter 191 (Whiskeys Induction)

    SHADOWS BRUSHED AGAINST HIS LEG. Zan hurried through the Backroads. He wanted to dwell and sit alone for a while, but he couldn''t, not after overstaying at Luxley''s place.


    White. Zan was back in the White Chamber. He left and entered the war room. "Where is Jiehong?"


    "Oh, there you are!" Zan said, seeing Jiehong enter the war room from the basement door leading to the barracks.


    "I heard the chamber and felt its pulsations. I left my room the moment you were at the end of the hall. What timing!" Jiehong said, laughing.


    "Excellent. Jiehong. Everyone, I am back. I have with me a list of locations. My guy took a while, sure, but that is fine, right? We were busy. Being as we are, unbusy, finding these locations should be our top priority. Input? Wardens? Jiehong?" Zan asked.


    "I find issue with none of your direction," Jiehong said. "Our understanding of the war is limited. If we knew more information about what was happening, I might argue for closer integration with the Royal Army. Our last venture proved the Royal Army doesn''t know what is happening on the other end of the country than what we know is happening. I agree with you then, Zan. We have people to protect here. These bunkers are the best bet we have at establishing a defensive line."


    "Well said!" Screen Master Simulacrum spoke. "Both you and Zan have grown much in a short time. I know I said this before, but I do mean it. As an artificially made advisor of the Order, I praise only when it is duly valid. As an advisor, however, I do have a thought before we move forward with the next phase of activities."


    Receptive to discussion, Zan said, "Alright. Let me have it. What is your consul?"


    "Lately, you have come into possession of several new tools. Jiehong, this goes for you as well; through your use of the exo-suit, your extant Ranger-Knight tools have been enhanced. Although these behaviors denote how well both of you have grown into your roles as Shiv adherents, some time to train and gain proficiency in these tools would benefit you both in the long run," Simulacrum said.


    "I would be fine with training. But with who? Has a professional trainer sought refuge with us?" Zan asked.


    "Nothing of the sort. As you might have guessed with the creation of the Command Center System, the ''headset,'' as you like to call it, the command center is back to its former health. All internal systems have been repaired. Memory banks have been salvaged -- what could be salvaged -- while rudimentary fabrication services back and fully operational. Previously, we were having trouble meeting demand for grenade fabrication. Now, we will not need to worry about grenade fabrication even with Whiskey''s imminent ascension to our ranks. With the center''s full repair also comes the chance to delve into the center''s training videos."


    Listening to the Screen Master as Zan had listened to his guardians growing up, he understood what the Screen Master was saying: things were iffy before, but now they are keeping apace. Good.


    "Training videos? What is a video?" Jiehong asked.


    "My apologies. A ''video'' is a type of visual recording. It is like an image of people but moving and reproducing sound. Like an illustrated scroll set to music or ambience," Simulacrum explained.


    "Okay, so it is like you? We can interact with it?" Zan asked.


    "No," Simulacrum said, explaining the difference between a ''video'' and an entity like him, a Screen Master. Namely, that one was fixed (the video) while another was alive and incapable (he, a cosmic being).


    Finally understanding the concept of a pre-recorded video as being a static, uninterruptable entity, Zan said, "Yeah, I wouldn''t mind taking a look at some of those videos. You said they''re training manuals? If this last operation taught me anything, it is how little I know about the world. I want to get caught up."


    "Now that we know what a ''video'' is," Jiehong said, "When is Whiskey''s induction?"


    Coming forward with a jar containing a pink power-crystal suspended in goo and gunk, Sigma-Prime asked, "How about now?"


    Finding Whiskey outside helping orient some of the villagers taking refuge with the order, Zan asked if Whiskey felt like being formally inducted now.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Of course. That''s why we''re here, yeah? Let''s get this done," Whiskey said, finishing with an overly young (or old? For Zan could not tell) person who was in need of a fresh source of water. Entering the center alongside Zan, they walked down the curt staircase which led deeper into center and eventually the war room.


    "Hard to believe the first time we met you snuck in after stalking Jiehong and I. Now, you''re joining us. How time flies!" Zan reminisced.


    "It does fly. It was not so long ago, remember. Two, three months? When was the last time we consulted a Calander?" Whiskey said, laughing, though remaining serious enough.


    "There''s a day cycle chart in my room... the Wardens could probably tell us," Zan said, failing to understand Whiskey was only making small talk, making her in Zan''s mind, in need of a consultant to time.


    "That''s okay. Let''s get my induction done first," Whiskey said, smiling as a big sister would to her plucky younger brother.


    The two entered the war room and approached Sigma-Prime. "Whiskey. I am not sure how much you''ve had a chance to interact with the Wardens. Some, I guess, since they gave you the headset to give to me. But as a Ranger-Knight you will be seeing them a bunch more. Robot-lady is Sigma-Prime. Big-blue face is Screen Master Simulacrum. Say hi."


    Whiskey bowed, taking the formal route. Then she turned to Zan. "I know who they are. Thank you for introducing us. Let''s get this procedure done with. I have heard it is painful, right?" she said with a wink, letting Zan know she remembered when they talked about this back at Hope-Ridge.


    By now, Sigma-Prime joined the conversation and said, "The truth is, everyone experienced the ceremony differently. Women typically have an easier time with the ceremony than men. All of this is highly subjective, though. Some Order thinkers over the years have thought even weather plays a role. I do not recommend overthinking what your experience will be until you actually are experiencing the integration. Shall we begin? Please, stand over here."


    Whiskey followed Sigma-Prime''s instructions. She stood standing in an oval-shaped space directly before the Screen Master and inside of Sigma''s shapely desk lit up with buttons, levers, and keyboards denoting both numbers and letters.


    Sigma-Prime removed the power crystal from its goo-filled jar and brought it over to Whiskey. "Modestly lift your shirt so as to reveal your belly button."


    Complying, Whiskey tugged at her garment.


    "Now, take hold of the power crystal, and hold it to your stomach, with the edge of the crystal as close as it can be to your belly button. It will gently integrate with your body," Sigma-Prime directed.


    Zan watched alongside Jiehong in revered horror as Whiskey was about to undergo the same pain they had endured. A part of Zan wanted to reach out and say, ''on second thought, it''s not worth it. Thanks for coming!'' Wisely, Zan pushed against this impulse. We need every warrior, every person of note. We need legitimacy, authority, or else, we will fail.


    "Oh, gods," Whiskey said, removing her hands from her belly as the crystal started its slow descent into her like it had to them.


    Seeing her grimace as the worst of it was to begin, Zan said, "Hold on. It''s only going to get worse. It won''t put you to shock. Grit your teeth."


    Jiehong repeated the advice but in his own way: "I see how the pain is coming on. Look at it this way -- there is no stopping the process. So, you''re already one of us. Just gotta endure the pain a little while longer."


    Zan and Jiehong were with Whiskey throughout the whole of her ordeal. "So, you think we should give her some space?" Jiehong asked at the half-way point, when Whiskey was on the ground, clutching her side, imploring the gods for salvation."


    Not liking the idea, Zan said, "No. Staying shows solidarity." Louder than when he spoke to Jiehong, he shouted to Whiskey, "You''re doing well! The pain only gets a little worse!"


    "Oh, gods! Gods! It gets worse?!" Whiskey screamed, cried.


    Unfortunately, it, in fact, got worse.


    On their knees next to Whiskey, Zan and Jiehong spoke encouraging things to her while she seethed. "Your muscles feeling like lava is normal. As if that feeling when one tripped nerve causes another to go off and you feel like a spider-web of agony." Zan was saying to her while Jiehong attempted basic massaging of her thigh and arms to help with the spasms. "Also, no biggie if you mess yourself," Jiehong told her as she howled. "Once you''re fully integrated, a warm bath will take all the cuck out."


    Integration finally ended. Whiskey''s power crystal nestled deep within her stomach, no different than Zan or Jiehong''s own. Whiskey herself lay prone on the ground, hardly responsive except for grunts. Her face looked awful. Snot, tears, blood.


    "It''s over?" Whiskey managed to say.


    Simulacrum answered: "Yes. Your power crystal has successfully integrated with your body. Slowly, it will gain nutrients from your body along with spirit energy. Let me be the first to welcome you to the restored Shiv Order!"


    Zan clapped as did Jiehong. They said their own congratulations and gently patted Whiskey on her shoulders, asking if she wanted help standing help.


    "Thanks, you guys," Whiskey said. Accepting their help, she stood and leaned against part of Sigma''s desk.


    Much as how Zan and Jiehong had been after their own power crystal integration, Whiskey needed a moment to regain herself. "Okay. I am doing better. For as much agony as I was in, I am surprised I already feel back to my old self. Or almost back, anyway..."


    "It was like that for us as well," Jiehong said.


    "Now I know what you guys were talking about -- holy crappola! I never thought--! I thought I would only feel something that painful when I gave birth. It was ungodly."


    "It''s over now. Just the recovery is left. Jiehong. Could you help Whiskey and show her to the shared bath? I am sure she wants to get clean," Zan said.


    "Yes. Please do," Whiskey added. Sniffing herself, she said, "I reek."


    Jiehong helped Whiskey to the door. Doing so, he asked what Zan would do. "I am going to start on those ''videos'' and see what I can learn."

 Chapter 192 (Deveolpment: Achievements Unlocked)

    IN A BASEMENT ROOM, Zan sat behind one of the doors which rowed the hallway which led to the White Chamber.


    Following Sigma-Prime, Zan''s surprise at being led to one of the mysterious basement doors was cut short when he saw how all that lay beyond the door was an empty room with a sole desk in the center.


    "Is this it?" Zan asked.


    "It looks dusty," Sigma-Prime said, "but a quick cleaning and it will be as good as new."


    That ''quick'' cleaning came quicker than Zan anticipated. Sending her gears into overdrive, Sigma-Prime twirled her limbs, spinning them in wild motions which allowed her to ''power clean'' the small room in record time. Dusted, mopped, she did it all using her own body and the flow of a nearby spigot. "That will do it!" she said, stashing the mop and bucket into a nearby tool closet with a clutter.


    "Now, direct your attention to the front," Sigma-Prime told Zan as she touched part of the wall. Hitherto hidden, the wall opened to reveal a secret cabinet.


    "What are those?" Zan asked as he took his seat in the room''s center.


    "These are Memory Dials. Simply adjust the dial to the memory you want, hit this central most button in the dial, and up the memory will come," Sigma said.


    Zan asked how he would know what the dials represent. Sigma explained how the different images above the dials represented different training modules. Each notch on each dial represented different lessons in a shared unit of skills. Going clockwise, or to the right, as how Zan knew it, there seemed to be ten notches to a groove, ten notches per dial.


    "One-hundred lessons per unit," Sigma-Prime explained. "I encourage you to experiment with lessons. Once a lesson has been learned, you cannot re-watch said lesson without overriding authority from me. It is only how the machine works. It''s old and lacks a user-friendly interface. If you want to re-watch a lesson, let me know and I will come right down to re-set that module. Please note, until you turn the dial, you will be able to re-watch your current lesson as many times as you wish."


    A big question mark should''ve appeared over Zan''s head for all he knew about ''user-interfaces,'' but what he did understand was the ''one-hundred lessons'' part. "How long does each lesson take?" Zan asked.


    "Calculating--" Sigma said in a heavily artificial tone.


    "Calculation done. On average, each lesson takes ten minutes to complete. Estimated completion time for one module is approximately sixteen hours." Sigma-Prime explained.


    "...and how many modules are there?" Zan asked, unsure of if he really wanted the truth.


    "Currently, there are four distinct modules. One for combat, one for magic use, one for history, and one for general skills and knowledge. I recommend focusing on the combat module first. However, Zan, you are free to float and consume lessons as you see fit."


    Looking at the four modules, Zan was surprised there were not more. With how long it seemed to take the Wardens to repair the base''s ''memory banks,'' he would have thought there were dozens of training dials. Only four? That was doable. For now...


    "Okay. I will get to it, then, I guess," Zan told Sigma-Prime.


    "Wonderful! If you need any assistance, I am only a call away," Sigma replied before gently shuffling off, leaving Zan alone.


    Looking at the dials, Zan didn''t know where to begin. It was all overwhelming. Each dial had sixteen hours'' worth of lectures. There were four dials. Which meant, "sixty-four hours of content to watch." Zan said to himself. "Which doesn''t include breaks, meals, or general sleep. This is closer to a hundred hours. At least. And that''s assuming I grind out everything non-stop."


    Wrestling with what he should do, Zan settled on committing to the combat module. That was the dial Sigma-Prime suggested, and it was also what was, pragmatically, going to be the most useful to Zan at this stage in his training.


    "Let''s get this show on the road," Zan said as he stood before the sword and shield labeled dial and turned it exactly one-notch to the right. He slammed the center button. In response, a light show began.


    Zan rushed back to his desk. For a moment, it wobbled with the force of him rushing back. A close up of an old man''s face appeared before the front wall, not unlike the Screen Master''s oversized face, but less blue.


    "My name is Lord Commander Garul. I am here doing these... training videos? Is that what these are being called? Yes? Oh, good. I got it right," the face said. Zan wondered if the video was supposed to play like this. Zan understood the ''Face'' was talking to someone who had been in the room with him at the time of the recording. Thousands of years ago it might have been.


    Continuing, the Face, Lord Commander Garul spoke "If you are watching these videos, it means the Order is in a Critical Situation. There are no trainers around, the Wardens are busy, too busy running the systems to help with direct training... what else does it mean? Jerry, what other factors are going into who gets to watch these videos and when? Jerry?!"


    Distorting, the audio and visual quality of the projection degraded rapidly. Words suddenly gave out only to be replaced with fresh sentences. In time, Zan would learn this was called an ''edit.''


    Beginning for real, the face of Lord Commander Garul said, "Recruit! Look at me! The world is scary and eating you up. But if you''re watching this, it means you''ve survived. You have what it takes. If you''ve won the attention of the Wardens, then you truly are a comrade of mine!"


    Zan felt inside of him a rush of emotions. His tiny arm hairs stood on edge; his head felt lighter. Bliss, he felt at being praised, indirectly thought it may have been. Across eons and space, something connected them.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Every silver lining has a dark side, though," the voice went on to say. "You survived. Great for you. If you''re watching this, it means there are no actual trainers to help get the Order going again. You have an uphill battle ahead, yes, you do, I know. No one who didn''t want a life of hardship would be watching this. So, I say to you, whoever you are, thank you. Your service will not go unrewarded," a couple of tears streamed down Zan''s face.


    "But, with our busy work done, let''s be real. Whoever you are. Let''s get to these lessons. I cannot promise how, by the end, you will be a swift devastation machine capable of clearing out whole lines of wretched foes. No, that depends on factors out of our control. What I can promise you is this: follow my lessons and I will turn you into someone another person can depend upon. Now, unless you''re busy wiping away your tears and snot, let''s get down to business, shall we?"


    THE FIRST LESSON ENDED...


    "So ends our first lesson. Basic as though it be, master this elementary slashing motion and you will be well on your way to being a dependable guy the next time you''re out in the field. Over and out."


    And not a drop of sweat came from Zan''s brow.


    "Such a basic lesson," Zan told himself as the lesson ended. The face of the lord commander faded to indistinct static as black and white splotches spread where the commander''s face had been, only for the recording to end.


    Zan questioned what he should do next. Did he want to re-watch the lesson? That would mean another ten minutes.


    "I can spare the minutes," Zan told himself.


    Pressing the center dial as a button, the message played from the beginning. Zan ignored the introduction where the lord commander fumbled with his lines. Zan did the same with the following bit where he thanked whoever was watching the video. Listening to the lord commander speak, Zan felt foolish for the strong feelings he had let himself become drawn into the first time he watched the lesson. "Whoever this man is," Zan told himself, "He died a long time ago. Focus on the lessons, not the fluff!"


    Focusing on the core content, Zan dwelt on the practical demonstration bits of the recording.


    "Watch closely as I move my arm," the video belied.


    Trying his best to watch, Zan grew furstrated when the recording''s flow went too quickly to the next part of the video. "Stop!" Zan said. To his surprise, the video did stop.


    Confused, Zan sputtered on his feet, shocked at how his verbal command had stopped the video.


    At that time, Sigma-Prime walked in through the door to check on him. "You look distressed. Is something the matter?" She asked.


    Zan explained how the video stopped on his command.


    "That is by my hand," Zan. I apologize. Once the video plays, I can take direct control of the video based on your commands. I noticed you studying intent on the video''s demonstrations. It is possible to ''re-wind'' a part of the video," the Screen Master said, going on to explain to Zan what features such as pausing, rewinding, and fast-forwarding were; "It is just like stopping your reading of a book, or finding a place behind or ahead of your current reading position," Sigma-Prime summarized.


    Zan thanked them for their help. Leaving the room, Zan resumed his lesson once Sigma left. Using the new command controls, Zan put the features to good use as the first lesson, the second go around, did not end until well after its run time had ended.


    "I''m really sweating now," Zan said, talking to himself. He worked all night at the lessons. There was not a lesson he didn''t watch at least twice. Usually three times. On occasion, four.


    By evening''s end, the pompous tone which had begun to crawl into Zan''s tongue at the first lesson''s end was nowhere in sight. "W-wait, what''s this?" Zan reacted to a System notification. [Achievement Unlocked: Order Recruit].


    "What is this?" Zan asked himself.


    The headset voice which read to him the pop up''s words generated a question mark in the middle of his HUD, empty for but the vague suggestion of darker colors at the edge of his vision marking where the System held its meta-information. He focused on the question mark to ''activate'' it.


    The system voice read a new notification: "[Achievements: an experimental feature meant to gauge and promote user attentiveness to power levels.]"


    Expanding his consciousness just to the point where all the information on his HUD came alive, a new icon came into being. It looked in the shape of a trophy with a star emblazoned in its middle. Zan barely knew what a trophy was, and only because travelers told him of great competitions in far flung places where men of strength and women of beauty are judged.


    He focused on this icon, wiping what he saw, bringing his gaze to a new HUD articulation.


    Focusing on the HUD articulation, he asked the Screen Master, "Hey, what are these ''achievement'' things?"


    Seeing rows upon rows of question marks, each question mark denoting an achievement locked, Zan heard the Screen Master''s reply. "Connected as you are back in the command center, I took the liberty of updating your Command Center System. I had intended on rushing this feature, so it unlocked upon initialization. The project''s demands and scope prevented such a reality, unfortunately. Achievements are exactly what the headset''s informational code has explained: they are nothing more than carrots encouraging growth."


    "Carrots?" Zan asked, unaware of the turn-of-phrase. The Screen Master explained how carrots were used as rewards to keep certain beasts of burden moving.


    "I get it. I think..." Zan said, looking at the achievements he had since unlocked, albeit retroactively. "It''s like, little nudges to encourage my growth as the Order grandmaster?"


    "Precisely." Simulacrum said, Zan''s vision taking in his accomplishments.


    Zan saw achievements for destroying a single automotron; reaching qualifications for using Order gear such as equipment; and even a couple of goofy achievements for ''discovering'' the command center, even though that didn''t make sense considering back then, he wasn''t even a soldier, let alone an Order participant.


    "Wow. I''ve done a lot," Zan said.


    The Screen Master replied, "You have, Zan. Take pride in your warrior''s code. As with every other feature of the headset, remember, the ''achievements'' here are only represented to your needs and potentials. They do not represent only your objective needs. No universal truth is to be found in them beyond using them as a tool to advance your skills."


    "Yes, yes, I know, Simulacrum. I do always remember... I have a fair number. I want to look them over. Thank you for your help."


    Simulacrum said he understood and ended the conversation there.


    Zan scanned the rows of achievements: he saw tiny trophy icons representing accomplishment from ''device created: power bike'' to even ''Whiskey: First Recruit.'' His real interest remained in the achievements yet to be unlocked.


    He saw icons for ''reaching power level 100'' and ''declare autonomy.''


    Not knowing what the latter achievement was all about, Zan did know about power levels: glancing down to the corner, he saw Whiskey''s power level had doubled. From five to ten. ''Must be from joining us and integrating with her power crystal?'' Zan guessed.


    Jiehong''s power level had increased to twelve. Zan''s own was at seventeen.


    "I guess that reach level one-hundred achievement won''t be mine anytime soon," Zan thought.


    After seeing the achievement for ''complete first video tutorial,'' Zan dismissed the HUD screen. He returned to his video lessons and hoped with every lesson completed, he would gain more knowledge, more power. Glancing at a yet-to-be-unlocked trophy ("Become True Grandmaster"), he knew he was blessed. For he had fortune in how he had access to all the tools he needed to make himself into a force to be revered, feared (by the unwell), and above all, respected.


    "I''m going to do it," Zan promised himself. "I am going to become the grandmaster of this Order -- for real!

 Chapter 193

    "You look... stronger," Jiehong said to Zan once he walked close to, he and Whiskey. They were outside, training, going through some basic physical exercises when Zan found them.


    "Yeah," Zan replied, his skin slick with sweat, his war-gear traded in for the softer practice sweatsuit. "I''ve been watching those lessons. Surprisingly physical. Once I remembered you wanted to talk to me, I couldn''t focus on my video lessons. So, here I am, what did you want to talk to me about? We should also, soon, go over our translated list. Start planning for an expedition to each location."


    "I agree. What I wanted to talk about is, well... I met my parents over our time in Hope-Ridge," Jiehong said.


    "Our parents were in Hope-Ridge? When -- why?" Zan stuttered, Jiehong didn''t know what caught Zan''s tongue about the parental visit, but he had guesses.


    "Yeah. It wasn''t a planned meeting or anything. I ran into them by accident just as I was passing through the wealthier part of town. I was going to a Sunstar-oriented eatery. I happened to pop-into them. I won''t keep you in suspense. We have a very lovely conversation. They were very eager to help us. They directly told me I need to help you..."


    Zan''s face betrayed his confusion by showing his discord. "B-but... they didn''t want to see me? Do they really not care about me?"


    "Things are just weird right now. I don''t know what it is with them. They''re one way for a while then they shift like the tide and come to an entirely different shore, you know what I mean? They asked me to continue helping you. And they wanted us to ask for help in the future. That''s something, Zan," Jiehong explained.


    "You''re right. That is something. I only wanted more, I guess," Zan replied.


    "I know. We all want more. What we have now is the best we''re going to get, so we should make the best of it," Jiehong said, clasping his half-brother''s shoulders in solidarity.


    "Okay, so, how do they want to help us?" Zan asked.


    Jiehong explained how they were eager to become pillars of support for them and their Order.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "Considering the last time, I saw them we angrily went our own ways, what do you think brought this change of heart?" Zan asked.


    "I have no clue. I honestly don''t, Zan. Our parents have always been fickle. You know what I mean. Remember all the times as kids where they wobbled on letting us do things because one of them at a great idea at the last minute? All I know is this: they left that bunker because it wasn''t rich enough for them and now, they are moving to bigger places and where more important coins do the walking-and-talking."


    "Sounds like them," Zan said, considering Jiehong''s words. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Can you do me a solid and take a look at the translated list, see where the locations are?"


    "Sure thing, give it here," Jiehong said. "At our last meeting, the topic got away from us in all the discussion of bunkers and holy law. Yeesh. I knew about the ''no killing'' law but nothing about this ''True Status'' law. How many darn holy laws are there?! Let me see the list."


    Zan gave Jiehong the list.


    "Your contact did good work. Not everyone could have taken that old tongue script and turned it into something legible. Whoa!"


    "That good, huh?" Zan said.


    "Yep. Your man is listing some locations which are coming to my mind; what he translated roughly gives a description of the land where the bunker is located. This makes sense, yeah? Whatever settlement was there long ago and whatever that settlement was called, it clearly no longer exists. Good for whoever it was who put this list together for thinking of long-term geographical change," Jiehong said, raving a little too much.


    "What does it mean for us? Do you think we will be able to find these places with our current tools and knowledge?" Zan asked, getting their topic on track.


    "I have no idea, Zan. We have descriptions of the areas in question. But that is it. We will need to find a Naturalist if we have any chance at finding these places."


    "Does the list say what the old locations names were?"


    "No. If the old names were in the original description, they could not be translated. Either because you source lacked the talent or because there was nothing in the original script to begin with. We will need to find a local scout of the land. These descriptions make it clear what we are looking for is rural. We could do worse than asking the old timers if they''ve encountered anything which matches our description," Jiehong said, finishing what he had to say.


    Zan''s face lit up. "That''s a good idea, Jie. Do you want to take point on this?"


    "Actually, perhaps Whiskey should? Well, really, all three of us can do this. We all can ask the older fellas questions. Whiskey. Is this agreeable to you?"


    Whiskey, who listened with great patience across the whole exchange, said, "Of course. I am an easy talker. I can clean up and then start out and probe the locals. Jiehong could accompany me to Thundervale and the nearby sites."


    With their next moves planned out, Zan bide them farewell, as he returned to his basement room, where the glowing sizzle of holographic projection became his friend deep into the night.

 Chapter 194

    "Let me get cleaned up and some basic supplies. Then I will be ready," Jiehong told Whiskey. He didn''t like going on an Order mission with the previous day and mission''s grim still sticky to his flesh.


    Jiehong and Whiskey cleaned themselves up from the day''s activities and changed into their combat gear. Restocked on grenades, Jiehong informed Whiskey on how grenades functioned. She learned it all quickly, saying, "I get it. Pull pin, throw, don''t throw yourself upon it unless you want to be a bubble which bursts."


    First, the two of them hit the many people thronged into the command center''s defensive perimeter. Jiehong did not want to go straight to Thundervale without first talking to the people they had spent their life with and among.


    Skipping the young people, his friends who were not Zan, and those too old to make sense, Jiehong talked to the older crowd and encouraged Whiskey to do the same. "Anyone our age isn''t going to be useful," he said.


    A couple of hours passed. Although no shortage of people wanted to talk with them, no one seemed to have anything noteworthy to say.


    An elderly fellow who Jiehong thought had fought alongside Zan when their village first came under attack came to speak to him. "Sorry sir, I think I am packing it in for the night."


    "Oh, you sure? You lads are always so quick to pack it in. One more talky?" the man said.


    Stifling his moans, Jiehong waved the man to sit.


    "I am going to read you several descriptions. If any of the descriptions match locations you have visited, let us know. Okay, I will begin:" Jiehong said, then going into a protracted speaking role made much shorter than when he began the interviews through sheer force of repetition.


    "Hmmmm..." the old man said. "Honestly, the descriptions are so generic. I don''t see how any of them could be helpful."


    "What do you mean generic? I thought there was a lot of detail. Too much, maybe," Jiehong said.


    "That''s only because you haven''t been properly educated. Those descriptions lack vibrancy. I mean, what does a ''cool glade above a sheet of water'' even mean? A puddle, pond, lake? Or maybe an ocean? And ''dodgy crags''? That could be anything with more than five rocks... hmmm," the man said.


    Not knowing what to say, Jiehong replied with a generic cover. "How about you think it over and let us know if you think of anything?"Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The man took to the idea with splendor. "Lovely. I will do so. Read me the descriptions one more time."


    Doing as requested, Jiehong re-read the descriptions one more time. Then he sent the man on his way.


    Re-uniting with Whiskey, Jiehong could tell how defeated he sounded when he said, "I really thought at least one person would have a lead for us."


    Whiskey did not stutter. "It is only a mild setback," she said. "Come on. Let''s continue on to Thundervale. Ask around the taverns. Lots of refugees are about. One of them could have the information we seek."


    Whiskey and Jiehong departed for Thundervale.


    Before departure, Jiehong asked Sigma-Prime for Whiskey''s Power Bike, so she might have it on her in case of separation from her horse. Whiskey thanked the Wardens for entrusting her with such technology. "I appreciate it. I will be using my horse as my primary means of transportation. This bike will be a reliable backup, I can tell. Thank you." Whiskey then took a half-bow.


    The Wardens sent them on their way with pep in their step. "Think nothing of it," Sigma-Prime said. "We give these tools and resources freely to everyone who upholds the Order and is a front-line fighter."


    The duo made it to Thundervale without an issue. Making as good time as they did, they still only arrived at the town at sunset.


    "Ready to spend all night talking to people and pretending like we enjoy listening to their drunken sputtering?" Jiehong asked.


    "I have a large family. I am used to drunk butts and jerks. Let''s get it over with," Whiskey said.


    Jiehong playfully said, "I bet you weren''t expecting a pub crawl as your first Order mission."


    Whiskey rolled her eyes, though, and entered the nearest tavern without saying a word to Jiehong. Jiehong could tell she liked his gentle joking.


    Hours more passed. The two young Martial Students conversed with many meanies, rude fellows, loud and confused hotheads, and even several sad sacks. None of impressive array of personalities had anything of value to tell them, unfortunately.


    "Okay. Let''s call it here. Get a room or camp outside?" Jiehong said.


    "How about we join the rebel encampment outside?" Whiskey asked.


    "Rebel encampment? I didn''t see any," Jiehong said.


    "There is a small one. On the other end of the town. I am not sure who their leader is but they must''ve sprung up recently. Making ourselves known to them would at least give us an idea of who they are and what their goals are," Whiskey argued.


    "I don''t like this idea, Whiskey. When Zan and I first found our way to Thundervale, they were suspicious enough of us to arrest us. Since then, we''ve earned some respect among the guards and soldiers there because of our valiantly fighting alongside Colonel Winters. Being seen with these rebels could endanger that respect..."


    "I understand your point. Out of respect for my newness in your organization, I won''t fight you on this. I will be coming back here tomorrow, though. I need to satiate my own curiosity if nothing else."


    Thinking, Jiehong imagined Whiskey coming back here alone and covertly handling pro-rebel issues. He didn''t want that; or thought he should at least be there for the initial contact so as to judge Whiskey''s genuine response, her real first impression of these new rebels, not some half-baked face she put on to lie about her involvement.


    "Compromise?" Jiehong said. "We visit the new rebels, see what they are all about, and then find an inn?"


    "Deal."

 Chapter 195

    WHILE JIEHONG AND WHISKEY scouted Thundervale for knowledge, Zan was hard at work on his tutorials.


    "Ugh," Zan groaned. "So. Many. Details!"


    The first module on the dial had been easy. He used all the fancy features of the video message relay system and did not dare advance without having known everything about the lesson. Yet, the lessons were not merely informational. To them, each lesson had a demonstrative element. Zan did not know how it worked, but the crystal projection means which displayed the instructor''s face could also, at certain points, scan the room and judge Zan''s martial style, comparing it to what was displayed on the screen.


    "Your grade is Adequate," the instructor''s pre-recorded voice said.


    "Gah!" Zan shouted. He had been at it all night. He was near the end of the third module for the combat dial when he felt like giving up.


    "Zan!" the Screen Master''s voice came through some hidden speakers.


    Needing to be told several more times before he acknowledged his name, Zan shouted out, "What? Screen Master, what?!"


    "Although I know your System is alerting you to your lowered stamina levels, I must warn you to take a break. You are becoming frustrated and wasteful," the Screen Master said.


    "I know!" Zan said, his anger suddenly getting the better of him.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "I know," he said, but much more quietly.


    "The rankings at the end of each lesson should not be so adhered to you are sacrificing your happiness to obtain them. You must study and train smartly. In a way which works with your body and spirit, not against it."


    Simulacrum was right, Zan knew. He had been pushing himself. He was getting tunnel vision. Even so... was not his cause worthy of overcommitting himself? For at least a while. "You''re right. I am going to take a break then get back at it," Zan replied.


    The Screen Master ended the conversation there and gave Zan some peace.


    Sitting slumped against the back of his chair, Zan admired the pure black walls. He wished there was a window down here, though, something to look through and admire between bouts of self-improvement.


    "What should I do now?" Zan asked himself.


    Remembering the sack of marbles on his person, Zan considered something radical. "Should I begin my rites? I have to interview a hundred people about their relationship to the Gods... I probably don''t want to put that off."


    Knowing that thinking to himself wasn''t going to get him anywhere, Zan walked out of the training room. He cleaned himself off in the shower, grabbed a bite, and went outside. "Get your breathing exercises done. Good Zan," Zan praised himself like a dog.


    The evening air swept Zan''s brow. He released his breath and felt better. He took a sip of coffee from a container Sigma-Prime had described as a ''thermos.'' It kept his tea warm despite the elements. Zan considered its functionality neat.


    "I was getting myself worked up. I should thank the Screen Master for intervening and telling me to calm down," Zan thought to himself while the wind continued to gently batter him. Looking up, the bodies of gargantuan gods, which seemed, to Zan, as little more than stars themselves, glimmered as they bathed in the passing moonlight.


    "Okay. Time to get back at it," Zan said, finishing his tea and returning to the training chamber.

 Chapter 196

    Jiehong and Whiskey walked to the other side of the city walls. It did not take them long to find the rebel outfit.


    "Greetings," Whiskey said, approaching.


    "Whiskey. That you?" the rebel said.


    "Indeed. It is I, Whiskey... who are you? And come forward. I can''t see you in the dark. Pull yourself to your fire and your comrade," Whiskey replied.


    The rebel did as instructed; the man came forward and pulled down his hood. The flames of their pit revealed him as... someone. Someone Jiehong did not know. Should I know this person? He thought.


    "Ming? Cato?" Whiskey asked.


    "The same," Mind replied.


    The memory struck Jiehong. Ming was one of the rebels who saved their hindsides months ago when Zan and he rescued Whiskey''s village from the labor camp.


    "What are you doing here?" Whiskey asked.


    "I am taking the lead for operations in this province. We are having trouble expanding to certain troubled provinces and our leaders want me to take lead and hopefully make some headway," Ming explained.


    "I understand. What an honor!"


    "An honor for sure. What are you doing here? I thought you were to be at Hope-Ridge?" Ming asked.


    "No... uh, about that. I am actually turning myself out. I think by focusing with a Martial Order -- these Shiv guys -- I will be able to grow more. I plan on leaving the right way, though, and buy out my contract," Whiskey replied.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Ming''s face looked crestfallen. "But you were so good with us, Whiskey. So good... you could have taken my position. My old one, I mean. Have you given your papers, yet? I can lobby for you. It''s not too late!"


    "No! I mean, no... it is too late, Ming. This is the best route for me. I want you to know this one thing, though: I remain a rebel at heart. Just because I have left the fold does not mean I have left the struggle." Whiskey sat by the fire. Jiehong stood behind her, acting as the muscle.


    "Too bad. You could have been great -- I want to ask you something, though. Would you fancy a meal with me sometime?" Ming said, surprising Jiehong.


    "If the meal is romantic, then no. I am not interested in love on the battlefield, Ming. I''m sorry. If it is for friendship, then I will accept."


    "It is for friendship... but perhaps we should wait."


    "I think that would be best," Jiehong said.


    Weighing into the discussion for the first time, Ming''s fellow rebel spoke up. "So... since Whiskey is leaving, and you, Ming, are the foremost official for the rebellion, shall we take your paper and out-payment?"


    Jiehong knew very little of what any of this meant. ''Out-payment'' he guessed was likely the ''leaving the official way.'' Buying out her contract. Why Ming was being so coy with his intentions, though, was beyond Jiehong''s understanding. Did he have a crush on her? Did they have history?


    "Normally, I would take you up on your offer, but I would like to do this myself," Whiskey told the other rebel.


    "Up to you," the man said. "Keep in mind there is a curtsey rule. Extra-fines for those who don''t get their papers in on time."


    Whiskey waved the man away saying she understood. "Shop talking?" Whiskey asked.


    Ming did not want to talk shop. "Seeing as how you aren''t among us anymore, perhaps it would be best if official rebel matters are not discussed."


    "Unnecessary," the other rebel said.


    "Perhaps!" Whiskey said. "If Ming feels better with only allowing those official members of the rebellion to know of general information, that is his prerogative. Information keeping is something played close to the chest. I respect it. I will depart. Maybe during the day we will have another, more fruitful exchange. Evening, gentlemen," Whiskey told them and then turned to leave the campfire.


    On the way back to town, Jiehong asked, "What was that all about?"


    Whiskey sighed. Groaned. Rubbed her forehead. "Heaven if I know!"

 Chapter 197

    OUR HEROES SPENT THE NIGHT IN THEIR OWN WAY. Zan bled the midnight oil. He consumed lectures between bouts of tea breaks nestled in the cooling evening air. Jiehong and Whiskey went straight to an inn and slept the night away.


    Coming up from a modest rest, Zan awoke early in the morning to the same black, grey-ish ceiling as ever in his room. "Gotta get back at it," Zan told himself.


    Back in the tutorial chamber, Zan picked up where he left off. He pressed the dial and the lesson he last watched repeated. "One more time," was all he could say as the lesson began.


    Up till now, Zan''s progress had been steady. The first couple of modules had been basic. How to stretch and such things like basic defensive and offensive postures. Despite his ignorance, Zan learned quickly. None of the material so far, objectively speaking, was difficult.


    Finishing the lesson and receiving the passing score he so craved, that lesson''s conclusion finished off the unit. "On to the next unit. Where more and more difficult material will press its luck to me." Zan smiled. He felt good.


    Starting up the next lesson, the Lord Commander''s face appeared. He said, "Now''s the time. We''re getting real. User! Don''t expect this to be easy!"


    Commanding Zan''s attention, the Lord Commander now had all of Zan''s sway.


    Continuing, the hologram spoke: "This unit will be all about how to move your body. Then we will begin how we can use magic to move our bodies. How magic can be used to augment our bodies and what the pros and cons of doing so are. Let''s get right into it, shall we?"


    Going into the lesson, Zan thought it would be easy, despite the warnings of the lord commander. It was not easy.


    "Our first exercise: crouch into a kneeling position," the voice said and Zan obeyed. "Now, place your left hand on your knee. A question: can you grab at and withdraw your weapon? Hold onto your answer. Now, switch knees. Place your right hand on your knee. Same question. Can you reach and withdraw your weapon? If you cannot, then this is a truth for you -- you need to find a new place on your body to grab your sword, mace, whatever. If you can withdraw your weapon on one knee but not the other, then this opens up tactical issues you will need to rectify or keep in mind while confronting the enemy. My real purpose in bringing you to this position is about neither knee. My concern is this: from a compromised position, how does your body move? How easily can you withdraw your weapon? Bring up your shield? If you are the basic recruit I think you are, and using only standard issue Order equipment, your situation right now is compromised. Therefore, how do you compensate? This is the topic of our unit."


    The Lord Commander''s lessons pushed Zan in a way he had never been tested. Fighting against the automotrons had pushed him in many ways -- physical endurance, psychologically, especially, emotionally. These lessons? They pushed him in delicate, almost technical ways, like he was a student of a proper martial order or even a dojo.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    At lesson''s end, Zan moved his body in ways he never considered possible. "Have I always been this flexible?" He related to and felt his body; how his muscles moved, how his fingers worked together to perform even simple actions. "I feel..." Zan searched for the word. How did he feel? He settled on wise.


    "You look calm," Sigma-Prime said, walking into the room.


    "Nah. Just tired," Zan said, not even thinking of what he said.


    "Hard not to panic. Although I am only a machine, I have lived for a very long time. I have seen generations of Ranger-Knights fly into battle to protect and advance Goodness. Not all of them return. These ''automotrons'' you face, Zan, have means to hurt you; you never know when an attack could be launched. It is normal to feel a degree of panic. Who wouldn''t?"


    Sigma-Prime''s words caused Zan to feel seen. "Yeah. Absolutely, Sigma. I have a better handle on it now than when the war began. I hid it pretty well, but I was panicking the whole time."


    "Amazing! All that a simple stretching and muscle knowledge exercise can do!"


    JIEHONG AND WHISKEY departed Thundervale once the sun cracked. They returned to the Command Center with haste and walked in to immediately find themselves bombarded with words from the old man from whence before they left.


    "I asked around. Most people were not impressed with me asking them about nature. Maybe they hate it? I don''t know. ANYWAYS, a few of the older refugees from around here have said several of the descriptions ring bells of small settlements they have visited. I pressed them for more information. And they gave me details. I jotted those details down. Here you go, youngster," the man said to a weary Jiehong who had just hopped off his bike when the man began to pester.


    Taking the list from the old man and reading it, Jiehong saw paragraphs of travel directions. He asked the old man for his name.


    "Me? I must''ve told you a dozen times, boy! You grew up only on the other side of the village! Yeesh, young''uns! Dix Dave is the name."


    "Nice to meet you, Dave. And I am sorry about not remembering your name. In my defense, my parents never interacted with you much," Jiehong said.


    "Aye. But think nothing of it. I know how your parents are," Dix said.


    Jiehong thanked Dix Dave and told him they would follow up on each location. Dix left to sit down near his firepit, where his help was needed as one of the informally elected officials.


    Heading inside the Command Center, Jiehong waited until they were out of earshot to speak. "Odd fellow. I genuinely do not remember him growing up. Childhood, huh?"


    "Children can be self-absorbed. I''m working to be less self-absorbed. It is a life-long process. Let me see the piece of paper he gave you," Whiskey asked.


    Jiehong handed the paper shred over. Whiskey read. "Huh... let''s compare with the translated piece we have..."


    Jiehong and Whiskey compared the pieces, trying to find if the directions on the paper Dix handed to them might match any of the superficial elements of the bunker location descriptions. It was a vague mental task. "We''re grasping at straws. Directions to a place isn''t the same as what and where the place is!" Jiehong said, tired.


    At that moment Zan came from the basement door. "Back? Awesome. Any luck in Thundervale?"


    "No," Whiskey said. "We did have some luck when we returned. Do you know a villager named Dix Dave? An older guy? Well, he asked around the older folk if they knew of any places which matched the description your contact gave us. A few people thought they did. Dix got their information and wrote us directions to where these villages might be. It still isn''t a lot to go on, but it is pointing us in the right direction."


    Jiehong saw Zan''s face register shock. But the happy kind. "Wow! What you don''t realize is right under your nose. I will need to thank this Dix." Zan told his friends.


    "So, what are our orders, boss?" Whiskey asked.

 Chapter 198

    ZAN CONSIDERED. Whiskey had asked him what their orders were. "What is our next move, indeed?" Zan questioned.


    Switching to aloud thinking, Zan told the group, "We have to stop Mentality. Otherwise, he could overwhelm us and the region. But... we have no idea where he is or even if he is capable of activating that golem-army-in-hiding. Then, we have these bunkers. Can we do both at once?"


    Jiehong was the first to speak. "No. We can''t do both. I saw we locate the bunkers. It feels like we have done and catered to everyone except ourselves, lately. If this bunker system is as MAC said, and capable of defending the whole province against enemy attack, then now is the time to strike. We have to secure those bunkers. We''ll deal with that Mentality guy later."


    Whiskey argued a few points in favor of hunting Mentality. Zan thought Whiskey was arguing more for the sake of thinking a problem fully through though and less because she truly believed they should hunt Mentality first, then locate those bunkers.


    "You both make good points. I concede. We will pursue the bunkers," Whiskey said.


    "It seems we are in agreement, then," Zan said, twenty minutes having passed since Jiehong and Whiskey returned.


    Zan paused and looked to both of his friends and Order fellows. "I can see you''re tuckered from your travel. Let''s rest. Fill our bellies. Then resume our march."


    WITH HIS FRIENDS EATING and cleaning their bodies, Zan waited outside for them while smoking on some Medy-Em, the medicinal herb which helped with minor aches and pains while elevating mood and psychology. He loved puffing away on Medy-Em and its many strains. Rarely, though, did Zan have a chance to partake. With Jiehong as a friend and brother, and with the war enabling their travel, acquisition of the plant became easier.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "Why?" Zan asked himself. He had no answer to why war forced itself on his life. He could only fight and live another day. One day at a time.


    "But I can choose to do more," Zan told himself. "Look at Whiskey. Joining us after deciding a Martial Order would be better for her than a rebel outfit. Even a ragtag group like mine. Then Jiehong. Joining Praline like that. What an honor for him. And me and my religious trip. We''re all growing. We''ll all changing..."


    Although the notion of changing and drifting away from people put a sad shade into Zan''s insides, the feeling was temporary. "Change is good," Zan reminded himself, mouthed, as he waited for Whiskey and Jiehong. People who weren''t only his friends but were more than friends. "Friendship isn''t the only equation. Both of them are my Order Fellows. My underlings, technically. They''re with me because they believe in me, believe in us, and how we work together. If I forget that, I am a fool."


    Dwelling too deeply on these matters and for too long, Zan blinked, only belatedly registering the return of Whiskey and Jiehong.


    Habing already prepared himself, Zan stood at attention. His satchel on his upper back, bedroll on his lower back. Jiehong, his exo-suit standing proud and clean after their hectic trial by fire. "Whiskey, you look great in your Order gear. Pink tinted fairy silk is quite the show,"


    "Well, my parasite was pink-colored. I guess that''s why?" Whiskey guessed.


    By now, the Screen Master chimed in through their earpieces. Having received hers on her way out from the barracks, post-bathing, Whiskey heard the Screen Master as well. Zan could see when her head jerked back in surprise as hearing his voice unexpectedly. "The color of the Crystalline Creatures have no relation to you as individuals," Simulacrum spoke.


    "Really? So, it was only a coincidence mine is Red?" Jiehong said. "And how mine is rainbow?" Chimed in Zan.


    "That is correct," answered the Screen Master to the both of them.


    "Huh. You learn something new every day," Zan said under his breath.


    "We ready?" Jiehong asked the group.


    "Yeah, bud. We''re ready. Whiskey. Let''s give this our all: Prophecy, fate, why the war''s happened... we''re going to get it all in the open. I don''t think any of this is a coincidence. The world has answers for us. It''s time for us to find them!"

 Chapter 199

    WHAT IS THERE TO SAY ABOUT TRAVEL? For the sore soles of the pilgrims, not much aloud, for saving one''s energy not on idle conversation, but for walking, for biking, is the way. For the Order affiliates Zan, Jiehong, and Whiskey? Travel was a chance to get themselves out and into the world, to make an impact. "We''re practically flying!" Jiehong shouted. Zan shouted back, "We are! Be on the look out for--! Crap! Look out!"


    Losing control of his bike, Zan sputtered and flew from his seat. "Ouch! help!" Zan cried.


    Jiehong was soon by him, his exo-suit, bulky thought it may be, wasn''t so large as to hinder basic helping actions, such as providing physical assistance. "Up now, you," Jiehong said, lifting Zan to his feet. "You tripped over that root. You were being careless."


    Zan looked back. The root twisted up from the ground. Yet Zan saw something strange about it.


    "What is this?" Zan asked. Curious about what he meant, Jiehong and Whiskey investigated where he pointed, Zan already on his knees examining the root.


    "No kind of root I''ve seen," Whiskey said. "And I made my way as a hunter and forager, remember."


    "It''s like... those ''cables'' back in the Command Center. The ones Sigma-Prime uses to re-charge," Zan said of the root and its reflective, smooth surface which looked like a gem stretched and contorted into a piece of rope.


    "We should follow it. Scout out its origin point. We''ve been traveling a long time in the direction of the village. If the bunker is close to the village, this is likely it," Whiskey replied.


    "I agree. Mechanisms like this I have only ever seen at our base or inside of those Wizard Towers. Hardly a coincidence. Shall Zan and I scout that direction as you take the opposite?" Jiehong asked Whiskey, looking to Zan for approval.


    Zan found the plan agreeable. "Will you be fine by yourself?"


    Whiskey vocalized her approval: "I will take that direction, then. And yes, I will be fine. Should I need help, I will use the echo-beetles; you''re not the only one who knows how to use the gadgets."


    Zan took lead as the Order. Jiehong just behind him. "Actually, Zan. Let me take the lead. I can remain to your front, but not in your way. This way, I can protect you from harm without disrupting your leadership."


    Jiehong''s words shocked Zan. "We''ve come a long way, haven''t we?"


    "We have. It''s just the reality of our situation. It was foolish of me to question your role as Order leader. You were the first to leap into action and confront the walker and you were the first to fuse with the Power Crystal. And you really have shown incredible bravery. All of us have come a long way. If we are going to survive all this, we need to each with each other. Not against."


    Zan held back his tears. Only barely, though. "Thanks, man," he said, his insides wet with emotion.


    The two young warriors continued to walk along the root''s curvature for a time. All along where they walked, Zan saw protruding earth bulge from where the cable twisted inside the soil. "I think something is in the distance," Jiehong said.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Straining to see what he meant, after focusing, Zan saw a smudge on the horizon. "That?" he asked.


    Unclasping his bike from his back, he and Jiehong rode hard, easily flying their way through the forest splotches. Other than the soil disturbed from the cables, few vegetations got in their way. Zan noticed, however, that while the ground was easy to ride, the deeper into the woods they rode, the more soaked the ground became. He thought this would continue upon reaching the darkest depth of the wood, but he was wrong.


    Breaking through a dense tangle and into a small clearing, a large boulder dominated the clutch of trees. A pond was nearby, which only led into another pond beyond. Is this place a wetland? Zan asked himself.


    "Think this is what we are looking for?" his brother asked.


    Taking appraisal of the situation, Zan pressed his earpiece. To Whiskey, he said, "Return. I think we''ve found our bunker..."


    "Yeah," Whiskey said after looking around. "This is our bunker. What else would this be?"


    "But we haven''t confirmed that yet," Jiehong said, reminding everyone of their lack of evidence.


    "Then let''s find that missing link," Zan said. "Everyone, look."


    The trio split up and investigated the land. Not knowing exactly what he was looking for, Zan traced the cable close to the boulder but not directly into it; the cable, rather than entering the boulder at a point, and confirming its status, the cable instead descended into the earth, leaving them mystified whether this was a large rock or an ancient bunker.


    Fishing out of a nearby puddle, Zan pulled a rock with rugged edges. He started whacking away at the boulder, hoping to dislodge something.


    Seeing what he was doing, Jiehong said, "I like it! Brute and reliable." And so, Jiehong began to hit the boulder with his own rock.


    Before long, Whiskey joined in. After many, many violent apprehensions, the boulder revealed itself as the bunker they sought after a piece from its sediment layer fell, revealing a sparkling material underneath. "Remarkably well preserved," Zan told the group. And it was well-preserved, he thought, while looking into the small hole and seeing a glimmering radiance of the same unmistakable sheen as the command center''s own.


    "Excuse me, can I help you?" a voice called out.


    Turning to see who the newcomer was, Zan saw a woman approach them from the pond''s other side.


    "Our apologies," Zan said on behalf of the group. "Are we on your village''s territory?"


    "Technically, but only the mayor and his aides know about boundary lines. Let alone care. Who are you? And why are you concerned with property lines?" the woman said. Her hair was gray but not of a tarnished quality. Though age brought gray to her long hair, its tone was vivid and boasted a berry scene to boost.


    Introducing everyone, Zan explained who they were and why they had come. The woman, who introduced herself as Molly-Holly, said, "You want to buy land? Utterly bizarre. Especially for people so young. These Martial Orders, though... they have people acting all funny about things. I think it''s irrational. Wanting to dig up old buckets from long dead peoples..."


    Molly-Holly continued muttering for a span of several minutes. Decrepit and beyond their time, Zan groused. Why do they think their opinions are needed?


    Keeping a good face, Zan did not grouse aloud. He said, instead, "I understand, ma''am. We are outsiders. But we are fighting the good fight against the Expanse. Our Order is part of that good fight. Would you be so kind as to take us to your leader? That way, we can all sit down and talk about this."


    "Oh, sure. Follow me, younglings," she said as Molly-Holly led them to the village. "This is Guygale. Our modest community has gotten a reputation of late for training the best local toughs."


    "Toughs?" Whiskey asked.


    "Soldiers, mercenaries, guardsmen... brawny guys to haul manure carts. Whatever the job is, we have the guys and the muscles. If nowhere better if close by, that is," Molly-Holly said with surprising honesty.


    Not like there is any point to her lying to us, though, Zan reflected. How many places truly have specialty products? My village sure-as-rain didn''t. That is why Jiehong''s parents came to the place. To provide culture.


    Entering what passed for the village square, several buildings of rudimentary design dotted the forest''s edge, not so far away from the bunker''s location. An old mudbrick hut stood close to the pit-houses. "Here is our leader''s dwelling. Let''s go in and introduce you, then."

 Chapter 200

    THE HUT''S INTERIOR was filled with smoke. From both herb and burned incent.


    "Zan. Company. This is our leader, Strong-Arm," Molly-Holly said, introducing the group.


    Strong-Arm was a man heavy with indolence. His belly attested to many an hour working, not in the fields, but in the home. And by ''working'' Zan meant ''not working.'' Like Molly-Holly, Strong-Arm''s wrinkles placed him among the older stratum of society.


    "Greetings, wise mayor. My crew and I would like to purchase property near to your village. My name is Zan. His is Jiehong. She is Whiskey. We are part of a Martial Order," Zan said, introducing themselves.


    "Well met!" the mayor boomed. "Purchasing property? At your ages? A lot of people of my age and stature would say ''no'' and kick you moppets to the curve. Me? I''m a forward thinker. Just what are you hoping on getting?"


    "They want that big boulder near the puddle outside of the village," Molly-Holly said before Zan had a chance to answer.


    "That old thing? What, you guys have a dwarf with you?" Strong-Arm said, rearing himself into a booming laugh which led, in turn, into a coughing fit.


    "It is part of our Order, sir," Jiehong said. "Or used to be. A long time ago."


    "Ah, Order shenanigans. Martial Order, I assume?" Strong-Arm emphasized.


    "Yes, sir," Jiehong confirmed.


    Strong-Arm took a moment of silence. To think about the sale, Zan assumed.


    "Alright. I will sell it to ye. Now we just need to think of a price. Before that, we need to think of much community service you younglings will be doing. Uh, let''s see..." Strong-Arm said, doing some calculations in the air, his finger swirling the shapes of numbers.


    "Wait. Sorry, sir, but what do you mean? Community service?" Zan asked.


    Strong-Arm chuckled. "You kids don''t know? Ye''re in the market for property -- during a war no less! -- and ye don''t know about Service?!" Strong-Arm smiled widely. "Let me teach ya."


    Taking rich drinks from a fermented beverage while explaining the concept of ''community service'' prior to purchasing, Molly-Holly had to step in more than once to clarify a point ill-made by the intoxicated mayor. "Yeah. As... she said. Help out... public works. Then, buy." Strong-Arm hiccupped.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Fine," Whiskey said. "We are here to help our fellow countrymen anyway. Our Order is about self-defense and physical mastery. Our participation in this war has helped cement this in our minds. Now, with generous people like yourself, we can help everyone further Thank you, Strong-Arm, we won''t forget this!"


    "I will help them with the rest," Molly-Holly stepped in to say before Strong-Arm could babble another response.


    "Fine! Leave me be," the mayor spoke, biding the conversation over. Not caring for Whiskey''s overly polite tone, Zan wondered why she felt the need to be so nice to him. As far as he was concerned, Strong-Arm deserved no respect. Feigned or otherwise.


    Leaving the mayoral hut, the heroes breathed easier, being away from the smoke and booze, and being with the fresh air and open spaces.


    "Is he always like that?" Zan asked.


    "Nowadays? Yeah. He''s always like that. Hasn''t been the same since his children left to make something of themselves," Molly-Holly spoke.


    "That''s sad," Jiehong said, somberly.


    "Is it? He is hard-- on second thought, never mind," Zan spoke, then pivoted, suddenly thinking better of it, and seeing the glares of Jiehong and Whiskey.


    "So, this volunteer work," asked Zan. "What is it? Anything in mind?"


    Whiskey supported her Order leader by saying, "Yes. What shall we do? We are eager to complete this transaction. We have many more places to visit."


    "The fast lanes, I know, ye lads and lass. I know... all you Order affiliates are the same. Living before you even know what you see and--" Molly-Holly then went on a ten-minute rant. By the end of it, Zan felt dizzy. She spoke on what they should do, but the information was between rantings, and he became confused on exactly she wanted them to do.


    Thankfully, to ease his confusion, Whiskey recapped the productive parts of the rant, saying, "Molly, can I call you by your first name? Thanks. All of this sounds lovely. If you would give my friends and I a moment to discuss matters amongst ourselves, we will divvy up our responsibilities momentarily."


    "Aye- aye, come and find me when you''re ready," Molly-Holly said, walking off to the village, muttering to herself slightly less.


    The group removed themselves several paces from the village. Away from the community center, Zan spoke first. "That sack of crap aggravated me so fecking much..."


    "I wanted to punch him, if I''m being honest with myself," Whiskey said, which forced Zan to laugh.


    "Yeah. Not the most upstanding representative for his village. Right?" Jiehong asked Zan. To which, he said, "Yeah. But why didn''t you say that, though?"


    "Because it is better to remain docile and get our way then hostile and true to ourselves but not get our way?" Jiehong replied, his tone clearly stating he thought Zan''s comment was absurd.


    "I guess?" he said. "People like that get on my nerves. I feel like I have to blow up at them!"


    "Why do you feel that way? You''ve always seemed very calm to me, Zan," Whiskey asked.


    "I am a calm person. As this war settles itself into our land, and as the days tick by, I feel more and more drained by those people who aren''t doing everything they can. I feel like people like this mayor are slouching off and if this country falls, it will be because of men and women like them!"


    Calming Zan by rubbing his back, Whiskey cooed as though he were a child. Paradoxically, this did calm him down, yet it also made him uptight. Mentally speaking.


    "Please stop, Whiskey. Now, let''s figure this land plot out..."

 Chapter 201

    ZAN, WHISKEY AND JIEHONG vigorous discussed how to complete their volunteer work. If the fat phony of a mayor was going to force them to perform labor at the village''s behalf, they should at least get into it as soon as possible.


    "We''re settled, then," Whiskey said, again the one to recap their course of action. "Jiehong and Zan. You will help clear the land. I will help the hunters."


    "Yeah. Let''s give it our best so we can get this done with," Zan said, an edge to his words lingering from the mayor encounter.


    Jiehong led the way back to the village square. Since their group discussion had not taken very long, Molly-Holly remained near the mayor''s hut talking to people. Seeing them return, she asked, "Ready?"


    Both youths assented. Jiehong told Molly-Holly about Whiskey heading off to meet the hunters.


    "Oh! But she doesn''t know the way!" Molly said, perhaps worried, she would become lost.


    "She has a way with things," Zan said to ease Molly''s worry.


    "Yeah. She''ll find your hunters. If there out in the woods now, she''ll find them," Jiehong reinforced.


    "Good, I guess. With that settled, both of you boys will be helping with the land clearing today. Follow me," Molly-Holly replied.


    Birds chirped from the many branches which surrounded the village. Looking up to see the treetops close to touching, but not quite, their massive crowns still shy, Zan felt an inner peace being among nature.


    Moments later, the group crested the tree line and came to a nearby field nestled between one forest glade and the forest thicket. Like many places in the Kingship, trees, grass clearings, and wetlands predominated, often in ways confusing to traveler and journeyman alike. "Here we are. You guys will help my kinship is clearing the land. Let me introduce you all," Molly-Holly said.


    Molly brought them over and introduced them to a large man she called Big Chest. Hard to believe these people have names like this, Zan told himself. Seeing other people working the fields alongside Big Chest, he wondered if this is all the villagers did all day -- work the fields.


    "Greetings, sir! How are you?" Zan asked.


    "Oh, I am fine. They''re here to help? Good. Let''s put them over there," Big Chest said.


    Big Chest brought them over to ground yet unworked. "Your job is simple: pull up the rocks, dead roots, animal bones, whatever you find. We''re clearing the land for crop expansion. Do that and make it all pretty. Questions? No. Good."


    Zan looked to Jiehong who only shrugged. As if to say, "Here''s our lot in life. Let''s dig in."


    Having left them a couple of shovels to get them going, Jiehong and he got to work. A dispirited look came over Zan, but he fought back. Soon, with the task of finishing rearing in his head, urging him to finish his task so he and his half-brother might buy that bunker and be done with it, the movement of their muscles, the crank of their backs and arms, multiplied. Sweat passed from their brows and so did the day.


    ~


    IT WAS A CURSE, THIS LIFE, Zan melodramatically intoned to his soul. He grew tired of the labor hours ago. Now, he was fed up with it. He wanted to quit and call it a day. Beyond the labor''s physical tedium, he thought the whole affair boring. It was like being back at the lumberyard in his own village.Stolen story; please report.


    Shoving his shovel into the ground and taking a drink of water, Zan massaged his hands and fingers. Both had taken a beaten throughout his labors.


    Returning his drinking sieve to his side, he accidentally dislodged his bag of Memory Marbles. Such a mistake he soon regretted as a fellow worker said, "Excuse me, are those what I think they are?"


    "Depends on what you think they are?" Zan replied.


    "I would like an Interview. If you''re of a religious temple, that is. Could you provide one?" the worker asked.


    It startled him to think of this villager, a woman, needing an Interview desperately enough to ask him, a teenager, to provide. Or am I just making excuses for my anxiety? he asked himself, expecting a true answer. Besides, I should be happy she can look past my age to ask me for a service. I did join a religious group...


    An answer did not come to him soon and so the lady repeated herself: "Young master? Are you...?"


    "I am fine. Lost in thought. Yes. I will provide one for you, ma''am. This will be my first Interview," Zan said, hoping the woman would be scared off by his inexperience.


    "That is fine! I''m so giddy. Okay. Let''s finish up here then I will treat you to a drink at the communal space."


    His heart slammed in his chest. He wondered if he made a mistake in affiliating with a Denomination. Was it truly necessary to discover the root of his talents at sensing holy energy?


    Of course, this was when Zan wished his labors would continue. Alas, his labors ended soon after, to the delight of his former self, and pain at his ruing present-self. "What if I let her down?" he asked, another question for his void.


    "Hey. You there, pal? It''s Luxley talking through the horn. I am having a rotted day. So, I thought I would send you an upbeat feeling your way just in case you''re also having a bad day. I can''t talk. If you''re as bad as me, hold in there. Bye."


    Luxley''s words cut suddenly into his ears as he readied himself to sit at a table with the villager. They were at the communal space, a simple building used as a large ice-chest. A couple chairs in the back served as the place''s only seating. He covered his face and mouth-whispered a subtle reply: "Thank you, Luxley. I''m sorry your day has been shet. Stay strong."


    In his seat, Zan attempted to calm himself. Inhale, "hold it," exhale.


    Calm as he was going to be but relaxed by Luxley''s unexpected kind words, Zan looked the woman in her eyes and said, "As I said out in the field, I am new to all of this. I will apologize now if I make any mistakes. I am a Blank Denomination initiate. Shall we get into it?"


    He removed from his pouch one Memory Marble. He held it in his palm and showed the woman his palm to confirm he had Goodwill and wanted to help her. Closing his palm, Zan infused the marble with a trivial sum of magic. He placed the marble on the table. Thus, his first Interview began.


    As was custom -- and as Penne explained to him both in person and throughout his annotated notebook heavy with symbols which was the only reason Zan could sort-of read it -- he asked the woman if she had anything to state before his official questioning. Why it was custom to ask this before the official beginning of the Interview, he could not say. To his edification, however, he was about to find out why.


    "My mother right now is driving me up the wall! And I really mean that, kid -- the fecking wall! She just wants to insert herself into every fiber of my life! Like, HELLO?! I am my own person, mom!" the woman spoke quickly enough for him to liken it to a flashflood, except this flood formed not of water, but verbiage. On and on the woman went, her tirade eventually covering, by accident, surely, her whole life. "It must''ve been where that whole thing started, right? Having that shoved in your face so many times. Who wouldn''t be screwed up over it?" Then she talked of parenting: "I want to hit them so badly. Not anything big. I''m not a monster. Just a nick, a little slap-pat, you know? I feel so bad," which led into her drinking. "I''ve tried to quit. It''s so hard to when you make your own and it is the best."


    What could he do? Nothing, Zan thought. I have to let her gush. She needs to let it all out...


    Slowing to a trickle, the woman told him, "I''m so sorry for going on like that. Let me dab my eyes and we can continue. Phew! Feels good to let it out!"


    "No worries," he told her, waiting as she dabbed at her eyes with her tunic.


    "Ready!" she said with a forced smile.


    "What roles do the gods play in your life?"

 Chapter 202

    He sat at the table alone. The woman answered every question he had, but in record time: "What role do the gods play in my life? Oh, who can tell. I like stars. I see them at night. That''s about all they play. I guess navel-gazing is a form of worship, right?" When he asked, "How often do you worship?" she replied, with a giggle, "every night I guess." And her behavior once he asked his final mandatory question? ''What service do you provide to the gods?'' she only made a lot of weird noise effects as she slowly stood up, saying, "Nothing! I think about the gods a lot but that''s it. Listen, I actually have to go! Thanks so much for seeing me. See you back in the field? Bye!"


    The entire interaction left him speechless. He touched the marble to deactivate it. Is interviewing people like her truly going to help me understand the gods and prophecy? Not seeing how it would but happy at the interview ending, Zan picked himself from his seat. She never even brought me that drink she promised.


    Mildly befuddled as the interview left him, he hardly noticed the headset System giving him a notification alert: [Achievement Unlocked: First Interview]


    A chime in his ear brought his finger to the earpiece. "Screen Master? Is something wrong?" he asked.


    "Negatory! Everything is fine at the command center. I wanted to tell you I am proud of you for conducting your first interview. Such is an important first step on your path to understanding the spiritual universe."


    Not expecting praise from Screen Master Simulacrum on matters unrelated to the Martial Order, Zan replied, "I appreciate your praise. It was hard for me to do."


    "So is the first step of every journey. I should know. I have assisted the Shiv Order for tens-of-thousands of years, through many generations. Your struggles as both a youth and as a commander I have seen played out across hundreds of faces. Of the many young men and women who have grown from innocence to leaders, all of them attained their station by confronting their problems headlong while striving to grow as people. You are not the first grandmaster-in-title only to join the Order. And neither are you the first of such grandmasters to join the Blank Denomination."


    Pleasant surprise jolted through him. "Wow. I thought I would be unique. Honest. I thought my situation would make me unique."


    "Incorrect. In fact, of the grandmasters-in-titles only who went on to join the Blank Denomination, several got their start only after their home was attacked. As a Martial Order, our focus invariably drifts to violence."


    He could only cock his head at learning that. "I can''t tell yet if that takes a load off my shoulders or puts more weight on. I guess I will find out," Zan said, rising from his seat, and leaving the cold hut communal space.


    Seeing how the sun set, Zan knew he had to find the others. Using the echo beetles, he spoke, "Whiskey. Jiehong. Let''s meet outside town. At the bunker."


    Moments later, he received curt confirmations.


    He waited peacefully under the shade of the bunker. Coated in the guck of centuries, the bunker looked hardly different from an inexplicably placed pillared plateau. Had it not been for the flashing light, that is. Revealed by his hard dislodgement, the light continued its non-stop flashing. Thinking to himself, he knew he wanted to see the true form of the bunker. Not the rock. Not the sediment. The bunker.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    In-training or not, I would like to see what I have command over, Zan intoned, giddy over the thought of controlling property.


    "Hail!" Whiskey shouted, alerting Zan to her and Jiehong''s presence.


    "Hey. How was your day, Whiskey? Sore?" he asked.


    "Easygoing, mostly. When you shoot an arrow, but you hit the creature but miss your shot? Chasing it down, claiming your kill. Feeding people. That is what it''s about. I had a great time with my fellow hunters. Did you not have a good time doing manual labor?" Whiskey asked him.


    "It was less the labor and more what happened after. A lady asked for an interview," he replied.


    "Wonderful, Zan, I am so happy for you! Were you nervous? I''ve heard these religious initiations can be intense. Or so said my more cantankerous sister-rebels."


    "The interview was weird. It was like this: as a custom, I am supposed to ask someone if they want to tell me anything before the Interview officially begins. She goes on and on about her personal drama. Then, when I finally get a chance the ask the real questions, she breezes through them and gives me empty answers. What the heck?!" he said.


    "People are like that," Whiskey said, shrugging, as if to say the way people ''are'' is commonly understood facts.


    "I don''t understand how interviews like that are supposed to help me understand the gods. Is there a god of rudeness? Of blabbering?"


    Jiehong took up his question and answered, "Yes. There are, mate. Although... maybe not? Okay. I will say this, if there isn''t a god of blabbering, there is most certainly an eldritch entity of rudeness. Statistically speaking."


    Offering a sharp and exasperated giggle, Whiskey said, "What does that mean? ''Statistically speaking?'' Are eldritch beings numbers?"


    "No," Jiehong said. "Eldritch being are primal. They represent emotion and psychologies. Or so I''ve heard. Rudeness would be a psychology, right? It would be a head-thing."


    Jiehong and Whiskey argued through the night, Jiehong''s own time to tell of his day forgotten in the heat of debate.


    They retired to their makeshift camp that night. Although he wanted to stay in the village, Jiehong cautioned against it, saying they should keep privacy while still making a good impression on the folk. Zan thought it better to stay in the village. He did not belay his consul, however.


    "Either way, we will get what we need out of it," he said, ending the evening.


    Bright and early in the morning, the trio departed their camp and met Molly-Holly near the same field they ended at the previous day.


    "Back again. Serious buyers. I wouldn''t have expected that from a pack of traveling kids," Molly-Holly said.


    Stifling only a couple of groans, he knew better than to lash out... tempting as it was.


    "Where do you want us?" Zan asked.


    "Also, this will be our final days of labor, correct?" Jiehong interjected.


    "It will be your final day, yes. I am sure the community will want to meet all of you before the sale is completed. Don''t expect those fancy papers of yours signed today, though!" Molly-Holly spoke.


    "Fine, fine. We can sit through a village meeting. And fine. Tomorrow, then for the papers?" Jiehong said.


    Not wanting to say anything more than what can be communicated through the power of a grunt, Molly-Holly glared at Jiehong.


    "Today, you will be resuming your village service," Molly-Holly continued, ignoring Jiehong''s question. Hunting and heavy field work. Oh, and Zan, my daughter liked the interview you gave her yesterday. A few others in the village want their Interviews conducted as well. Divvy up everything as you do."


    Having left them before he could get in a point edgewise, he felt a shadow cast itself over him. "Here''s hoping the people I interview today aren''t like that woman from yesterday -- wait, she said... that woman, Molly-Holly was her mother?!"

 Chapter 203

    SPEAKING AMONG THEMSELVES, of skills and talents, but mostly of who wanted to do what, it was the same split as yesterday; Whiskey left to hunt, Jie, to the labor, and Zan for the spiritual.


    "Where are you going, boy?" Molly-Holly yelled at him as he walked back to the communal cold box.


    He turned suddenly. His eyes had a will of their own and rolled in his head like earthworms grooving in mud. "Yes?" he asked.


    "That''s the cold shack. Meet people in their homes. Yeesh. did no one teach you manners?" Molly-Holly grumbled.


    "Please bring me to my first client," he told Molly, refusing to wander like a sheep any longer.


    Molly did as requested, incoherently rasping complaints as she did so. She brought him to his first (technically second, ever) client. He knew better than to try and ask Molly any questions about the client. He turned and confirmed she was already gone by the time she pointed to the client''s house.


    He shouted. The curtain-door opened right away. "Come in, come in! I have been expecting you," she said.


    Zan entered her home and walked down the few stairs into the sunken interior. Multiple cribs lined the small space as did a hearth with a savory smelling pot of soup over the fire. That smells so good, but the babies smell so bad, he groaned.


    To the woman, he said, "Molly-Holly told me you would like an interview?"


    "Yes! I''ve been dying for one ever since you gave Soft-Belly one!"


    Soft-Belly? She had to be the hysterical woman from yesterday, he thought.


    "Absolutely. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today? Oh, and before I begin, do you have anything you wish to share with me before the session begins?" he asked, following established protocol.


    Boy, did the woman have something to say. "My name is Heart. My grandfathers passed away recently. They were my everything. And now? I don''t know. I don''t know anything. I''m scared all the time. I need help..."


    If he was myopic before, he wasn''t any longer. He saw how the woman''s heart had broken. Instantly, he found his heart filled with sympathy.


    "Ma''am. I am sorry for your loss. I can''t pretend to know the pain you''re feeling, but I can listen," he told her.


    For hours, the woman gushed about her grandfathers, how they died, her reaction, and life after. To say it was a journey for him would''ve been an understatement. Keeping to his word, he listened with all the care he could give.


    "Thank you, young man," Heart said, her session at its end.


    "You are very welcome. Now, not to rush over to the boring bits, but shall your session begin?" he asked.


    Nodding affirmatively, he asked Heart the same questions he had asked Soft-Belly. Heart''s replies could be simplified to something like, "I think about the gods often. I often think about if they ever think of me. I guess not, right?"


    Zan thanked the woman for her time. He also wished her pleasant condolences.


    "Before you leave!" Heart said as Zan turned to stand. "Would you like some soup?"


    "I would love some."


    With his belly filled with soup, Zan departed the woman''s dwelling. Not knowing who his next client was, however, he had to pop into the mayoral hut to ask Molly-Holly.


    "It''s just across the way from the first lady. Now don''t be bothering us anymore!" Molly said, drinking with the mayor. I think I''m starting to see the real problem in town, he muttered to himself.


    He shouted for his third client. Their house was of the same build as Heart''s home: sunken into the ground with a protective straw-hatch covering, which formed the basis of its roof. "Come in!" a voice from inside yelled.


    Once more, he descended into the cozy abode. A fireplace with dying embers crisped. An elderly man sat near it huddled for warmth.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Stopping on the final stair, Zan announced himself, saying his name and, "I am here to help. Shall I take a seat opposite you?"


    The elderly man grunted and waved him over to sit down. Once he sat, the man rose. He walked over to a small chest nearby. He opened the chest and sneezed after some particulate entered his nose. He returned to the table with a box of matches. Striking a fire with one, he lit a candle.


    "Zan, is it? You look younger than I would''ve thought," the man said, sitting down. "Tell me -- did you really have to keep me waiting all day?"


    The man was hostile. From experience, Zan knew he had to calm the man, though he would have been also fine with cussing the man out. Deescalating, he said, "I am sorry. I had other clients. I wasn''t told of meeting anyone today until just this morning."


    For a while, the man held his gaze. Breaking off, the man said, "Fine. Thank you for your apology."


    "You''re welcome, sir. Shall we get started? Now, before I begin, is there anything you wish to tell me?"


    "Uh, I guess," the man said, clearly nervous. "I''ve been feeling very lonely lately. No one visits. I wonder how it all came to this..."


    Not knowing what to say, he figured a blanket response was best: "That must be hard for you. Everyone gets lonely from time to time. Not everyone feels like their empty, though."


    Tears fell from the man''s eyes. Silently, he cried. Minutes between them eroded by as Zan attempted to show the man the sympathy he clearly needed.


    Eventually, after more minutes of quiet relief, the man wiped his eyes. He said, "Sorry about all that, lad. Kids shouldn''t see their betters in such a vulnerable state. You have some questions to ask me about the gods?"


    With marble in hand, he injected the trivial sum of magic into it. He said, "I do. The first question I need to ask is ''What role do the gods play in your life?''"


    "For a while, I based my life around their worship. Made it my identity. Today? I do my own thing. I wish I could say more, but that is about the gist of it," he said. "Oh, and my name is Rufus."


    Zan thanked the man for telling his name. "Next question: how often do you worship?"


    Rufus considered but replied curtly. "Once a week? I know, I know! I need to worship more."


    "I am not judging you. I don''t worship myself. But I guess I should, right?" he said to Rufus.


    "You''re young. I was older than you are now when I began my spiritual journey. It will come in time."


    "Absolutely. And my final question: ''What service do you provide to the gods?''" he asked, curious if the answer was going to be what he thought it was going to be.


    When Rufus answered, he said, "None. I provide no service. Not sure I even know what that means."


    Thinking about it himself, he had no clue what was meant by ''service.'' "Devotionals, I think? Building temples, maybe?" Was all he could venture as guesses.


    They continued to chit-chat for several minutes. Though, it was mostly the lonely man making partial-hearted attempts to convince him to stay. ''For only a little longer,'' the man said several times. To which, he obliged. Until such a point where he really had to leave.


    "If you would like, I will say ''goodbye'' before my party and I leave," he said to Rufus, knowing offering as much was not something he had to do.


    "Thank you, lad. If you remember, that''s fine. Party? Are you with other Initiates?"


    He explained to the man the situation. Quickly and with broad strokes.


    "That old rock? Huh. Never would have guessed that was actually a bunker. I guess it makes sense, though. No other rock that big is around for, well, many miles. Best of luck in buying it. The mayor''s an ass," Rufus replied.


    Not wanting to get dragged into another side-diversion, he told the man he "would be on guard!" against the mayor''s contemptuous behavior.


    Back on the street, Zan let loose some relief. He passed gas he had been holding in for the duration of the session. Feeling lighter, he walked aways from his client''s home. That guy at least gave me an actual answer, he thought.


    "Ready when you are, guys," he spoke into his echo-beetle which, as always, floated close to him.


    Forced to wait several dozen minutes, he took this period as his rest. He leaned against a tree, eventually he found himself sitting against its mighty form. His gaze drifted upward. Bark. Tree. Branches. How funny to think a tree like this, a completely ordinary thing, might be used for evil if the Woodland Expanse gets their way, he thought.


    "Where are you? Zan!" a voice -- Whiskey -- boomed, snapping him out of his fancies.


    "Here!" he shouted.


    His friends joined him near their camp. A quick meal later of bread, cheese, and fruits, and the time had come to talk about the next step.


    Jiehong spoke first. "I saw Whiskey with the hunters. They came back with a mighty haul. Far more than this village needs. And I was working all day in the field. Using my exo-suit arms to clear the heaviest timber and stone from the fields they wished to claim. I know you, Zan, have been busy with your interviews. I say, our service has been rendered."


    Whiskey shook her head, nodding in agreement, while Jiehong spoke. "I concur. Should the mayor demand a tiny sum of services more, that will be fine -- I can stomach doing a bit more community service. No matter what, though. By tonight, he will sign over that land."


    Not finding anything wrong with his teammates plan, Zan said, "Shall we go and see the mayor, then? I don''t know about you, but I am ready to leave this place."


    "We wouldn''t really be leaving though, right?" Whiskey said.


    "I mean," Zan replied. "We would be leaving the relationship with the town which we now have. Which is ''us performing services.'' I just don''t want to be under that woman''s foot anymore!"


    "Molly-Holly? Yeah. I know what you mean. She''s a viper. We are going to still be seeing her, though. Even if it is only ''here'' or ''there.'' Remember to remain cordial with her, Zan. Even if you really don''t want to."


    Not wanting to argue with his teammates about the finer points of socializing, something they clearly knew more about than he, Zan gave the conversation it''s end when he doused the campfire and led the way toward the mayoral hut.

 Chapter 204 (Advancement: Land Purchased)

    "WE''VE COME FOR YOUR SIGNATURE," Zan said, softly, as they entered the building.


    Per the norm, the building was filled with smoke. If he squinted, bottles and their many forms could be seen through the vapors.


    "It''s polite to approach and then speak, child," Strong-Arm replied.


    "My apologies," Zan said, a bow to his flourish. Though he wondered if they knew he was being sarcastic with his bow.


    "That''s better! N-now -- ugh!" the mayor hiccupped. "What-can-we-do-for-you?"


    Ignoring how the mayor spoke so quickly as to render his whole sentence one word, he said on his group''s behalf, "We have rendered our services to the community -- we have hunted, help you till the fields, and even attended to your folk spiritually. We ask you fulfill your end of our agreement. Sign the papers and allow us to buy the land near the big-rock-bunker."


    Strong-Arm took some swigs of his ale mug before he replied. "FINE! You -- k-kids! Always demanding more of your elders. So spoiled!"


    Nodding at Jiehong, Zan impelled himself forward. He handed to Jiehong a lands voucher. One of many in his stack given to him by Colonel Winters.


    Strong-Arm snatched the voucher from him and slurred, "What was it?! The sum?" His eyes shot at Molly-Holly who seemed surprisingly sober.


    "One-hundred copper," she said.


    "Only a hundred?! We''re way too c-cheap! Let''s put that up to one silver!"


    Jiehong shouted before Zan could. "That''s outrageous! I will not stand for you attempting to swindle us hard working and honest youth!"


    The outburst shot through the mayor and Molly. Each had unsettled looks on their faces.


    "Ooookay! Calm your fires. We were only j-joking!"


    He didn''t think the mayor had been joking. There wasn''t any doubt in his mind if Jiehong hadn''t objected, the mayor would have expected a full silver mint as payment.


    Molly-Holly now spoke up. "We will have to increase the price slightly for the land you want. One-hundred and twenty-five copper. That and it''s a done deal."


    He was going to ask ''why'' the price increased. He didn''t, though. Instead, he muttered a "Fine," and affixed his mark to the papers. It wasn''t as though this price was coming out of their pockets, after all. Even so, a full silver? Way too much to expect the royal treasury to pay, not for a piece of nowhere land in nowhere town.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Looks like everything is in order, then," Jiehong said.


    "We give this to a minister, and they pay us. Is that how this voucher works?" Molly-Holly asked.


    "Correct," Zan replied. "I think you can also give it to a traveling priest, and they will take it on your behalf. The next time their travels permits, of course."


    "Okay," Molly said and then affixed her name as the mayor''s assistant.


    It was done. No more bickering. They now owned property.


    At the youthful age of sixteen, they owned land. What a world!


    Back at the bunker, Zan wondered at it all. They worked with the community. They argued with a village leader. And now they owned land!


    "Fantastic!" he breathed.


    "Now we have to clean all this up," Jiehong said, gesturing at the large slab of stone which jutted up from deep in the earth.


    "Speaking of... anyone have any ideas on how to begin?" he asked his friends.


    With the most experience mining, Jiehong spoke first. "We don''t know how much about what is covering the bunker. Dirt, vegetation, rocks. It has clearly been here a long time. I think what we should do is chip away at it together, see if it is possible for the three of us to clear it away. If not, then we will have to recruit outside help."


    He looked to Whiskey, giving her the greenlight to speak. "I think that is a fine idea. Actually, it is the only thing we can do. And using magic, we ought to be able to clear this junk off really fast. I doubt we will need people. I think we have been out here obsessing long enough. Shall we get right to it?"


    With his team confident in their ability to dig the bunker up without aid, he found in his satchel his simple shovel tool; it was the same tool the Wardens had given them not long after Jiehong had asked them, back when MAC, the other Screen Master entity, had given them the Old Tongue Script bunker location list. It seemed to long ago, now. He reminisced for a moment: he remembered circumnavigating the waterfall and how they argued when they discovered the bunker. Okay, enough, mind. Enough sentimental backwash. That happened, like, a couple months, probably three months, by now, he argued with himself. Yet it did seem like a long time ago. So much had happened since. How could he not become sentimental?


    He and his teammates banged away at the bunker''s sediment shell. Pieces chipped away and accumulated on the ground, often joined by larger dirt clods and stones. It wasn''t long before a modest pile of earthen refuse piled at their feet.


    "How... we... looking?!" Zan asked his team. "I am feeling tired. Muscles are being flipped from one extreme to another, you know. I''ve spent today either sitting down listening to people or overworking my muscles."


    "I am feeling tired myself," Jiehong said. "It looks like we''ve made progress on the bunker. I can see a lot more of it, anyway. To be honest, though... we have so much more to uncover. Considering the fact we haven''t even considered about the need to dig, I think it''s fair to say we are going to need help with this after all."


    Whiskey, slick with sweat, had no reply. She only made a gesture to return the speaking role to him.


    "Then I am all ready to hire some people. Jiehong. You have reams of local currency, right? Your reward from the Colonel. Are you going to be so kind as to use them for our and the Order''s benefit?" he asked. He wasn''t going to lie, though. If Jiehong had changed his mind about using his mission payment to help the Order, he was not going to be impressed with his brother.


    "Of course, bro. I have your back," Jiehong said, pulling to his satchel to confirm its contents. He shuffled some things around and counted increments of cash under his breath.


    After a moment, he asked, "Do we have enough to hire a couple of guys?"


    Jiehong, Whiskey''s attention trained on him as well, said, "Oh, yeah! Don''t worry about that; we have enough to hire a few guys plus their whole village! Haha!"

 Chapter 205

    ZAN HELPED WHISKEY as she designed a posting. They stuck the posting up in Guygale''s drinkery, that simple cold shack where he conducted his first interview and where most of the locals visited at least once a day.


    "I like it. Artsy. Finely detailed. This will get people''s attention!" he said, letting Whiskey know how impressed he was with the posting, as they stared at it on the community board.


    "Oh, please! It is something we cooked up in ten minutes. Hardly a masterpiece. Easy, big and bold letters to get people''s attention. Nothing more. But what shall we do now? Get started on the excavations ourselves? Borrow some equipment? I guess we will have to find Molly-Holly, right?" Whiskey replied.


    The idea of merely talking to Molly-Holly sickened him. Same for the mayor. He would like to avoid that at all costs.


    Whiskey was right, though. Gods-be, he knew how right Whiskey was on this point. "Per the norm, you''re correct. Let''s go and find her and ask about borrowing some tools. A wheelbarrow would be nice. Maybe some shovels for the workers we are going to hire? I''ve assumed they will bring their own tools, though," he said to Whiskey.


    "Never count on that," Whiskey said. "As a village boy, you know how finicky people of certain generations think. If this community is anything like the people who raised me, I am sure there''s shovels they can borrow. Assuming the lord of the land isn''t a feather-hole about that stuff."


    He could only shrug in ignorance. He knew nothing about how the local landowner treated his peasants. Or how this changed during wartime. In the end, they could only surmise, guess, and try their best to enact their will and life. As young people, their responsibility was to move and live until they hit a wall. It was during these wall encounters, where they had to slow down and consider.


    They left the cold shack and found the mayoral hut. This time, the interior was clean and clear of smoke. Even the alcohol smell seemed less invasive.


    "I wasn''t expecting to see you all so soon. What is the matter?" Molly-Holly remarked.


    "Yes. We are in need of laborers. We have posted an ad at the cold shack. Would you happen to know if your community has any basic earthmoving tools we can use?" Zan asked.


    "To borrow?" Molly said, scratching her arm absentmindedly.


    Sighing once he understood what she was getting at, Whiskey said, "Or to rent?"


    "Oh. Sorry. To rent! Yes! We have some stuff. Most people from here are likely to bring their own tools, though. Never mind, that! Yes. How about for five coppers?" she said.


    "How about this, actually: for one-whole standard bill, we keep the tools for as long as we need them for our excavation purposes?" Jiehong said, entering the conversation.


    "A bill?" Molly-Holly asked.


    Jiehong nodded and removed, carefully, from his satchel exactly one standard bill of the local currency.


    He saw Molly''s face light up. Was a single bill worth so much?


    "You have a deal!" Molly-Holly said as she extended her hand to accept the bill.


    "Excellent. Here you go," Jiehong replied. He handed her the single bill and followed her outside and to the physical training fields where, in a shack, they kept old digging tools.


    To reach the old shack, they crossed several well-kept fields filled with training courses and target practice dummies. For a settlement only large enough to warrant the ''-gale'' suffix, he thought it was impressive. Our home didn''t have anything like these guys. And we were an actual town! I guess this is what happens when your people have a vision. Sucks they have incompetent leaders -- alas!


    Ignoring the couple dozens of masculine toughs who busily worked the field running exercises or participated in mock battles, Molly-Holly opened the door and said for them to take all they needed. The three of them, then, spent the next couple of hours relocating their newly acquired tools to the bunker-dig site. Small though the shack looked, its inside was crammed with a surprising number of crude instruments.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Having finished the last of the relocation work, he sat down and stretched his tired body while drinking from his pouch. "Amazing how a day can feel cool, yet you can feel so hot. Like a surprise summer day in winter, if you''re overworking yourself, that is!"


    As a larger man himself, Jiehong would know what he was talking about. It did not surprise him, then, when his brother grunted and said, "Right? I''m in the best shape out of all of you -- which is saying something, yeah, considering the lifestyles we lead. Even then! It doesn''t take very long for me to just lose the will to work. Two hours of work and I am shot! We all need breaks, is what I am trying to say. We don''t have overseers on our backs ready to crack the whip, you know?"


    Breaking for lunch, the party had a simple meal of dried meats hydrated over the fire with diced onions and garlic. Basic supplies they had purchased before leaving Hope-Ridge. With salt and pepper, and sides of fresh river water, the meal kept them going and sustained them with healthy energy.


    "Not to act as that overseer cracking the whip, but we should get started again, yeah?" he asked.


    "Let''s, please," Whiskey said. "Until the locals see our ad and come to us, we have no choice but to work. It would be a mistake for us to sit on our heels and do nothing while waiting for our army of imaginary workers. Besides, the more we get done by ourselves, the less we will have to pay. We shouldn''t abuse our money. We should do as much as we can before resorting to spending. Remember, we don''t know what the war is going to do to the economy..."


    "Nothing good, I reckon," Jiehong replied. "About the economy, I mean."


    "Exactly! Without further ado, let''s get cracking''!" Zan intervened and directed his teammates. He blushed at his choice of words, ''let''s get cracking!'' where did that come from, he wondered? Probably from him trying to think of two responses at once before suddenly settling for a half-remembered verbal trick he heard from a long-ago festival performer.


    His verbiage and awkwardness aside, the day proceeded uneventfully. The trio worked the bunker''s earthy shell. Once enough sedentary accumulation cluttered their workspace, Jiehong volunteered for wheelbarrow duty. Jiehong said, "I could use a break from jabbing at these rocks."


    By the time they had their evening meal, not a single local enquired about their ad. He looked over to their progress in unearthing the bunker within; he knew they still had a long way to go. "I hope we offered them enough," Zan spoke. He confided in his teammates wondering if they shared his doubts. "If we have to do this all by ourselves, we''re practically handing to Mentality an ''activate all your golems'' allowance."


    He looked. Although both Jiehong and Whiskey shared in his sense of urgency, they said, "Let''s give it time. It''s only been a day."


    The following day was much the same as the previous day. They worked until the sun went down, this time, he on wheelbarrow duty instead of his brother.


    While the labored themselves, he, Jiehong, and Whiskey kept mostly to their work. Until, one day, a couple of days whence they posted their ad, Whiskey said to the group. "Let''s get a conversation going. It doesn''t have to be a lot. Or deep. Just a simple conversation to pass the time. Or we could argue about something stupid... seriously, guys, I am so bored!"


    "Okay, okay! If that''s how you feel," he said, letting down the wheelbarrow while on a micro-break. "How about arguing about something dull?"


    "That could be fun," Jiehong said, washing the sweat from his face with a rag.


    "Whiskey," he said, "since this was your idea how about you inaugurate our first pointless debate?"


    "I would love to. Let''s see... hmmm... okay. I think I have it. How about this as our first ever comedic debate topic: ''Rock is my best friend. Yay or Neigh?'' I am going to say, ''yay,'' for the sake of argument. Shall you boys take neigh against me or are you deciding individually?"


    Both he and Jiehong burst out laughing. Though they quickly cooled their giggling, the topic suggestion had been so unexpected, neither of them knew how to react. Plainly obvious this debate was going to be silly to the extreme, he prepared himself for a fun time. ''Okay, that is fine,'' Zan intoned. ''I thought silly debate meant a real topic of value to their lives, not abjectly invented silliness!'' Still, he appreciated it as a welcome diversion from his overly serious life.


    Looking to each other and smiling, he was fine with going against the idea that rocks were better friends than people.


    "I''ll start the debate," Whiskey said, as she picked her pickaxe. "Rock is my best friend because they are always here for us. No matter where we go, we can find some good old-fashioned rocks!" The sounds of banging away against the sediment then filled the air.


    Nearly done with his break, he inserted the rag back into his breeches. He said, "First point against: rocks are not human!"


    Although he then proceeded to dump the wheelbarrow into the dumpsite near their land, through the echo-beetles, he continued to hear the debate: Jiehong, now back at work himself, said as a point against Whiskey, "Not only are rocks inanimate, as Zan said, but being inanimate, they cannot hear our concerns or nourish us. Therefore, how can they be our best friends?"


    Whiskey snorted. "You guys'' prize sentience over existence, then?"

 Chapter 206

    Later that same evening, when their muscles demanded rest, and their lungs bargained with their brains for relief from the steady laughter of their silly debate, the first prospective workers came to their door.


    "Are you the folks offering work?" a man said who approached and removed his hat to hold against his chest. A humble man, Zan thought.


    "Yes. We are in search of manual laborers. We are adherents to a recently revived Martial Order. This large plateau? A structure from our Order''s previous formation is underneath the rock. We have good reason to believe this could be ancient technology capable of helping us beat back the invasion," he explained.


    "Is that true?" the man said, his wonder genuine.


    "I wouldn''t lie about this. Not as a person, a martial adherent, or as a Blank Denomination Initiate. We''ve already had to go to desperate lengths to get an old script translated. It was written in the Old Tongue script, you see. Not an easy feat. If there wasn''t hope underneath this ground, we wouldn''t be here. We would be at the front, fighting," he replied.


    "All the better, then, young sir. What are the wages you be offering?"


    He looked at Jiehong letting him take this question. "We offer two copper per day of labor," they said.


    "That''s not bad. Not too good, either..." the man said, then turned to discuss with the other villagers.


    Using that time to adjust strategy himself, Zan turned to his teammates and said, "We can''t lose these people. Can we up the pay?"


    Jiehong took a quick look in his satchel. His fingers rustled around in his coin pouches. "Yeah. We can. Let''s try three."


    He approached the man and cleared his throat and said, "Sir? We''ve discussed your comments. We can go as high as three per day, per person."


    Suddenly, the man''s face changed completely. "Oh, per person?!" he exclaimed. "I thought you meant per the whole group!"


    Sharing a laugh in the misunderstanding, he told them, "How about we help each other and split the difference? Twenty-coppers for the entire group to split?"


    Again, discussing the proposal with the group, the man turned back to them and spoke, "Put ''err, there, bossman."


    The man''s name was Big Chest. He remembered far too late for him to save face. But he had encountered the man already. He was the man who ordered them to work the fields on their first day of service. He was among the community leadership and lead trainer for the men and women of the region who sought to better themselves physically.


    Once Zan and Big Chest figured the details and payment arrangements, the work began right away despite the sun''s deepening hour. He did not know the lifestyle of Guygale''s populace. Yet he surmised enough: if a haughty day''s labor can be done before trading in one master for another boss, then these folk were of his own spit and slick.


    "I am taking a short rest," Zan said, enjoying, even reveling in the fact, he, as someone in a position of power, could tell others to continue to work while he rested. He sat on the edge of their encampment. Still hardly anything more than a tent. A dedicated firepit now graced their presence.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Seeing the sun set, however, he realized the hour was drawing unjustifiably late.


    "Actually, everyone," he shouted. "It''s getting late. Should everyone be getting back?"


    "We can work longer," a voice called out.


    Not for long, however. An hour later everyone at the camp departed and returned to their homes. It was time for sleep.


    With Whiskey on first guard duty -- only a half-watch to ensure she could get some shut eye before the labors resumed -- he and Jiehong settled down inside the tent. Through both their proximity and echo-beetles, the trio remained in constant contact despite whatever distance or natural effect attempted to dampen their comradery.


    "How does everyone feel about these villagers?" Zan said as he made himself cozy in the tent next to his brother.


    "They seem normal to me," Whiskey said, the echo-beetle carrying her voice. After she answered, she began to hum some tune, although why she did so, whether it was for entertainment of timing, he did not know.


    Jiehong grunted his opinion. Then said, "Yeah. Seem fine. I''m surprised how well we''re doing on money. These people work for nothing."


    "So, you think we should pay them more?" he asked.


    "No. I''m just saying... ugh, this is one of those moments, bud."


    "Moments?" he questioned. "Oh! Moments. How normal people talk. You imply one thing but say another for social convention. Or to be polite?"


    "Bingo. This is a plus in our favor. Them working hard for mere copper pieces. Not even refined chunks, either! They''re working for unprocessed ore. I just have this on me. It wasn''t even part of the payout from the Colonel," Jiehong said.


    "I want to talk about this more... but I can barely keep my eyes open. Goodnight, bro," he said, before his consciousness faded out like a firefly during a storm.


    He took third watch. Which meant he received the most hours of consecutive sleep. Of course, this was at the cost of then needing to stay up for his watch and then the whole day''s labor. He wasn''t too thrilled about that. Yet what could he do?


    "Ready for another hard day''s work?" Jie asked him.


    "I am," he replied, wiping the tired from his brow.


    Whiskey had woken up a short while ago and went to clean herself in a private glade. Now, she returned. "Looks like I finished at just the right time," she said, pointing out the workers from town coming up over the tree''s horizon, work tools in hand, and ready to shatter the earth like an army determined to claim victory.


    Snapping into leadership mode, he ordered his teammates about and directed where everyone -- Order or laborer -- should go. "I want us to focus on one area today," he announced to the group. "Then we can systematically sweep our way through the structure. Right! Any questions? No? Excellent, then."


    The focus of the day was work. Hard, manual labor from which there was no escape. Even as the foreman of this labor gang, he worked his tail to the bone. By trade, however, he could not work the entire time. He had to sometimes stop his work and help one group with a particularly troublesome clod or resolve a minor disagreement among workers. None of these issues were hard to resolve -- with a magified power-smash from his fist, no matter how powerful the dirt clod or rock, it would break. As for the worker disputes -- money talked. A brief warning about ''keeping the peace... or else'' never failed to render peace.


    Returning back to his position after one such peace enforcement side-mission, an idea belatedly came to him: "Wait," he told himself. "The Slipstream has been out all day. I can take brief rests. Let''s use exclusively magic!"


    Channeling magic into his pickaxe, he swung the tip. The tip impacted the rock and spent a chunk into the sky -- thank goodness he swung at an angle!


    He repeated the process several more times. "Guys, remember! The Slipstream!" he told his teammates. They radioed back laughs and grunts, each of them having told him they felt silly for not thinking of it sooner. "That''s why you''re the leader, bud," Jiehong told him. He continued his labor while infusing his pickaxe with magic. Each swing then had a larger sum of magic than the last. It wasn''t longer than an hour of this labor when he depleted his magic.


    Yet his last swing returned to him a surprise upset; ding-crrrck!


    Once his final magified swing hit the sediment, the axe broke.

 Chapter 207 (Deveolpment: Talent Progress Tracking)

    THE PICKAXE FELL to pieces in his hands. "What happened?" Zan thought. One minute, totally fine, the pickaxe chipped away without issue. The next? A rivulet appeared through its body and then, poof, it fell to several large pieces at his feet.


    He looked around. No one noticed or cared his pickaxe lost the fight.


    "Fine," he muttered, giggling to himself at the unexpected breakage.


    The pieces he piled into his arms. He dumped them next to the pile of equipment they had rented from the community. They probably won''t be happy with a pickaxe breaking. But what can I do? Use magic to mend it?


    "Yes. That is exactly what I can do..." he told himself.


    The sky held high the Slipstream. He reached toward the sky, uttered the holy prayer, and was filled with magical radiance. He wanted to spend some time mending the pickaxe he broke, but the bunker took priority. He would repair later... maybe he would even delegate it to Whiskey or Jiehong? He was their Order Master, after all.


    With new pick in hand, he worked the land. Hammering away at the sediment all and every way despite the lazy simmering summer haze bearing down upon their pick-blades. Sweat. Channel. Swing. Dint -- ''dint'' as the tip met earthen decay. And then, before it all faded away, leaving him with just another lump of a day, the tip would break, which sent him in search of another pick-blade.


    Shattering into his concentration, his headset System, ''The Command Center System,'' he remembered to call it by its technical name, alerted him to a new notification. "What could it be?" he gasped while between swings.


    [Skill(s) Leveled Up!] [Following Skills Leveled Up: Physicality, Magical Artes]


    [Achievement Unlocked: Physicality Novice]


    [Achievement Unlocked: Magical Novice]


    His ''achievement'' view dominated his vision. He quickly checked to see the many, many achievements he had yet to earn. With these two new ones, he was up to a fair handful. He did want to earn more and more. The idea of having a kind of ''trophy shelf,'' so to speak, had always amused him. Ever since he was a small child and he saw Jiehong''s parents, and their many ribbons for competitions they competed in back in their homeland. What hobbies or talents they nourished to earn accolades he did not know. Such were things they never deigned to speak with him about. Jiehong, on the other hand...?


    Not knowing what the System meant by ''skills,'' he brought up the status view for his Skill Set. He saw only the two skills he had leveled up -- ''physicality'' and the ''magical artes.'' No other so-called ''Skills'' in his ''Set'' were visible. Yet when he really looked at those two skills, something happened. He could see a number next to each. For both Skills, that number was ''1.'' A humble, simple, one.


    "What did it mean?" he asked himself with having any way of knowing. During moments like these, it was commonplace for him to ask the Screen Master. This time, however, he did not think it would do him very good. Repeatedly, Simulacrum had told him the ''Command Center System'' was only an approximation of the world as seen through and judged by his perception and objective talents. He could ask the Screen Master how that functioned, device-construction wise, but it wouldn''t tell him anything more about how the headset worked for him.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    He concentrated harder on the number, really looking at it, as though the number would somehow change because--


    And then the number changed.


    Not the number-number, the ''one'' which appeared at the end of Physicality and Magical Artes. No, the number beyond that, which he saw only now appeared. Coming after the primary number, he saw a string of lesser numbers, their size micro compared to the large one-digit. So, he saw something which looked like ''Physicality 1 (0.5750099),'' the secondary numbers within parenthetical marks. "I can effect change? Or maybe I can notice change if I focus?" he thought aloud.


    He did not understand what that number meant; holding the number in his mind, he swung his new pickaxe and saw the number go up. He did not swing to test anything specifically related to the number, only to make himself look busy while he fiddled with his headset. He saw that secondary number climb at the strike of his pick upon sediment. Now, the parenthetical number climbed, slightly, to display the following: ''0.57010.''


    "What does it mean?" he wondered, knowing in his heart-of-hearts it did not mean anything other than what it was literally telling him. A sub-number was going up. Once that sub-number reached a certain milestone, he would gain a new primary number. ''Two,'' he imagined, if basic numerology continued to hold up to scrutiny, that is.


    And then, while he considered, a status bar appeared.


    It was a long rectangular. It was short and fat. On its butt, a shaded sliver stuck and colored in a tiny fragment. "That shaded fragment is what I have gained toward my next level so far?" It was a wild guess. But what else could it be? The skill set, after all, clearly measured progress. His progress.


    Whirl: his concentration dithered over about how the rectangular measuring box looked so large. He thought it better if it were longer and skinnier.


    He beheld a changed box in an instant -- it became as he willed: longer and skinnier.


    The box now displayed his progress, but since the bar was longer, skinnier, and needed much more ''box,'' his shaded progress looked a little more substantial. Which pleased him.


    His curiosity satiated for the time being, he looked briefly at his Achievement View before closing the headset''s HUD. Still only a basic handful, even with the few he recently got. He felt the drive inside of him. It roared for him, urged him to let his simplistic side take over and give into how rich it felt when he saw an Achievement go off and ping the alert. A simple pleasure it sure was, and that was like he liked about it.


    Closing his HUD by holding shut his eye lids and willing the interface to vanish, when he opened his eyes once more, he saw the normal reality all his teammates and employees saw -- nothing. Trees. A settlement nearby. Earth meant to be dug.


    "You looked distracted," Jiehong mentioned. "More headset troubles?"


    "Yeah. Well, not troubles. It gave me some alerts, is all," he replied.


    "Alerts? Like for your health?"


    "No, like, for measuring my progress against standards the Shiv Order have historically maintained. Or that is how the Screen Master talked about how my headset functions. IT analyzes the world and helps me make sense of the world. It changes all the time. But, you know, that''s what I like about it. It helps me keep apace of myself. It has these things called ''Skill Sets'' and ''Achievements,'' which are some of the tools used to help measure how much I have grown Martially and even like Physically and Spiritually, if you can believe it," Zan explained to his brother.


    "It is hard to believe. It sounds confusing. I am happy I don''t have to deal with all that," Jiehong said, his look being one of genuine dismay.


    "It isn''t as bad as it sounds. I''m just bad at explaining it. It helps push me to better myself, let''s just say. It sounds stupid, maybe, but I like how I feel when I see an Achievement pop up. It makes me want to earn another Achievement right after. They aren''t real, I know, not really. But my gains are real. That''s what I care about."


    "As long as you don''t lose your mind, that all should be fine. The Wardens gave you it to use, so it sounds like you''re warming up to it well. You are doing those things which leaders do, you know. You''re getting better, at least a little bit, every day. Like today, you''re handling yourself well, little bro."


    He blushed crimson at his brother''s praise.


    Their conversation over, he returned to his work. Banging away, causing more axes to break.

 Chapter 208

    "SERIOUSLY! YOU GOTTA MEND!" Whiskey yelled to him.


    "What?" he said, lifting himself from a swing.


    "You heard what I said. You gotta mend these pickaxes!" Whiskey pointed to a pile of broken excavation tools.


    "First of all. No. I didn''t hear you. You talked right as I struck rock. Secondly, why? Why should I mend some old tools when I can help digging? We are making such good time. It doesn''t make sense," he shot back, the hard labor getting to him.


    "Because you need the practice, Zan. Your mending skills are iffy at best. Trying them on an actual tool instead of a simple clay pot will do you good. Besides, you look more beat than an egg mixed into a cake. Take a load off. We will be done moving this by the new week," Whiskey said, as she maintained her line.


    He looked to the large slab of stone and earth they had chiseled half-a structure out of. The bunker was coming along nicely. About half of it had been revealed in the last few days of labor, the locals who helped out between shifts in their fieldwork and Martial training really made a difference. Sure, they only worked for the couple of hours per the days when they could afford to freelance, but the hours of a few good men, motivated by the right pay, that more than made up for the few in number who showed up.


    "Point accepted," he told Whiskey, seeing what she meant as self-evident.


    On a stool he sat down. Taking a pickaxe in hand, he carefully moved one piece to where the material had clearly broken away from. He made sure in his hand was some earth or naturalistic material, dirt, grass, bark, to act as a magical catalyst during the mend spell. Whiskey was right, he did not know much about mending, but he knew how to do it.


    With catalyst shoved into the crack and the broken pieces smooshed against where it broken from, he channeled magic into the pickaxe through his hand. He felt a heat form within his hand. He knew the magical energies were taking effect. He continued to push magical energy from his reserve into the pickaxe. He focused on keeping a steady injection rate.


    Gradually, the heat in his palm grew in intensity. Feeling the effects of rapid mana drain all at once, he stopped the flow of magic. Instantly, he felt the material cool in his hand. He did not think it likely the material had adhered at all, so he kept his hand in tight grip. He caught his breath. Then, with a full pull of some clean air, he resumed his magical flow into the tool.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    This time, he held his magic use at a much slower rate. He learned from his previous attempt. Plus, he had the wellspring of knowledge he gained from the field, from combat operations against the enemy. He knew not to overextend himself. Go slow. Start low, go slow. Take breaks, let yourself adjust.


    Now, he intoned. Then stopped his magical flow.


    He removed his hand to find an imperfect binding: the catalyst had taken to the material, and through the encouragement of magic, had started the binding process. The catalyst looked misshapen, yes, but it was no longer broken. Right now, what he saw was an oddly colored and crooked piece of fragile pickaxe attempting its hardest to fuse with the rest of the item. Hence, he needed to work on it more. This process, it appeared, was far from done.


    "Okay, let''s try this again, but smarter," he told himself.


    He took a breath in and cleared his mind. Only done once his head was de-cluttered from its thoughts, the flow of magic resumed. This time, at an even lower output, but to much his pleasure, a much longer duration; before he felt compelled to cease his magic use and call upon the Slipstream to restore his mana, he succeeded in building a mending rhythm, a somatic ''guide'' to how he should perform magic based on his proficiency level. Which, although was not anything noteworthy, it was a proficiency he knew was growing.


    A solid hour of this practice later turned to two hours. And at the end of that two hours, a pickaxe -- one pickaxe -- had been mended.


    "Looks... decent," Whiskey said. "But will it hold after a swing? Let''s see for ourselves," she swung the pick and slammed it into a nearby rock. The rock cracked. But so did the pick.


    "Only one crack. Honestly? Not bad, Zan. You have a long way to go, though. I can fully mend an axe in maybe twenty-five minutes. You can almost do the surface-details of a pick in two hours--"


    Defeated, in mock melodrama, he pushed his hands in the air and announced, "I surrender to the queen of mending tools. Here! Have at it!"


    Of course, Whiskey refused his offering. "Nope! All for you, my illustrious grandmaster!" She grinned ear-to-ear while speaking before going off to help Jiehong with what looked like a particularly difficult section of sediment.


    "I''m happy Whiskey decided to join us," he told himself in whisper. She really did brighten the mood. Always happy to speak her mind. He knew why Jie liked her; she was quite the woman!


    With the Slipstream faded, he knew it would soon vanish from the sky altogether. Knowing now was as good a time as any, he finished his mending talents labor and set aside his newly mended pick. It would be there for him tomorrow.


    "Who needs help on their section before the day''s up?" he asked his laborers before, his luck fulfilled, he received another System notification.


    It simply read: [Achievement Unlocked: "Tooler," Mend (1) Item]


    He grinned and got back to work.

 Chapter 209

    OVER THE COURSE OF THREE MORE DAYS, the burgeoning Order of Shiv, comprised of two teenage boys and a young lady of a huntress, and their off backwoods laborers, made great strides toward their greatest accomplishment yet -- digging up an old war fortification. Of course, just as they were to finish the dig and herald the next stage of their lives, Molly-Holly returned with complaints in tow.


    "Young Master Zan Chaplin?" she asked in the same condescending way as every adult who was ever mean to a child, said.


    He turned and addressed her as an equal. "Ma''am? If there an issue I can help resolve?"


    Affixing to them a firm glare, she replied, "Yeah. Actually... so, from this bunker thing, there are these strange roots. They''re all over the place, you see. And since this here wasn''t a problem until you and your merry band came to town, would you be so kind as to fix it?"


    A bing. It was Sigma-Prime. She spoke and as she spoke, he rooted Molly''s gaze. "Zan," she said. "Tread carefully. Although Molly is right about the Order bearing responsibility to help others, do not let her lay all of the blame for her community''s problems with these cables, what she calls, ''roots.'' Fact is, there is nothing we can do about the bunker location. It was here long before their community formed. Over and out."


    Rejoinder from Sigma-Prime aside, he knew he had to say something. He looked Molly square in the face and said, "I hear you, Molly-Holly. I will look into this matter. IF there is an easy solution, I will hasten its implementation post-haste! If there is no ready answer, I will join you and the mayor for talks. If there anything else?"


    "Uh, well... no. I guess not. I only wanted you to know there was an issue. So, that being done, I will leave you all be. Pleasant evening, everyone," she spoke before promptly leaving the small encampment.


    "You handled that well!" Jiehong shouted as he walked over to him. "I''m not sure I could have said it better myself. What was she going on about, though? Something to do with trees?"


    He saw Whiskey look over from the other end of the bunker. She surely had her interest raised about the matter, so he pressed his earpiece and spoke into it so everyone on his team could hear. "That was about some cables from the bunker causing a problem in town. Sigma-Prime warned me against taking the blame. Something about... the bunkers being here a long longer than the town. So, I said as much, and she left, looking weirdly disoriented. Did she not expect me to be so curt with her?"


    "Probably," Whiskey said. "People like her thrive on catching people off-guard. You did exactly what you should''ve done -- be firm. We should investigate this issue, however. If cables from our base is screwing up the local villages, then we have to investigate what''s happening."


    Jiehong mouthed his agreement and the day''s labor resumed. And so, for the course of a couple more days, they labored away on unearthing the final section of bunker. By then, his mending skills had grown to mending a pickaxe to a usable quality in about an hour. Not bad for only a few days of moderate training!


    Plus, he had the notification to prove it: [Magical Use Level Increased!]


    He brought up his Status View on his HUD. Now, the parenthetical number after ''magical artes,'' read "2."


    Cool, it is so cool... I''m actually improving? Wow! I hope I can keep this going as long as possible. How high can that number climb? He wondered.


    He had lots of time to ponder numbers and how they climbed during the final day of labor. With everyone helping out, the labor ended. Was there still much labor to do? Yes. But that was labor was of concern for the Order. It was stuff like fortifying the land. It was not anything which the commoners could assist with as it was outside of their purview. Only Order initiates needed to concern themselves with defensive measure. Not the labors hired to bust up rock and earth.


    "It''s done!" Jiehong exclaimed after wringing his bandana free of the sweat which soaked into it over the course of the day''s long efforts.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He was so tired he didn''t respond. Whiskey looked the same. But she said, "I feel ya. My paws are a-hurting! Okay -- guys!" She now announced to the workers. "Let''s tidy up and then I will pay you!"


    Helping Jiehong assemble the payment, which consisted of nothing more than counting out sums of unrefined copper lumps, as they counted ore, the workers swept up sediment, filled wheelbarrows with particulate, and heaved the final larger boulders away from the dig site. By the end, the bunker jutted toward the sky totally uncovered. As though it were a mountain top whose glinting tip finally had been freed from its terrible ice-cap prison.


    The work finished, and the sun closer to setting than being in-rise, the men came to them for their last payout. He handed to each man who came to him his payment, plus an extra bonus. He gladly gave the men their due, happy he had managed to come so far with his Order involvement in such a little time. He conversed with himself: "If someone had told me two months ago, how, a couple months from now, I would be unearthing an Order bunker with two teammates and friends, I wouldn''t have believed them. Clear as day, though, the day is here. This is so awesome!"


    He watched the final worker leave the site. An instance was all it took. The rumble and cackle of tools ceased. The sounds of the day vanished. Leaving only the yet to be discovered sounds of the bunker ready to be unveiled.


    "I say we keep this party caravan going and get into that bunker," Zan said.


    "I agree! How about we celebrate, first? This is a major accomplishment," Jiehong said. "And I have some Medy-Em on me!"


    Not even Whiskey could resist the call of Medy-Em and said, "Bring it in. As long as it is not going to make us too loopy, I say we give it a go."


    Smiling by way of response, he gave his consent and dropped down to his knees. The workers left behind some handcrafted sitting pillows. Ultra-soft and (he assumed) filled with waterfowl plumage, the pillows made him feel like he was kneeling on clouds. Jie and Whiskey brought over pillows of their own, though due to Jie''s weight crushing his pillow to the earth, he turned to sit on a stool not long after.


    Jiehong removed from his satchel a specially colored ''herb sack.'' Made from silks soft and smooth to the touch, they kept all of the smelly herb contained. No aroma would escape from pouches like these! Which normally wasn''t much of an issue. Although certain members of his community had made it an issue at times when the younger folk partook to smoking the herb at the ends of labor-intensive days.


    Jiehong produced for his teammates several smoking pipes. "This herb strain is called Azure Dream."


    He inserted the flower into his nicely carved smoking pipe -- wondering all the while Jiehong bought such well-made wooden pipes -- and struck a match before carefully lowering the flame into the pipe. From his end, he inhaled, breathed in, and let the herb fill his lungs -- but only briefly -- and exhaled.


    "Whoa," he said aloud. He felt it right away.


    The effects took hold in his mind before his body. Although nothing about the world changed, the way he saw the world changed. Everything looked more significant. As though the leaves on the trees blew in the wind not only for the God of Wind -- whoever that was -- but for he, Zan.


    "Everyone feeling it?" Jiehong asked. "Feeling good?"


    Whiskey giggled. "Yeah. I''m feeling good. One more pull and I will be good."


    Opting for one more pull himself, on the second pull, he found the world shaky. For lack of a better word. He stood up to breath but found he was pulled in one direction or another. Pushing back against the idea that ''spirits'' were shaking him, he knew he was merely dizzy. A side-effect of the herb. Still, he remained standing and appreciated the swaying of his body in the cooling evening breeze. He felt the hairs on his body stand on edge, but in the good way.


    "I''m feeling good," he muttered happily.


    He saw Jiehong with a goofy look on his face. "What is up with you?" he asked.


    "Nothing. Enjoying the vibes. I''ve had this strain before. Whenever I have it, I feel like it is a holiday. Like, I am with everyone I care about, and we are milling about as we play the many carnival games. The stars are shining overhead. Everyone is having a good time. No fear. No anxiety. Only us and the good times ahead..." Jiehong said, his thoughts trailed off as he become lost in thought.


    A quarter of an hour had perhaps elapsed before the more disorienting effects of the strain wore off. Of course, they remained under it influence, but not to an irresponsible degree. It was within their bloodstream, affecting them, but not to the point where they couldn''t make sense of their surroundings. To confuse and dismay was not the intended use of Medy-Em as a plant.


    "Is everyone ready?" Zan asked his friends breathlessly. As he talked, he realized his muscles felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.


    As a leader should, he led the way. With Jiehong to his right and Whiskey on his left, they approached the door. A final layer of gunk coated the door. Using their handheld shovels, they cleared off the gunk before incinerating the remainder with a gentle flame-burst. Activated, perhaps, by the magic, a voice called out from inside the bunker. "SCANNING," it said, in the same artificially inflected voice Sigma-Prime and MAC shared.


    Slowly, the door opened. In they went. To begin the next step of their journey.

 Chapter 210

    BEGINNING another journey but of a different cord, MENTALITY stalked the shadows of Creation. He was outside Guygale. Observing from the dark. He had observed it all -- his prey''s journey here, their engagement in the village. Everything.


    Stalking. Not everyone could do it. He used his mask as a conduit. Doing so allowed him to immerse his body in a thin, hardly imperceptible filament. Such filament rendered him invisible. Perfect for his tasks. Perfect for his needs.


    He could only tread the waters of Creation. Any deeper and he would lose himself. He had learned much at the Royal Academy. Yet, there was always more to do, more to learn.


    Though his prey, by sight alone, appeared far away, as though they were children playing in the woods, dots on the horizon while their mothers watched them return to hearth and home, Zan and his Order Initiates seemed a couple dozen or more paces away.


    This was not true. An illusion. Nothing more.


    Mentality stood as close as he could to Zan''s party without burning; radiance emanated from them like torches in the dark. He could not say ''why...'' But that was not all which delimited his actions. Treading Creation had side-effects. Invisibility and perfect awareness (of Prey) came with disadvantages. Such as one''s own senses dulling. Not relevant, perhaps, while one Treaded Creation. Outside of Walking such shadows, one''s dulled senses could mean death. It took hours for his senses to return to what they were before Treading. He had to be strategic, then, with when and for how long he Treaded shadows, if he did not want to spend the next several weeks as an invalid.


    Removing himself from Creation''s Waters, he stepped back into objective reality.


    A ringing in his ears preceded his immediately dulled sense of hearing.


    He tested his sense more rigorously. He stomped on the twigs and leafage. He heard. His senses had been muffled, yes, but not overly. He attributed his good fortune to only spending ten minutes within Creation''s Waters. Now out, the fresh wind wiping away his heat, he realized he stood mere feet away from the door which had scanned his prey''s party inside.


    Carefully, he stepped away.


    He slowly walked around the bunker''s perimeter. No windows. No silts. Or none yet anyway. He doubted the bunker would forever remain ''Brutalist without options.'' Such a life for an Order''s fortification was a drab one, in his opinion. Merely by circling around, however, he imprinted many details about his enemy. Regardless of what it might become in the future, for the time being, the bunker was nothing more than an old building made of so-called ''magicrete,'' a substance commonly found in the epochs of past millenniums.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "Did I really dull my senses for this?" he asked himself. He found nothing noteworthy beyond those basics he expected to find. Medy-Em residue from a shared puff. He wondered how it would feel, to enjoy herb with friends. From the future: a pang of fate, perhaps, lulling his sharpness. He felt relaxed. He turned back to the residue once the pang ended.


    Had he dulled his sense for this? Arguing with himself, or perhaps one of his ''head mates,'' with whom he had heard surprisingly little from, lately, he told himself, "And when else would you do this? When the Order expands and this whole area if filled with guards? Get real. Now is the best time."


    Per the norm, he was right. If he had not done so now, infiltrating and gathering information later, might be severely compromised. Difficult to do, much harder, then if he got it out of the way now...


    "I''ve seen everything I''ve needed to see. The sun. The party. Him..."


    He walked from whence he had come. The trail back was uneventful. Almost hypnotic. Faintly familiar to any dozens of similar trails he walked through his life, it was not uncommon for him to see half-familiar memories play out before him. A flower might conjure a time when, as a small child, he showed his mother one such flower. Other times, he would step, only to feel himself reel back in another time and place.


    "Foolish to consider illusions wise," he knew. He knew better than to indulge such fancies for too long. "It''s a vacuum," he told himself repeatedly. "These feelings, sensations, are particulate. Iotas of sounds, tastes, and actions already passed." Only that, and nothing more.


    Returned to his hidden encampment surprisingly close to the bunker, a place he knew he would have to abandon soon, the imperial engineer, Rictus Dawson stood sentinel. He turned to greet his superior. "Sir. Looks like your returned without issue. Your associates are out observing. I have not seen them for a long time."


    "That is fine," he informed Rictus.


    Over the last few days, Rictus had acted above his station. He took command of the situation when not directly acting under orders. Which meant he had taken to the domestics of the camp, cooking, cleaning, and washing, with ease unusually benefitting to a macho-man of the Scientific Realms. This made their lives easier, which he appreciated. He would be sure to put in a good word with Rictus''s superiors from wherever university or corps he originated.


    Rictus continued: "Unless you will have me man the observation scope longer, I think I will begin on tonight''s meal. Will you be joining your associates? I will save space for you regardless. I eat around the campfire, as always."


    What could he say? He didn''t have much issue with taking his meals with others. Heaven knew his ''associates,'' as Rictus called them, weren''t much for conversation these days.


    "I will see how things unfurl. Begin on the domestic, please. I will be contemplating with some Medy-Em..."

 Chapter 211

    INSIDE OF THE BUNKER was clean.


    Like, very clean. Way cleaner and in a much better condition than Zan expected to find it.


    Like every Order building he had been inside of, namely, the Command Center and the bunker ''hub'' where they met MAC, the material was a smooth black stone. The coloration of this stone, however, refused absolutism. The black was not pitch. Therefore, one did not feel as though they were being pulled into the stone''s hues like a ship to a whirlpool.


    The first room they encountered was small, featureless. No windows. Just a door leading further inside. He made sure to take careful note of the room''s utter lack.


    "Onto the next room, I guess," he said.


    The next room was no different than the first. Blank. Smooth. Small red lights rowed the bottom of the walls evenly spread out. He guessed they were safety lights? Emergency lights of some kind? Maybe?


    And the third room was the same. Fourth room? Of course, it was yet more of the same.


    Only in the fifth room did anything change. The door leading to room six was red.


    "That''s different," Whiskey whistled. "Pretty little door, ain''t it not?"


    "I don''t think we''ve ever encountered a red door before. Not in these Order structures, anyway. I wonder if ''red'' means something to the Order? Screen Master? You hear me? Input?" he said, diverting his words to the Warden at the last moment.


    Screen Master Simulacrum responded promptly, as ever: "Information on strategic use of color Not Found. The information you are seeking is either not in the Order''s database or is still at least partially damaged and therefore unrecoverable. If the information is not inside the database, that would be because the information was considered too trivial to include. Or was perhaps deleted after-the-fact. Much data remains in the process of salvaging. Our essential systems are fine. As are our secondary systems. Beyond that, however, when we consider the information systems, Sigma-Prime and I still have much salvage work left to perform."


    About to relay the information to his teammates, he forgot -- he didn''t have to!


    Whiskey now had an earpiece of her own. She heard every word.


    "It could mean anything," she said. "I say we keep on going."


    Not able to agree with her any more than he already did, he cocked his tongue, making a weird, but stimulating noise, and walked ahead, the red door opening for him just the same as all the rest. They entered, then, a large space. He glanced up and found very little space between his head and the ceiling. "Not enough to swing a sword over my head," he thought. "But just enough to make fighting difficult. What is the point?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Moving into the room declared by the red door, the only source of light was tiny red flickers spread over at intervals along the floor''s breadth. Just as existed in the five rooms once they entered the bunker. Had it not been for these lights, they would have been cast adrift in the darkness.


    Until they lit flames using their magic, that is...


    "Wait, what?" I can''t use magic..." he said.


    Jiehong and Whiskey then attempted to use magic themselves. But to no avail.


    "What is going on?" he asked. No one, not even the Screen Master, could answer.


    They walked ahead toward the middle of the room, where they saw a large cabinet-looking oddity. As they approached, they saw how the cabinet-like device had a keyboard which jutted out at its midsection. This keyboard looked much the same as existed in the Command Center''s war room or at the bunker hub where they met MAC, the second-ever Screen Master they encountered.


    "It''s a machine, I guess," Zan said, trying to remember what, if anything, he knew about this machine. He gave it all a good look. Nothing came up on his HUD. I guess I know nothing about it. He pressed buttons. Nothing.


    "What''s that?" Whiskey asked of a small crystalline device just underneath the surface of the keyboard.


    "I don''t know," he said, bringing his hand above it. "Let''s find out."


    He channeled magic. Only for the briefest of moments, but enough to see if it was magically reactive. If something was magically reactive, one did not remain ignorant of it for long. Magically reactive materials, if Colonel Winters''s training class back in Hope-Ridge had been anything to go on, made themselves known post-haste! It was like how someone knew a raging inferno was hot. Self-evident.


    As he (and his friends) considered, each in their own realm of thought, the crystal within the fixture turned bright.


    The cabinet-looking device activated. Soon, the whole fixture lit up. Even the keyboard rumbled with life, its keys clanging against each other like shivering birds warming themselves in their nest on a cold winter''s day.


    Soon, the entire room turned on as the cabinet did. No more where the red lights on the floor all they had to go by. Pure, white light. He could see perfectly in the no-longer-dark-space. Like a clear fall day on a dry watch tower.


    To his left and right, he saw two doors, one to each side, respectively. Each door had red markings upon them, just like the door they had entered through. This time, however, his HUD generated something for him. [CONNECTING...]


    Confusion! What does this mean? He asked his sweet ignorance.


    [CONNECTED TO LOCAL NETWORK]


    "Local... network? What does that mean?" he again asked his ignorance.


    "Something the matter? Headset stuff or Other?" Jiehong asked, likely curious why his brother was eyeing the doors weirdly.


    "Yeah. Weird stuff. Something about a local network...? Wait. Something''s happening," he replied.


    A whimsical but low-tonal sound came from his headpiece, a sound only he could hear. Then, generated through the peculiarities of the headset, an image of a well-tied knot encasing an iron-lock appeared over the doors. He knew that this meant the doors were locked.


    "Okay. Those two doors are locked. So, we are going to have to find a way to open them from here," he told his team.


    "Try infusing the crystal with more magic," Whiskey said.


    With nothing else to go on, he did just that and channeled a slightly larger sum of magical energy into the crystal. It reacted violently. The whole cabinet shone like a holy star blazing within the void. Lights overheard shone at full force before settling into a gentle glow.


    "What is that?!" Jiehong gasped.


    He looked but found nothing. "What do you mean?!" he said, wondering what his brother saw.


    "Looks! It''s a face!"

 Chapter 212

    FROM ANY ONE ANGLE, Zan could hardly see the so-called ''face.'' Standing from where Jiehong stood, however, and after looking at what he saw from his brother''s position, he gradually saw what he meant. "Oh, gods," Zan said. "It is a face!"


    Its features were spread out through the cabinet and its surroundings. Bobbles and light fixtures acted as its eyes, its nose a hitherto yet unused lever, while its hair none other than wires mixed with a fungal growth coming from the machine at odd points.


    "Can you hear us? Understand us? Who are you?" he asked.


    "I can hear you. I can understand you. My name is MAC," the face replied.


    "Oh! MAC! Long time no see," he said to the entity he barely remembered interacting with despite it only being two or three months ago. Three, if I had to guess, he considered. "Do you remember us?"


    "Answer: I do. Zan. Jiehong. I do not know the woman, however," MAC replied.


    Whiskey introduced herself and gave, even, a small life story. More than she probably needed to give, but oh well, that was up to her.


    MAC''s face, imprinted as it was, and one-in-the-same as it was, with the cabinet and features of the space, flickered; the keys on the keyboard jiggled, which he took to mean MAC nodded or some similar gesture. It could be hard to tell with a non-human, but still humanoid, face... especially when that face was tough to look at because it was not really a proper image.


    "How are you here?" Jiehong asked it while Zan pontificated on the construction of the face before them.


    "Answer: I am Master over the whole military installation. Remember: when you awoke me upon our first encounter, I could not enter local systems, such as exists here, in this bunker, due to the local installations being in a state of dormancy. Once a location in the installation is re-connected to the wider network, I can enter through the local network," MAC explained.


    It was coming back to him. The words, the extent of the ''military installation,'' and the conversation they had, seemingly so long ago, where they talked of the nature of the installation and how it could be used to repel the New Woodland Expanse''s invasion.


    "Okay. I''m remembering, slowly. I get it, though. Just to recap let me speak a moment! These bunkers -- this one and the ones yet to be uncovered by us -- are part of your network, the military installation network, and so, once we unearth the bunker, enter, and breathe life into the machine within, you notice from wherever you are within the network''s hidden space, whatever place it is you Screen Masters dwell, and can enter and help us. Which for our purposes is to use it as originally intended and repel the invaders. Something like that?" Zan explained, hoping truly he did not misconstrue anything or leave anything out.


    "That is a correct summation of the situation. As we speak, my entity is spreading through the local network. I am recovering data, repairing damaged systems, and reporting back on all I find to Screen Master Simulacrum and his Ward, Sigma-Prime," MAC said.


    "I like the sound of this," Jiehong commented. "How long until this bunker''s defense systems are active? I am assuming we do not need every bunker in the network activated before we can use this structure in battle?"


    "Answer: You are correct, Jiehong. You will not need to activate every bunker in the network to activate the local defense systems. However, my early readings are reporting to me a great deal of sustained damage. To activate these systems and make use of the local defensive and offensive measures, you will need to manually repair and activate the systems within the bunker complex. I will guide you through the repair measures."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "Sounds like we are on track, then," Zan said. "I assume these systems are close. I say we get a move on and get these functions repaired."


    His team shared in his enthusiasm.


    The Screen Master did not.


    MAC said, "Immediate repairs are needed. It is unlikely you will be able to repair these critical systems in one day of standard time Damaged locations are deep within the local structure. Additionally, my sensors are picking up fae anomalies. Such anomalies will make safe passage impossible. Being warriors of our Martial Order, although fae intrusions such as these will be possible for you to overcome, such anomalies will delay your speedy intentions. I suggest a policy of patience."


    He turned to his friends and teammates. "What now?"


    "What does he mean? Fae intrusions? Like, monsters?" Whiskey asked.


    "I detected no traces of monsters. Fae are natural phenomenon made real by magic and Holy Energy by-product. Materials and emotions, when properly magified by potent magics, become ''creatures of assemblage.'' Otherwise known as Fae. Fae creatures are not intelligent, sentient, or sapient. They react only as parlor tricks and can only through mimicry. Fae creatures are always hostile to Willed Beings, Life Forms, and Kinds in general. If you encounter a fae creature, immediate termination is recommended."


    Whiskey spoke up and asked, "What makes them hostile?"


    "Fae creatures are not hostile because they prey on living and willful beings. Fae creatures do not need to eat. Their hostility is an accidental by-product of their disposition upon creation. Lacking only a fragmentary wisp of spiritual energy bound to a bond within the land -- the material which forms their body -- they lack full reams of consciousness. Hence, they seek it out in Willed Beings through attempted absorption and leeching of spiritual energy. Thus, their violence toward you is not born from natural processes. Only a fragment of a process," MAC explained.


    "That would make them practically related to Eldritch Entities then, right?" Jiehong asked.


    Again, MAC explained, "Yes. Correct, Jiehong. Fae creatures are considered within the eldritch family."


    Not knowing what any of this meant beyond ''weird creatures,'' Zan asked MAC if fae creatures were actually very dangerous or if they were hostile but largely ineffectual, like insects or small mammals.


    "Generally speaking, fae creatures pose little danger to those who understand and are prepared to meet them in the field. However, to those people unarmed in both knowledge and means, fae creatures can pose more significant threats. Lethal encounters are rare but fae creatures pose other threats to human safety, such as dangers to their psychology, and mental and social well-being," MAC took the liberty of explaining. "Note: because of the potent energies of the bunker system, the fae creatures here might post an extra threat to your well-being."


    "Finally!" he said, thanking his lucky stars MAC actually explained what he wanted to hear explained. "That''s what I was asking -- if we can do this now or not. Weird creatures -- dangerous magics -- lots to do. Got it. Let''s come back tomorrow, when we''ve gotten some good rest!"


    "I think that''s a wise move, Zan. I''m beat. Hearing all that sapped right out of me that herb rebound. Let''s go," Jiehong told.


    He moved as his team advised and they returned outside.


    Stretching, he said, "Who wants first watch? I guess it is my turn?"


    Whiskey chirped, as though she said, ''don''t think too much of it.'' She actually said, "Nah. You both look beat. Let me take first watch. It must''ve been that herb, but I feel so fecking full of energy right now!"


    Because he never wanted to let his teammates down, he said, "Fantastic-on-a-jacket! I am going to sleep..."


    He was halfway inside the tent, Jiehong ahead of him, when Whiskey said, "Wait. You guys aren''t going to sleep inside the bunker?"


    "I never considered," Jiehong said.


    "Ah, no, me either," he confirmed.


    They looked at each other, their young faces shifting about, making strange contortions as they weighed their options like well-crafted scales.


    He said, "I think that would be lovely -- tomorrow! For now, I am fine with sleeping in the tent in the great outdoors!"


    Collapsing onto their bunks only as the young could at the end of a draining day, Jiehong and he slept deep into the night and early morning. When he awoke, the morning sun streamed through the thin tent canopy like soft baked flowers. To his side, Jiehong gently chortled-snored. A new notification greeted him: [New Map Terrain Generated: Nora-a-Zule]

 Chapter 213

    HAD THE SYSTEM not pronounced it for him, Zan never would have deciphered how to pronounce that name. "Nora-a-Zule," he enunciated slowly. "What is that?"


    "Wha--" he begun, pulling up the question mark-help sign.


    "System:" he asked, "What does this mean? Map terrain generated? Do I have a map of the bunker?"


    "Answer: Incorrect. A ''Map Terrain'' refers to data files within Order machines. This is more than blueprints, it involves the living reality of the terrain, entities within which you''ve encountered, and the status and conditions of said terrain upon your last visit. When I launch queries with Local Administrator ''MAC'' I receive the following information: ''existing map corrupted.'' Additional Information: As Order practitioners, the duty of constructing new Map Terrains falls to you," the headset''s simple machine-spirit informed him.


    "Okay. I get it. This is already par for the course, though, yeah? Like, I was going to do this already with repairing the bunker... so, like...? Am I going to need to go out of my way for this map thing?" he asked the headset.


    "Apologies. I have no information on that. Forwarding your information request to local administrator MAC. Please hold," the spirit machine answered.


    Moments later, he heard MAC''s voice resound. He asked the same question but learned it was not needed as the newest Screen Master had already received his information query from the headset spirit. His answer was instant: "To answer your question, ''no.'' You will not have to go out of your way to fulfill chartering duties. As the Order grows, this responsibility will gradually fall to less experienced initiates in need of practicing such skills as chartering entails, such as combat readiness and resilience. In the meantime, as long as you intend on repairing the bunker network and bringing them up and online, this responsibility will not bear a weary load upon your shoulders."


    "Cool... thanks for clearing that up," he replied, satisfied with the answers he received and simply happy he did not have to go out of his way with yet another side-diversion.


    With his mind alerted by the conversation with the headset and MAC, he rolled himself form the tent and yawned. Free of ''morning surprises,'' he left the tent and found Jiehong by the fireside. Whiskey was asleep in her own tent.


    "Morning, bro," Jiehong said.


    "Morning... boy, did that sleep feel great!" he said, stretching his arms. He plopped his butt down on a stool. The campfire was gently simmering adding some glow to the morning''s dull atmosphere.


    "Do we have any tea?" he asked, feeling in the mood of something hot.


    "Of course. I made a boiling pot of some of the local black tea. That''s what that pot is," Jiehong said, pointing to a moderately sized kettle.


    He took a drinking cup which hung on the end of the fire''s spoke and opened the kettle''s lid; steam gushed out, as did a deliciously rich aroma. He dipped his wide-mouthed cup into the tea, filling his cup to the brim before he poured back in a small amount. "Hot-hot-hot!" he quipped as falling rivulets of tea scorched his fingers.


    Nevertheless, he persevered and took several dip sips of the tea. His eyes, he felt, widened at the sudden introduction of caffeine. "Frick yeah! I''m ready to go!"


    Ignoring him, Jiehong said, "And how is the tea?"


    "Bland," he said. "It would be better with sugar. Or milk. Both, ideally..."


    "We have neither. Though I am sure the locals might be convinced to trade or sell a pittance now and again..."


    "Good idea. Maybe, we send Whiskey in town to do such bartering while we explore the dungeon?" he proposed.


    "You might wish to include Whiskey in on the planning when she awakes. I have no issues with that but why have Whiskey do this? We might have need of her in the bunker. I think handling domestics can be done at the end of the day," Jiehong said.


    "Again, you''re wise consul. Now I know why our town''s leaders wanted you to follow in their footsteps," he said, already not knowing why he thought Whiskey might be best served running frivolously errands. She was an Order Warrior. Her place was as Jiehong said -- on the battlefield.


    "I picked up a few things from our parents," Jiehong said. "But I think it was mostly their influence in town which led to my success, rather, than anything I did or could do."


    "I dunno... you always seemed capable. You always tried to negotiate between I and the parents," he said. "When we were having our fights, I mean."This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    "True. Always a bit of good and bad with every situation..." Jiehong said, clearly not wanting to talk about the past.


    He took another few sips of his tea, delighting in the energy boost.


    "Shall we get her up?" he asked, referring to Whiskey.


    "Let her sleep in. I think she''s only been asleep for the last few hours. Since you''re up and ready, actually, could you cover me while I get another few hours myself? Since you''re so up and ready to go," Jiehong said.


    "Fine, fine! But don''t get greedy with those slumbers, alright? It''s pretty boring doing nothing on watch," he told his brother. Which was true. There wasn''t anything to do while serving as lookout. Just you and the world-on-watch.


    Jiehong thanked Zan and got himself back into the tent. From within its sleeping compartment, he heard a yell not long after Jie entered the tent -- "ZAN! Why does the tent smell like your flatulence!!!"


    Heaved to the ground as if by gravity, his laughter brought him down several notches while he rolled back and forth on his sides. "Sorry!" he yelled, barely getting the apology out while busily engaged with dislodging more and more laughs.


    Between his non-stop giggling and his brother''s discomfort, neither of them could do anything productive. Rolling laughs later, however, produced a typical response from him, when Zan told his brother, "Sorry. Really... you know how I get when we have these fiber heavy foods."


    Like a wildebeest in a play, Jiehong sighed, lamenting, mostly to himself, but also to his brother, how "I will find a way to get over my brother''s cardinal grossness," before he fell to the sleeping mat and lost consciousness.


    By the time he heard his brother''s snoring, his hearty laughter became a thing of the past.


    For a while, he able handedly kept himself focused on the task at hand -- making sure no wild animals, brigands, or bad-meaning folk intruded upon their campsite.


    This was only so motivating for so long, though.


    Maybe an hour or more after Jiehong went to sleep did he again feel the lull of boredom. He constantly shifted his head toward Whiskey''s tent, just to see if she might be stirring. Once she was awake, it would be less boring.


    "Until then, meanwhile..." he spoke to himself, wondering what he should do.


    A ping. The Screen Master. One of them. Simulacrum or MAC. Who knew.


    "You look bored," Sigma-Prime said, surprising him since he expected one of the Screen Masters.


    "You could say that again," he replied, drolly.


    "I have a solution for your boredom, if you''re interested. It is possible to re-connect to your memories of watching and performing the command center tutorials. We can''t filter to you new tutorials, but if it is only about encouraging what you''ve already seen, I can encourage your headset so you might re-experience the tutorials. You could use time like this to apply yourself to your studies and master training material."


    "Yeah, sure. I have nothing else to do," he said, allowing Sigma-Prime to patch him into a re-creation of the tutorials he already had completed.


    He felt his mind speckle with strange energies as the wires within his skulls and brain slithered lightly. What did it look like? Fuzzy, was a word which came to his mind. The memory came back to him, and he saw the face of Lord Commander Garul materialize, seemingly, over the fire pit.


    The lessons he re-experienced were not lessons he needed advancement in. He had already mastered such lessons during his time at the Command Center. He was only re-watching them now because he had to do something to pass the time while on watch.


    At the end of several lessons, he saw the time fly. He would have found this feature immensely useful had it been rolled out in time for the earliest part of his Order career. It would have made those days of traveling between provinces ride much smoother. ''Better late than never,'' he surmised.


    Finally, he heard, after many more lessons, it seemed, the sweetest tone he wanted to know: Whiskey saying, ''good morning.''


    "Oh, thanks to the gods. You''re up!" he said.


    "I am... you look bored. Is that tea fresh?" Whiskey said with a yawn.


    "Gods! You have no idea. So bored, I was! And no. The tea is hours old... I want sugar and milk for it," he replied, morosely, like he was a petulant child not getting their way with an unreasonable request at a festival.


    She dipped her cup and brought it to her lips for a sip. "I see what you mean. It is stale. Better than nothing, though. Quality isn''t something we can afford to complain over."


    Letting herself drink for a few moments, Whiskey eventually confirmed, "Yeah. I would like this with sugar and dairy, too. Later tonight we will head to the village. See if anyone has goods for trade."


    "I like it. Jiehong made a similar comment before he returned to sleep. You''re fine with probing these bunker tunnels, then?" he asked.


    "Of course. Seems like we have nothing else to do. We don''t know where our ''Masked Friend'' is, this is our best bet. I can''t think of any other thing to do before tunnel diving, anyway. We are on good terms with the village. Aside from those cables... but we will handle that issue when we have to. We don''t have to right now. Bunker busting is good in my book. Though, as a leader, Zan, you might want to take more of a commanding presence when you''re leading us. If you want to be that grandmaster in more than just title, you are going to need to know what to do, when and how to do it, and instill in people the will to do it. I like how you are taking our thoughts into mind, I am, but there is more to leadership than taking consul," Whiskey explained, him wondering if she had that whole speech prepared or if she winged it on the spot.


    "All very true. That is how I am doing it for now. I feel like this way, I can be myself while also leading. I am no good if I try and bull-rush my way through. I will keep what you said in mind, though. Because you''re right. When we expand, things will have to change. That won''t be until later, though. So, why rush?" he told her, wondering when Jiehong would wake up and the day could be gotten going-on.


    Jiehong woke an hour later. His face filled with the same snotty-ill-ease he and Whiskey had felt themselves. Handing his brother his drinking mug, it was filled with black tea. He galloped down the whole cup. "Hoooot!" he shouted as the scalding liquid went down his throat.


    "Enough lily-licking. Let''s get a move on. Late morning. Time to go," Jiehong said. "Right after I pee! Holy crap, that went straight through me!"

 Chapter 214

    LIVERS FILLED WITH BLACK TEA, Zan and his party set themselves up for an action-packed day, making sure to securely place, and hide, their camping gear and belongings, while they made their way back into the bunker.


    "Shouldn''t we bring in with us our gear?" Whiskey asked, halfway into the first room.


    He groaned. "I don''t want to become distracted. If we bring in all our gear, we are committing to setting it up somewhere. And we would still need to cook outdoors anyway... I say, no, in fact, I will go further: I order, for us to leave it out there!"


    Jiehong laughed. Smiling, he said, "If that is your official command, then we shall leave our stuff outside."


    "It is... let''s get a move on with this bunker. I sometimes feel like the closer we try to move to and understand this bunker, the closer we move to some other issue. You know? First, with how MAC gave us a list; finding a translator for the list; our activity with Winters while Luxley translated; then just getting up to here, finding it, buying the land... yada-yada-yada... and now fae creatures. I want to get this stuff done and be finally done with it. If this bunker can help defend the province, this needs to be our top priority. End of story, yeah?" he said, feeling fed up with the many distractions along the way.


    "I see what you mean! When you put it like that. Our lot in life has been confusing of late. Making sense of the chaos it never easy, you forget methinks. We''re doing our best with what we have been given. And given what we have been given, I think we''ve done well for ourselves and our home," Jiehong said.


    Not sure if he shared Jiehong''s positive outlook, considering the fact the enemy seemed to only be sparing their province because they had bigger fish to fry, he focused on just moving into the bunker. They moved fast through the opening five rooms which preceded the hub-room with Screen Master MAC. When they entered the hub space with MAC''s cabinet, the exchange from moments ago had all but been forgotten.


    "Greeting: Welcome Back. Statement: You have come ready to operate within the Order''s standard of conduct, I see. Very good. With all of you at perfect conditioning standards, I will be able to watch you fight and at times offer suggestions on how to improve your combat functions," MAC said, greeting them.


    Each member of the team chattered their support of MAC''s function. These Screen Masters really were handy, he thought. Creating devices for them, studying their martial prowess and suggesting feedback, taking on minor tasks so they themselves didn''t have to focus unduly on trivial matters. Great guys, all of them!


    "Thank you, Screen Master MAC. For right now, though, we should be getting to our purpose. Could you be so kind as to unlock the doors to our sides, please?" he asked.


    "Answer-Statement: Unfortunately, I cannot unlock those two doors," MAC said, referring to the two locked passages at the far end of the room and which he had seen the other day.


    "Why not?" he asked. "Is it a System repair issue?"


    "It is not a System Repair issue, no. I cannot unlock those two doors because one of you, an Order Initiate, must be the ones to unlock them. Each of these doors have been sealed with a basic but powerful incantation. In order for the incantation to break, you will need to imbue the door with enough energy to overload and break the incantation locking it in place," MAC explained.


    "That is odd," Whiskey said. "Is this truly a reliable anti-theft measure? I guess the idea is that some thief in the night is not going to make it very deep within -- assuming he makes it inside -- when he has to use all his magic on doors?"


    "It is not, strictly speaking, an anti-theft measure. Merely an emergency measure meant to ward off fae creatures developing network of power within the bunker. Fae creatures sap magical energy, consuming it from sources. This is how they support their consciousness and evolve. Although not impossible for a fae Creature to give energy to a lock, and thereby expand deeper into the base as a larger organism, it is extremely unlikely for any single organism to claim more than a single room as its territory."


    Speaking up, Jiehong said, "So, the doors are a failsafe, then? I get it. Clever."


    Turning to the door on the right, he walked toward it. "Focus," he told himself. Within a couple of breaths, he saw the lock and chain image from the other day materialize over the door, his headset manifesting the whimsical sound and image. He touched the door, as if to confirm its ''locked'' status, to which his headset had the padlock and chain image vibrate rudely as if to say, ''you can''t pick my lock, so don''t even try!'' A brief red aura flashed from the locked door. Moments later, he saw a number appear over the door: [One (1)].Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    "Don''t leave us in the dark! What are you seeing?" Whiskey asked.


    He spoke to his team: "I see a padlock and chain. I saw this yesterday. When I touch it, it shakes. Now, I see a number. That number is one. I am going to guess this number somehow relates to the magic amount we have to imbue the door with?"


    Screen Master MAC spoke quickly: "You are correct. My systems are still processing your Command Center Headset and its advanced functions. Screen Master Simulacrum sent me a data transmission not long ago. If I am understanding the concept of your headset in the way which you should be experiencing it, then the way this door should work for you is this: press your palm to the door; begin channeling energy into the door; once you start channeling energy into the door, you will see a number go up from zero until it reached the number on the door; once the amount of mana has been met, the door will unlock."


    Muttering a ''thanks,'' he refocused himself to the door. He did as MAC instructed and placed his hand palm-first on the door. Then, seeing the zero appear underneath the number he needed, he channeled energy from his reserve into the door.


    Expecting a quick work of the door, since it only needed one unit of mana, he was surprised when he saw numbers to the right of zero. After a decimal -- he thought it was called, the little period -- he saw more numbers. Much like his progress bar on his so-called ''Skills,'' what his headset called his ''skills,'' numbers here were on an extremely small scale. From the furthest over he could see, the number quickly went up and up, eventually filling every decimal place. Eventually, after a protracted, concentrated effort at filling the door, the target goal he met.


    Once he met the target, the image on his HUD changed from a padlock and chain to the padlock unlocking and the chains falling away. A green aura came from the door signaling its unlocked status. His pal still on the door, he gently brought his hand back, then flicked his wrist to the right, as if to say, ''begone, servant!'' The door slid away into the wall, leaving he and his teammates to see within to the next room.


    Which was a hallway!


    It was a completely ordinary hallway. Whiskey used this uneventful walk to ask him, "Are you feeling good, Zan?"


    "Yeah. I''m fine. A little beat from the magic use. I will be good, though. I''m already nearly back at full strength," he said, truthfully.


    "Good. I wanted to check in and make sure. Don''t feel like you have to open every of these locked doors yourself. I am no slouch when it comes to magical stamina. I can go all night," she said, laughing at the unintended implication.


    "Same, here," Jiehong said. "We''re part of this team. Use us as any commander would. Just don''t push it!" He could tell Jiehong was kidding, but for a brief moment, he thought his brother was being sincere in his saying of him not to push his authority.


    They approached the door, the eighth room they had seen in total since entering the bunker complex. He was relieved when he saw the door''s green pulse and how it moved to open at their approach. It swooshed wide to reveal a modestly sized space, large enough, perhaps, to fit a couple of dozen adults with space to spare for essential goods. Yet with the low ceiling, the space took on a mildly claustrophobic atmosphere. This was because, he realized, odd wires and cords from beneath the floor snaked their way at and through the room at strange angles. With the low-ceiling and his friends by his side, his peripheral vision consumed, the room gave an appearance of being both smaller as well as more demanding of them, as if the bunker space willed them to procced one and only one way.


    "Weird, right?" he asked his teammates.


    "Yeah. I think? I feel weird being in this space. Like... it''s breathing? I feel like the bunker wants us to go deeper. Which is ridiculous! Gods! Listen to me talk!" Jiehong said.


    "It''s not absurd. I don''t think... I feel the same. But maybe that is just because fae are nearby?" he said. "Screen Master? Do you sense any nearby fae?"


    "I sense nothing. I will alert you to any nearby fae activity until you order me otherwise," MAC replied.


    His team and he moved through the room with confidence. Hearing the Screen Master say the room was free of danger gave them license to explore the room to their heart''s content while peppering MAC with questions about the bunker, such as: ''What are these wires?'' ''Where do the cables go?'' ''Why are the cables sticking up through the floor like vines?'' And many other questions beside.


    The answer to every such question, however, was the same: "Unfortunately, I do not know," MAC said. "The installation has been dormant for a very long time. Damage from magical decay and superstructural breakdown is the likely cause of the bunker''s current state."


    There was only a single exit point in the room other than the way they had come. With their curiosity satiated, they left and walked through the door and into another long hallway. Like the previous corridor, they traversed, it took them about three minutes to walk from one end to the other. They entered the tenth room from the left side of the hallway (which was, in turn, the ninth room). Keeping track of where they went through the use of his headset, he marked each passing room with a number, so he could easily refer back to the rooms at a moment''s notice. Watching as his map-in-miniature expanded to include many rooms on its simple grid, he thanked his lucky stars the Wardens had gifted him the strange device. Painful thought its integration had been, he found it extremely useful.


    They had only just crossed the divide from the ninth and into the tenth room when MAC suddenly pinged in their ear. "ALERT: Fae Activity Detected!"

 Chapter 215

    ZAN''S HEART JOLTED as though a bolt of lightning-based magic had struck his body!


    "Fae activity? Where?!" he asked, his eyes scanning the room ahead but seeing nothing.


    They cautiously entered the room. His eyes peeled; he expected trouble with every step. What was different about the room, he asked himself. "It looks green?" was his answer.


    Screen Master''s MAC voice pinged in his ears as a System notification came up: [Fae Creature: ''Fatal Graze'' detected: Fatal Graze is a ''Slow Killing,'' Fae Assemblage. It is a fungal growth drawn to potent sources of magic. It enraptures its targets, keeping them docile as it slowly drains its victim''s life energy using its growth as a colonizing body].


    "Horrifying," he said, as he latched on to the more potent and vividly green-esque places of the room where this ''Fatal Graze'' clearly kept itself.


    He approached the portion of the room with caution. If this creature was going to attempt and ''enrapture'' him, he would need all of his mental alacrity to resist and--


    "Zan! Snap out of it -- ZAN!" Jiehong yelled before taking him by the shoulders and shaking him free of his stupor.


    "What... w-what happened?" he said.


    "We nearly lost you for a moment. You became like an undead and walked ahead aimlessly," Whiskey said, going on to explain what happened. "Jiehong was trying to ask you for orders, and you just mumbled something and walked ahead without replying. Simulacrum eventually yelled at Jiehong to act and shake you. Now, we''re here."


    "Shet! R-really? I was just thinking about how I had to resist. I was on guard! Did you guys kill it?" he said, asking his friends if he had been robbed of his comeback.


    "No. You were only out for a moment. But a moment''s enough, Zan!" Whiskey said, keeping her intensity high.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Yes! I believe it! Whiskey, switch places with Jiehong. I will take lead again but shield my eyes from its core up ahead -- what I am assuming if the core, anyway. Jiehong, keep me in a simple conversation. If I falter, pull me back and shake me. Keep your eyes on my back, okay?"


    "Understood," Jiehong said, doing as told and affixing his gaze to his brother''s spine. With Jiehong''s right hand tightly holding onto his brother''s side, and Whiskey at Jiehong''s back, the trio pushed ahead, his gaze stoic as he held his vision to the side while on approach toward the creature.


    One step: Jiehong began the simple conversation. It was to keep their mind focused while the fae creature attempted to enact its nature and colonize them as a host bodies. But not today! Jiehong, thought, his brother thought. "I sure to like the Slipstream," Jiehong said.


    Step: "I know what you mean. It gives us so much!" he replied back, canned, but that was the point. "Focus yourself, Zan!" he shouted at himself as every step brought them closer and closer to danger.


    Another step: "I don''t like how it goes away." Jiehong said. Step: "Why can''t it just stay around all the time?" Step.


    By now, he was panting. He did not know why, though. His mind raced with thoughts and half-baked schemes to resist the creature''s mental impressions. Magic was no good for him, here. No sum of magic could help him maintain his concentration, and therefore, his safety and his life -- or at least none he knew. All he had to keep him safe was his furious mind and it attempted to wrestle down the potent and clinging aromas unleashed by the Fatal Graze, its desperate attempt to claim them and their spiritual life essence as its own.


    Step. Step. Step: "Faster, now!" he told himself. To Jiehong, he replied, "I would like it to be around all the time. Then, we could work at night! How awesome that would be!"


    "I don''t know about that," Jiehong said, mockingly. Step.


    One final step and Zan gasped out to the Screen Master, "How do we kill it?"


    MAC replied, "Fire is its weakness. A simple fire--"


    Not waiting to hear the end of MAC''s reply, he immediately conjured a simple ball within his clawed-up hand. Stealing a final glance in its direction, a risky glance, but one he felt he could get away with since the flame he conjured surely had to give the fae reason to fear him and therefore break its own concentration, his gaze was successful. He found where its position was -- oozing out from some crack in the wall -- and lobbed his tongue of flame in the general direction of the wall.


    Instantly, the atmosphere changed. With the creature''s body hit by the fire, a shrill sound, not unlike steam escaping from a kettle, briefly filled the room. Then, only a small burnt-smelling wisp remained in what had once been a goosy-gooey, overflowing, fungal hole.

 Chapter 216

    [Skill Unlocked: Constitution (1)], the System notified him of. ''Constitution''? What is that? He asked himself. His headset answered curtly: "Mental Fortitude. Or mental resistance, this is the Constitution skill. Increase your Constitution skill through many mental exercises and stimulating courses of study," the headset spoke directly into his mind.


    Wondering about and then receiving his answer to the question in a fraction of a moment, he returned his consciousness to the matter at hand: the hallway. And their next passage.


    To his friends, he said, "Guys, thank you back there. You saved my hide!"


    "No worries. That is what teammates and friends do, right?" Whiskey said, Jiehong agreeing.


    He looked at the space. It was now completely ordinary in every way. To MAC he asked, "What are fae exactly? You said they come from magical by-products, right? Whatever that means..."


    "Fae bodies are semi-corporeal. Being mostly an amalgamation of spirit, their only tangible components are those pieces which are harvested from the mortal plane, facets such as hand tools, bones, and organic growth. Fae creation is most likely to transpire within places of the physical world most in contact with the magical realm. Forests and the deep earth, and structures belonging to Ancient Societies of a Certain Kind, are the most common places to find fae Creatures," MAC explained to them once more.


    "I only found it strange, is all," Zan said, looking at the hole where the Fatal Graze had come for him. "I unlocked a new skill, so that''s something!"


    The next couple of rooms were uneventful. No more fae, no cabinets bearing odd crystals. Just empty rooms bearing the marks of many years of neglect.


    "How are we feeling, guys?" he asked his Party. ''Party,'' being a term he remembered overhearing from how travelers talked and how they spoke of their adventures with their unusual friends.


    He thought his System would update him on the condition of his friends automatically after the fight with the fae. But the headset never did. Whenever he glanced toward the status icons for his teammates, it only ever said the same thing: "Good." Thinking of the logic behind how it updated, it made sense. The headset knows nothing he does not know. If he wants to know something, he can ask, and trust that piece of information to be properly organized using the headset''s aesthetic.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    First, he had to ask. He had to remember; he must ask.


    Answering his attempts at being a better leader, Jiehong answered first. "I think I am fine. It''s been a tense little bit but no reason not to continue advancing. Unless Whiskey or you have a better idea, that is. You bore a larger brunt of that fae creature''s maligned influence, so you have more right than either I or Whiskey, if you feel the need to turnback for the day."


    Thinking on his condition, and happy hearing his teammates were still rearing to continue, he told them, "I am fine. A little spooked but fine, otherwise."


    "That is good," Whiskey said. "It''s everyone''s first time encountering these creatures. This is not our usual fare. I know we need to activate this bunker and all, but we shouldn''t take all the responsibility for ending the war upon our shoulders. If you want to call it an early day, Zan, then I think we should."


    "No, no. I really am fine. Let''s pause and take a break then continue on our way," he told them.


    Pausing to catch their breath and stretch, check for damages, they soon moved on to the next and thirteenth room.


    "Drop down to your knees -- now!" MAC spoke with a violent urge.


    He obeyed and dropped to his knees, his heart a race. "Roll forward. Good!"


    To Jiehong and Whiskey, whom he saw frozen at the door''s precipice, MAC told, "Stay where you are: observe the crack from which the door has slid into..." he followed along with his teammates and pried his head to try and see what MAC wanted them to see. He focused. He saw light refracted from something metallic. A glint in the crack.


    "What is that?" he asked, scooting to a keeling position, leaning his head almost over and into the crack, but just enough to ward against any warnings from MAC.


    "I want you to quickly place your hand over the crack in the doorway and then remove it before the entity which is inside attempts to strike," MAC told him. ''Entity which lives in the doorway? What was happening?!'' he asked himself. But he did as he was instructed; and to his surprise, as he did so, he saw a thin needle jab out from the door, barely missing his hand.


    "What the heck is that?!" he exclaimed, followed by the scries of his teammates.


    "This," MAC continued, "is a fae creature called ''Poison Needle.'' This simple fae manipulates ancient machinery, creating a nest for itself within the folds of gears and levers. Like all fae, they feed on the life force of living, willed entities. Using by-product from the breakdown of ancient machinery, they generate a poison which saps their victim''s will, leading them defenseless as their life essence is slowly drained. Their weaknesses include water-oriented incantations."


    Thinking over what MAC told them, he asked his friends, "Does anyone know any water magic?"

 Chapter 217

    It seemed no one knew any water magic. Bummer.


    "Are they weak to anything else?" Zan asked MAC.


    "No. But they can be destroyed with any sufficiently strong or persistent magic. In the absence of water-magic, which is the most direct and easiest way to remove Poison Needle fae, I would recommend magically induced flames upon a torch. Hold the torch close to the door and slowly wait for the creature to decay and slip out of its nest."


    "Anyone have a torch on them?" he asked.


    "I do," Jiehong remarked, producing from his satchel a torch he had acquired at some point in their journey. Jiehong lit the torch using some of his own magical accumulation and held the torch against the point in the doorway which the fae creature had come from.


    It was... uneventful.


    What had started so ferociously, with MAC''s warning and his wonder if he was about to be killed, ended with dull waiting. The flames lapped at the door. Jiehong held the torch closer. The flames continued their lapping like a cat''s tongue in a bowl of cream. Eventually, a thin black wisp fluttered out the crevice from which the fae creature had made its nest. The smoke puffed like an old man smoking a pipe. It stopped as suddenly as it began. Then, out came the fae creature as a goop filled with burnt bits of metal.


    "The fae threat has been eradicated. You all did excellently," MAC said, leaving them be, the conservation over.


    "That easy, huh?" he said, referring to the ease of handling the second-ever fae creature they encountered.


    "I guess so," Jiehong replied, looking at the goo himself. "Is there any way for us to sense when one of these Poison Needles is nested upon a passage? Speaking of, is it only doors which they nest? Or can they be anywhere?"


    MAC returned to the conversation and said, "Poison Needle fae can be anywhere. However, the majority of the time when they are found, it is through a passageway; over time, these fae creatures have evolved to favor doorways as that is where their prey invariably tends toward. As for sensing them, careful attenuation to the presence of malformed magical phenomena will help you better sense when a Poison Needle is present. I would recommend first looking for physical signs of the fae''s presence through every door you use. Then, once you''ve found a passage with a Poison Needle nest, reach out with your mind, make yourself sensitive to magic. Attempt to feel the magical malformation within the passage. Over time, you will gain an awareness which was not there before."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "So, we have no choice but to look at every door we pass through?" he asked, really hoping he had misheard the Screen Master. But no. With another chime, MAC confirmed that, yes, they did have to check every door manually before crossing through.


    "We''ll make do," Whiskey said, returning leniency to their recently tedious outlook. "Shall we continue?"


    "Yes. I''m already bored looking at this door," he replied, getting from his knees and looking at the actual contents of the thirteenth room.


    Nothing. Oh, wait!


    Not nothing. Two doors in this room. One to the right. One to the left. A little up from their entry point.


    "Let''s take the door on the right, first," he said. He approached the door and made sure to carefully check the passage for a Poison Needle nest once the door slid out of the way. He found nothing. Confirmed by MAC.


    Inside this fourteenth room was nothing. Perhaps, long ago, it had been a supply closet. Or maybe a storage nook. A jail cell? Or a small bedroom?


    Walking out of the room, however, MAC brought up their attention now, to a new fact: "Observe the threshold between doors."


    "What am I looking at?" he asked.


    "Oh! The slime," Whiskey said, pointing out something which took him much longer to see.


    He eventually saw what the Screen Master wanted them to see. He crouched down to one knee and touched it. "What is it?"


    "This is the improperly decayed remains of a Poison Needle type fae. Fae remains such as these contain potent poison from the no longer functioning fae construct. It is possible to harvest it for use in trade or the apothecary sciences."


    Touching it quickly, he found it to be sticky, slimy. "Anyone have, like, a small bag or something? I don''t want to toss something this gooey into my satchel."


    Whiskey raised her hand and said, "I do. Here. I traded for some salted waxed paper a long time ago, thinking I was going to purchase some slabs of meat at the butcher. Never got to the butcher, though. The Expanse came a-knocking you know, so here. Might as well get some use out of them."


    She handed him a couple of small pieces of the waxed paper. "Cool. Now I will just... carefully... pick this thing up... like so..." he said in narration of his harvesting. Using his fingers to quickly grip, pull up, and deposit the goop onto the paper. He wrapped up the goo quick and stuck it in his satchel.


    "Sweet. Now that poison needle goo monster is out of the way, let''s get to that other door, just yonder," he said, hoping the next door would lead to deeper mysteries than needles and why fae creatures were such jerks.

 Chapter 218

    He didn''t even know. "What room is this? Ugh..." Zan glanced at his map-in-miniature to the top left of his headset''s visual overlap. The HUD, or Heads Up Display, as he had taken to calling it. He saw the numbers on the map. He and his teammates were coming across room thirteen, where they had encountered the Poison Needle fae while crossing over from room twelve. The empty closet which contained the gooey gears now in his satchel, was room fourteen. He saw no other passage than to the yet unexplored room fifteen.


    Room fifteen looked the same as the other rooms. Which meant it served no other purpose, as far as he could gleam, than to serve as antechambers to more important rooms. Or it would if room sixteen just beyond, held anything interesting. Which it did not.


    It wasn''t until room seventeen -- blank, boring, as the rest -- did he see any additional passages deeper into the bunker.


    "Okay. We have doors to the left and right. Where shall we go?" Whiskey asked.


    Both doors were locked. His HUD pulsed red and conjured another animated image of a padlock bound by chains, rattling ''phantasmically'' just before each door''s surface. To their left, was door eighteen. To their right, door nineteen. Door nineteen required an energy reading of (1) to open. Door eighteen required a massive reading of (5) to open.


    "So, both doors are locked," Zan said. "Each require us to imbue the door with energy. That door wants only one energy. This other wants five. Screen Master: we are going to need to explore every room in this place, right? Like, we won''t know where those clusters are which control the defenses until we explore every room, right?" he asked.


    "That is correct, Zan. I can point you in the general direction of the damaged cores you must repair to bring defenses back online. But I cannot pinpoint their exact location. There is always a chance you will get lucky and stumble upon one by chance, thus saving time, but even then, this leaves the matter of the doors unresolved. If you intend on staffing this bunker with personnel, as Order incarnations of the past have done, for safety, I recommend clearing out every room, least fae phenomena slip through the cracks and hurt the unprepared," MAC said, explaining some important details.


    Staffing the bunker with people? He had not considered...


    "It doesn''t matter, then," he finished dwelling upon which door they should unlock. "If we have to unlock everything, then there is no point in overthinking. Let''s imbue the door with the five requirements. All of at once. Come on, guys."


    He and Whiskey and Jiehong then placed their palms on the locked door and channeled their magic. He kept a firm watch on the slowly creeping number as it rose to meet the required sum. Breathe-in: breathe-out. Remain steady. Resist the urge to push it out with an edge. He lectured himself as every teacher he ever had, had done -- strict but attendant.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "Break!" he shouted, encouraging his friends to retract their hands.


    With the flow of magic suddenly ceased -- the rising number stopped just under four -- he asked his Party how they fared.


    "Not so bad, actually," Jiehong said.


    "Speak for yourself. I am getting up there," whiskey replied.


    "Let''s take five and get back at it. I think I packed a snack in my satchel. Here, have a bite, guys. Let''s all have a bite," he told his team.


    For the sum of ten minutes, they all rested. They eat dried nuts, meat, and berries with water and cheeses. A typical snack food for anyone who grew up in the area. Or who had easy access to a druid who knew how to encourage a diverse crop to grow.


    "Not the best papple fruit jerky I''ve had, but not the worst, either," Whiskey said as she stood up and dusted snack crumbs from her equipment.


    "Yeah. I think we left it to the air for too long," Jiehong said with a chuckle.


    "It wasn''t even jerky, though," he said, getting up with his friends. "It was just dried pieces of fruit I had in my satchel. From back when Mentality''s hidden force attacked after the villa battle and I was fending for myself."


    "You mean," Whiskey said, putting together the pieces, "this is not actual jerky? Just super dry fruit?"


    "Yes?" he said, unsure of how they were about to react.


    "Gross," was all Whiskey said.


    "Yeah. You should make an effort to keep food better stored than just leaving it in your pack, bro. That''s unsanitary..."


    Not knowing what to say, he opted for the safe route: "Okay. Noted. And if I am careless, I won''t give it to my friends. Honestly, I had no idea that was a thing people didn''t like..."


    "Well, it is," Jiehong said firmly. "Something to keep in mind as you interact with people more outside of the specific way we lived back in our hometown."


    Duly noted, he noted to himself. He continued to talk to himself: I don''t understand why they find it distasteful. It''s papple fruit! It''s not like it was bad, per se. It was only a little dry. There wasn''t any mold or shet. If it is good enough for me, why isn''t it good enough for them?


    Socializing questions aside, it was time again for his least favorite new activity -- bunker door opening.


    His palm joined Whiskey and Jiehong''s palm. They channeled magic, while doing so, he told his friends, "Keep a steady beat, my companions. Remember to breathe in and out; don''t push out your energy too fast..."


    Keeping his breathing steady as he could, his magic continued its unobstructed flow. It didn''t know how, but he felt his companions use of magical energy. He knew their output was still too high. "Guys. Slow down. I can feel your energy. Take a breath!"


    He received grunting responses. Their magical flow did even out, some, but not by a lot. Which, in an instance, leveled out to zero as they finished infusing the door with its demanded mana.


    The door pulsed green. The padlock unlocked, its chains falling away. Then, it slid open. And they walked through -- but not before carefully checking the passage for any signs of Poison Needle fae.

 Chapter 219

    INSIDE ROOM EIGHTEEN was a large space filled with mattresses and bedframes stacked one on top of each other.


    "Looks like barracks..." Jiehong said.


    "You would know," Whiskey said. "You take up a whole wing back in the base."


    "Sorry. Do you want to move in with me?" Jiehong replied, perhaps sincere.


    "Heavens, no. I am fine where I am, taking up one bed, in one wing. I''m only saying, once we expand as an Order, we are going to need beds. Which means you are going to have to give up your private wing," Whiskey said, striking the matter at its root.


    "She is right, you know," he said, joining in on the discussion as the group moved into the room.


    Becoming flustered, Jiehong said, "Yeah, guys, I know, okay? I don''t plan on abusing my power as second-in-command just to take up a whole freaking wing back at the base!"


    "Okay. Fine. As long as you are aware... it''s not like any of us spend too long at the Command Center anyway," Whiskey said, ending her role in the conversation by spreading out and investigating the new space.


    Whiskey had the right idea, he thought. He took a corner unoccupied by either Whiskey or Jiehong and looked around.


    Although he was glad to have a moment to give the room more attention, he found nothing of note except the mattresses. He sat on one mattress and felt a relaxing chill course through it. He wondered what the material was, so he asked MAC.


    "The material is called ''softy,'' and it comes from a fused process between two alien materials coated in designer energies by a skilled magical artisan," MAC explained.


    "It sounds complicated," he said back, not understanding, as usual.


    "It is, but it is also outside of the purview of your responsibilities as a Grandmaster-in-Training. The mattresses are in good condition and will not need to be replaced for many years. Hence, you do not need to worry about recruiting someone with such specialized talents, not yet."


    "Okay... as long as that remains true, I guess I..." but he couldn''t finish the thought. ''Why am I talking about mattresses?'' he asked himself. He must''ve really not known what to do if he fell off track so quickly. Centering himself again, he rose from his seat upon the mattress, and announced, "Let''s get out of here, guys. This place doesn''t have anything for us. We found some beds, cool!" Mild sarcasm aside, their third break since coming in from the outside was over. It was fine and all to traverse a dangerous place at their own pace. ''Not so fine'' if that pace threatened their progress all together.


    Neither Whiskey nor Jie gave any pushback and before he knew it, they both were at his back as he left room eighteen.


    "Magic door number three -- who''s up?" he asked.


    "Let Whiskey and I handle this door since you broke that first one all by yourself," Jiehong said.


    He allowed his teammates to handle the door by themselves. He watched carefully as they imbued the door with energy. "Remember, go slow. You don''t want too much haphazard jitters infecting the flow. Steady as you go when you breathe or as your heart beats," he instructed.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was difficult for him to see if his teammates improved their output rate. He thought their output was of a more refined quality, this time around, but it could be hard to tell. Or it could be difficult to tell, at least, when Whiskey and Jiehong met the door''s mana threshold so quickly.


    A chime. The door pulsed green. Then slid open.


    He was about to walk through when Whiskey stopped him and said, "Remember -- the door? Fae?"


    "Argh! Forgot myself! So much to keep track of!"


    It was a lot to keep track of, but that is why he had his team with him, so he could help them, and they could help him.


    Checking the door quickly, he found no sign of a Poison Needle nest. They walked into the nineteenth room unopposed. Until MAC sounded an alarm in their ears, "Warning! Warning! Fae activity detected! Warning! Fae activity detected!"


    He went instantly into defense mode and brought his buckler to bear as he led the way. His eyes scanned the room and then scanned again.


    Slowly deepening their presence in the room, he asked, "What are we looking for?"


    "Unfortunately," MAC said, "until you get closer to the fae, my sensors will not be able to pinpoint and recall its biometric data. Not until it is close enough to attack you or you it."


    Of course, he grumbled.


    He continued to wade into the room, expecting trouble at every turn. He marched ahead. The hallway they had entered was stout and confined. Hence, he did not think the enemy was waiting for them, trapped within the mesh of the walls like the Poison Needle. Ahead, the hallway let out into a more open space. ''That was where the fae would be waiting for us,'' he told himself in a whisper.


    They entered into the larger portion of the room, leaving the narrow hallway from whence they had come, behind them.


    He glanced to the left and right, making sure every direction was covered. He saw the fae right away -- burst from the wall, crystalline growths merged with cables and horrifically bad-smelling residue from centuries old machines, to give life to a fae construct. Ping.


    His headset''s voice spoke to him. "Proximity trigger activated. Updating System. System Updated! Fae creature data retrieved: Creature Identified: ''Un-Fun Gas,'' the Gaseous Fea Creature. Sentientized vapors given life from potent eldritch magics, this fae creature is commonly seen near destroyed pipes and ruined ancient machinery, especially those afflicted by malign sorceries. Its body is a thin and gooey membrane which finds its rest on ultra-volatile system machines. It attacks its prey with an obnoxious vapor cloud which causes a number of nasty side-effects, paralyzing their victims."


    "Weaknesses?" he asked, hopeful the system had some suggestions.


    "Lightning-oriented magic is this creature''s weak point. Even a small lightning-based incantation will wholly destroy most appearances of this creature.


    Knowing none of his teammates had access to lightning magic, as lightning was an advanced fire-based technique very few practitioners could do unless they had sustained, specialist training, he asked for another tip. He waited for MAC to respond and watched the fae creature at the far-end of the room. It was spread all over the walls, clearly it had an immense amount of time to colonize as much of the wall as it did.


    "Additional Tip," the headset said, "If you find an Urgent Fae Repair Kit, you might instantly eliminate the fae construct. Clarification: Urgent Fae Repair Kits can be found within every Order structure. They offer quick and easy solutions to instantly handle every fae entity."


    "Oh... cool.. is there one nearby?" he asked.


    "Yes," the Screen Master said. "Next to the fae."


    He looked carefully at the wall. "Is that it?" he asked, seeing a compact box attached to the wall by its handle. The box had a marking on it which he took to be the maker''s brand.


    "Correct," MAC said. "Unfortunately, it looks like, based on your current positioning, it will be difficult for you to remove the repair kit. I recommend caution."


    "Not helpful, MAC. Is there nothing else you can help us with?"


    "Unfortunately, not. The Unfun Gas fae is weak to lightning. A secondary weakness is water-based incantations. However, it would take a long time and a lot of water to render the fae inert. How you approach this enemy is up to you," MAC said before dipping out and leaving the back and forth with him.


    "What shall we do, boss?" Jiehong asked, both with a smirk to his tone, as if he had the perfect answer himself, already, but only wanted to see if he, as his brother, also had the perfect answer -- thus! -- being worthy of sympathy. Or maybe he was overthinking it all because of stress.


    "Screw it!" he said. "Let''s go the water route. MAC, where is the closest spigot or well?"

 Chapter 220

    MAC DID NOT LIE. It took ages for them to move water enough to remove a fae construct. Although this region had many nearby ponds and smaller bodies of water, being of a wetlands disposition, the Screen Master only suggested specific bodies of water, least their removal of water interfered with the local ecosystem. He did not understand how removing water from certain places would threaten an entire ecosystem, but he also had not ever lived here. Dormant or not, MAC clearly understood the ins and outs of the local land. Land wise or not, though, following his instructions took them clear across the bunker, to the other side of the pond, which although was nearer to them, had been declared ''off limits'' under MAC''s consul.


    Buckets upon buckets of water later, each round of which required all three of them to haul, carefully, two buckets upon their shoulders, and only after carefully and roughly navigating the outside and then the bunker''s insides, did the fae construct weaken. Fade to the point where MAC chimed in to tell them, "Attention! By dumping water upon the fae construct, you have now weakened it to the point where water-based incantations will destroy the mechanisms of its existence. If none of you have access to such spells, an intense sum of magical flame might score a critical attack against it, destroying it out of intense and sudden temperature changes in its body''s host."


    "I don''t know how to do water-based incantations," he told his team. "Do either of you?"


    Jiehong shrugged. Of course, he would not know. They were practically raised together. He had overheard a good number of his tutor''s lessons, so he knew what his brother had learned, basically... with a lot of difference given to reading and writing, of course. Overhearing lectures did not mean he had the practice behind the words.


    Whiskey also shook her head. She had a pleasant look to her as she said, "No -- but! I do have a booklet about basic water-magics! I picked it up while we were in Hope-Ridge. I thought I might try my hand at learning. How about we all try and practice as I read the instructions?"


    His brother did not look happy with the idea. Even so, he said, "Sure. But I am going to warn y''all right now, I am not good with any magic other than fire."


    "Enough," Whiskey said, dismissing Jie''s words. "Typical guy thinking. ''Oh, I''m only good at fire and destruction! Look at fire go ''boom!'' because I am such an angry man -- grrr!'' I don''t buy it. If we are going to spend our lives in this Order, we are all going to be able to do what everyone else can do. No one is going to crap out of specific labors or duties because they think water-magic is ''feminine'' or some shet like that. No fecking--"


    Laughing, Jiehong had to yell to be heard. "Whiskey! I''m not saying that at all! Listen! I''m just saying how I, personally, do not have a talent for water-incantations! That''s it!"


    As Jiehong talked, and then finished with what he had to say, Whiskey took to silence. Then smiled.


    "My apologies. I went off on a tangent. Hard to believe, maybe, but while I was with the rebels, there were a lot of people there, mostly men, if I am being honest, who held very backward ideas on what it meant to be a man or a woman in relation to spellcasting. Fresh from that situation, I thought you were another of just one such person. I''m sorry," Whiskey said.


    "Thank you for your apology. Let''s get back to it, then?" Jiehong replied.


    "Yes. Let''s. However, just to reiterate, this is something all of us will be doing. Come heck or high water..."


    With a deep sigh or groan Jiehong muttered his understanding.


    Breaking the surprisingly proactive conversation up, he said, "Whiskey. When you''re ready. Lead us through the incantation know-how, please."


    Although Whiskey was a good teacher who had a lot of patience for her pupils, learning verbally from a booklet being read off to them by a confused and ignorant administrator, however much natural talent she had at trying to teach the material, the fact was, none of them had much luck in rendering a successful water-based spell.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Sorry. I''m done! I''m not saying I am done-done, like I am never trying this again. I''m just saying how for the time being, I am done," Jie said.


    "Fine!" Whiskey yelled, the tedium of the day starting to affect even her. "If you''re giving up, though, at least fetch us a couple pails of water so we can continue training!"


    "Fine, fine," Jie said, wandering off with a pleasant look to his face.


    Seeing his brother leave, it was the perfect time to stretch. Yawning, cracking joints, stretching his muscles, it felt good after painful hours of practicing strange magics.


    "Read it back to me. One more time," he told Whiskey.


    She finished her protracted yawning and recited the booklet''s instructions back to him: "From the beginning," she said. "And I quote: ''Water-based incantations require a connection to Life-Sustaining Sources. Water-based incantations, then, should be thought of less as ''water-based,'' and more as ''liquid-based.'' The liquid must be of a beneficial nature to Kinds of Life. Certain...''" Whiskey recited and then stopped. "This is part where the booklet goes over what you can and can''t use as a liquid base and why. We already went over this. It was all that stuff about alcohol. I am going to skip it and go to the practice material. Okay, from the top: as I quote, ''the first step toward using water-based incantations is to kneel and make physical contact with the life-affirming liquid or to stand and allow it to pool in your hands.''"


    Seeing his chance to say something, he said, "I will stand this time. I spent too long kneeling. Ouch! My poor kneecaps."


    "I will do the opposite. I found standing did nothing for me, so I will kneel this time," she said, kneeling and then taking the booklet back in hand.


    Whiskey continued her reading from the booklet, "With Life Affirming Liquid in touch or hand, begin channeling magical energies, using your own limbs as the conduit.'' See," Whiskey said, breaking from the booklet. "This is where I get lost. What does it mean? ''Use your limbs as a conduit''?"


    "I have no idea," he said. Thinking on what it could mean, he talked aloud, trying to empty his head and make sense of the booklet''s information and the trouble they had in conjuring it. "I think, maybe, it is like this: I use fire spells a lot, right? The Expanse''s golems are wood based, so obviously fire-magic is going to be my bread and butter. When I do this, I am conjuring the flames into my hand. Or I am instantly spraying the flames over the enemy, like when I used that ''sweeping fire,'' attack in battle one time -- I don''t think you were there to see, Whiskey -- but in both of those examples, my hands, specifically, my palms, are still the focal point. My hands are either where the fire generates or the point at which the fire spits toward the enemy. When I do this, I feel like my hands become a sort of shorthand. Like what I would affix to my legal papers with a drop of my blood instead of my signature. Like back in the Wizard Tower. Maybe what we need to do, then, is figure a way for our arms -- the ''limbs'' demanded by the booklet -- into becoming that shorthand instead of our palms or hands?"


    She carefully considered his words. She asked several times to repeat himself. Which he did, gladly.


    "Worth a shot," Whiskey said. "I have no idea how this is going to happen, but I am willing to give it a go. Jeez. We''re going to be here all night..."


    "Probably. But what else would we be doing tonight?" he replied, tired, but still determined.


    "I can''t speak for you, but I would be sleeping..." she said, returning her attention one more time to the booklet.


    He continued and said, "What does it say next? After the limbs as conduits thing?"


    "Let me see," she said, reading ahead and flipping some pages.


    Before Whiskey finished reading, however, Jiehong returned with a couple more pails of water, each bucket sloshed heavily on his shoulders. "Where do you want this?" he asked.


    Irritated at being interrupted, he told his brother to "just leave them anywhere. Set them down."


    "Fine, cranky pants," Jie said with an edge, but still filled with brotherly understanding for how he sometimes got.


    With the buckets set down and the enemy in front of them and still attempting to leap toward them but not daring or unable to, he returned to his focus. He channeled magical energy. This time he focused differently than he had in the past. Ready for the next step, and feeling the energy within his arms, instead of his hands, he asked Whiskey, for "the next step, please. Read, I mean. Thank you."


    "Of course. Just one sec," Whiskey said, recouping her attentiveness after being interrupted by Jiehong. "One more time. As the book says, ''With a connection made to the Life Affirming Liquid, and magic channeled through the conduit, gently surge magic through the water with an effectuation toward healing in mind; new practitioners should keep in mind the following adage: ''healing'' can mean different ideas to different people and context. This booklet cautions against so-called ''Empty Healing,'' whatever that is," Whiskey said, breaking from the booklet to offer her own commentary.


    Ignoring the last bit about ''empty healing,'' or whatever, he focused instead on what else the booklet had said. About how he should surge the magic toward the fae with healing measures in mind. This required him to reframe his perspective. In this context, healing meant offense. Healing also meant mending. Not ''healing of the flesh,'' but rather, healing of the physical -- the busted and decayed materials which combined with circumstance to create a fae assemblage. He surged and held his bated breath.

 Chapter 221

    RADIANCE SPREAD FROM EVERY WETTED SURFACE before it faded into the ether and vanished.


    "Whoa! I think you, did it? Well, almost did it!" Whiskey said, excited for him.


    "Maybe?" he said. "I did something. What I can''t exactly say, though..."


    He stepped closer to the fae construct. He was thankful for it being rooted in place, knowing as he did, it held violent aspirations for them, assuming it could get close enough. He saw wetted spots from where they had tossed bucket after bucket of water. Much of the water they had thrown had since spread over the floor and found its way into the corridor. "Let''s dump those final two buckets and try again," he told Whiskey.


    "Okay," Whiskey said, getting up and saying, "I think I am done as well. My mana is drained. I will help you but after, I think we should call it."


    Although he thought she was giving up too easily, he also knew everything she spoke was true -- it had been a demanding day. He was happy she would stick it through with him for as long as he needed her help. For a while more, anyway.


    "Oh? Weren''t you just saying to Jie how we should continue and not be lazy?" he teased.


    "Things can change. And I wouldn''t say I said that... not in so many words, at least," she replied back with mirth but increasing edge.


    Whiskey then took the buckets in hand, one at a time, and tossed the water against the wall.


    "Think the third -- or is this the two-thousandth? -- time is the lucky charm?" Whiskey asked, slightly short of breath after throwing the buckets.


    "I will hope it is because I am really getting tired myself. My mana is getting low. I can feel it in my bones..." he replied.


    "You can feel your mana?" Whiskey asked.


    "Sort of, but please, silence--" he said, this time getting down to his knees so as to make a more full-bodied connection.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    With hands on water, he closed his eyes, and focused on his arms, how they felt, and how the water felt on his skin. It wasn''t any different than normal, strictly speaking. Although the cold surface of the bunker-material did make the water feel especially cold. He imagined the water in his mind''s eye. He knew it stretched all over the floor and even upon the fae creature which made itself his enemy. He imagined he was actually touching the fae, using the water as proxy. Breathing in, slowly out, he channeled energy and held it within his limbs. Slowly, now having a better control over his output rate, in part, because of his many previous attempts at using water-incantations, but also because of the tedious labor he had performed earlier when he repaired those pickaxes using his mending ''talents,'' such as they were. He felt and could sense through his closed lids, the bright glow coming from the water as the magic infiltrated every iota of the liquid. Whiskey oo-ed and awe. He felt the glow intensify.


    And then, a knot. A tangle of tension within the surface of the water. Was this the fae? He asked himself as he received the answer -- yes, for nothing else here felt as unnatural as the fae construct.


    He did not let the knot twist him and his efforts, though. His output jutted up some, yes, but he quickly corrected it. He breathed steadily and focused more on his limbs; he felt the energy there and how it continued to complement his muscles. He felt the warmth of magic even within his bones. Soothing.


    But then something happened he did not expect.


    He ran out of mana.


    How? He did not know. It happened so suddenly, like when a small child is told to run all over and around to tire them out before bed. Except he had not ''run,'' so to say, he had paced his magical output. If in this metaphor, he thought, ''he'' was the ''child,'' he should still have plenty of goofing around to give before his tyrannous parents put him to sleep.


    Why his magic emptied without warning, he could not say. He felt nothing until it was too late, and his headset never grew the wiser, period.


    It ended before he knew what happened: his magic ran out, he didn''t know why, but as he pondered, for a half-instance, why his magic ran out, moments before, barely even registered, Whiskey let out a gasp as a new, bad, smell filled the room. A popping sound preceded the bad aroma.


    "It''s destroyed! You killed it!" Whiskey said.


    What did she mean? The fae?


    He opened his eyes to confirm.


    Where the wall had once filled with a strange buzzing haze which had been the body of the ''Unfun Gas'' fae construct, now was just an empty wall of busted pipes. No hazy vapors, no buzzing-sounds from its gaseous body, no odd bunches of sound. Just quiet, normal, bunker.


    "And now it''s gone," he said under his breath. Hardly knew it...

 Chapter 222

    WITH THE FAE GROWTH REMOVED, the passage leading deeper within the bunker lay open. He investigated and removed from the wall the Urgent Fae Repair Kit, at MAC''s behest. Inside was nothing more than some archaic tools. "Keep them on your person. They will be very useful during a pitched encounter should fae be involved," MAC told him.


    "No doubt! I will keep it in my satchel. When the time comes, I''m sure it will be useful. For now, though, I am going to join Whiskey in going to sleep," he said, pinging his response to MAC.


    "Now, you''re feeling the tired, too... we did well today. Let''s get some rest," Whiskey said to him.


    "Yeah. It came on so suddenly. One minute, I was flowing so well. The next? My magic over surged or something and I had nothing. I ran out instantly," he told her.


    "Sounds like you overextended yourself. Did too much magic at an extended period, I think. Or had just done too much in general. I''ve heard of it happening," she replied.


    "Great. So, I am normal. Not a freak. Good to know," he said, a slight smile to his face.


    Although he wondered what feats and foes lay beyond room nineteen, he knew he couldn''t tackle those feats and fae by himself. It would be too dangerous to do so. He had to have his teammates by his side. Otherwise, he would be caught weak and off-guard and possibly killed or rendered into some lifeless husk... a husk being a soulless creature who wanders the earth little better than the reanimated dead. Thinking about such a fate caused him to shudder fearfully.


    Yet the fear was short-lived as his mind broke away from such dark fancies upon his leaving of the bunker.


    Back in the great outdoors, whose crisp, earthy air seemed so much more invigorating than the stale air of an abandoned bunker, he breathed deeply for a time and even got a sum of a second wind.


    He sat down at the fire pit, cooled so completely, not even an amber sizzled in the ashes. From he and his brother''s shared tent, he heard Jiehong snoring. He let the sweat slid down his forehead and down through his cheeks, dripping to the ground. He shut his eyes and focused on how good the night air seemed. How pure, how wild.


    And then Whiskey interrupted his concentration. But if anyone was to interrupt, his teammates had the right to. "Not going to bed?" she asked.


    "No, not right now. I just want to take in nature for a moment. We spent so long in that bunker. I just want to remember and taste the world outside. I''ll take first watch. If you could help me get a small fire going the old-fashioned way, I would be much obliged," he told her, sweettalking her to help him with more of the camp chores. As much as starting a fire could count as a chore, he guessed.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "I like that trade-off. I will get a fire going for you, a small one to keep you warm, and then hit the hay myself," Whiskey said, stretching, and then quickly finding some brush, flint, and stone to start a new flame.


    The fire got built and Whiskey headed to bed as she said she would. "See you in the morning. Have Jiehong be the nest watch since he buggered off before any of us."


    He said he would wake up his brother next for watch duty. Whiskey closed her tent and was gone for the night.


    He noticed in his HUD something uncommon. An exclamation point, with an animated flame, as though fire engulfed it, he saw on the bottom lefthand side of his vision. "What''s that?" he asked himself. "Open," he said, verbalizing the action he thought-performed. Instantly, the exclamation point materialized in front of him, vanished, and in its place were notifications.


    [Magical Artes: Level Increased to (3)] and then [Constitution: Level Increased to (2)]. "Why didn''t these notifications go off when they should''ve," he asked no one but himself. "I guess I was pretty distracted at the time," he answered before his headset, hearing his muttering queries, announced: "Headset Detected Life-Threatening Situation -- re: Fae Encounter -- and placed itself into Non-Intrusive Mode. Would you like to change this Setting? This message will not repeat." He thought for a moment how to respond but then thought better of it. "Non-Intrusive Mode is fine," he told it.


    Once alone and with time to think once more, he let the day''s adventure re-play in his head. "Not a bad day," he observed of the situation. Other than the fae constructs which tried to hurt him. He didn''t like these ''fae''... Why was it even in an ancient bunker he had to contend with threats upon his life?! Not that he was intimidated by them. Fae seemed little better than artificial animals. Or even like the automotrons. They had nothing except the mimicry of life. "Heck if I know," he summed up the situation. "Well, better keep my vigil."


    Letting the stress of the day leave his body, the cooling evening weather doing him good after being cooped up in the bunker all day, minus a water trip, he felt much better after taking a good drink of water and resting his feet. As the minutes passed and a couple of hours eroded, he increasingly felt alive. Tired, sure, but well in both the head and his body. He was ''doing it,'' he had to tell himself more than once, he was doing this grandmaster thing to the best of his abilities. And so far, people seemed to like what he was doing. Or if he was messing it up, clearly the situation was not so horribly he was in danger of being deposed. He had that going for him...


    Feeling his eyes droop more than he would have liked, the fire still going slow and low in front of him, he had to rise to shake off the crawl of Father Sleep. He paced around the campsite and made sure no beasties or ne''er-do-wells were nearby. They were alone, as usual.


    Stretching, yawning, he knew the point where he would switch watches with Jiehong approached. By now, he was so tired, he knew he would fall asleep as soon as Jiehong relieved him. He looked forward to bed. He was looking forward to when his head hit the pillow and -- he heard a twig snap.

 Chapter 223

    He heard belabored breathing. More snapping twigs. "I think I can rule out thieves," he said to himself, for these folk are not making any attempts to hide themselves. He searched the horizon and quickly found where the sounds were coming from despite the dark. The approaching figures came from the community.


    "Hail!" the newcomers said, clearly -- and loudly -- announcing themselves not only as people, but as morally upright people. By loudly calling, he knew they were not likely to surprise and overpower him in an effort to steal he and his party''s items.


    "Hail! Come over by the fire," he replied.


    The newcomers came by the fire as he asked. He bade them to take seats or kneel and enjoy themselves. They did and after moments of verbal static -- "Why, thank you, young master,'' and grunts and quick thanks for his hospitality -- he saw five hardy men from the village. I bet they are warriors training under that guy, what''s his name, he thought.


    "Thank you for seeing us, young master,'' the leader amongst them said, a man whose features were obscured by the darkness but who otherwise seemed fine.


    "No problem at all. Tell me, though, what is your purpose here with me tonight? Could your business not have waited until the day had yawned?" he asked them, not exactly irritated at their visit, just confused.


    "Sure. It is late. We are actually just starting our day. We wanted to drop by before our field work began. You''ve probably guessed as much by now, but we are from the village. Trainees at the village''s martial program. We worked for you earlier and were wondering if you had or might have any future work for us?" the man asked.


    He thought it over. Then said, "Probably. Likely more manual labor. Getting our own fields going, maybe. We are clearing out the inside of the bunker. Lots of fae constructs are littering the place. If you''ve ever heard of ''em... while we are clearing the fae out, I could see how having some people tend our fields would be useful. I would have to clear this endeavor with my team, though."


    The leader appeared to blink, but he couldn''t be sure. "Fae?" They asked.


    Explaining to them what a fae was, poorly, he thought, due to his tiredness, he summed up his explanation by saying, "And that''s that. Fae are like weird automotrons but born from ancient technology. I guess they don''t pose much danger to the weary, but the inexperienced should stay far away."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "I can''t say I have ever heard of these ''fae,'' but if they are hostile Life Forms then we can help put them down. We are warriors-in-training, after all," the man he was speaking with spoke.


    "That you all are!" he said. "As I said, I will keep your needs in mind. On a related note, are any of you opposed to joining a Martial Order? I am not asking you to join mine, but I am saying this, we have some accomplishment under my belt. And not to toot my own horn, but I am an up-and-coming autonomous commander of the royal army. You could do worse than to join us..."


    The group he talked with made a lot of noises. Some were against the notion of joining, especially if it was in exchange for work, but he made an effort to calm them of that belief, saying, "No, no, no. Don''t get it twisted. You will still be able to work for us if you don''t join the order. I am only curious what people''s thoughts about this is."


    True to their word, their morning shift beginning soon, the group departed camp only twenty minutes or less after they came.


    Coming from his tent, Jiehong said, "I heard the bunt end of that. I''m surprised that didn''t overstimulate you."


    "Me too, actually!" he replied, seeing Jie take his seat and prepare himself a cup of tea from the large communal pot. "Maybe it''s because I am already overtired, so now my head is working extra-efficiently?"


    Jie merely smiled as his brother droned on about possibilities. It was the same look he always had when he was humoring someone. "Who can tell?" he said, but cheerfully.


    He caught Jie up to speed about what parts of the conversation between he and the village laborers Jie had missed before he woke up. He went over every point, just so Jiehong was updated on the situation.


    With the details covered, Jie said, "Yeah. That sounds great, honestly. We came in under budget with the excavation labor. Investing more of our raw funds in fieldhands would be a wise move, I think, especially if this bunker cleansing and mapping is going to be more involved than we thought."


    Ready to go to bed himself and catch some much-needed ''Zzzzs,'' Zan was about to head to their shared tent when he said, "Can you imagine being these villagers? Getting up at this time to get ready for your work? We got up early at the lumberyard and mine but this early?! Isn''t it crazy!?"


    His brother only shrugged. "Is it crazy? It isn''t much different from our labors back then. Not from my understanding of it, anyway. As young people of a certain age, we were allowed to sleep in some. Had we been adults, though, we would have been up at a time comparable to these folk. Besides, I think these folk are only up as early as they are because they are trying to get their community service work done before that trainer starts on the actual reason they are here -- for martial skill. I am sure the fieldwork is a warm-up."


    "I didn''t know that" he said, feeling slightly morose over the thought of getting up even earlier than he had back in their town. "Color me lucky the Expanse invaded..."


    Jiehong burst out laughing. "Finally! Some of that bleak humor! It''s been a long time since you''ve cracked a joke like that..."


    "Has it? I guess comedy wasn''t on the agenda while we were fighting for our lives," he said.


    "No. And that is fine. It''s good to see your comedic timing, though. It''s been far too long."

 Chapter 224

    COMEDIC TIMING ASIDE, the only ''funny'' thing he wanted to expose himself to was the mildly off-putting aroma of he and his brother''s tent, the smell coming from his brother''s bodily insistence of farting up a storm through the night. He let the tent air out a moment, then slip inside, where he fell asleep so fast, it was gift to his weary soul.


    Whiskey shook him awake. He opened his eyes and rubbed out the crap which always formed if he kept them shut too long. "Wakey-wakey," Whiskey said. "Full day ahead of us."


    "You mean, a fun-filled field day?" he asked sarcastically.


    "Yup!" Whiskey shot back. "With games and prizes and the hands of lovely maidens to be won by uneducated but well-meaning farm-boys turned warrior grandmasters of ancient orders."


    "Ah, shet! I best get out there, then! My future wife is waiting for me and all I have to go on is my taut skin!" he said, rustling himself from the bedding.


    Whiskey only rolled her eyes at his joke and left the tent. He emerged several minutes ready fully dressed and ready to kick some butt. Stupidly, though, he did wonder where the maidens were -- but only for a moment! -- before he remembered it had been a joke. Squinting in the sun, he wondered where and how the day would end up.


    He sat by the campfire, now only a dull flame, and basked in the mid-morning glow. He grabbed the drinking cup and dipped the cup into the pot of black tea now nearing its end. "Let''s finish this off," he told his crew. "Otherwise, it will be cold and stale by the time we return."


    "So, we''re going back in the bunker?" Jiehong asked, more impatient than usual, likely from being up for hours, he thought, and having little to do.


    "Of course. What else would we be doing?" he replied.


    "Didn''t you want to look into the village situation?" his brother said. "Those warriors, the fieldhands, maybe even the cables from the bunker?"


    His brother was right, of course. They should look into getting some fields going outside of their bunker. Plant some foods... and yeah, the cables. He said, "Sure. You''re right. But we can''t ignore the bunker. We have no idea how deep this thing goes."


    "Maybe we should divide and conquer?" Whiskey suggested.


    "Divide? With the number of threats in the bunker, I don''t think that is a good idea," he said.


    "But we don''t know that for sure. And besides, sometimes we have to take risks, don''t we? It isn''t any different from being in battle, not really..."


    "It doesn''t have to be all or nothing," Jiehong interjected. "Maybe something like this: Zan. You and I can enter the bunker and do what we can. Whiskey, you approach the village and look into this cable issue while getting going, as well, on the fieldwork we want done. Then, assuming that doesn''t take all day, come and join us inside the bunker. How does that sound?"


    Whiskey looked to Zan, then Jie, and said, "Sure. Fine by me, I guess. Just be careful, you guys. Remember to play your roles and cautiously advance. And the Slipstream is out, so remember to fill up on magic."


    With everyone knowing what they were doing, and the black tea finished, Whiskey wandered off to town as he and his brother entered the bunker.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "''Morning, Screen Master," he said upon entering the hub chamber which held MAC''s visage.


    "Good morning, Ranger-Knights! You are all rested by the looks of you and ready to continue cleansing the fae constructs from our territory," MAC told them.


    "That we are. Whiskey is in town doing vital order business, as you''ve probably overheard, you listen in on us twenty-four seven like Simulacrum, don''t you?" he said.


    "I do, but this is merely a necessity of our work. As Order initiates, you and entities such as us Screen Masters and their Warden attendants, must be in constant communication at all times."


    "Yeah. I''ve heard before... Wait! Where is your attendant? Simulacrum has Sigma-Prime. Aren''t you supposed to have a helper?"


    "By Shiv Order tradition, yes, I am supposed to have an assistant. However, as I am a Screen Master entity which only recently came to your order during this recent period of rediscovery and reformulation, I am not likely to see an assistant for a long time. Not unless you can discover an inactive model and assign them to my code-core," MAC said.


    "I don''t know what that all means," he said, thinking over how MAC and they met. He remembered this idea from before, where MAC might have been, once upon a time, part of a group which opposed the Shiv Order. In his time and day, this distinction was pointless, backed, even, by Simulacrum, who said something to the effect of ''swaying allegiances as the centuries wane is to be expected from martial orders such as theirs''s because of the long-lasting nature of ''cycles'''' or something. He had no clue about a code-core or how he would find an ''inactive model,'' whatever that meant, though he thought MAC meant a gem-golem such as Sigma-Prime?


    "In time, you will. There is much for your new Order to learn. Should you discover an inactive model on your travels, I will be sure to let you know."


    "Okay. Wonderful! With our mental stimulation for the day out of the way, shall we continue, Jie?" he said, wanting to get a move on already.


    Returning to where they had left off the previous day, he half-expected to find the fae-construct returned. Perhaps a new fae had grown from where the old one died. Or one from deeper within the construct came up to take the recently destroyed one''s place.


    But no such thing could be seen.


    He saw only the damaged wall and the remains of the already slain fae creature. At the end of the room and to the sides, were two doors at the end of two small alcoves. Both were locked. A (1) appeared before each door along with the same padlock and chain image as the other magically locked doors.


    "Both are sealed. Which tickles your fancy first?" he asked Jie.


    "Let''s go left," Jie said.


    Both held their hands to the door and channeled magical radiance. Quickly, the door''s demanded allotment had been reached. Swoosh, it opened. Only a minute or two to secure its opening. Both boys stepped through the passage, this time, Jie being the one to stop them and say, "Check for Poison Needles, remember."


    They each checked. Finding nothing, they passed through the door and entered room twenty.


    It was a hallway. And although it was filled with stacks of instruments, perhaps field tools or spears of some such, their use was likely hampered beyond pragmatic from the thousands upon thousands of years they were sitting and rotting away here while the outside world moved apace.


    "MAC," he called. Receiving a response beep, he continued: "What are these things in these racks?" He said of the many tools.


    "These are as you have said, tools and elementary spears, and weapons for Eraferaw. You''ve likely already guessed, but if you''ve assumed these tools are in no shape to fight, then you would be correct. With sustained mending magic, however, it is possible to use them again."


    He thanked the Screen Master for his help. Then they resumed their trek: continuing down the twentieth room''s righthand side, they saw two doors facing opposite each other. Choosing the locked door on the right and seeing a (2) on the door''s counter, he and Jie quickly filled the door with magic. Took them a little longer than at the previous door, obviously, since it needed twice as much, but not by much. Though he was starting to wonder if every door from this point on would require them to use magic to open. He sure hoped it wouldn''t...


    They unlocked the door, checked for Poison Fae, found nothing, and walked on inside to find another barracks chamber, except this one was at least twice the size of the one they discovered yesterday. Walking inside to investigate, they expected to find some knowledge of their martial order -- perhaps some crusty old sheets containing an old order lorebook? -- but found instead a fae alert blaring in their ears.

 Chapter 225

    UGH! WHAT NOW?! he could barely stomach it.


    "Fae Construct Detected: the ''Space-Filler'' the Void fae-construct. It latches onto dislodged surfaces and uses them as its body. It enjoys slamming into its victim to unsteady them and make them to become easy prey for other fae-constructs in its party. By themselves, they are easily overcome. It is when they coalesce into groups, and take on a specific role, when Space-Fillers become dangerous," the headset intoned.


    He found where the fae resided. Near the very back, in a corner. It was a large, unappealing lump of misshapen objects. A glimmering goo which looked like it kept the objects bound despite gravity''s insistence coated the amalgamation. "This must be it," he said.


    "Looks like it," Jie said. "MAC. This thing looks pretty pathetic... what can we do to end it?"


    "Space-Filler fae-constructs are weak to earth-oriented magic. Powerful physical feats with blunt and spiked weaponry also will quickly break down Space-Filler fae-constructs," MAC said, informationally, but boringly.


    "Cool. Sounds like you''re up, Jie," he said to his brother.


    "Oh, you mean me and my big axe or my giant arms?" Jie asked back.


    "Either-or, really... though maybe don''t use your mechanical arms? I remember all the chaos back during that airship battle, Jie, so I distinct impressions of how much damage those arms caused. We were freaking tearing through those automotrons. Frick, man, remember when you flung us down the hallway and through a fecking wall! Nuts! Let''s not destroy our bunker. We do own it, after all," he argued.


    "You make a sage point, brother," Jie said, distractedly. "So... axe? No, I will use my battle hammer."


    "When did you even get those," he asked, but to no avail. Jiehong already had unsheathed his hammer and rushed toward the fae. He reared back and then, with a mighty swing, slammed his hammer into the bulky, slowly moving fae-construct.


    A breaking sound echoed throughout the vast chamber as the chairs, bedsheets, and assorted bits of metal and stone which formed the fae''s body shattered. Pieces flew out from the impact site and coated the wall behind the fae. Nothing like pain came from the fae, which surprised him. Then again, why he expected an inanimate creature to feel pain he did not know. It was not alive; therefore, it could not feel pain. Simple processes, really.


    With another smash and a final third, Jiehong brought his hammer down once more and finished the creature off. Before them and spread out over the floor was its shattered body, broken down into infinitesimal pieces. "Hard to believe this was once walking around," he told Jie, observing the fae''s many pieces.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "That it? Really?" Jie asked. To MAC, he asked, "Does it not have any other defenses we should know about? This Space-Filler?"


    "No. The entity you saw before you were it in its entirety. I must caution you again: be careful when engaging Space-Fillers in the future. Although they are easily destroyed, they are also tough to break down for all except the most physically formidable persons," MAC replied.


    Looking at he, Jie shrugged. "The fae''s destroyed. Shall we move on?"


    They left the second barracks room and backtracked to room twenty.


    "''Give me your hand and trust I will make it all better!''" he musically said, letting whimsy flow through him.


    Jiehong laughed. "What was that?" he burst.


    "That song that merchant sang for the village kids. Way back when..." he said, unsure of the specifics of when he heard the song.


    "Zan, that song -- okay, first of all, those aren''t the lyrics. ''Give me your glands and I will mend it all in my hands,'' is how the actual lyrics went. Secondly, that merchant came to town, like, six years ago! You crazy nut. I can''t believe you remember that" Jie said, nevertheless getting his point and placing his hand to the other locked door.


    Joining his brother''s hand, he replied, "I remember these things. Music makes it easy... though I guess some of the minor details I didn''t fully treat with the respect they deserved," as he channeled magic into the door.


    "Well, who can? After so many years, even my own parents'' faces would fade. Not after six years. Just after so-and-so long. It is in our nature to forget."


    There wasn''t anything he could say to that. They finished channeling and the door pulsed green and unlocked.


    "Onto room twenty-two... yay. I know MAC said he didn''t know how many rooms were in this bunker, but how many do you think there is?" he asked his brother.


    "At least a hundred, is my guess," Jie replied.


    "A hundred? Really?! I think fifty," he said, checking the door for Poison Needle fae and entering.


    The next room they entered looked like a modest sized dining space. Tables adorned the whole space while at the far end was clearly oven-looking devices. "MAC? Is this the kitchen?" Zan asked.


    "Correct. According to my core data, this space is one of several dining spaces throughout this part of the bunker complex," MAC replied.


    "Good to know. I am starting to see the arrangement of this space as a bunker. Rooms for the soldiers, weapon racks, chow halls. And the machinery to sustain it all. A lot more lifestyle stuff here than I would expect. Meal halls are something I figured would have been deeper inside the complex? Maybe on the third or fourth floor?" he said, thinking out loud.


    "You think there are multiple floors?" Jie asked.


    "Of course. Don''t you? You said you thought there was a hundred rooms, here."


    "I do think that, give or take. I don''t think it extends deep underground, though. I think this one floor has the hundred-rooms," Jie said, clarifying.


    "Bold claim. That would make this one floor huge... I guess we won''t know until we finish digging the place out," Zan said, letting his attention turn toward the next doorway and into whatever lay in room twenty-three.


    They walked through to find out. Which turned out to be nothing more than an empty, empty room of absolutely no point or value.


    Room twenty-four was a large space already way more interesting than room twenty-three because it came with a fae alert.

 Chapter 226

    HE BROUGHT UP HIS BUCKLER and advanced into the room. In his ear, MAC spoke through his headset, fusing his words into the pop-up notification: [WARNING: Fae Warrior type detected. Proceed with extreme caution!]


    "What does that mean? Warrior-type?" he asked.


    MAC replied right away, saying, "Warrior-types are rarely seen fae-construct models. Although more common in places with military purposes in mind, such as structures belonging to Ancient Societies of a Certain Kind, even here, it is a noteworthy event to see such a hostile Assemblage Creature. Typically, they form when unattended martial matter -- such as weapons and defensive gear infused with magical energies -- suffer disrepair beyond measure and break down as a result. When breakdowns happen, the resulting magical decay often results in fae-generation."


    "Good to know -- there it is!" Jiehong shouted.


    Over in a corner but coming to them as fast as its shambling body could move -- which was not very fast, to be clear -- was the fae construct. It looked like a possessed suit of old armor. He actually thought it resembled a suit of armor so much, he was half-tempted to ask MAC if the possession of inanimate objects was something which actually happened. Thankfully, he snapped back to the more pressing concern.


    [Fae-Construct Detected: ''Combat Drone,'' the warrior-type fae-construct. It uses its melee weapon to lunge and slash at its prey. Upon their victims'' deaths, they absorb their victim''s released spiritual essence through the use of ill-grown ''gills'' capable of converting elements of so-called ''death vapors'' to usable spiritual energy]


    "It''s an ugly one," he said, summarizing his headset / MAC''s pop-up explanation.


    Ready to confront the fae head-on, Jiehong pulled him back at the last moment. "Let me take this, buddy," he said.


    He warred with himself for a moment. Said, "No. I''m the leader. I should take point!" He lunged toward the enemy, but the fae parried his sudden blow.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Jiehong took the moment to attack the fae. His blow landed but only at the fae-construct''s side; though large pieces of its shambling, armor-heavy body fell apart and clanged to the floor, its main body remained functioning, which is why Jiehong had to take a dodge-action resulting in him accidentally slamming into a nearby support beam.


    "Enough of this," he said, and channeled into his hand good old tried-and-true fire-oriented magic. Simple as channeling magic into his hand and then getting mad to give the magic its ''fire'' tint. He reared back and slammed the flame-sphere into the construct like he was throwing an athletics ball.


    Already on his way to assist his brother as he stumbled out of combat -- him clearly disoriented after knocking into a solid beam -- he got only a couple of steps before he realized the Combat Drone fae-construct was unharmed. His flame attack slipped off the fae''s cracked armor like it was a gentle wind. Still on the move when he realized this, he barely had time to raise his shield and block another of the combat drone''s assaults. The fae continued to bang away at his buckler with a speed he wholly believed impossible for an entity which, moments before, seemed so deconstructed and weak.


    If I don''t do something we are going to get killed. What the fecking-heck was I thinking, charging into this thing? What the feck was I trying to prove?! He shouted at himself, heavily berating himself for what now, in hindsight, clearly had been a terrible choice. To Jie, he said, "Are you alright?!" He had to strain his voice to be heard above the clatter and clanging of the Combat Drone. "What can I do?" he internally shouted, trying to think of something to do in the heat of the moment.


    Jie shouted an answer back, but he barely heard him speak, let alone its contents. Which became irrelevant during the next moment, as Jiehong threw himself into the Combat Drone''s side, sending them both to the ground with much fanfare as their tumble dislodged the many off items this room stored and which he saw for the first time. ''A storage room?'' he offhandedly thought as he simultaneously moved himself to strike the enemy. Thrusting his Order sword through its helmet, then its plate mail, and then several more places besides, the fae-construct eventually stopped moving after even more violent jabbing.


    His headset took note of the fading eldritch energies of the fae-construct. [Fae-Construct Destroyed], the notification alerted him to.


    Up from the ground, Jiehong yelled, "What the feck was that Zan?! Seriously, what the fecking -- FECK!"

 Chapter 227

    HE DIDN''T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. Except "Sorry."


    Jiehong stared daggers at him. He breathed in, slowly out; but not as he should to encourage his body to calm down. He was practically hyperventilating, his anger so furious.


    "I don''t know what came over me. I just thought, ''hey, I''m the leader, I should take point on the combat because it''s the most dangerous.'' That whole deal. I wasn''t thinking it through. I got full of myself. I thought, ''hey, Jie will have my back, I can take a risk.'' That clearly wasn''t the right move. I am so sorry. I will make better decisions..."


    Putting an end to him grinding his teeth, Jiehong told him, "Fine. But seriously... that was scary, Zan. You could''ve died."


    "I know. I see that know. Shet! ...my heart won''t stop pounding!" he said, hoping to change the subject and muddle his brother''s anger.


    Thankfully, Jie took his re-direction, and said, "Your heart?! MY heart won''t stop pounding. Phew! I mean -- SHET!"


    Sharing in a troubled but much-welcome gallows'' laugh, a laugh reserved only for those who have seen the possibility of death and dashed to safety, he immediately felt closer to his brother.


    "Shall we continue?" Jie asked.


    "I guess but... MAC, are we getting close upon the first of those cores you were talking about? Or whatever it was called. You said we needed to repair something to restore defensive functionality. We have got to be getting close to one by now..." he asked.


    With a simple beep then words, MAC said, "With fewer fae-constructs in the structure, my reading ability has improved in its own functionality. I cannot pinpoint where the damaged core is, but you are close to its general vicinity."


    "Thanks, MAC," he said with a groan. To Jiehong, he said, "Well. We''re close. What more do we need?"


    Jiehong waited until they were at the next door before responding. "I wouldn''t mind getting somewhere. We''ve had to put a lot of effort into clearing out this bunker and for what? Nothing, so far. We haven''t discovered even a single damaged core, but we have discovered four different fae-constructs. If this density holds, we are going to be fighting these freaks all day, every day, for at least a week!"


    "I''m aware... vaguely... but what can we do?" he told his brother.


    "Nothing. I guess. Except pave forward. And forward..."


    The passage they stood before was on their lefthand side upon their initial entry. Beyond, was room twenty-five.


    They entered, him happy he did not need to unlock anymore doors, and emerged into a short, unassuming hallway. Finding no threats, they moved into room twenty-six, and then twenty-seven beyond. Each were empty. Devoid of anything even remotely interesting.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    To turn into the next door -- the twenty-nineth -- they turned left and entered into another plain-Jane hallway. Slightly longer than the previous few rooms they visited, at the end of this curt corridor, they found only one other passage leading deeper into the base. To the left once more, they passed through and entered room thirty.


    "Lordy-lou on a kazoo! It goes on and on..." Jiehong groaned as they walked and walked. "How long have we been in here, anyway?"


    Consulting his HUD, he looked at the clock functionality. After some mental calculations he arrived at the answer: "Three hours or so. Why? If you''re angling for a break, I think we can manage that... I am getting hungry... how about this next room and then we call it?"


    Jiehong glanced over to the next doorway. "I love it. Let''s stop cooling our heels and get in there, then!"


    He approached the door but found it locked. Of course, he told himself. It''s locked -- what he saw next would''ve made him spit out his tea had he been drinking any. What did he find so deplorable about the passage? The door''s required mana threshold, it was a ten! A full ten!


    "You look upset," Jie said.


    "It''s the door. It demands ten mana from us..."


    "Shet-on-a-bet that''s a lot!"


    Silence prevailed for a while as they thought about what they wanted to do. There wasn''t any reason to go back, not with a core suspiciously close to them. And yet, a ten? That would drain both of them down to the wire. They each would be exhausted by the time they satiated the door.


    But he held his hand out regardless. What other choice did they have? He channeled magic. His brother joined him. "Steady breathing, Jie. Start low, go slow. Don''t feel like you have to push everything out like you''re taking a dump. Okay?"


    Calmly, and after a moment, Jie replied, "I know. I remember from the last time you lectured me, bud."


    "Okay. That''s good, then. I just want to make sure. It takes practice -- as you know!"


    An awkwardness existed for a moment. He felt weird for how he talked to his brother, Of course, his brother would know how ''it takes practice.''  Jiehong was the one who taught him basic spells back in the day! As leader, though, he was learning how he couldn''t stand back and let people make mistakes. He had to be active and take a direct role in the machinations of his team. His Order.


    In the future, he decided, he would take a less condescending tone. He felt his best course of action, then, was to continue imbuing the door with its energy. Looking at the door, the number reached three a few heartbeats ago and was quickly climbing to four. Reaching four, however, they felt the sudden need to divest from the door. They pulled their hands. He couldn''t speak for his brother, but he felt something like a tingly, partially numb feeling spread over his hand.


    "Ouch! Ouch..." he muttered as he rubbed his hand and restored feeling into the parts of it not in pain.


    Huffing, the situation forced them to rest. With each passing moment their hands weren''t on the door, he felt health return to his body. Gradually, his hands returned to normal, and he could resume feeding the door.


    The process repeated. They would channel magic into the door; retract their hands; then rest; then return to channeling magic into the door.


    With each iteration they felt weaker. This was to be expected, of course, as such prolonged magic drain, as he learned during the ''airship battle,'' held diminishing returns. Still, by the time the door neared nine-point-five, they were truly tuckered. His breathing intensified. Channeling even enough magic to increase the door by a tenth of a percent, between the two of them, took effort. "I-I think -- shet, almost there, Jie. We''re almost there!"

 Chapter 228

    But they had to break at the last minute!


    He snatched his hand from the door, feeling a rolling static tumble from his skin. Droplets slid down his red face from his overheated hair and forehead. "Water, need..." he said, his sentences incomplete from overexertion.


    Gulping down several mouthfuls and watching his brother do the same, Zan took it a step further. He drizzled some water on his head and used more to dampen a cloth which he put over his face. Then he leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes.


    Letting himself drifted into a semi-relaxed state, knowing nothing could hurt them here in the bunker, so as long, that is, some monstrous fae-construct from below didn''t suddenly burst from the floor or lower levels. It wasn''t, as though, he wanted to take a nap... but as he rested his lids, he found himself drifting further into a sleeping fit. Not for long, and not so suddenly he didn''t mumble to Jiehong about ''keeping watch...'' but long enough for his mind to open, slightly, to an adjacent plane of existence.


    He was asleep.


    He didn''t know what happened. Not really.


    Just that one minute he was awake and with his brother in the bunker hallway. The next he was asleep. And the following moment? He was outside of himself, somehow. Observing he and Jiehong''s bodies as though they were wholly different people.


    Seconds. One second. One-half, even. Bled in quick succession.


    He woke up. But before he woke, during a moment which passed so quickly he hadn''t realized it had even happened until after it happened, he thought he saw a figure watching him as he watched he and Jiehong.


    Who was the figure? He couldn''t say. He thought about it as he woke up groggy and dazed. He remembered a strange energy wafting from the figure''s body. He saw, or thought he saw, anyway, an odd face. A face juxtaposed against another face and another. Faces which were kept chaotically bound to each other. Contained in a prison. A prism?


    Words and their associations came to him and then left. Prison, chains, prism, crystals -- then nothing.


    Mental silence. Actually, out of it. Where was ''it''?


    He stared at Jie. "Did you... feel that?" he asked, unsure of his words.


    "Feel what?" Jiehong asked. "I was tired, yeah. I didn''t fall asleep like you, though, Mister Leader," Jiehong laughed.


    "I had a weird dream. Experience? I don''t know how to describe it. It was like I was outside of my body. And something else was there with me..."Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Something else? A scary something else or...?"


    "I don''t know. I felt it and that was it. Like somebody was watching me..."


    Not knowing what to say, Jie shrugged and said, "Shall we continue?"


    He looked to the door. Nine-point-seven it read.


    "Yeah. What choice do we have?"


    Point-three was all which remained. Thirty percent of one percent. That was it.


    So, it took forever. It felt like running down a wounded deer. Heavier than you would think it would be to hunt. He gained a headache as he pulled away. He grunted loudly. "Almost! For crying out loud! We''re so close! Why does it take so much effort now? It''s ridiculous!"


    Panting as a predator after a hunt, Jiehong groaned and grunted alongside him, his soreness and pain evident from how he cradled his limbs, systematically moving from hands to arms, chest, stomach, and so on. "I know. I am looking at that door thinking to myself ''we should just come back tomorrow.'' But... we can''t!" Jie said, stopping a moment to catch his breath. "We''ve only been in here for a few hours. We will waste the day if we leave now. We got to at least get this door open before we call it quits! I''m so tired, though. And not just tired -- I''m feeling pained. If Whiskey was here, she could at least heal one of us using her own magic. I... don''t... we need her..."


    He shook his head. "She is away and should be away. Unless we are to fight some mob of fae -- unlikely, from how MAC made it sound -- Whiskey should remain out there, building connections to the community. That''s what the rational side of me says. The other side of me, the less pragmatic side, he says ''I wouldn''t mind Whiskey lending a helping hand. What is so important about a random village?'' And I''m caught in-between. It''s so... tiring..."


    They each might have dozed off again. Or Jiehong, at least, perhaps. This time succumbing to his exertion. He did not think they were out for any longer than an hour, maybe longer. But it was enough for him to question his state when he awoke with his face covered in his own drool.


    "Gross!" he yelped, cleaning himself off with a rag he always kept close-to-hand.


    He expected his brother to yell-ask what the matter was, but moving toward him, he saw he was asleep. He shook him awake and asked, "Shall we just leave?"


    "No... no! I was just resting my eyes for a moment. Yeah," Jie replied, but unconvincingly.


    "I think this door is our limit. We either finish it right here and now or pack our tails between our legs and head back to camp. Nothing wrong with a modest rest," he replied.


    Jiehong took his chin in hand and mused. He thankfully, did not muse for long, so there would not be any protracted back-and-forth while he argued with himself the merits of each. "Let''s get it over with. We didn''t come this way for nothing!"


    Readying himself for the final round, Zan and his brother held their palms flat and against the cold surface of the door.


    "Now!" he said, letting his magic out at a rate which had to be his most consistent, smooth yet!


    The number climbed slowly. If he concentrated too much on the sub-numbers as they climbed, it felt as though the numbers generated new numbers just to mess with him, just to prevent him from reaching the requirement. Like every number beyond the decimal was an eternity, an infinity of lesser returns forever beyond their comprehension.


    In an instant -- he saw it! The numbers, they would reach the point of no return. "Now! Jiehong! Reverse course, pump everything we have into it!"


    Feeling like he was to vomit, he saw the door pulsed green, followed by the padlock unraveling. He stumbled back and slumped against the wall.


    [Magical Artes: Level Increased (4)] and [Constitution: Level Increased (3)]


    They had done it.


    By their lonesome, they had opened a door locked under ten whole units of mana and lived to tell the tale.


    Adding to their victory, a voice said, "Looks like you''ve two have been busy!"

 Chapter 229

    THE VOICE BELONGED to no one other than Whiskey. Just as the door opened and they fell back in disarray, Whiskey entered their part of the corridor.


    "Yeah... can you say the same?" Zan said, smiling at Whiskey while gulping down chunks of air, letting her know of their hard work.


    "Oh, yeah. Lots to talk about. Long day, I''ve had. Sorry for being gone for so long," she spoke. "Well! I thought I would come in to lend you guys a hand." Pointing to the door, she said, "Shall we?"


    "We''re both beat. We can explore the room--" he said, but needing to stop to take in another gigantic breath before slowly exhaling. "That room we''re just going to poke around in..."


    "Alright, sounds good, I will wait for you to take lead," she said, already bored with their huffing and puffing, or so it had to seem to him, looking at Whiskey with a sense of wonder for how she could do all she did and take it all in stride while they baffooned over themselves like drunk clowns.


    Coming upon the doorway once he and Jiehong were ready, he did not need any System notification to see the entryway was infested with Poison Needle fae. "Shet-above-a-met, there has to be at least four Poison Needle fae-constructs, here. What the heck!"


    This was when MAC droned off in their ears, "Rangers! Extreme caution is advised. Four Poison Needle fae-constructs to a single door is highly unusual and denote the possible presence of a fae-network. Tread with extreme caution going forward."


    Not letting his team becoming rattled, he said, "Great! So, we still don''t have any water-magic to handle them, so we will need fire... again. Whiskey. Jie and I are all out. Can you help?"


    "Sure," she said, taking from her pack a torch and quickly snapping it to flame with a magically formed spark from her hand. "I just hold the flame against the side-- shoot! Almost knicked me! Wait, little bloody-wunker did, look, I''m bleeding!"


    "You''re thinking with your old mind. It''s used to seeing only one Poison Needle to a door. When you were running your torch over one fae, you forgot about the others, and they took their opportunity," Jiehong said, summing up the situation. "MAC? What risk is there just from a scratch?"


    "The risk factor involved with a small, skin-deep scratch would depend on many factors. Such as the maturity of the Poison Needle, how deep the scratch is, and whether its poisons have been augmented by external substances. Observing the Poison Needle fae through your headset, Zan, I can see these fae look similar to the fae-constructs you have previously encountered. I do not believe you have much to worry about. Moving forward, however, I would look into the purchase of poison antidotes. Moving deeper into the complex, it is highly advised to keep a number of elementary medicative substances on hand," MAC explained.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    While MAC talked, Whiskey was already back at targeting the Poison Needles. The torch carefully stood waiting by the side of each Needle nest, waiting for the moment to strike, and douse the Needle in flame once it took the bait and launched its gross splinter toward her finger, waiting patiently just outside its hole. Movement! It struck and this time she was ready for it! The needle came, her finger moved, and the flame smashed the needle, melting the tip with alarming grace. Plop, moments later, its withered body gooped to the floor destroyed.


    Whiskey repeated the process for the final three Needles. It took longer than anyone would have liked, but what could any of them do? Help her with their own torches? He didn''t like that idea. Same energy as having too many cooks around the firepit. Clashing limbs and personalities in a high-stress situation, no thanks!


    "Done! Done! And, yeah, done. Fecking finally, done," Whiskey commented as each Needle fae fell to the ground, broken.


    Goop... all gray and slimy. With a weird smell not unlike that of a heavily rusted anchor. Gross, he thought as he upturned his nose.


    "Let''s get into the room proper and see if we can''t find that damaged core or lever or button or whatever it is that--"


    Speaking as one through his headset, Screen Master MAC blared at he and his team, [WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! Fae-Construct Network Detected. Extreme Caution Advised!"]


    "Network? What is this, MAC? I thought you said ''networks'' or mutual defense systems, whatever it is you called it earlier, were extremely rare. Why is it we are getting a notification for a network, now?" he asked, exasperated at the turn of events.


    "Answer: although fae-construct networks are rare and something I considered unlikely to be within the bunker space, I was wrong. Why I was wrong was merely the result of data. I based my remarks upon the scant data I still held. I apologize for giving an inaccurate assessment of the situation. Unfortunately, unexpected encounters like these are simply part of your job. Do not become so reliant on my observations and knowledge as a Screen Master you forsake your own critical faculties." MAC said.


    He really could have done without MAC''s snide criticism. He, Zan, reliant on him? In what universe?! He and his team had done everything which led to this moment. Without them, MAC, here, would still be inactivated and deep in the forest, stuck in that other bunker, the hub which they should really revisit sometime, he realized. Seriously, why was it like this? You ask for clarification and then they blame you for asking a question, making it seem like you don''t know what you''re doing or you''re being dense or something! He remembered it was like this back in their town, too...


    "Understood, Screen Master, over-and-out," he settled on saying instead of a rejoinder.


    Looking to his team, he asked, "Shall we leave and catch these things another time?"


    "I think that would be best," Jie said. "Zan and I are not in fighting shape. And you''re hardly any better, I bet, Whiskey. You''ve been doing things in town and must not be up to face down a horde of fae-creatures."


    Whiskey shrugged. "I could fight if you guys need me, too," she said.


    For a second, he considered letting Whiskey join the fight. Then he remembered just how tired he was and thought against it: "No. We leave. There is still plenty of time left in the day. Let''s pullback, rest, recover, then return in the evening."


    He made his decision and began the walk back to the entry-exit. Whiskey had a confused look on her face, but he dismissed it thinking it was simply her way of expressing disagreement. Walking outside, he reflected on a different reason why Whiskey looked confused: it was nighttime.


    His mouth hung open like a lousy lobster trap.  "Wait... what?!"

 Chapter 230

    "WHY IS IT NIGHT? We were only in the bunker for a few hours..." Jiehong asked.


    Whiskey answered, though now confusion spread to her tone as well as her face. She said, "I don''t have any idea what you guys are talking about. You were in the bunker all day. Maybe it didn''t feel like it to you, since you were so focused on getting the job done. But outside? Yeah. The whole day went by... which is actually why I went in search for you. I was worried you had gotten yourself hurt or killed or something. Imagine! Dying while exploring a bunker. What an inglorious end that would be to our Order!"


    Breathing in, he could hardly come to grips with the passage of time. A whole day?


    Pinging his earpiece, he asked MAC if there was any possibility of ''temporal magic'' at play. He had no clue if such magic even existed, but it was worth a shot.


    Replying instantly, MAC told him, "Answer: No. Such magic is impossible for Mortal to wield. Only the gods and their emissaries can use such powerful magics."


    "So, you mean to say, us spending the whole day in the bunker was just Jie and I being too focused?"


    "That is correct."


    "Well then... shet..."


    Sitting by the fire, now blazing tall, as it had to last the whole night, Zan wanted to take first rest. Before he did, and before she shared with them how her own day went, Whiskey asked a question of something neither he nor his brother thought about: "Screen Master? MAC or Simulacrum, is it safe for that door back in the bunker to be open with a fae-network within that room? Couldn''t they leave the room and attack us in the night?"


    Simulacrum answered for a change. "Although it is possible for fae to leave the limits of where they were born, it is highly unlikely they would do so. Especially, as, you never engaged them in battle, aside from the limited engagement when you destroyed the Poison Needle cluster at the door. Outside of their birthed territory, fae-constructs rapidly wither until total death. To follow you outside of the bunker and still pose a threat while attacking you, the fae-construct or network would have to be exceptionally strong. My sensors did not indicate this network was on that power scale. I still recommend extreme caution when engaging that network in the future, however."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    "And we know previously," he said, "that we cannot always take for granted your opinion on something, Screen Master. So, let''s take an extra precaution or two to make sure. Please lock all doors when we are not inside the structure."


    MAC replied: "All doors have been locked. Clarification: I am in constant monitoring mode of every unlocked and explored territory within the bunker. Should a fae attempt to navigate to outside of the bunker, I will alert you."


    "Good..." he said, half-expecting one of the Wardens to push back on his order or tone. They never did. They just followed his orders. Nothing more... he actually felt silly. Getting pushy with a fake-person, a machine-face made of light. How ridiculous he was being.


    No one else had anything to say on the matter, so he ended the issue there. "How was your day in town, Whiskey?"


    "It was good! Busy, but good. I went over and talked to the warriors-in-training first. But I got to them at a weird time, so the gist of it is I had to wait. But then I waited too long to talk to them, and -- long story short, I waited a bunch. I eventually got to speak to one of the guys who visited our camp the other night. We hammered out some details, mostly about payment. Twenty-five coppers are they will do the labor. It can be rough or refined coppers. Apparently, they don''t care," she explained.


    "Do we have that amount, Jiehong?" he asked.


    "We do but it will wipe us clean of coppers. We still have plenty of local currency bonds, though. And this is on top of the requisition papers Colonel Winters gave us," his brother said.


    "Excellent. What else?" he asked, feeling suddenly very tired, moreso than he was already, and wanting to go to bed. He knew he couldn''t, though. He was the grandmaster-in-training, so he had to be at every turning point. Big, small.


    "Good. So, with the labor payment recalled and settled, next will be this: I will go to town and confirm payment details. It could take a day or two after payment for the group''s schedules to open. I doubt they will be around before a couple days to put in the labor. Our purchase entitles us to, and I quote, ''a fair chunk of the land surrounding the purchased territory.'' Obviously, this is wide open to interpretation, but we should be sensible about how much of ''our'' land we claim to till. Ostentatiously, until more people join us and opt to perform labor, everything we sow, and harvest will have to be done by us. We should keep this in mind--" He lost attention... he knew he should remain focused. But it was so hard when Whiskey was droning on and on.


    After a sum of time passed, with his attention paid, but only after an internal argument, Whiskey said, "You still with us, Zan? You looked out of it..."


    "Yeah... I''m with you. I''m tired. I got you, though. Payment is confirmed. So, you''ll talk to them, get them up here. Work a modest patch of land. We might have a side-career as farmers if we get carried away. Now, what the cables?" he said, wanting to get a wide stretch of his affairs as of late so he could get to bed.


    "Okay. Yes, the ''cables'' is what I wanted to talk to you about next. They might be killing people."

 Chapter 230 [Important Project Update in Author Note]

    "WHY IS IT NIGHT? We were only in the bunker for a few hours..." Jiehong asked.


    Whiskey answered, though now confusion spread to her tone as well as her face. She said, "I don''t have any idea what you guys are talking about. You were in the bunker all day. Maybe it didn''t feel like it to you, since you were so focused on getting the job done. But outside? Yeah. The whole day went by... which is actually why I went in search for you. I was worried you had gotten yourself hurt or killed or something. Imagine! Dying while exploring a bunker. What an inglorious end that would be to our Order!"


    Breathing in, he could hardly come to grips with the passage of time. A whole day?


    Pinging his earpiece, he asked MAC if there was any possibility of ''temporal magic'' at play. He had no clue if such magic even existed, but it was worth a shot.


    Replying instantly, MAC told him, "Answer: No. Such magic is impossible for Mortal to wield. Only the gods and their emissaries can use such powerful magics."


    "So, you mean to say, us spending the whole day in the bunker was just Jie and I being too focused?"


    "That is correct."


    "Well then... shet..."


    Sitting by the fire, now blazing tall, as it had to last the whole night, Zan wanted to take first rest. Before he did, and before she shared with them how her own day went, Whiskey asked a question of something neither he nor his brother thought about: "Screen Master? MAC or Simulacrum, is it safe for that door back in the bunker to be open with a fae-network within that room? Couldn''t they leave the room and attack us in the night?"


    Simulacrum answered for a change. "Although it is possible for fae to leave the limits of where they were born, it is highly unlikely they would do so. Especially, as, you never engaged them in battle, aside from the limited engagement when you destroyed the Poison Needle cluster at the door. Outside of their birthed territory, fae-constructs rapidly wither until total death. To follow you outside of the bunker and still pose a threat while attacking you, the fae-construct or network would have to be exceptionally strong. My sensors did not indicate this network was on that power scale. I still recommend extreme caution when engaging that network in the future, however."


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "And we know previously," he said, "that we cannot always take for granted your opinion on something, Screen Master. So, let''s take an extra precaution or two to make sure. Please lock all doors when we are not inside the structure."


    MAC replied: "All doors have been locked. Clarification: I am in constant monitoring mode of every unlocked and explored territory within the bunker. Should a fae attempt to navigate to outside of the bunker, I will alert you."


    "Good..." he said, half-expecting one of the Wardens to push back on his order or tone. They never did. They just followed his orders. Nothing more... he actually felt silly. Getting pushy with a fake-person, a machine-face made of light. How ridiculous he was being.


    No one else had anything to say on the matter, so he ended the issue there. "How was your day in town, Whiskey?"


    "It was good! Busy, but good. I went over and talked to the warriors-in-training first. But I got to them at a weird time, so the gist of it is I had to wait. But then I waited too long to talk to them, and -- long story short, I waited a bunch. I eventually got to speak to one of the guys who visited our camp the other night. We hammered out some details, mostly about payment. Twenty-five coppers are they will do the labor. It can be rough or refined coppers. Apparently, they don''t care," she explained.


    "Do we have that amount, Jiehong?" he asked.


    "We do but it will wipe us clean of coppers. We still have plenty of local currency bonds, though. And this is on top of the requisition papers Colonel Winters gave us," his brother said.


    "Excellent. What else?" he asked, feeling suddenly very tired, moreso than he was already, and wanting to go to bed. He knew he couldn''t, though. He was the grandmaster-in-training, so he had to be at every turning point. Big, small.


    "Good. So, with the labor payment recalled and settled, next will be this: I will go to town and confirm payment details. It could take a day or two after payment for the group''s schedules to open. I doubt they will be around before a couple days to put in the labor. Our purchase entitles us to, and I quote, ''a fair chunk of the land surrounding the purchased territory.'' Obviously, this is wide open to interpretation, but we should be sensible about how much of ''our'' land we claim to till. Ostentatiously, until more people join us and opt to perform labor, everything we sow, and harvest will have to be done by us. We should keep this in mind--" He lost attention... he knew he should remain focused. But it was so hard when Whiskey was droning on and on.


    After a sum of time passed, with his attention paid, but only after an internal argument, Whiskey said, "You still with us, Zan? You looked out of it..."


    "Yeah... I''m with you. I''m tired. I got you, though. Payment is confirmed. So, you''ll talk to them, get them up here. Work a modest patch of land. We might have a side-career as farmers if we get carried away. Now, what the cables?" he said, wanting to get a wide stretch of his affairs as of late so he could get to bed.


    "Okay. Yes, the ''cables'' is what I wanted to talk to you about next. They might be killing people."

 Chapter 231

    "SORRY -- WHAT?!" ZAN SHOUTED, now wide awake.


    "Calm down! I''m sorry. Not killing, not likely, anyway. But they could be having an unfun side-effect in town. We owe it to this village to check it out. Several of the community have said the cables coming from our bunker is causing trouble, so we need to address this," Whiskey said, clarifying.


    Not wanting to argue the point when he felt immense relief at not, likely, having contributed to killing people, he still felt antsy. "Tell me these problems, then. What is going on?"


    "For one, a family which settled recently in the area, apparently to support their son as he gets training, here, has said the land they were given is, and I quote, ''rough and too coarse for planting,'' which is endangering their ability to pay their share of the tax. So, there is that. Then, a man who lives near the river has said the wetlands are becoming too magic dense for the typical fish and is driving away or killing them. I doubt this is actually the case, I think this man is just hysterical, but we need to at least show him the how and why of why he is being wrong and hysterical," Whiskey explained, acting more like a secretary than a huntress.


    "But that''s it? No one else in the village is out for our blood?" he asked, careful to learn the truth.


    "Blood? Gosh, Zan, no! No one is ''coming for us'' or anything like that. The village has some concerns about the cables affecting the land. I think it''s typical stuff we can expect as these bunkers come alive. So, we should stay on top of it as it develops."


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Oh... I guess I had the wrong idea when you said our bunker was killing people--"


    "Please. I never said that. It was a turn-of-phrase. But that is all I really have to say. Once we get going on getting the bunker fully repaired and our land tilled, plowed, sowed, and the sort, we will address the village''s concern. Unless you feel otherwise, that is," Whiskey said, ending her part.


    He thought it over but had nothing to say. "Okay. I''m tired. I need to get to bed. So, that all sounds great. Anything else? No. Goodnight," he said getting up and heading to his tent.


    He didn''t know which of them, Jiehong or Whiskey, was to take first shift. But it wouldn''t be he. Privilege of the grandmaster-in-training, eh?


    Sleep came as natural to he as the sun to the sky. He woke to find Whiskey shaking him gently. The watch rotated as it always did. Before long, and with one of them catching slightly less sleep than the rest, such as he had the day before, they all gathered to talk of the day going forward.


    "We have a room to clear out, right? I say we spend the day cleaning out that fae network. We should get to it before we have to supervise workers," he said, readying himself for what was sure to be an intense encounter with the fae yet again.


    Whiskey shook her head, agreeing vigorously. Jiehong made no counter. The ''motion'' ''passed.'' Cool. Onwards to risk their lives in the bunker!


    They walked back to their quitting position from the other day. Room thirty.


    "Ready, team?" he asked. "We haven''t ever faced something like this ''fae network'' before and the Screen Masters seem pretty freaked over it. So, let''s have each other''s backs, okay? Just as if we were fighting the automotrons."


    Echoing an affirmative chorus, everyone was on his wavelength when it came to having each other''s backs. Which he knew as a given. His brother would not let him down, whatever their disagreements and adjustments, while Whiskey he knew would have anyone''s back.


    "Then, let''s end it. Secure that room and get our first repair made. On my lead -- actually! Wait. Jiehong, care to take point?"

 Chapter 232

    JIEHONG SMILED AND SAID, "Sure thing. I was about to say, I should take lead," he spoke as he unfurled his buckler. Zan watched as its size increased several times over.


    "Strategy, then. We enter the room. Carefully observe the enemy''s movements. Respond in kind. I am going to be glued to that room. We aren''t moving ahead until we know what we''re dealing with. Slow and full, go?" he said.


    "Right!" "Right!" came back to him twice. With Whiskey at his back, they entered the room, making sure no new Poison Needle fae infested the door.


    "None. Good," he observed as he held onto Jie''s back -- his exosuit cage, specifically -- and rapped with his finger thrice. They advanced three paces. Perhaps a meter in total? He was not good with math and distance, so he did not know.


    The space they entered looked hardly different from any of the other spaces they had found while in the few dozen odd room structure. Terminals like tombstones dotted the room. A pathway leading from the entrance to the center of the room dominated one''s attention encouraging them forward. With the machinery in the room interspace from each other at intervals, moving between the ''tombstones'' -- whatever the machine blocks were -- would be difficult. Not impossible to move between them, though, he said under his breath, then loudly to his team.


    "I wouldn''t be able to follow you," Jiehong said.


    "Shet. That''s true. You''re way too bulky with your suit on... probably too bulky out of it, too," Whiskey said. "What even is this place? What are these things taking up the space?"


    Per the norm, a Screen Master had the answer. Although it was Simulacrum, this time, who answered. "The machines you are referring to are called ''Data Slabs.'' Their function is to store and encode so-called ''Virtualities'' within their magically crafted hard drives. It is difficult to explain without your understanding of basic coding principles."


    "I think I get it. Data-memory--coding, it''s all part of the machine stuff you Wardens'' use, and which let you create things like our bikes and my headset?" he asked point blank.


    "Correct. It would be preferrable for them to not be damaged during the fight," Simulacrum said.


    Noted, he thought.


    Ignoring the gravestone-like ''data slabs,'' he returned his full attention to the centermost point of the room and carefully led his team. Until he gained perspective of the enemy, and his headset could see, scan, and recall the fae-constructs they were to face, he did not know what lay in wait for them. ''Would new fae enemies present themselves?'' which he would have to learn and counter on the fly, or would the foes ahead be variants of already faced fae, such as the Poison Needles and Space-Fillers?


    Several steps later he had his answer. His headset went off.


    [Fae Detected: Fatal Graze x4, Space-Filler x 3, Unfun Gas x 2, Combat Drone x 2]


    He stared at the enemies ahead then back to the notifications. He couldn''t believe it. Eleven enemies!


    "Guys, you seeing this?" he asked his teammates.


    "Yeah. We see it," Jie said, ahead of him. "Yup," Whiskey also replied at his back. "There''s so many," he said, ending the chain of remarks.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Around the central pillar, a block, square beam, the eleven enemies congregated in a tight formation. Unfun Gases could be seen to the left and right of the beam respectively. According to his HUD, the four Fatal Grazes stood one to a corner. While of the three Space-Fillers, two were to the far left and right respectively, flanking, even, two Combat Drones. The final Space-Filler stood directly ahead of the group, facing them, as though it knew them personally and wanted to personally deck them out. ''Any more steps will probably engage these fake monsters. Are we ready?''


    He knew they were ready. "Jiehong? You ready? Straight up go ham on the Space-Filler there, at the formation''s tip?"


    "That sounds good, but how about this? We take it together, quickly destroying it, and then we lob our grenades at the rest?" Jie proposed.


    "Crap! I nearly forgot! We have grenades! Whiskey, you remember how to use the grenades, right? It''s been a while since we practiced..."


    "Yeah. I remember. I will hold my barrage in check until we can assess the damage from Jiehong''s assault. If that''s fine with you," she said.


    "Yeah. Fine by me. Okay, Jiehong. Keep an eye to the enemies to see if they come at us, but let''s take that Space-Filler out!"


    He and his brother charged the first Space-Filler. What they expected to happen was the Space-Filler dying instantly from a single blow of Jiehong''s war-axe. Instead, the Space-Filler pushed itself ahead and, for lack of a better word, tackled Jiehong''s chest, shoving him back multiple paces, of this despite his exosuit. Glimpsing the fae closely, he was happy to see the tackle came with a toll: at its own bodily expense, he realized, the fae had tackled Jie as he watched a patch of hardened refuse fall away from the Space-Filler''s body and to the floor.


    However unexpected the Space-Filler''s tackle had been, that did not stop him from jabbing his sword, almost by reflex alone, into the Space-Filler. It did not do much damage, he knew, but it broke its defensive layer. Which was the important bit as the penetration would not go unnoticed by the fae, which would give Jiehong time to recover and launch his assault anew.


    Which happened exactly as he thought a breath later when Jiehong -- missing not even a step -- recovered before he could topple backward and used a twirling spin to redirect the momentum from the Space-Filler''s tackle back into the Space-Filler, his axe a tornado of doom as he performed his impromptu hurricane whirl. Dashing to the side and into the data-slab sprawl, he took care not to disrupt the delicate wiring coming out the sides of the slab. He evaded his brother''s spin-attack with a glancing margin of error. But evading it, period, was all that was important.


    Reclined in safety some steps away and to a crouch, he saw the axe tear into the Space-Filler. Then, balancing firmly in front of the fae with both his legs like a staunched oak in an ancient wood, Jiehong withdrew his axe then slammed it down twice into the Space-Filler, destroying it totally.


    Seeing his opportunity open, Zan fingered his grenades and withdrew one, thumbing the pin. "Ready?" he shouted to Jie.


    Seeing his brother thumb a grenade as well and seeing the many remaining fae-constructs now turn their attention to the interlopers, it was now or never! He pulled the pin and lurched it ahead with a flick of his wrist. Jiehong did the same. With his fingers in his ears and his face away from the blast site-to-be, he still was not prepared for the chaos which two exploding grenades unleashed.


    Everything broke. His sense of smell, orientation, vision -- everything which made him navigable broke.


    The next thing he realized was being pulled out of the room by Jiehong. He tried to stand up but his ears ringed like an angel chorus telling him to fall flat on his ass like a chump. "W-what...?" he stuttered.


    How long passed he couldn''t say. He saw Whiskey guard the doorway, firing arrows toward the remaining fae.


    He saw his teammates speaking. He heard a rumble in his ear. But he still couldn''t -- a bright and warm glow to his side, he felt suddenly.


    "There? You better, mate?" Jiehong asked. "I used some healing magic on you. You good?"


    Slowly coming to a stand, least he did so too quickly and fell yet again, he did feel better. "Slight ringing still. Otherwise, I feel not bad? Anxious, maybe?"


    "Good, we still have a good number of those to destroy, it looks," Jie replied.


    "Oh? Really? That sucks. Lemme see," he said, creeping his head toward the messy, chaotic room. Only a little smoke remained in the room; although the grenades were powerful weapons, they did not leave much in the way of smoke or fire. Once he got a good look, he saw it was exactly as Jie told and his HUD confirmed -- the majority of the fae remained alive and well.

 Chapter 233

    "WHAT IN GODSES TARNATION HAPPENED?!" he shouted, not angrily, just in exasperation.


    Obviously, neither Jie nor Whiskey knew. Though Simulacrum chimed in: "Although your grenades are powerful tools against automotron forces, they were not designed to target fae-constructs. As shrapnel-oriented weapons, they will have limited effectiveness against assemblage-creatures."


    Everyone disliked that and groaned excessively. "FINE!" Zan said, more childishly than he ought to have let himself be heard.


    He calmed himself and looked back to the room. "Whiskey," he asked. "How many fae remain, you think?" His headset provided only limited guesses.


    "My eyes count... well, we destroyed two of them, it looks? Both of the Fatal Grazes which were on the corners of the support beam were destroyed. The combat drone on the right, there? It looks injured. The rest looks fine."


    "Better than nothing, I guess. Shall we lob more grenades and hope for the best or wade back in? Shet! The Combat Done is coming for us -- Whiskey- shoot it! Jiehong, charge and I will take it from the side while you have it engaged!" he said, his teammates following his orders right away.


    Whiskey''s arrow bolted straight through the side of the drone''s ''head,'' and unbalanced it long enough for Jiehong''s body -- supported by his mildly protective cage -- to slam into the drone and toss it to the floor. Unexpected as its fall was -- Zan was planning on skewering the drone -- Jiehong took the initiative instead and heaved his axe to its chest. Or would have! Had the drone not somehow rolled or shifted its body ever so slightly, thus allowing it to evade the killing blow.


    "You have this one, it looks! I am going for that Space-Filler on the far-side," he said to Jie, who grunted his acknowledgement.


    He dashed toward the Space-Filler, trusting Jie and Whiskey could handle the Combat Drone already on its last legs. Although the Space-Filler repeated its ''tackle'' move, this time, he reacted quickly enough to side-step its blow. He felt pretty cool while doing it, too.


    Seeing his opening, he jabbed his blade as he wanted to against the Combat Drone. This Space-Filler was composed principally, if its looks were anything to go by, of rusty flooring tiles and simple magical components. It managed to withstand his assault but leaked strange blood-like fluid from an internal element through one of its newly formed wounds. Not letting it gain any breath -- literal or otherwise -- he set fire to his sword using magic and kicked and hacked at the fae with every bit of brutality he could muster.


    Seeing its movements stop, a whiff of magical decay then exploded upward like a mass of fungus on a tomato vine bursting. "This one''s dead and gone!" he shouted.


    He turned back to the battle at hand just to his side. He saw the drone Jiehong had engaged unmoving on the floor, magical energies flowing up and away from its destroyed body. He had been victorious then, excellent!


    "Second Combat Drone on approach!" Whiskey said, leaving her position in the doorway and angling through the data slab area to avoid the oncoming drone.


    "Shet!" Jie uttered. "There''s an Unfun Gas ahead along with a Fatal Graze to the corner. Both can''t exactly move much on their own. It''s the Combat Drone we''re worried about, right? If we don''t watch our footing, we''re going to become easy prey for those two immobile fae constructs. So, what should we do, Zan?"


    Knowing they only had so much room to maneuver considering their tight quarters as well as the Screen Master''s desire to not see the data slabs damaged, he knew they were now caught between a rock and a hard place. The incoming Combat Drone blocked their escape route. The way around to the other side of the room was infested. They would need to confront the drone and knock it out before it pushed them into the Unfun Gas and the Fatal Graze. If they couldn''t defeat it by then, their lives would be at risk.


    But he wasn''t going to let that happen. "Jiehong. Bear your shield and keep that enemy occupied. Defeat it while Whiskey and I handle the Unfun Gas. Can you do that?"


    "Of course I can brother!" he yelled, pumping himself up, before he aggressively advanced toward the Combat Drone, shield at the ready, and blocking its first blow as though it was the easiest thing in the world.


    "Whiskey. Light flame magic to your arrows," he ordered. She obeyed.


    "Where do you want me to shoot the Unfun Gast? I think where it has manifested within the support column would be a good target," she suggested.


    Looking at the area Whiskey pointed out, he had to force himself to focus. The grunting and clanging sounds of Jiehong taking drone blows as well as dishing them out nearly drove him to become an anxious mess, worrying over his safety. He looked at where Whiskey indicated: to him, it looked highly likely to be one-in-the-same with where he thought its ''heart'' must be, insomuch fae-constructs had a central-most weak point, which they didn''t: but they had only fought one such Unfun Gas before, so he had limited experience to go on. "Fire at the crack! Let''s see what this does!"


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Whiskey fired her arrow and though it hit true, the flames had a limited effect. He should''ve known, considering how last time he fought it, he had to use water-based magics on it. Not fire. ''It seems like all fire should be able to kill something, magical or not,'' he shouted at himself. ''I need to break out of this binary! If something has a magic-type resistance, then that''s it, fire or no, it''s not going to have an effect!''


    He needed to pivot. Fire magic didn''t work. Grenades didn''t work, not really, and were mostly impractical given the space anyway. "Do we have any water?" he asked Whiskey.


    "Some, yeah! Here!" she replied, tossing him the two water containers and dumping another with several mighty swings, anticipating his need.


    "Thanks! It''s almost like you can read my mind," he said, kidding, of course, but still wondering at the back of his head if Whiskey could read his mind. He figured she would''ve mentioned any ability to read minds. Yet-- back to the situation at hand, me! Focus!


    Already on his knees despite his internal tick having trouble ticking, he held the two water bottles in front of him and squeezed with all of his might. The water flew from the bottles and landed all over between the floor and the creature and wall. He channeled his magic into his palms, then -- No, he thought, it isn''t my palms. It''s my arms! He redirected his magic. He had never attempted before now to re-direct magic from one part of his body to another; then again, until recently, he had not known he could channel magic to any point other than his palm. He hadn''t even known it was possible to channel to places outside of his palm! No one ever talked about it...


    With the magic flowing into his arms, he tried his best to relieve the tension in his arms, as the guidebook Whiskey had read to him called for. He thought of healing properties, de-cluttering his mind. The softness of the early twilight.


    He unleashed his buildup. It entered the water and careened through the water''s surface refracting light from the energy. For a brief moment, the room illuminated with colorful hues, before, like previously, their efforts resulted in one nearly destroyed fae.


    "Looks like it is badly wounded. Help me dump this water," he said, already readying another attack. He unlatched the lids and tossed the rest of the water onto the floor and wall.


    "Hurry! Looks like Jie is getting pushed back! Jie!" Whiskey said, at first, to Zan, and then to Jie. "Get aggressive! Defeat it! Don''t just pussyfoot with it!"


    Not taking too kindly to Whiskey''s impatience, Jiehong spat back -- "I''m doing my best, Whiskey! Help me!"


    Not paying attention to if their conversation continued anymore, he heard the whoop of Whiskey''s arrow unfurl and smack into and through the Combat Drone... or something... he did not know for sure as he knelt and channeled energy into his arm. He found it hard, this time, to clear his mind. The fusion of stress, pressure, but having, weirdly enough, a little bit of breathing room thanks to Jiehong''s defense, combined to make his head cluttered once again. he unleashed his magic, and it hurt the fae, yet it remained clinging to life. He channeled magic and tried again, this second time, killing the lifeless creature with his unpracticed incantation.


    His System gave him an alert regarding his low magic use. ''Did I really use so much magic?'' he thought. He didn''t want to admit it, because it seemed unfair, but he knew the headset was right. His magic use, although limited, had been frayed. He panicked and channeled overly quickly and with too much output force. He retained some magic, though. He had to use it very carefully, however.


    With the Unfun Gas exterminated, and the Fatal Graze still locked into the corner of the pillar, barely ahead, but far enough for its moldy edges to not affect them with hurtful and dizzying effects, the only true enemy left was the final Combat Drone. Which Jiehong soon dispatched with a twin set of blows from his axe -- power slash to the right, then power slash back left. He repeated the motion twice and finished the construct off with a final crushing blow to its head.


    "Feck. Harder than I thought it would be -- it might look slow but whatever that thing uses as a melee weapon can pack a punch. It seriously kept me rooted to my position just enduring blow-after-blow!" Jiehong said.


    "It''s okay, Jie! You held it off for us, that''s what''s important. But we still have three enemies left as part of this network. How do we destroy a couple of Fatal Gazes which looks like have totally colonized that part of the support beam? And then this other Unfun Gas? We don''t have any more water. We know fire won''t work on it. Should we just chuck a couple of grenades at it?" he asked.


    Jiehong took appraisal of the situation and came up with the following: "Let''s not overcomplicate it. Our way out of this room is open. We know there are no additional fae in the bunker since we have cleaned it out. How about we just go and fetch some water from outside real quick?"


    "That sounds good! Why didn''t I think of that!" Zan said, laughing for the first time that day.


    Whiskey offered to go and fetch the water. He said he would go and get it, though. Ostentatiously, because he was the leader, but really because he wanted to stretch his legs after the ''intense'' part of the battle. To help his jitters, he liked to walk, to pace. Doing so now, and quickly combing his path through the bunker, he felt already more at ease. He went to the closest source of water, a large puddle near a pond, and filled his container with the clear and refreshing looking water.


    Back at the bunker, he went as close as he dared to the Unfun Gas on the other side of the room and doused it with liquid. He repeated the channeling process. Although he had very little magic in him, and the Slipstream had been nowhere in sight outside, without the danger of the Combat Drones or Space-Fillers, he had time to --


    ''Wait!'' he realized while on his knees, about to channel the remainder of his magic. ''There had been two Space-Fillers, wasn''t there? Where was--"


    WHAMP!

 Chapter 234

    A sharp pain enflamed his chest, back, and spine as a cleverly disguised lump of construction material slammed into his and sent him reeling back, as though he were a plowed dirt pile. He gasped, in pain, as the blunt force trauma mostly got absorbed by his Warden-issued combat shirt. However, the shirt divested of hostile force-energy of the blows he encountered, he felt still a strong measure of pain upon each assault. Because of that, his body lay sprawled on the floor, like a fish out of water.


    Jiehong came upon him moments later and made short work of the Space-Filler, ending it with several practiced blows, though not before he accidentally wandered too close to the Unfun Gas and had to have Whiskey pull him from the brink.


    "Hold on, I will heal you again," Whiskey said, laying her hands upon their effected body parts.


    Feeling a healing warmth on his skin, his wounds passed from pained to better. "That''s incredible healing, Whiskey. You have a talent for it," he said, though she had already moved on to healing Jiehong.


    "It is, I must admit. I never thought I would have healing talent. No one in my village taught me healing magic. Well, not true, I guess. They did teach me basic healing stuff, but nothing no one else learned before their tenth birthday," she said, concentrating on her healing task. "That''s neither here nor there, though. Please, quiet while I heal!"


    Zan waited for Whiskey to finish healing his brother before talking to her again. "So, how did you get so good?" he asked.


    "Practice with the rebels, I guess. There were a lot of situations over there which required a healing hand. A rebel''s favorite hobby is to explore ''fisticuffs with locals or guards,'' especially if an amount of alcohol is involved. Sometimes, I did nothing but heal -- heal rebels, heal guards, if I had to, heal the random mother and child who needed an emergency healing in the night because her shetty husband hit them... gods. I''m happy to be out of that situation."


    Not knowing how to respond to a situation like that, he simply said, "I''m glad you are with us, too. We''ll be a much better situation for you than, well, all that!"


    "You guys already have been -- though I still retain fond memories of my time with the rebels. It wasn''t all drunken fights and abusive martials. But we should get onto the Fatal Graze over there, since they are still alive. Doing their thing," Whiskey said, changing the topic.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Testing his muscles, Jiehong stretched. "Yeah," Jie said. "I agree. Let''s end it. Zan. How about we tag-team them? You on that side, me on the other, and we let the grenades rip. Then we can toss flaming trash to clear out the survivors."


    "Let''s not do the grenades," he said. "Way too loud and the last time we used them against this fae-network. Plus, they resisted the impact well. I don''t want to do that again just for the same result."


    "That''s fine. Then how about... that ''Sweeping Fire'' incantation you used before?" Jie said. "If you can teach me how you did that, we could do it both together and coat the grazes, gradually sending the fire deeper across the wall until the whole fungus burned."


    "I can teach you the basics of what I did, but I don''t really know how I used Sweeping Fire. Just that I sort of built-up flame magic and then let is all out and continued to let it out long after I should''ve stopped. I don''t have enough magic to use the incantation anyway. I could do a simple fire ball..."


    The group thought it over. Eventually, Jiehong said, "That''s fine. Let''s get it over with -- wait! You have those Rescue Kits in your satchel, right?"


    "I do... I guess. Why?" he asked, wondering what his brother was up to.


    "Because those kits have special pills which contain a residue of magic. Take them and we can clear out these Gazes together with Sweeping Flames."


    Taking a few heartbeats and then breathes to respond he said, with some reluctance, since he knew Jie seemed plucked upon his idea, "I don''t like it. I don''t think we should get accustomed to using weird artificial magic pills to get the job done. Let''s just target them with simple flame spells."


    Jiehong groaned. "AND THAT''S WHAT THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE USED FOR!" his brother yelled though more with emphasis instead of anger.


    Not knowing what he should say, Zan remained silent.


    Whiskey eventually intervened: "I have to take Jiehong''s side on this one. It''s not like those kits come with a ton of pills. I don''t think there is any danger in us using them responsibly. I would normally agree with you, though, Zan. Because you''re right. These pills are strange and new creations. We don''t know how they could influence us long-term. Considering our needs today, however, and the fact the Slipstream is not out, we should use the pills. That is why we bought the kits, remember."


    Throwing his hands in the air in a mock display of giving up, he muttered a "Fine," and unlatched his satchel, pulling out the Rescue Kits and the pills. He grabbed a handful of the pills from the kits and placed the kits back into his satchel. He swallowed the pills with the very last bits of water -- hoping he would not get a parasite from it because he had gotten the water from a natural source -- and waited for them to take effect.


    "How long does it take?" he asked.


    Each of his teammates shrugged.


    ''This is off to a good start -- taking experimental pills and no one knows a thing about them other than how ''helpful'' they are. Wonderful...'' he thought.


    "It won''t be any more than a few minutes, I think, for the pills to do their work. How about another silly debate in the meantime? How about: ''Your take on automotron physical therapy?''"

 Chapter 235

    ONCE THE PILLS took effect and he felt magic flow into his body, he took position on one corner of the support beam while Jiehong the other. He talked Jie through the basic ''method,'' he used the last time he used Sweeping Fire, and though there were a couple of false starts, Jiehong got the hang of it quickly enough. Before long, both of them were going strong, with tongues of flame leaping from their hands like sweat when one pulled off their glove after a hard day''s work.


    He watched as the fire engulfed the whole wall, sending a shriek or two, or what sounded like a cry, anyway, up from the Grazes as the fire consumed their fungal masses and taught them death. Once more, he was nearly drained on his magic, but they had overcome the fae-construct network, bolstered by a System notification saying there weren''t any fae-detectable. ''Our first network overcome. If this is anything like what we are going to face in these bunkers, then maybe it is time for me to really dig in deep and start improving myself more...''


    [Physicality: Skill Level Increased (2)]


    A chime in his ear. MAC had something to say, "Congratulations, Ranger-Knights. You have cleared out the fae-constructs in this room. My sensors indicate this space is one of the core components of this defensive facility. I will begin repair work on this room immediately."


    "Excellent. How long do you think it will take to bring it up to code?" Jiehong asked.


    "A long time, unfortunately. The repairs will not be done anytime soon. I recommend continuing exploring the bunker and clearing out any remaining fae," MAC said, ending his word.


    "We have to be getting close," Jie complained to no one in particular.


    "I am hoping so as well. It feels like we''ve already destroyed a small army worth of fae," Whiskey stated.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "A couple of small groups. At best," he replied, trying to keep his team''s mentalism in check.


    Readying themselves for the next part of their Order responsibilities, Whiskey got up from her sitting rest and asked, "Where is the next room? I''m not sure if I recall any other locked doors."


    Sharing Whiskey''s trepidation, he consulted his map-in-miniature. "Looks like there is a door we haven''t been through within the nineteenth room."


    The group returned to room nineteen. They pushed through the door and entered what he labeled as room thirty-two.


    ''A long hallway. Super,'' he intoned as he and his friends walked along the path.


    They came upon a right turn, walked, turned right again. Then came upon a descending stairwell flanked by alcoves holding decorative plants, or what had once been plants, if the rotted carcasses of potted plants were anything to go by.


    "We did it? But wait. A stairwell. How many floors -- never mind. We''ve been over that already," he said, trying to say something leader-like.


    "Yeah. We did it. We cleared the first floor of our first bunker. Wonderful. I am hoping the second floor is less intense," Whiskey replied.


    Taking the lead and heading toward the staircase, he thought better of it and said, "How is everyone feeling? We just had a big battle. Lunch?"


    Strangely short silence ended before it began with Jie''s mockery -- "Come on, bro! I want to see what is coming up next. I can handle a bit more."


    "I concur. Let''s keep moving forward," Whiskey added.


    His teammates evidently fine with their condition, and his own body actually in decent shape because of Whiskey''s healing, he shrugged and continued to lead the way. ''If my team is fine, then who am I to--''


    "Who is there?" he yelled stopping dead in his tracks.


    Not asking for clarification on what he meant before they drew their weapons, Whiskey and Jiehong went straight into battle positions. They tried to see what he felt, but -- of course -- there was nothing there.


    Whiskey looked to him and asked, "What did you see?"


    "It wasn''t what I saw, per se, it was what I felt..."


    "Okay, then," Jie said. "What did you feel?"


    "I felt... ugh! You''re going to think I am crazy... but I thought I saw Mentality."

 Chapter 236

    "MENTALITY? THE FREAK WITH A MASK," Jiehong asked.


    He shook his head ''yes'' and said, "But calling him a freak is a bit much...maybe," he added, thinking of his adversary''s intensity and how it was, in fact, a bit much.


    "Regardless, why would you think he is here?" Jiehong continued. "He''s surely scurrying to find his golem legion. Or whatever... whatever he is doing as part of the invasion force, he has bigger fish to fry than us. Especially after we downed that fancy airship of his. I''m sure his handlers were really peeved at that!"


    "We don''t know anything about Mentality," Whiskey added to the conversation. "For all we know, he is the supreme commander of the invasion. If that was the case, downing an airship wouldn''t be a big deal... or it would come with minimal consequences, if any. I doubt you saw him, Zan. He would need to use unfathomably potent magics to sneak his way into an Order structure, right? I don''t think this is something we should concern ourselves with; you''re probably panicked or over-stressed. Maybe we should head back to camp so you can rest."


    Grunting, Jiehong pinged his earpiece and asked one of the Screen Masters if it was possible for someone who wasn''t supposed to be in an Order structure to go inside of an order structure. Simulacrum replied, saying, "It is as Whiskey suggested. For an individual to pass into an Order structure would mean bypassing many degrees of glyphs and magical devices aimed at keeping out the wrongdoers of the world. To circumvent such precautions would mean a magical immensity beyond most people''s comprehension. Additional: I do not detect any infiltrative impressions within the fabrics of the bunker''s build."


    "I guess I... made it up? It seemed so real, though. Like he was here with me like you guys. But it was only for a moment! Crap. Clearly this isn''t the case. Maybe I am tired. Let''s wade deeper into the bunker, though. I am with you, Jie, I want to see what''s deeper..."


    Not sure if his teammates bought his excuse or not, he began his way down the staircase with his friends behind. ''Sometimes, you just need to move on,'' he said to himself, summing up the weirdness he couldn''t explain. He didn''t know why he saw, or thought he saw, Mentality, and regardless of the situation, Mentality clearly wasn''t here with them. His mind was being overly fanciful. Again. How surprising.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Emerging into the second floor, this second floor was much the same as the first floor above them. Small rooms, low rooms, and smooth bunker walls. Though he should not be so hasty with himself, he reminded himself. The room the staircase brought them down into wasn''t so much ''small'' as it was of moderate size. The door into the complex was to the side of the chamber.


    "Crap... says we need to imbue it with five mana units," he said upon seeing the locked door.


    "Fine. No sense in complaining. Let''s get it done," Whiskey said, her tone sharp. Had he done something to upset her?


    "I agree," Jiehong said, his tone less sharp but still critical. Maybe his team was off put by his mentioning of what he thought he saw?


    All three placed their palms flat facing the door and channeled magic into it. Slowly, lowly, they followed his gentle remainders and kept a steady infusion rate. It took the rest of his magic, and he reckoned a good deal of Whiskey and Jiehong''s magic as well, but they filled the door till it pulsed green and unlocked.


    Opening the door to the thirty-fourth room they saw a hallway which was vastly longer, and oddly colored, than any corridor they had seen on the floor above them. "Darn. What was the idea here?" he asked his friends.


    Jiehong whistled. "No clue. But I am intrigued. Can''t say I would put down a simple trek, though. Better, I think, than getting lost in a maze."


    "The first floor wasn''t that bad," Whiskey said, the group crossing the threshold into the extraordinarily lengthy hallway.


    "Only because we had Zan to lead us. If we didn''t have him and his headset map, we would''ve spent many times as long navigating," Jiehong replied.


    "I would have just led the way. I''m a hunter. Remember, Mister Jie?" she said, keeping to her place in formation.


    "I guess. I just don''t know how much good forest navigation skills would do you in a place like this. I guess some skills are transferrable, though..."


    "Alert! Alert!" their earpieces went off. "Fae-construct detected: Fatal Graze, Dynamism Level 2, detected."


    "What?! Where?!" he said before seeing what the Screen Master picked up upon. It was right in front of them. Literally.


    What before had seemed a discoloration was, in fact, the Fatal Graze warned about through their headsets. Squinting his eyes, he wondered if what he saw was true. "Guys," he asked his team. "Are you seeing this? Is this entire hallway really a single fae-construct?"

 Chapter 237

    SEVERAL PACES DEEPER into the hallway, and what he saw was true: spores, fungal tracks, veins coating the passage and ceiling, a distinct green-ish brown-ish hue to it all, though one which seemed lighter than the previous Fatal Grazes they encountered, perhaps due to how pervasive this particular infestation was compared to the other much smaller ones they encountered; such a realization did not stop him from thinking to himself all the while, ''the entire hallway''s a fae-construct!''


    His team sent him back an affirmation echo. ''Yeah, we see it, too,'' they said in so many words.


    Having stopped dead in their tracks at his insistence, Zan''s fingers scrunched up while on his brother''s back and exo-suit. It was a signal Jie needed to stop moving ahead.


    "Let''s pull back," he said, finding their steps quickly retraced back into the stairwell.


    "MAC!" he quipped. "What is that? And what do you mean, ''dynamism level''?"


    "Dynamism level refers to biological growth potential actualized. Said again, it simply denotes a stronger organism than a fae-construct''s base model. To give an example you might understand from your daily life. Think of two men: one is scrawny and weak. Another is muscular and strong. The individual who is muscular and strong might be described as in ''dynamic'' terms. Assuming you humans were fae, that is," MAC explained.


    "So, that Fatal Graze in there isn''t any different than the Grazes we fought above?" he asked.


    "Correct. In terms of biological and construction and growth. Considering its immense size, however, you should expect it to have a more potent alluring ability. Proceed with extreme caution."


    Leaving his headset alone, he closed the door. He did not think that Graze needed any more space to colonize and grow.


    "I''m calling it for the day. Let''s get back to the surface and rest our tired heels..."


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Neither Whiskey nor his brother fought him on this point. They returned to their campsite without incident. They started a fire, Jiehong started on cooking up a meal while Whiskey went hunting for basic game. And he? He made a new hefty batch of black tea -- this blend, provided by Whiskey from her gift upon when they first met, was flavored with orange and cinnamon spices, on top of some Medy-Em to give it a relaxing edge. He sat in front of he and Jiehong''s tent, letting the day''s fading light be his companion.


    "So... tired..." he moaned to anyone who would listen. Which was not very many as Whiskey was away and Jiehong was busy preparing food.


    "I know. This is going to be our life now, right? We should get used to it..." Jie said.


    "We will get used to it. We always do. But no reason why we can''t pee and moan about it all the while. Just because this is what we have to do doesn''t mean we should pretend to like it," he countered.


    Still chopping vegetables for stew, Jiehong didn''t look up to respond. "Maybe that is what we need to do. Pretend like we like our life until we actually like it. Maybe we won''t know the bliss of endlessly fighting automotrons or fae-constructs until we try to go to school and realize how boring the normal world is outside of danger and violence. So, we pretend in the meantime."


    "Sounds... mental," he replied, bursting out with a laugh, and encouraging even Jie to smile.


    "You''re probably right," Jie replied after a good giggle. "I think a forced acclimation, for the time being, is what we should expose ourselves to. We can''t learn to live a new way until we commit to the lifestyle. That''s what I think, personally..."


    "No. I hear you. I do. I am taking things day-by-day. Everything is so fragile, you know? No point in planning ahead when the next day, for all''s we know, could up end our efforts forcing us to start from the beginning. That would hurt more than anything," he said.


    Jie and he continued to talk throughout the meal prep period, he, even helping Jie once he had a cup of relaxing herb-rich tea.


    With the meal nearly done in its prep, only the leftover meat left to chop, Jie asked "are you worried about anything?"


    "What do you mean? I am worried about everything, I think. Me, you, the Order, Luxley... nothing is simple anymore. What happened to our life?"


    Jiehong''s stoicism didn''t allow him to show much emotion. He could tell, though, his brother was barely keeping a strong face. "That''s what I mean," he practically choked out. "What did happen to our life? What happened to me attending university? You and... whatever you were going to do. You were excited for your Age Day, right? What happened to our simple, happy lives?"


    He didn''t attempt to answer Jiehong''s question. For, there was nothing to answer outside of ''war.''

 Chapter 238

    MENTALITY RECOVERED from his latest scouting and observation session.


    He lay recoiled in his tent. His tent was filled with magical essences and vapors from obscure gods and their lineage; the smoky vapors left tendrils in the visible air which combined with the glinting essences to create a kaleidoscope effect on his vision. It helped his condition, but not by much. He had been trading creation too much. Been too observant of Zan and company.


    "Too observant," he muttered under his breath. "It''s my weakness. I care too much..."


    He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the pain coursing through his body. It was hard to do with so much pain, though. He tried as well as he could. He sweated. He labored his breathing. He tried to then slow his breathing.


    After many minutes of bodily anguish, he had reached a point where he considered calling Rictus for aid. The engineer could get and bring for him his special stash of Medy-Em, a strain bio-engineered and grown for just such an occasion.


    He couldn''t.


    If he called for help that would be an admittance to the lower class, it would be an acknowledgement he was not all powerful. That was not something he ever wanted to say, let alone ''admit,'' as if it wasn''t, in fact, populist propaganda. ''No. If I ask him for help, he will never let me live it down. Silence in words doesn''t mean silence in thoughts...''


    By a primal''s roughshod, by perhaps, even the grace of a divine, Rictus came to him.


    "Sire?" Rictus Dawson asked through the heavy layers of tent.


    "Yes!?" Mentality replied, trying to hide his pain through anger.


    "Milord, I have the evening report ready for you, per custom. Normally, I would wait for you to show, but I am in need of some extra personal time tonight, so I was hoping I could verbally give it? The report is short: the domestics for the camp have finished. Our observants are either in their tents or bunkers. Your associates remain away. There is food simmering over the fire. Unless you have orders for me, might I knock off early, sire?" Rictus asked, his voice tired-sounding.


    "You may, underling. Before your duties end for the evening, bring to me my special satchel piled up with the remaining baggage," he asked of his subordinate.


    "That green bag with a leaf emblem on it? I will right away, milord," Rictus said, scurrying away.


    He just had to hold out until Rictus came to him again. Considering there was nothing else for him to do except hold out, it was easy enough to do, despite his state. Humor aside, he cursed every moment his underling was away. More than anything, he cursed his own weakness.


    No less than thirty minutes passed before Rictus returned to him. "Sire?" he said. "I have retrieved your bag. Apologies for the period. It was harder to locate than I anticipated. Then I had to re-assemble the baggage pile--"


    Cutting him off mid-sentence, he said, "Never mind that! In the future, Rictus, when you are told to do something, do it quickly! Returning to I with the belongings I asked for should not wait until after crumble-button baggage has been stacked! Do I make myself clear!?"


    "Yes, you do... goodnight, milord, and apologies. Should the need arise, I will be in my tent and among the area, but outside of official capacity, of course. Well, as I said, good evening..."


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Before Rictus left, he said something he should not have said: "Yes, yes. ''Evening to yourself."


    His response was more cordial than he should be with a subordinate. For being so harsh with the engineer just moments ago, he felt like he needed to ''make it up'' to the engineer. Had he been wise and stoic, he still would have resisted the emotional pull. Perhaps his bodily infirmities were affecting his mental health? The idea seemed lame, honestly, but he could not rule it out as a potential.


    With Rictus gone away to attend to his personal business, he was left alone once more. He heard the wind outside his canvas tent howl, for it was a particularly windy day today. Tree branches scratched from the outside. It was a sound almost like a friend. There, unyielding, indifferent.


    He wanted to retrieve his sack from outside the tent to partake of his rejuvenating Medy-Em. His body remained immobile, though. He fought through the pained minutes turned to an hour then two and three. He had rarely been so out of it while stalking Creation. Of course, normally, he did not spend long, if any time at all, Stalking. It was not an activity which should be undertaken lightly, so he limited his engagement for the sake of respect to the natural ontology of the world.


    Which he now knew was a mistake.


    ''I should''ve been training and stalking non-stop from the time I was at the academy till now!'' he internally shouted. ''If I had known... if I had known...!''


    He was paying for his ''decency'' now. With pain. ''But not anymore,'' he vowed. As damaging it was for him to stalk so heavily and so often, he had to do so more and more if he wanted to keep abreast on Zan and his friends as he re-built the martial order. There was something in those ruins he wanted, and he couldn''t let it slip out of his hands because they -- Zan and friends in their youthful ignorance -- destroyed it or tossed it aside to oblivion!


    ''I need to recover so I can re-enter Creation''s Waters so I can stalk them again so I can locate that item so I can--'' and on his mind went until he felt resolute enough to shift his body slightly and prepare for grabbing the Medy-Em bag outside his tent. It wasn''t much, his shifting, just enough of his body moved for him to be able to say, ''I am doing this: I am overcoming myself: I am going to grab that bag!'' Yet it was a slow-motion symphony. His limbs worked but they were slow, like snow in about-to-be-frozen molasses syrup.


    He fought himself for a long time in carefully moving his limbs, each movement, no matter how trivial, a fight. One movement led to another which led to another as he built momentum; the many subtle motions of his body and how his limbs interacted to form even simple movements, slowing his flow so badly, it seemed hours had to pass between him getting himself up from his bedding pad and having retrieved the bag. Sweat soaked his body by the time he returned to his bedding, bag in hand. He nearly lost consciousness once or twice. Though that might have just been him being dramatic.


    With bag between his legs, he slowly opened it, desperate for relief. Opened, he saw a box of tightly bound roll-ups. Seeing the pre-made smokables ready for consumption, he was never gladder for his splurging in purchasing the ''pre-rolled'' option.


    He took one to his lips and let it hang while he brought his thumb to its tip and ignited a tiny flame. The roll up took to the fire smoothly and without issue. No false starts, no tricky burning. Simply pure burn.


    ''This is it...!'' he growled as he felt the healing herb take its effect.


    His body felt warm, like a goddess of mercy was hugging him. His muscles relaxed and his overly sweaty skin cooled and ceased its over functioning. The darkness which sat at the edge of his vision while he painfully moved his form faded back to the recesses of existence. Mentally, he felt clean. Though he did miss his companion''s constant impressions upon his psyche... not that they ever left, to be clear, as, even now, he felt them from a distance. Their laughs, their clicks. Their dissonance.


    He took another pull and exhaled. He felt even better; the parts of his body which were yet unaffected by the herb became effected and he felt lose enough to lay down as the rolling sensations of the herb crashed over his body as waves of pleasure.


    Gradually, each pull, and each pre-rolled smokable, the agony of his frame faded. Soon, he was merely incapacitated, not bedridden. Eventually, he felt well enough to pull the flap on his tent open -- which was a little window to his right -- and let the smoke leave his hotbox-styled space. Through the window, he saw the bunker in the distance, and within, the boy who had proved to be a mighty pain in his side...

 Chapter 239

    BACK AT THE BUNKER, Zan and Company were getting up for another morning of bunker busting. Their exploits from the previous day though high in their heads, were but a drop of the action they needed if they wanted to clear out the overgrown Fatal Graze which had colonized an entire hallway.


    With the black tea flavored with orange and cinnamon fresh in his belly, Zan addressed the group. "So, the villagers won''t be around until tomorrow for the fieldwork. We will have the whole day, then, for bunker investigation, right?"


    Jiehong answered, "I think so? You were the one who talked with them that night. But Whiskey was the one who talked with them more recently."


    "Yeah. Tomorrow. At the earliest, though. I think we will have another day, at least, before they show up. I imagine the labor we are going to pay them to do is at the bottom of their agenda. Their community service and training is going to come first, of course."


    "Good. I was curious and couldn''t remember. I only asked to confirm we would have time. I really want to get this bunker cleared out. Honestly, I thought we would be on the move to the next bunker by now, not still clearing out this one..."


    Although his teammates grumbled in agreement with him, Jie was the voice of reason: "It''s mighty frustrating. But mighty frustrating stuff like this is just how we are going to have to work for a while. We take the blows as they come. Nothing more, nothing less. We''re doing what we can where we think it will have the most impact. We shouldn''t lose sight of that. Which reminds me! Another thing we shouldn''t lose sight of is that huge Fatal Graze. Any strategies for how we are going to overcome that?"


    Thinking aloud, he said, "Fire? That''s what it''s weak to, right?"


    "Sure, bud, but I mean how are we going to use fire to clear out a whole hallway of fungal fae nonsense? Especially with your own magic still depleted. Mine and Whiskey''s might be there still, a tiny bit, anyway. We can only do so much..."


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Grenades should work well, then, yeah?" Whiskey said, joining the conversation.


    "We''re not going to have enough grenades to clear out a hallway as long as that one was. And even then, our grenades aren''t fire based. Sucks for you, Whiskey. You''ve been a Ranger-Knight for how long? A week? And you haven''t gotten to use your grenades once! I pity you," Jiehong said.


    "But what if this?" he said and then pinged Screen Master MAC. "MAC, buddy old pal, is it possible to set fire to the grenades and turn them into a wicked fireball grenade, where all the shrapnel is on fire and stuff?"


    "Magical flame will only soak into minor aspects of the weapon. The answer to your question, however, is ''yes.'' It is possible for a magically induced flame to spread along each piece of the weapon after detonation. Naturally occurring flames, however, will have no point of penetration into the weapon as the devices were designed with heat resistance in mind. Unfortunately, the flames along each piece would be so mild as to hardly cause additional damage," MAC explained.


    Thinking over what he heard, he was let down. "Lame," he said. "I thought it would have been easy to get an explosive thing to spread fire. Guess not... is it possible to design grenades in mind with fire spreading in mind?"


    Simulacrum answered this question, "Yes," he said. "In fact, such grenades have already been designed. Unfortunately, the resources to begin manufacture are beyond us at the moment. Considering your current objectives, and the state of base and now bunker repairs, it is likely a better use of our time to focus on re-activating the bunker complex than scouring the war-torn land for hard-to-acquire resources. When the situation changes, however, research and development will need to take priority to catch up with our extreme focus on base maintenance."


    Already feeling his eyelids grow heavy again from tracking the Screen Master''s multi-topic explanations, he drank deeply again from his cup of tea. "Thank you, Screen Masters. That will be all," he said.


    "That would have been a cool idea. I want those fire grenades..." Jiehong said, getting up, preparing to head into the bunker.


    Let down by supposition but otherwise unharmed, they returned down into the second floor. Step, step, step...


    The door opened and once more they saw the massive Fatal Graze dominate the hallway, its fungal roots coating parts of the hall like spider-webs.


    "Okay, we got to about the second of these large tile panels," he said to his team. "Then we discovered the fae, though, in hindsight, I have no idea how we didn''t notice it before... point is, now or never. Let''s get to this!"

 Chapter 240

    GETTING ''TO IT'' involved a lot of grenades. Using a little of their scantly remaining magical essences, they conjured a flame into one of their torches. They set the magically induced flame to their grenades by pulling the pin, quickly dropping said grenade into the torch, and then swinging and flinging the grenade from the torch as though it were a hackey-sack bag. Once the grenade was through the door, MAC closed the door automatically upon his command. The explosion sounded. The door opened. Then the process repeated. Once the smoke cleared, all three had used all but one of their grenades.


    What did their grenade frenzy earn them? With bitterness, ''hardly anything,'' he thought, looking down the hall and seeing, maybe, a couple of tiles worth of the fungus cleared.


    "I can''t believe after all that we are hardly further than when we began," Whiskey said. "I guess these grenades are really only so effective outside of their express purpose."


    "Yeah. Crap. But what can we do?" he said, wanting to feel his anger legitimated but not wanting to make a big deal out of it.


    "Keep moving, is what," Jie replied.


    Clearly, he wanted to say, sarcastically, but bite his tongue. What else would they do but keep moving forward?  "How are we going to do this? Look. Where actually is the core of this fae? If we can''t see the core, how will we know which part we should avoid so we don''t become brainwashed or whatever?"


    This was when MAC chimed in with an answer which was actually helpful, unlike his ''associate''s'' less than helpful answer on the flame grenades... "Concerning the Fatal Grazes, specifically of mature constructs such as the one you''re facing at that moment, focus not on the singular ''core'' but on the nodal points along its body responsible for dispersing the entrancing spores. These points appear as thickly layered mounds of fungal growth encased in calcified ''bone growths,'' which look similar to fangs. With good timing, you might be able to even avoid the concentrated blasts of spores."


    "Good to know," Whiskey said. "We''re looking for fleshy piles with teeth... great."


    "Great indeed," he said, missing the sarcasm in Whiskey''s voice. "Now we know what to look for! Thanks, Screen Master."


    Proceeding with as much -- ''extreme'' -- caution as they could muster, he and his team advanced into the fungal web. Their typical formation stood. Jiehong to the front, Whiskey to his back. Both Jiehong and Whiskey carried torches, though Jie''s own he had attached to his exo-suit cage so as to use it hands-free. Where they went, they burned; every fungal ''strand'' they encountered while moving ahead, which was a lot, they put to the torch so as to implement a total cleansing policy.


    An hour or more had passed before the team encountered their first ''modal'' point. He wished it was a faster process. Treading on the side of caution, as the Screen Masters expected, seemed the better idea, though.


    "Looks like it''s there," he said, his finger pointed toward the first fleshy-spongey mass of teeth which looked like a row of teeth had inexplicably grown on an alga covered rock. Except the rock was a busted terminal leaking magical residue. The node''s ''teeth'' quivered. He thought he was going to be sick to his stomach.


    "Who has magic? Jie, Whiskey? I reckon you have enough to muster a few fireballs?" he asked.


    "Yeah," Jiehong said. "It won''t be much, but it should be the minimum we need to tear through these nodal points. Give me a moment--"


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Disaster struck before anyone knew what was going on. Jiehong became non-responsive. He did not channel any energy and instead blindly walked forward; it was MAC who blared a warning: "DANGER! Jiehong is afflicted by the Fatal Graze! Pull him back -- now!"


    He leaped into action and grabbed hold of his brother''s cage. He heaved backward with all of his might. "Whiskey! Help!" he said, but Whiskey was already by his side before the words fully left his mouth. Together, they continued to heave backward and pull their teammate back to safety.


    "JIEHONG! CAN YOU HEAR ME?!" he screamed. "SNAP OUT OF IT! REMEMBER!"


    Whiskey stopped her pulling. Holding her breath, she swirled around to the front of his brother and pushed him back from his forward. Seeing what she did, he re-doubled his effort and pulled even harder while screaming. "COME ON! JIEHOOOONG!"


    With a started tumble, Jiehong came to -- not for long, but long enough for his trance to temporary break his stride. He tumbled back; whereupon Whiskey and he were able to shove him all the way to safety, out from the Fatal Graze''s charms.


    "Whiskey. Light your arrows and fire at the node!" he said while attending to his brother.


    "Great idea! Okay-- wait! My bow and arrows -- they''re missing!"


    "What?!" he yelped and glanced back. He spotted their gleaming stature by chance far along the corridor. "Over there!"


    She turned to see what he meant. "What are they doing all the way over there?! How did -- !"


    "The fungus?" he questioned, as he sorted through his satchel looking for a anything which might help remove the alluring fungal spores. But he found nothing.


    "Oh! Its vile tendrils must''ve taken advantage of my lowered defenses as I was pushing against Jie to grab my gear. Now I will really have to kill it!"


    "Put the satchel away," Jie said with a groan. "I am fine. Just... disoriented."


    Jiehong got up and channeled a fire ball. After getting a running head start, he threw the ball with a vengeance at the node but missed. "Shet."


    A moment of silence passed between the team. Eventually, Whiskey said, "I think we should call it here, Zan. I know you want to push this, but it is no longer practical for us."


    Not bothering any time to think of a response, he went with the first thing in his mind. "I agree -- so much, Whiskey. Let''s get out of here and wait for the Slipstream. Then, we will all go and march into this hall again and blast everything with fire!"


    With the course clear, he and his team left the confined tunnels of the bunker, the door locking at his command once more on their way out.


    Upon their arrival to the first floor, the Screen Master had an update for them: "Team: I wish to give an update on fae-constructs and their bodily disintegration. Some constructs might decay instantly while others only decay over the course of a few days. Of the many recently de-commissioned fae-constructs you have fought on the first floor; it is now possible to collect rare materials."


    MAC then took them on a brief ''tour'' of the first floor and brought them to every location he sensed usable materials had accumulated. They collected several exotic matters which, as MAC explained, could be used for bartering or weapon enhancement. "If you have the necessary apotheotic talent, such materials can even be used as the base for many a potent healing tonic or lethal acid. Think well about how you use these materials. It might seem to you these materials are easy to come by, as you and your team have been using your battle experience well to confront the fae-constructs. Remember! The average person in this world would likely never see such goods or have the potential to attain them. People will go out of their way to bater with you if you let them know of the commodities you have in stock."


    Nodding along to every element of the Screen Master''s explanation, Zan directed his friends and collected the fae-looted resources. He collected the following strange materials: ''Ancient Tech Mesh x 3,'' ''Generic Fae Matter x 5,'' ''Batter Rocks x 2,'' and another ''Unrefined Poison.'' He put them away in his satchel. When his satchel overfilled, his teammates used their satchels. Although, collectively, they retained some free room, their backs were filled and significantly heavier than when they entered. Outside, they ditched the material, storing it in the trunks back at camp. "It isn''t a problem yet," he thought, "but soon, we are going to have to make a proper storeroom."


    "Now what?" he asked his team, the exotic matter stored and forgotten for the time being.


    "I say we rest," Whiskey said. "Who wants to take first shift?"

 Chapter 241

    "HI-HO, HI-HO! TIME TO RISE AND SHINE!" Whiskey shouted.


    He rubbed his eyes, tired beyond compare, except, perhaps, for the last time he was tired without compare. Such as after the airship engagement.


    Emerging from his tent, he wondered what was happening. He saw locals from Guygale. Likely the same ones who had approached him during that night when they asked for work. ''Was it really already time for the workers to start on the field?'' he asked himself. ''And if that is the case, why am I being woken up? Am I not grandmaster-in-training? I should just go back to bed--''


    "Nope! There you don''t go, buddy!" Whiskey said as she grabbed him just as he was returning to his tent. "Our fieldhands have arrived. If we want to save on money and exchange papers, we need to put everything we have into this, which means, say it with me. Come on!"


    Reluctantly, he said, "Which means... ugh, I need to help..."


    "Yup. That''s right. You need to help till the fields. And pull up roots and rocks and stuff."


    "I guess. But do I really have to help this early? Or that at all? Couldn''t I mend the pickaxes instead?" he asked with a moan.


    "Oh, yeah! I had nearly forgotten about those. How''s this -- you can work the field and then, on your break, mend the picks if the Slipstream comes out. How about that as a compromise?"


    It was in that moment he learned what a sour thing a ''compromise,'' was: "I hate it. But whatever..." he said, grabbing some work gloves and getting to work.


    He spent the day laboring in the field. Whiskey was right. With nothing else to do while recovering and waiting for the Slipstream to appear, so they might restore their magical essences, working their land they bought made sense. The labor was hard; his hands became heavy with blisters. These blisters would, in the following days, scab over eventually. But he was used to blisters. Biking, sword swinging, it all took its tool eventually. Though the day''s labor was rife with dislodging rocks and pulling up dead roots, irrelevant fossils from bygone eras, it was simple enough to do.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    [Skill Level Increased: Physicality (3)]


    [Power Level Up! +1 Point] and right after [Power Level: 18]


    Dismissing the System notification, he found it hard to believe his Physicality ''skill,'' was only at level three. After all the battles, all the walking, the running, after every tense encounter with Wizard Towers and the monsters within, not to mention the seemingly endless miles he had biked, and his bodily toughness factor -- for how else could he qualify a skill such as ''physicality''? -- and it was only at a three. His only conclusion from thinking this over was how long of a way he still had to go... so very far!


    Sitting down for lunch, stew with bread, per the norm, they made their lunch as they did every day: with supplies they brought from the command center''s tribute stash. He eat as eagerly as a teenage boy could -- his spork shoveling food into his mouth with the same gusto a battle-scared veteran had for destroying automotrons. "Seconds, please!" he said, then laughed and said, "Just kidding," as he helped himself to another serving. ''I don''t need to ask permission for seconds,'' he reminded himself. ''I''m not back in my hometown, under my guardians over-scrutinizing eyes. I''m the leader. I can say whether or not I want another bowl. Yeesh!''


    A mighty burp left his belly. As he reached for thirds, a ping from a Screen Master interrupted him.


    He held his finger to his earpiece and looked to his teammates. "Yes, Screen Master?"


    "An important development has occurred, Ranger-Knights. I need one of you back at the Command Center as soon as possible to explain the development," Simulacrum announced.


    Surprise came across his face. As it did on his comrades faces as well. "Screen Master," he said. "The way back to the command center is far. And we do not know how many automotrons are about. Not only that, but we''re in the middle of this bunker fieldwork. Returning now would be imprudent..."


    "I understand, Zan. I have continued to monitor your situation, so I understand the many productive efforts you and your team are in the middle of enacting. I do believe you and your team are performing great work. Despite this great effort, I do need to explain to one of you, in person, the recent development. I would recommend the following course of action to minimize time wasted: find a local lodestone, imbue it with magic. Once it has become infused, it will be able to act as a beacon for quick return through the Backroads," Simulacrum explained.


    He pulled his finger from his earpiece. "Who wants to go?"

 Chapter 242

    IT WAS HE WHO WENT.


    In truth, he insisted.


    Whiskey had volunteered right away. He was ready to have her go, trusting her expert survival skills and lay of the land would bring her quickly to the command center. Then he thought better of it once he realized, ''Wait... she has never gone through the Backroads. And Jiehong has only done so once, maybe twice? I should get them up to speed with the Backroads so I am not the only one who can go and use it. But for the time being, I guess that means I have to go instead... geez...''


    Although Whiskey had not been happy about not going after all, evidently, the fieldhands always needed a hand doing this or that and their needs were getting on her nerves, especially since the needs often resulted in her backside facing hassling slaps which she obviously found unpleasant, she understood the demand of the situation. So, he packed up, and promised his team he would stick to the main roads and flee to safety should a wandering warband of golems get in his way... not that he expected as much to happen, not after a secondary ping from Simulacrum which stated he had detected no such large forces.


    Finding the lodestone had been a hassle. It took Jiehong a good portion of the day to locate even with the Screen Master helping them out by using his magical sensing abilities. Once it was located, Jiehong and Whiskey, had to summon deep within the final spurts of magical energy. With a painful channeling, they forced their energy into the stone, barely able to imbue the stone with the trivial sum of magic needed for its activation.


    Once the lodestone had been found and activated -- he thanked the gods there was even a stone in their area! -- he had a bite to eat and then left.


    With the open road ahead of him, he had time to let his mind wander as the only thing he saw while biking was rolling hills, abandoned villages in the tree line, and the flutter of birds. It was a beautiful day out. The sun shone. The massive form of a god''s palace sparked high overhead, barely visible as a twinkle in the sky. ''I wonder which god that is,'' he thought.


    By the end of his first day biking, he felt less stressed. Being away from the encampment, the hard labor of fieldwork, the less hard, but just as tedious labor of mending tools, or giving interviews, considering, made him feel at ease. He trusted his friends to hold down the fort. So, he could bike. Bike and breath of the world as he let himself be an ant upon the cusp of a world far larger than his little-old-self would ever be.


    By the end of his second day, and nearly halfway to the center, he received a voice whisper from Luxley.


    Despite his declaration he would communicate with him more often, Luxley had been spotty, to say the least. To hear him now was great.


    The whisper he heard had said, "Zan? It''s me. How have you been?"


    He had heard the whisper while tending to his simple fireplace out of sight, out of mind, and a little beyond the forest''s border. He took a sip of tea, thought about Luxley, and replied, "I''m doing good. We were able to find our way to the first location. We found a bunker! Then we bought the bunker, if you can believe it! And now we''re fixing it up, clearing out these contraptions called ''fae-constructs,'' and living it up. What''s going on with you? I thought I would have heard from you sooner. I hope everything is fine."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Yeah! Everything is great. Just missing you, is all..." Luxley said.


    "Missing me? What ever for, bro?" he replied, taken aback by someone who actually wanted him around and wasn''t a teammate, one of which, he reminded himself, was his brother.


    "Lots of stress. I told you about my plans to go and do apprenticeships? For my techy-mag stuff? Well, political stuff is getting in the way. Nothing major. It''s just causing delays and everything. Making highway travel hard. It should clear up soon, though. As I am waiting and studying and re-reading the same tomes I have heard over twice now, I keep on thinking about how this all would be much better if I had my bro by my side."


    "For real, man, for real," he replied, keeping it casual and repetitive. "Have you actually left the castle? You said the highway was tricky, so I was curious."


    "Yeah. I left the castle. It is great... or was great, I should say. Getting away from my father is fantastic, but while I wait for the political stuff to clear, I am stuck at an inn only an odd dozen miles or so outside of the castle. I''m well within distance of my old life. It''s annoying, you know?" Luxley told him, his tone frustrated.


    "I know what you mean. I am heading back to my base right now. I should be back at the first site helping my team but our leader-type-person... thing, called me back so I could hear of some new development firsthand. I am going to lose days because of the travel back. I don''t really dislike it, but I do feel like I should be with my team. I think I know a little of what you''re feeling. Maybe..."


    "Sounds like it. I can hear it in your voice."


    "Funny you should say that -- I could hear your stress from your voice. Our voices give us away. Weird. Since I don''t think of myself as really having a voice," Zan said, gulping down more tea and ruffling around in his sack for a cracker and some dried papple fruit to fill his belly.


    "Really? You don''t think you have a voice? Odd thing to hear coming from the mouth of the grandmaster of a grand martial order!" Luxley replied, laughing with good intent.


    "Well... I am ''grandmaster'' in name only. I am training my way there for real. Super long way to go, though. The invasion happened a couple of months ago, maybe three? It feels still so surreal. So weird. I can''t believe I''m fighting for my life and for my community. Just everything -- it all changed so much. I wake up most days in disbelief that the day before wasn''t a dream..."


    "I understand," Luxley said. "Sort of! I wake up feeling like being away from the castle must be a dream. Then, when I realize I am truly free of it, for the time being, anyway, I feel so happy! Reverse of your situation, I guess. Sorry about that, bud."


    "No. It''s fine. Not your fault a superpower invaded."


    An awkward silence passed between the two boys. For all of their blunt interactions, and for all he knew about Luxley from secondhand glances and contextual intuition, he still did not know if Luxley and his family were directly involved in the invasion of his homeland. He suspected they must, since they are extraordinarily wealthy aristocrats living in the heart of the Expanse, but he didn''t know for sure. He did not want to ask. Neither did he want to sour a friendship because of his misgivings about complex political situations he knew nothing about. Not when Luxley had been so receptive to helping him.


    "Yeah. Uh -- I hope it all works out for you, Zan. I gotta go now but I will talk to you soon. Bye!"


    Another sudden ending. Luxley pops in, chats for a moment, then leaves. ''I hope he is okay. He always sounds so weird. So full of himself but somehow also fragile. An odd boy, that''s for sure!''


    Since his tea was a calming beverage instead of an energizing one, his eyes felt heavy, moreso after such a nice conversation. He dosed his campfire and went to sleep, letting the echoes of his friend''s situation and voice reverberate in his mind. A mental peace which led to a dream of gods and entities greater than gods lording over him as though he were an insect. The dream, although intimidating, wasn''t scary. Merely mysterious. When he woke, he felt refreshed. Though weirded out by the dream.


    He stretched his sore legs. ''The command center is still a day or two away. I need to get going,'' he told himself. So, he packed up camp and shoved off. He saw a System notification -- [New Skill Unlocked: Perception] -- though did not think much of it. After all, he had always been a perceptive lad.

 Chapter 243

    Wetness from his face and hair fell to the ground like rain drops before a storm. His breathing was haggard. He had been biking all day. He had pushed himself to his limit. And yet, he wanted more; he knew how every hour, every day, he was away from his team only increased his risk for attack as well as their own. He didn''t know where the Mentality fella had gone, and he could not guarantee he would remain unmolested by him during his trek back to the command center. Therefore, he had to have haste on his side.


    Which meant pushing himself to his limit, per the norm.


    If the first day of his return trip had been on the leisurely side and the second day was more serious, in terms of miles covered, then the third day was his time to shine. He cared not for scenery admiration or to even pace himself, he only cared about covering distance.


    Though he cared only for covering distance and not the many barren sites he saw along the way, he couldn''t help but think: ''So many empty villages and destroyed homes. Where did all of these people go? Some ended up with us, at the command center, I guess. But what about the others? Has the Expanse taken so many prisoners?'' The idea saddened him. He thought of the misery which must exist in the Expanse''s processing camps. Slavery, abuse, death? It seemed to him unlikely even the Expanse could forgo the rules against killing set by the gods, but one never knew... if they could do it on the battlefield, then surely the Expanse''s masters could do so in a forced labor camp...


    ''Enough bad thoughts. Focus on the road,'' he instructed himself.


    When the stars appeared in the sky he had arrived on the far outskirts of camp. Away, as a smudge on the horizon, he saw the command center rising like a great obelisk. ''No way I am getting there any sooner than midnight,'' he thought. ''If that''s the case, I should get a move on.''


    Yet, after a nasty false start with his bike, where he misjudged the location of the bike''s peddle, he slipped and fell over, he thought better of his overexertion. ''How about a rest instead?'' he offered to he. ''Sounds good, me,'' he told himself and removed himself into the tree line away from the main road.


    He never wanted to spend very long searching for a resting site. But he also did not want to simply find an overturned tree log to sit upon. Just in case he fell asleep in his advanced sleepiness, he wanted to make sure he was safe from the few predators which lurked. For the time being, though, he did, in fact, find a log to lean against. This log, though, was protected on several sides from well-grown trees, shrubs, and rocks.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    He reached into his satchel and had the rest of the dried papple fruit as well as a good few gulps of water, finishing his canteen. He would need to find a source of water soon. Assuming he was slow in covering the final stretch. Which he knew would not happen... he had to be prepared for any situation, though. It was his job as grandmaster-in-training. If he wasn''t prepared, then the enemy already had a point in their favor.


    Thinking it had been fortunate for him to find such a resting place, he calmed his body, but soon found the need to investigate, just a little more, the secluded spot he discovered. It was then he found another oddity -- secured right in front of him but so heavily shielded by environmental circumstance as to be unseen by anyone except the most inquisitive of people and nosey of animals, he found another person''s camp site.


    ''Or what had once been a camp site,'' he mused sardonically as he took in the site''s rumpled carpet which someone had decided to plop onto the forest''s floor. Among the former camp site was a good deal of clutter. Trash, really, he surmised. Broken kettles and cups, the rot from half-eaten food, the violence of working the land for one''s own gain. It wasn''t anything too terrible. It was inconsiderate to camp and then not clean up after yourself, however.


    Zan spent a few minutes tidying the campsite and cleaning up. He put the junk matter into his satchel. He was sure someone back at the command center''s camp could mend the damaged items for their own gain. ''Wait. What''s this?'' he muttered.


    It was a ''shiny.'' A gleaming piece of some machine, by the looks of it. Having a quick back and forth with the Screen Master, he said it looked similar to the machines he had found some months ago when he had discovered that golem-manned research alcove near Thundervale. Back then, Simulacrum reminded him, he had discovered remnants of a machine meant to collect data on Slipstream movement and the flow of magic embedded in the land. The Screen Master had called such a machine ''trouble.'' Another research site... "This can''t be good, can it?" he asked the Screen Master. To which he received only the most barebones answer: "No. Not good at all..."


    Dozing off momentarily, he dreamed of absurd and silly, even tantalizing things. No grand gods this time, though when he woke, hazy and disoriented, remembering only bits of his eccentric dream involving naked people and singing, he had some wetness around his crotch which he wouldn''t account for... which told him he had stayed here too long. Righting himself, he hiked up his pants, straightened out his shirt, and returned to the forest''s edge.


    It was dark out. Which meant, if he still wanted to reach the command center by midnight, he had a lot of ground to cover. Sighing as though his mother had demanded he clean the house, he hopped back on his bike, peddled, and cursed his lack of magic to make it go faster. With Simulacrum in his ear urging him forward, he focused, peddled, and lost himself to the grind of the ride.

 Chapter 244

    HE CAME INTO CAMP some time past midnight. The stars gleamed overhead, twinkling with a cosmic aura he knew even the gods couldn''t control. Crossing the perimeter, he was happy to see few people recognized him at this hour and quality of moonlight. He was too tired to make pleasantries.


    Going immediately into the command center''s war-room, he did not want to waste any time.


    Simulacrum greeted him first. "Welcome back, Zan! Of course, I knew you were coming, as I see everything you see, but formalities are important. As grandmaster-in-training, you will need to learn the ins and outs of formality, especially when addressing dignitaries and fellow grandmasters."


    "Sure, sure," he said, not wanting to get into an off-point discussion about just how much politicking he was expected to do. "Now, what is -- wait, what''s that?"


    He was late in noticing but in the middle of the room, on one of the support pillars, was an array of new monitor screens.


    "This is what we needed to discuss with you in person," Sigma-Prime said.


    "Great. You have my attention. What is it?"


    "This is the Spirit-Core Processer. It will take spiritual energy and convert it into usable matter... along as some junk matter is also thrown in as a base." They explained. "This column of monitors is merely the read-out gauge for use by the Screen Master and me. The real engine is in the basement. Follow me."


    Following her into the basement, one of the six doors not taken up by the White Chamber''s teleportation properties was now taken up by a room Sigma called ''Spiritual Processing,'' or the "Spirit core room for short."


    He entered and saw a room whose space was taken up by a large machine. Obviously, the spirit core processer, whatever that is...


    "Give me the lowdown, then. Why is this thing so impressive you needed to recall me when my team and I were making good headway on the bunker?" he asked.


    "We recalled you because as important as your work is in Guygale, it is possibly more important for you to understand how this machine functions. ''Why?'' You are about to ask. Because this machine can create for us the weapons and tools, we need to make, in order to defeat the invasion."


    "That''s quite the claim," he told Sigma-Prime.


    "And it is the truth," she replied. "Not all at once, of course. A machine like this will take a lot of enhancements and fine-tuning. It has the potential, however, to generate an immense number of items. Or powerful items which would otherwise take a collection of experts to forge. It is one of the several inventions our Order as busy working on before the downfall."


    "Downfall... you don''t speak too much about what happened before. Isn''t this something I should know as a grandmaster-in-training?" he said.


    "It is something you should know, yes. Unfortunately, neither myself nor the Screen Master have data on what happened or how long ago it happened."


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Really? That''s a bummer," he replied. "On the bright side, I guess with this machine''s invention it means the command center is truly well repaired?"


    "Yes. Some minor repair works need to be done. Maintenance, of course, slows everything down, but it is what it is. Our limited resources prevent too much happening too quickly. Until now, we have been getting by with donations from the people the camp protects, and from the low-output spiritual and matter regenerators built into the command center. This spirit-core processor, however, is nothing like the small spiritual panels which are infused into parts of the command center structure. The processor before you is an industrial grade engine capable of creating a wide range of products, materials, and even energies, if given the correct input," she explained.


    "It sounds like quite the machine," he replied as he looked over the machine. It had many rumbling tubes even while off which shook with a strange noise not unlike nature, such as the washing waves of the sea. "What does this mean for us? Can it make for us super-weapons? An army of our own golems to fight the automotrons?"


    "Wonderful ideas, all!" Sigma-Prime exclaimed. "Unfortunately, the machine is only barely operable. It will work but it needs a lot of enhancements to do anything more than the basics. Ultimately, yes. It could, theoretically speaking, create for us our own golem ''army,'' as you say. Though our army is unlikely to be as mighty as the force employed by the Expanse!"


    "Nah. I know what you mean. What can it do now?" he asked, curious.


    "What would you like it to do?" she asked back.


    He thought about it for a moment. "I supposed it should be helped to advance the community. Or our offensive and defensive capabilities..."


    Continuing to think, he asked Sigma-Prime what she thought they should do, since he came up with nothing.


    Alas, she did not take the bait. Instead, she said, "It is okay to feel overwhelmed by new technology. This technology is here to help us, however. How about this: you go into your community and ask what people need. Then, we will create for them what they need?"


    "I like that notion. What has the community been needing lately and -- never mind. I guess I will find out and ask."


    He went out into the community. He talked with those few still up, which was merely an insomniac here and there. Invariably, they all said, "It would be nice to have some sleep dust or something..."


    Returning to the Spirit Room, he told Sigma, "Some dudes want sleep dust to help them sleep."


    Sigma-Prime looked at him like he was crazy. That is the impression he got, anyway. She was silent for a moment and then said, "Yes! Easy to do! Allow me to demonstrate."


    She placed some junk matter already in the room into the machine. "This scrap was collected outside of the defensive perimeter. It used to be enemy automotrons. Although most of the spiritual essence has since evaporated, elementary residue remains and is capable of being harvested by our machine." Sigma-Prime went on to explain how among the Ranger-Core Order, there were two types of technology: technology which maintained the base and technology such as this Spirit Processor, which allowed for the expansion of the center''s facilities.


    Helping Sigma with the dumping of scrap soldiers into the machine, the wood the golems had been made from now smelled awful. He didn''t know if the odor was due to the type of wood the soldiers were made from or the magics used in the creation of the soldiers, but they smelled awful, of decomposition and death; although he was young, he was no naive boy -- as a township male of a certain age, Zan was expected to hunt with the rest of the men when it came to his time in the rotation. During the hunts, he was sometimes tasked with killing and skinning animals. He knew what death smelled like and he knew what it was like when the hunter group had killed beyond their means and carcasses went to waste. These golems smelled exactly like that. Dropping several into the machine, he couldn''t but help wonder the process, and why wooden battle machines would smell like decay. He knew better than to delve too deeply into ''why,'' though, as he knew the answer was probably beyond his comprehension. Or to be so horrific he wanted it to be beyond his comprehension.


    Done with hauling the automotrons into the machine, Sigma-Prime pulled a lever. The machine shook and tumbled as though it were a bear tumbling through the bush.


    "Uh, is it supposed to be doing that?" he asked, seeing black smoke vomit from its oscillating components.


    "No..." was all she said.

 Chapter 245

    "I THINK I HAVE FOUND THE ISSUE," Sigma-Prime said after stopping the machine and pulling the plug from the wall.


    "Oh? What was it?" he asked, curious, but still unsure of why this machine demanded his attention when it had so far failed to prove itself.


    "I had it on the wrong setting. Oops!" she said, causing him to laugh.


    With the new and proper setting instituted, he watched as the machine once again activated, as soon as Sigma plugged it back in, and pulled the lever again. This time around, the machine stumbled much less and was more a bird fiddling in a tree branch during mating season than a bear in the woods. No smoke rose from the machine and its shaking was kept to a minimum. Minutes later, a ''dinging'' sound like a light bell rang out.


    "Is it done?" he asked.


    "It is, yes," Sigma-Prime told as she pulled another lever, opening the machine''s door.


    What was inside of the machine surprised him. "What is this? A powder?"


    "It is sleeping dust. Collect the dust in a small bag and deliver it to the man who asked. Inform the man, however, this will be his one, and only, vial of dust. He had become dependent on the substance, I am afraid," she informed.


    "Dependent? Like, addicted? I didn''t realize people could become addicted to sleeping dust," he said.


    "Oh, yes. People can become addicted to just about anything, Zan. With sleeping dust, it is less the fact it puts people to sleep, and more the sense of joy and ease which preludes the drowsy effects. He will receive this impotent sum and no more. When you return, we should discuss the nature of the Command Center going forward."


    He delivered the dust to the man as promised. He was very unhappy with the situation and cursed greatly. He ignored the man''s anger. What could he do? Strike him?


    "What do you mean? Future of the command center?" he asked, back in the Spirit Processing room.


    "As you have noticed, the encampment outside of the command center has dwindled in size. With the local space safe, for the time being, from Expanse incursions, many of the villagers who initially came to us for shelter have left. Sometimes new groups arrive, but they do not tend to stay for very long, especially when they realize staying is not ''free,'' despite the fact we do not turn anyone away," Sigma-Prime began. He wondered why people would refuse shelter if they couldn''t pay tribute or offer services to the camp, but he knew some people were just prideful, and anything less than ''their way,'' was not good enough for them. Continuing, she said, "Yet, with the successful unearthing of the bunker complex in Guygale, and multiple more sites in the future, we should begin organizing a proper territory. Which is to say, a proper Order. I wish to implement the creation of an Order engineering corps comprised of formal Order members."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "An actual corps of engineers, huh? Hmmm... do you think we have enough people who want to be members? Making a commitment to a Martial Order is a pretty big deal. We''re not asking them to become Ranger-Knights, are we?" he asked.


    "That is an issue for you to decide. As the grandmaster -- in title only or no -- member roles and responsibilities are determined by you. Some Order iterations over the years do focus on frontline combat. Others on civilian life. It depends on the Order''s location and the conditions which gave rise to the Order in the first place. Your leadership preferences so far have been centered on a balanced approach. I would recommend a heavy emphasis on combat. Considering our situation, and at least for the moment, a mixed approach would be best: everyone who joins should expect either frontline combat OR default into the engineer corps, unless they wish to join purely are civilian supporters. In case of civilian supporters, their membership would be ''on paper'' only and would be a more exploitable relation than active members. Therefore, everyone should be encouraged to join either on the Martial focus, our speciality, or the engineer focus," Sigma-Prime explained.


    Although he thought her words over, he had no follow up questions or concerns. It all seemed very straightforward and to him, logical.


    "Sure. This engineer corps, the martial focus, it all sounds great to me, Sigma. Since we are pushing ourselves as a formal organization, we should start letting the people about our new direction. That they do not have to leave, but they will be expected to either join or become accustomed to greater amounts of work. That''s the idea, you have, right? Working people, getting value out of them, or whatever?" he said, thinking of the many ways over the years unscrupulous businesspeople had wronged his township.


    "That is correct, sire. I want to assure you we will never turn those in need away. I understand you are concerned about this, so worry no more. As far as the additional levels of ''exploitation,'' as you say, goes, I will also argue that considering the invasion, our need and what we expect from people more than covers the imposed demand. As a young person, I know you see the world differently than an entity like me. Sometimes, you have to push and extract to thrive. As long as we are careful not to over-push, there is nothing we should fear from asking our wards to share in the burden we bear," Sigma-Prime argued.


    "Alright. All good, then. So, you will establish this corps by going out among the people and recruiting. And also letting them know of the increased expectations. I should return to my team, then," he said. "After I have gotten some sleep," he added.


    "Affirmative! However, the people might take the news better if it came from you, sire."


    ''Me tell them?'' he thought. ''I don''t do well with public speaking. Or the public in general.''


    Addressing Sigma-Prime, he said with hardly a moment of thinking, "No. You do it, Sigma. This is your idea. I support it and will push it. But with telling them? That''s not my job. You''re my second in command, right? Continue these delegation duties. And that is an Order I expect to see followed for as long as I am at this Order''s head. Am I understood...?" he said, his voice stern, as he made his best ''leader'' face he could.


    "Loud and clear, sire! I wish to take this moment to let you know I am always your humble servant. The Screen Master and I exist only to serve and aid in your will. I will begin preparations right away for the re-organization of the center and the refugee camp!" she said without any change in tone.


    "I know... some aspects of this job irritate me, is all. Thank you for your cooperation. Now, unless you need anything else, I am going to bed."


    "Actually, sire," Sigma-Prime said, her tone letting up into higher octaves for a moment. "I do need one thing..."

 Chapter 246

    DIRECTION WAS WHAT SHE NEEDED, and direction was what she got.


    "Sire: your orders for the engineering corps'' first project?" she asked, enthuse at the center of her question.


    Looking tired, as he and every mortal would be after such a hurried journey, Zan replied, "Oh, uh... I dunno... give me a moment..."


    Waiting patiently as was possible according to her programming -- which was a lot of patience -- Sigma-Prime waited. Though to mortals, the passage of time would appear as moments, perhaps a couple of minutes, to her, it felt much longer. She did not mind the passage of time. She had spent much time in the total darkness while she and the Screen Master waited for the next fortunate soul to uncover the command center and claim their due by providence.


    As luck would have it, that soul was Zan and his brother. She thought ''luck'' because she knew firsthand how rare it was for a competent commander to come along. The boy still had his rough edges, of course, but he had immense potential. Looking at him, still lost in overly tired half-thoughts, his face looked a mess. He touched his face comically, sometimes with one finger, other times with two or three at the bridge of his nose as he paced. He took everything very seriously despite his youth.


    Replying, the consideration he gave to her question already tickling her pink gemstones within her processor: "How about... collecting all of the de-commissioned automotrons outside of the perimeter? If those ones smell even half as bad as the ones I shoved into the machine, I am sure the others in the camp, especially those outside, would appreciate a cleaner air... plus, those golems have some spiritual residue on them, yeah? Go hog wild. Collect every single one. Once you do, let me know. Then we''ll plan the next step."


    "Understood, sire! I will make this task the first assignment of the engineering corps -- once it is formed, that is!" she replied in a tone she knew he liked. Based on her previous interactions with him, she knew he responded best to soft-spoken tones.


    "Great. I''m going to bed. Hold all summonses. I am sleeping. If possible, please have the chef prepare a hearty breakfast for the morning," he said, then, leaving, left her alone in the processing room.


    In her ''Circuit''s Eye,'' her dual sentience and consciousness processors which were connected to every surveillance panel in the base, she saw Zan walk back to his chambers. "Rest well, Warrior. I will implement your will!"


    Sigma-Prime walked-rolled her way back to the war room. Her legs, although limited in their mobility, and not able to take as wide strides as human legs, made up for their limited mobility through limb movement by having wheels attached to their flats. Thus, with her wheels, and tiny puffs of air which could lift her body up through most minor obstacles, she found no trouble with getting from place-to-place. Outside could be trickier, but she would make do.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Once she was back in the war room, Sigma-Prime spoke with the Screen Master about the developments. As joined entities, however, she knew Simulacrum already knew the larger details of her conversation. Still, to be polite, she spoke about the finer points.


    "It feels good, doesn''t it?" she asked the Screen Master.


    "It does, Sigma. Zan is learning when and where to be a leader. I am happy he gave you permission to begin the engineering corps. My memory banks of the before times remain hazy, but I feel like the establishment of the first non-combat related branch of the Order always is a sticky sell to some personalities. I did not seriously think Zan would deny the creation of an engineering force, but it is still good to see he is allowing it," Simulacrum said.


    "My thoughts as well. He is sensible. I am grateful for that. I am going to charge and then begin my undertaking," she replied, rolling herself over to her charging table and hooking herself in.


    Nothingness passed over her while she charged. She saw a universal time stamp, but that was all. That and her battery charge percentage. ''This will present problems for us,'' she mused as she charged. ''A short life combined with a long charge time won''t yield productive results.''


    Not able to do anything about her battery at the moment, she continued to rest. Her battery slowly ticked upward until, hours later, it finally reached one hundred percent. ''Once the situation allows,'' she told herself in determination, ''my first priority after Zan and the Order will be to forge for myself a new battery. One which can handle the high-pressure of this world and its demands.''


    Opening her Visual Sleeve, her blank time display went away, replaced by the splendor of the world.


    Before she left the sanctity of her charging table, and therefore made herself vulnerable to the wears of time as she would scurry to implement Zan''s orders, she took the moment to form a plan. Like any sensible creature, mortal or semi-immortal like herself, a plan of action for the day, however simple the plan was, was a necessity. Now that she was fully charged and could use her higher-processing faculties, she thought over the missive she would need to pronounce to the camp''s denizens.


    Writing a simple script for herself, where she would announce the creation of the engineering corps, along with the establishment of a firmer Order-centric policy of protection, she knew she had to keep it simple. ''No, no,'' -- she intoned to her own wires. ''That tone is too harsh. It makes me sound like a bandit...''


    Musing more, she came to a conclusion: ''Maybe sounding like a bandit would help? Zan takes mercy on these folk because he grew up with many of them. That or he believes them to be similar to those he grew up with. He is right on the moral obligation of our Order to help people. He does not understand, however, that there is a difference between helping the common good and expecting them to shoulder the burden. He at least has given me permission to become stricter. I should use this opportunity to press these people until the ''chaff is removed from honorable.'' Contextually speaking, this language does not make me a bandit. Would it harm our cause, though, if my leadership at times seemed similar to a bandit''s gruff?''


    She finished writing her declaration. She stashed it away in her immediate memory banks for later access.


    For now, she had to get going on the day. First priority, gather the camp and address the crowd. Then, establish the corps. And, finally, clean up the dead. Which, she reminded herself with an electrical current, was the true focus for all of this.


    Sigma-Prime unsnapped the charging cables. They retracted into the wall and allowed her ease of movement. She stepped off the table and walked to the exit. ''Time for change,'' she intoned again. ''Time for our Order to rise again.''

 Chapter 247 [Advancement: The Engineering Corps]

    IT DID NOT TAKE LONG for the whole of camp to assemble. Though Sigma-Prime could not exist for long outside of the command center, she could now withstand enough of the burdens of the outside to address the crowd. With help from several of the helpful denizens of camp, she lifted herself onto a large boulder. Extending her megaphone audio enhancers, she began her speech thusly: "Denizens! The time has come for change. The time has come for the relationship between the Order and yourself to evolve. The time has come for commitment!"


    A stunned silence overtook the crowd. She knew they would be unresponsive. Everyone was too busy mulling over what might happen and whether their families would be back in jeopardy.


    Continuing, she said, "Sire Zan Chaplin, our grandmaster-in-training and current Order head has decreed the establishment of an engineering corps. The responsibility of this corps will be the maintenance of the Command Center and civilian camp. Prior knowledge of engineering principles is not required; the Order will teach everyone who applies all of the needed skills. Additionally, no one who applies will be turned away. Among you, there will be a thought just now: ''Is this too good to be true? Training and promises. Am I being hoodwinked?'' And the answer to that question is ''no, you are not being tricked.'' It is, in fact, the opposite -- you are being called upon for greatness!"


    By now, a genuine murmur of interest spread among the crowd. A regular human would not have been able to hear the words within the verbal clatter, but she did. So, Sigma-Prime heard half-gasped, whispered sentences such as, ''What''s all this bullshet?'' and ''We''re already paying a tribute to be here. Is that not enough?'' Among the discontent, she also heard praise, but it was fewer in amount, though she suspected of those who approved of the measure, they did not need to vocalize their support in the same way the disgruntled vocalized their dislike.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    She processed all of the noises within the murmur within mere seconds. She paused only long enough to give the appropriate and expected pause.


    Once more, she continued: "Our frontline Warriors -- Whiskey the Fleetfooted Huntress; Jiehong the Strong-Walled; and Zan, our Leader-to-Be -- have secured for us the peace we now enjoy. He took all of you in when there was nowhere else to go. He gave your safety, shelter, and access to facilities for your daily life. In return, he has asked hardly anything in return. Petty tribute in the form of food and basic goods has been asked. Nothing which no other lord would not ask in return. This policy of leniency is over!"


    Another vacuum of stunned silence. Sigma-Prime pressed her advantage: "Which is why, henceforth, all those who live within the confines of the perimeter will be asked to join the Shiv Martial Order. Either, as a frontline soldier or as an engineer-in-training." she spoke, then added quickly at the end, as if she was an unscrupulous merchant who needed to quickly wrap up her unwholesome pitch, "certain exclusions apply." She was not sure how many people heard that last part over the din caused by her former pronouncement, but it did not matter. Everyone who wanted to join would be allowed to join. She would find something for even the weakest to do... she knew Zan would want it no other way.


    Overloading her speakers for a moment to maximum volume, she cut over the roar and screeched, "For it has been decreed!" ending the speech. "For those who wish to join, line up outside of the command center and forge your pact."


    She left the crowd in silence and returned inside the command center. It would take a while for the crowd to sort out their troubles. In the meantime, she had her battery to charge.