V7: Chapter 7

…

Damn.

The plague’s not doing as well as I hoped.

Probably because of all the safety measures, but without the safety measures it could backfire, so those were a must.

“We’ll start marching on the Death Lord’s core by next week.” Development of the plague had been simple enough. I had people studying disease for a long time. Create substrates with collagen and nutrient broth, observe and isolate, and study diseases in mice in controlled environments. Germs and other micro-organisms were well-known thanks to magic. However, that’s the issue. There are many diseases that can be cured using magic, therefore the medley of diseases I unleashed were being taken out by mages and the monster-equivalents of healers. “We need to hit them before they manage to purge the sickness completely.”

The medley was intended to debilitate and spread, rather than kill. The most recent flu, a particularly nasty strain that hit the lungs hard and gave harsh migraines, as well as a lot of infected mice that spread a liver-killing disease. In the cover of darkness, I had agents transport the mice throughout the starving populace. In most cases, a lot of water, some basic antibacterials and vitamins laced into food, and both diseases became a non-issue. That was the safeguard. My soldiers were already eating rations that were enriched, and had basic antibiotics from the Citadels lacing the stuff. Basic cure spells were also a mandatory requirement for anyone with an inkling of magical ability, along with generating water and making fire, since those were all important to survival.

I’ll need to look into developing vaccination in the near future, but for now antibiotics, food, and basic magic would have to suffice.

The enemy didn’t have the first two, but they had the last, so my ploy was going to be active for only a short period of time.

So, we needed to move fast and hit hard.

But there was a complication.

Erlan and his troops weren’t a fan of the tactic.

Primarily because they were worried it would harm their chances at producing good offspring.

“I understand, King of Wisdom, but we need assurances. My people are lowborn, but wading into plagues is something that we have the right to refuse.”

“And, I’m telling you that the food you’ve been given has the preventatives and cure laced throughout it. I’ve eaten it and you’ve eaten it. We’ve all eaten it. That’s why I’m confident in walking there myself.” Erlan nodded in understanding, but his arms stayed crossed and his back straight. That meant that he was listening just out of respect. I just sighed. Curse the consequences of my own actions. Oh, and the fact that Dwarves in this setting are dangerously susceptible to plagues. When your bloodlines are in the low double digits, your whole race tends to be always at a high risk for pandemics. “I understand your concerns, but I plead with you to understand that you and your people have consumed remedies used by the Ancients themselves to combat disease.”

“I will have to speak with my lieutenants. I will return with information by sunrise.”

I sighed as the Dwarf went off to do as he said.

It’s up in the air whether we’ll have heavy infantry in our upcoming advance, which meant our pikes will be seeing heavy casualties soon.

Not ideal.

I should’ve consulted the matter with Erlan first, to ensure that his people would fight.

Lesson learned.

No time to grumble or complain.

It’s time for action.

I turned over my shoulder and met Ayah’s gaze.

“How far away is the hammer and is its armor up to task?”

“It will arrive on time tomorrow on the Western front, and its front has been heavily armored and plated with many layers of plates designed to resist magic. Familiars sent it equipped with the plates managed to survive a few hits.” We were bringing in the flying fortress/airbase on the western front. I was on the east with the Forgers, while the Wardens took the south and the Guardians the north. We had the Death Lord’s main region cut down to the point where we practically had its core region encircled… the bad part was that its entire core region was under its protection. Its anti-air capability was nothing to sneeze at. We’d tested it with a lot of Familiars and gave a lot of Mages near-death experiences. Near-pin-point accuracy, with the ability to smash through the armor most flying cavalry had on, the Death Lord was a terror that could hit five targets in an instant every thirty or so seconds. 10 every minute. It’ll take it just about an hour to kill all my combat-capable fliers, if I sent them in. Not ideal, so I was sending in my experimental project just to soak up hits and attract attention. “We are confident that it will be able to survive for low-flying elites to saturate the enemy forces with firebombs. Once the bombing run is completed, it can be retreated and re-armored.”

It was a massive gamble of a lot of national treasure, but if it went down we can salvage most of it. Having it go down was a better option than wading into enemy territory with entrenched defenses without air-support.

At this point of the tutorial crises, casualties are practically inevitable, and I’m sure I’ll lose thousands of soldiers.

But I needed to keep that number down.

I need them for later.

“Send the message, then. By my decree, our nation’s latest achievement shall be bathed in the fires of war.” I made sure to own up to my mistake and pin my name on this project properly. I had the influence to weather the public outcry, especially if I win. Ayah wrote the message quickly to hand off to the messenger, while I took my crest. A candle and some wax to imprint my seal on later, and the message was off.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Hopefully, that massive hunk of flying armor can tank all that magic while we conduct some air strikes.

…

Interlude: Rita

…

A firestorm raged before us, stretching for miles and miles, from where we stood to the horizon. Winds roared, and the flames were drawn upward like waves seeking to crest stone cliff faces. They rose and leapt for the skies, like hunting dogs bounding after prey hidden in branches.

The armies and lands of the Death Lord burned, while we killed those who ran from the flames into our lines. The gleaming heads of pikes created walls of steel against all our foes. Like porcupines, the front bristled with layers and layers of pikes that monsters and undead both found difficult to break. Small arrows and stones struck our troops, but the pelting was disorganized and their weapons were unable to find purchase against our forces, and behind those pikes were lines and lines of rifles.

Flames at their back.

Steel at the front.

And, at their flanks, were Conquerors massed for the first time in months in proper formations.

Burned to death.

Shot or stabbed.

And, finally, run down and destroyed by overwhelming power.

Such was the way of war conducted by our majesty, much to Morgan’s praise.

“Ah, the stratagem never fails to amaze. Just a few thousand soldiers in gambesons, helmets, and cuirasses armed with rifles and spears, yet the world entire is falling at his feet.” Morgan observed with a smile. She sat atop a great ogre. At first glance it seemed whole and hale, simply hunkered down ready to charge wildly. With my trained gaze, though, I found the hilt of a sword embedded in its spine at the back of its neck. A single piercing strike at a singular point at the perfect moment. Thus the creature had died. “What do you think, Chieftain? Any thoughts on how your people are dying?”

The Chief of the wolf-blooded knelt before her, as she sat on her makeshift throne. He was chained down and attached to great blocks of stone. The bindings were fit for a Champion of his caliber. He had tried to lead his army against the King of Wisdom’s, but we did as we were instructed and struck him together as four Champions the moment he arrived on the field. Myself, Ilych, Morgan, and Conquest brought him low and captured him alive as we were told to do, if possible.

Not to try and convert him to our cause, but to learn of our foe to which he swore his allegiance.

Since we took him, since we called all his allies and companies that went to battle with him, Morgan began to break him.

“Have you given it a thought that you can save them… by just telling us what we want to know?” There was a smile on her face. She relished the moment. She relished that all who watched knew she enjoyed this. Most of all, however, she relished lording over a defeated Champion and the leader of a whole people. “Forget about your petty beliefs and traditions. You can seek forgiveness later. They’ll appreciate it more if you say what needs to be said for them all to live. Hell, I’m sure that if you slit your throat after this, they’ll call you a hero for the rest of their history.”

His people were disorganized and helpless. Morgan chose the hilltop we were upon to show this to him. When he was taken, when we struck down his lieutenants, and brought him here, the battle had been won. However, our lord intended to win the war against the beast tribes under the Death Lord here and now.

So, the disorganized army of this man’s people was set to be slaughtered.

The hammer of the King of Wisdom was bearing down upon them and forcing them into an inferno. They were kept corralled by the Conquerors on the flanks of the main force, their heavy guns and explosives smashing any desperate attempt to retreat through the sides. The army of the tribals was to die today.

Their only method of retreat was complete surrender.

The head of the beast tribes under the Death Lord’s banner grunted and after a moment spoke.

“Kill me.” Two words. Two words that should be honored. This man chose to die instead of give up and surrender. A true leader that led his people into war with him at the front. In all myths and legends, this chieftain would be lauded.

Morgan just gave a few, deep chuckles out of genuine amusement… and threw a knife into the small of the chieftain’s back.

In an instant, his control over the lower half of his body was gone and he voided himself where he was chained.

“Do you know how much you’re costing my nation at this moment with this fight?” Morgan’s voice took on a cold, clinical tone. She dropped off the carcass of the monster she’d sat upon and walked to the now-cripped beast chieftain. Though she wore boots and strode upon muddy ground, every step she made seemed to make the world quake. She is the only person who I could compare to our King. “Every second of this battle, at least one of our soldiers dies. Every second of this battle will be hours spent by healers treating wounded. Every moment of this farcical attempt at honor, at staying beside a corpse with barely a thought in its skull, is costing the nation I believe in immense amounts of time, of money, and most importantly: people.”

She knelt before the crippled leader and took another knife from the depths of her coat, and she lifted his face to face her with the point of the knight digging into the bone of his chin.

“Your people are dying there too. They could have been useful. Put to work, paid taxes, and made soldiers in the future. But they won’t. Because of your stupidity. Because of your foolishness. Because you think being honorable is right.” Morgan growled, and her mask slipped for a moment. There has always been a deep anger in her when she spoke of other nations besides our own. I’m sure she meant to show it to me, each time. With her current words, it became clear. She loathed the pettiness that kept us all from working together to face the rest of the world. “Honestly, I feel like just killing you and letting that happen… but I aspire to be the very, very best at my duties.”

With a smile, Morgan drew back her knife, letting the chieftain’s head fall… and allow her to plunge her knife into the base of his skull.

The one there and the one in the base of his spine came alive with magic and chains came off, as the Champion and chieftain lost all control of its body.

Morgan’s ability to rip through minds has improved to the extent the body was but a plaything to her now.

The poor creature tried to speak, sputtering, and speaking with frightened eyes, as his body moved against his will.

I made sure to watch, to find some sort of weakness in the technique, should Morgan ever become our foe.

“If you will not serve willingly, then you shall serve by my will alone.” Morgan stated simply and walked beside the lumbering beast Champion. The range of the technique required her to be in proximity to the creature. Both knives had threads connecting to her hands. I could feel her power draining quickly. If not for her vast reserves, this technique would be impossible. However, in time, I was sure she’d have artifacts and equipment made that would make this that much easier. How long before the knives are no more than little needles? How long until the threads are unneeded? How long until she sits upon a throne, upon a ritual structure the size of a whole district, and takes control of tens of thousands? Morgan’s potential is frightening indeed. If she ever sought to usurp our King, I would need to sacrifice everything kill her… and she knew that. “Roar, chieftain. Roar for your people to surrender and save their lives. After it is done, I’ll show you mercy. I’ll have you pierce your own heart and tell them all that you ended your life out of shame after failing as a king. Don’t worry. They’ll remember you forever.”

With those words, Morgan took control of the last general of the Death Lord and had him unleash a roar amplified by magic to all his troops.

A roar that had them throw down their weapons and surrender, which was received.

After that, Morgan fulfilled her promise to the Champion.