Chapter 14

…

There are multiple kinds of Undead.

Some say it's a sign of creativity on the devs part, so that they could get real, cool-looking units on the field.

I say that there are multiple kinds, because there's some cultured gentlemen in their ranks really into goth chicks.

Cultured gentlemen whose hands I want to shake.

Rita is a knock-off of a certain MMORPG, but unlike the character, never got sanitized for the larger audience, never had a character that could be ruined, and isn't the center of the world. However, all the aspects why that certain character was loved was transferred over.

Some would even say improved.

Armor mostly on the arms and legs. High-waisted leotard/corset combo with everything below just shown off. Tight fishnets that went up all the way into that very high-cut leotard in order to make you wonder. Amazing legs and rear no matter the angle you look, with a constant expression of looking at everything and anyone with cold-dead eyes.

Mods? Who needs mods?

The devs did all the work themselves.

God bless those degenerate bastards.

Man, puberty is going to be hellish in this world, because it's easy to ignore how everyone is attractive while you don't care.

When I actually start getting hit by hormones, I'm going to need to somehow neuter myself, so I don't get killed by an assassin.

Hm?

The duel for the Citadel and destruction of the Elves' ambitions to exterminate all other races and turn the world into a dead-end garden?

Right, that was happening.

…

Meat rots quickly, especially when covered in shit and other bodily fluids.

The Guardians sliced through the enemy defenses after they were sent in. They tore through the guards at the front door and held the line, until we managed to break down the entrance and get ladders up. By the time the Elves sent their own Guardians in, ours were being supported by our troops, and we made quick work of the detached force, while also filtering into the Citadel's courtyard proper.

I'm sure that Khanrow will have the tactic be lauded for generations and generations, but for most people wading through a field of massacred corpses was pretty tough.

Not for me though, I spent the early years of my life inundated with the scent of corpses.

"Breathe low through your mouths if you have trouble. Don't vomit. You'll make everyone else vomit too!" I instructed everyone listening as my guards stayed close to me. I followed behind after Riegert, Ilych, and Rita. They weren't on horseback, but I was, just in case we need a quick retreat. I was also surrounded by several mages who had Tier 0 versions of the deflect arrow spell up. Usually, I thought that the cost of the spell was too high, because the enemy could just stop shooting arrows until you turn it off, but I appreciated the protection now. "Keep your eyes on the bodies and make sure to give the ones suffering a peaceful death!"

Anyway, I was playing my part as a king leading his army into the fray. Khanrow was watching from somewhere, while we approached the towering spire created by the ancients.

Being a king was a lot less about having a throne in this age, and more about being surrounded by incredible amounts of firepower while walking over the corpses of your enemies.

I have to admit that I'm pretty fucked in the head, so I felt pretty good about it, though the corpses in our armor and with our colors made me feel bad.

Still had some sort of conscience, I suppose.

Or, maybe, inherent tribalism was actually doing its job, instead of getting me riled up about words and comments on the screen.

We made our way through the slaughterhouse, boots breaking bone and flesh underfoot, until we reached the entrance of the Citadel. If it was fully activated through the relevant techs, or the right events, we'd get slaughtered by ancient defenses. However, that wasn't the case, and so we were before the doors and ready to break it down.

That's when we played our hand.

A few dozen prisoners were set before us, bloodied, wounded and beaten down with clubs and staffs. Male and female Elves in half-armor, their weapons in a pile being sequestered away for study and use later, looked at Rita with horror and at me with rage.

I gave them a big, wide smile atop the warhorse I rode, while surrounded by hundreds of armed men and three people who could murder hundreds with ease.

"Hello, there! You're all being released to tell your leader to come forward to fight me in a formal duel, so that the Citadel isn't damaged. Go ahead and get up!" Sometimes, I thought that being a cheery little brat was a bad move. When the anger of the Elves turned into confusion, then frustration, and then horror as I gazed down at them without flinching on a warhorse with bloodied hooves, I found that decision validated. Yes, if you're wondering, I do know how to get this beast to step on your skull and crush it. I've been practicing how to ride horses for a while now. "If you do not, then I'm afraid we'll have to force you to do it. We all know that one of you will, so lets save everyone the trouble, okay?"

I pleaded with them earnestly, putting my hands together, and smiling as I begged them to choose the easy way out.

Not because I cared about the genocidal narcissists, but because I wanted my part of this operation to be over as quickly as possible.

But, as always, when I wanted something to happen… it tended not to.

One after another, each Elf looked away, and stayed kneeling.

Hm, on one hand, killing them one by one was terrible for what remained of my sensibilities in my former life. However, I also know how interrogations work out in this world. They're cruel, brutal, and inflict pain until people are driven mad. Those with strong wills just die after suffering immensely. People who break die from their wounds. With these numbers, and the women involved, some could also be secreted away after they're broken and end up having even worse fates.

I didn't want to walk in the streets and come across Half-Elves doing what they needed to in order to survive.

So, in the end, having them killed one-by-one until one decided to send my message was the moral option in this fucked up world.

"Alright, then! The moment one of you decides to go send my offer to duel, the rest will be treated fairly as prisoners! However, until then, one of you dies every five minutes!" That was milliseconds in the lifespan of an Elf with relativity being concerned. It should get their blood pumping and get one of them to act out of 'reflex.' "You can go ahead and start, Ilych."

Ilych came forward without a word and loomed over the Elves in pitch black, segmented armor and a flowing mane of hair. The snarling helmet that she wore was tucked under one arm, while she looked at them with dispassion. She held her massive sword, capable of killing whole groups of men with a single cut, like it was a toy.

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Without a word, she brought it down on the Elf closest to her. Sheer mass and speed alone turned the Elf into nothing more than paste, practically vaporizing him, and enrobing all those close to him in blood and viscera.

Five minutes kept passing, while we all watched and waited, until one finally spoke up and volunteered covered by the blood of six others.

Half an hour, six lives, and the remaining few dozen get to live instead of getting tortured to death or tortured for centuries and centuries.

As good of a deal as any.

…

Interlude: Rita.

…

I awoke bereft of memory and purpose, but since then have known only war.

Battle after battle.

Life after life taken.

Killing to not be killed.

I didn't understand why I fought, or why I did as I was bid, but slowly I came to understand.

All this violence and destruction was to end it all.

We fought so that those who could speak could find better conclusions.

We fought so threats in the future would not arise.

We fought to bring together a world broken by conflict and disparity.

We fought to protect the people who could make the world a little better with every footstep, with every arrow loosed, and life taken.

We fought for people who believed in peace and justice, such as Jack, the Boy King.

Someone who saved far more than he killed.

"Rita, are you ready?" Ilych loomed over me. Might and magic made manifest. A budding rose and peerless beauty that ravaged armies in her wake. The foolish looked to her and tried to woo her heart. If they tried their luck without her allowance, they were beaten down and nearly crippled. With her hands alone, she could tear me apart like a doll. "The winds bid you to fight."

"I am." Once, I was another person. Faint memories arose from within. Times spent with others, plotting to kill others, and a hatred for all other life. All were there for me to see and understand, to search for truths and tactics, so that I may be a better killer. "I will be victorious."

"Good."

I went forward to face the man who was once loved by the inhabitant of my body.

He was the mage-king of the Children of the Elm. Clad in emerald robes upon a lean and tall form, he came into battle astride an armored stag. In one hand was a tall tower shield, and the other was a staff, both ancient treasures of the Children of the Elm. Wherever the shield was pointed, arrows would be diverted, and the staff could call upon nature itself to attack the foe, while he channeled his own magics.

"You DARE?! You mongrels unworthy of life dare to have my own face me!? A thousand lifetimes of death and despair would be a mercy!" Green eyes beneath a golden brow contorted with rage, while I readied my arrows. The equipment given to me molded with my consciousness, telling me each of their potential, and my mind composed a tactic to defeat my foe with them in mind. "I will slaughter you all upon my victory here! It is the only mercy that I shall grant to you!"

The Mage-King of the Children of the Elm stood with his few remaining soldiers at this back, along with the Citadel towering high into the sky. At my back was Jack and his own army, almost uncountable, and I was comforted with the knowledge that even with my failure… victory was only away by a single tradition cast aside.

Though, I had no intention of losing my second life.

"Okay, you can do that! That's allowed in war, I believe!" Jack shot back and a few chuckles arose from his protective detail and all those who could hear him from our side. This infuriated the Mage-King further and his focus was entirely upon Jack. This was an opening. "Now, how about we start?"

The Mage-King's response was to raise his shield up, while his stag lowered its head to charge at me with its horns tipped with sharpened steel. It was a terrifying charge to behold. The stag was gifted with supernatural power, and so it crossed the distance between us in but fractions of a moment. As it charged, the ground rumbled, and vines began to rise from the ground as to hold me in place, while a baleful ball of flame gathered at the end of the staff.

Immobilization.

A charge.

A magic-based attack.

But it was all meant for battle against groups of soldiers. Professional, but not empowered and given ancient tools and artifacts, while also granted power beyond the grasp of most.

With the boots activated, I lunged to the left. My senses narrowed and sharpened, like they always did when I focused to use an arrow. However, this time I was the bow and arrow both, shooting towards another location, while the world slowed to a crawl. For the first time, I felt pain and ache in my body as I moved. Even my body, given to me with magic that preserved it against the ravages of time, was being ravaged by the power I called upon to move.

Mortals would perish using them.

But not I.

No normal soldier could slip between the rising roots, dodge the baleful flame, and become beyond the reach of the horns of the steed at the same moment. They would have too many people beside them, guarding the flanks, and their mass with their companions will destroy them. Crushed, burned, and forced into stillness by the roots, normal soldiery would perish in droves until the Mage-King was expended.

By the time the infernal orb was fired, by the time the tendrils wrapped around a person no longer there, and by the time the stag reached halfway to my position… I was already flanking the Mage King.

There were shouts of fear and dismay amongst the Children.

Hidden soldiers rose up and fired upon me, but it was too late and I was already prepared. The speedily-fired bolts aimed at me bit into my skin, but the magics meant to kill Undead were dissipated by my Amulet and did nothing to me. The ones that struck did not harm me.

While the circlet that I wore guided my hands, influencing my singular shot, as the Mage-King desperately tried to halt his beast and move his massive shield my way.

I poured my power into my arrow and let it loose. I endured attacks on myself, the bolts and arrows punching into skin, but their weight and force dissipated by my protections. The recoil from the Ring which I wore that allowed me to charge with such great speed, and threatened my shot, but still… the moment I loosed the arrow I knew that it would strike true.

No more than a six seconds past and the King's head came apart like fine mist in the path of my arrow.

A second shot, which I sent right after the first, killed his steed with a single strike to the heart.

And, then, the battle was over… and the massacre of the remaining soldiers that broke the duel began.

All I cared for was Jack, who came forward under guard with Ilych and Riegert, towards the dead Mage King.

Jack gave me a smile of thanks and a nod to my efforts, while all others looked at me with little care, until he gave the order for me to be healed.

The Citadel was claimed, the Children of the Elm banished from the stage of the world, and all I felt was determination to see the war through.