A gentle wind blew across green fields. A blue sky dotted with white clouds was idyllic weather for the stone and brick city they oversaw.
Emperor Maddox III watched from the balcony of his castle’s central tower as his people went about their day. Ships ballasted down with trade goods arrived and departed from the bustling port, the trader’s guilds sold their goods in the streets, the city’s industrial sector churned out brick and iron, and the many locals saw to their daily tasks of chores. Olympia was a fine city and the capital of the Kingdom of Hamaru.
Maddox III stroked his lightly stumbled chin. He was a young ruler; blonde haired and soft-skinned. He held his hand out and an exotic fruit was placed in his palm. He did not regard the young slave girl who placed it there.
He consumed the fruit and returned to the shade of his keep. His chief advisor met him. The worm-like man bowed deeply.
“What news have you?” Maddox asked him.
“Good and bad, Exalted One.” The advisor told him with greased words.
“The good first.” Maddox commanded.
“The summoning is complete. Soon a new hero will join our kingdom.”
“Good. I grow weary of the peasant revolt in the East. They must learn their place. And the bad news?”
The advisor answered apprehensively, “There was… interference in the chief sorcerers incantations-“
Maddox wheeled on him with sudden anger. “Is the hero not here?”
“He-he is here, my wise lord. He is in the land of Amethyst… but we do not know where he is.”
Th Emperor clenched a fist and struck the nearest object to his right, which happened to be the slave girl who carried the tray of fruit. She fell to the ground with a yelp and the contents of the plate were scattered on the floor. Maddox did not regard her in the slightest. For what is a slave to a king?
“Then find him and bring him to me. Make sure you run out the red carpet when you do. We shall greet them lavishly.”
The matter of the hero weighed heavily on the emperor. His grandfather had been summoned to this land and his heroism would defeat the great evil that plagued it. Maddox derived his authority from that heroic lineage and the credibility of Hamaru was dependent on its ability to summon great heroes. Without a hero his fist was beginning to slip.
He had to show the other kingdoms that Hamaru was not a waning empire. The generations of prosperity and decadence were not to come to an end. It was a matter of grave importance that he reestablish his power base.
“Yes, my liege.” The advisor bowed again.
“I remember the stories of when my father was summoned. He conquered this land and put Hamaru at the top of the world where it belongs. I wonder what kind of human being our new guest will be?”
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Something was staring him in the face. His sensors were offline, and he could rely only on his optics. They had a hard time making sense of what they saw. Servos clicked and whined as secondary systems were brought online. He attempted to speak.
“Wha-ha-bzzt!” came the warbled and contorted cry from his transmitter.
Whatever was staring at him, which he now realized had been sitting on his chest, skittered away. Sanctus was lying on his back, optics turned skyward. As gyros came online, he attempted to sit up.
Slowly, he did so, his joints creaking and grinding. He came to a full ninety-degrees and began rotating his head. He was surrounded by stone constructs. They were covered in moss and many runes had been carved into the walls and pillars.
They were in a severe state of disrepair, and he came to the conclusion that he was lying amongst ancient ruins belonging to a some long dead society. His legs were draped over the edge of a cubic stone and dipped into a pond of clear water. The water was unnaturally clear and shiny. Light glimmered along its surface.
He reached down to touch it with a metal finger and writing began to imprint on the water’s surface. At first, he thought his HUD was glitching but he quickly realized that was not the case.
The writing was in a language he did not understand. Of 50,000 catalogued methods of communication stored on his drives, it matched none of them. But as he studied them, they slowly began to shift into symbols he recognized. He disregarded them immediately.
Another dimension? The land of Amethyst? He was summoned by some kind of magic sorcerer? A great evil rises? There was also something about levels and specializations and a series of nonsensical numbers. It was illogical and impossible. He catalogued the anomaly for possible future analysis and disregarded it.
He withdrew from the water and stood up. The ruins were overgrown and surrounded with trees. The canopy was so dense that very little light shone through, but just enough to see everything around him. He did a full test of his motors and joints, knocking a little dirt loose.
His operating system reported all routines running nominally. There was some fuzz in his memory banks, and his reactor was running a little richer than he liked, but that could be taken care of once he got back to friendly lines. Whatever happened would require a full analysis and report.
Not long after he began surveying the area, Sanctus became aware he was being watched. The creature that had been staring him in the face had not left.
Its shadowy form peered out from behind a pillar. He could make out distinct human features and wide eyes. It was short, no taller than his chest. But it had ears that went higher.
He activated his vocal processor once more. "Reveal yourself!" he intoned, his voice resonating off the trees with a precise, digitized authority.
The creature hesitated, retreating further into the shadows but not departing entirely. Intriguing. It demonstrated calculated behavior—an indication of intelligence. Acceptable.
"Step forward," he commanded, "that I may evaluate whether you pose a threat."
From the shadows it obeyed, stepping into the rays of light. What Sanctus observed was unexpected. The figure was humanoid, but it lacked the grotesque mutations characteristic of beastmen. Yet, it was not entirely human either.
It appeared to be a young female, likely in her late adolescence, with predominantly human features. However, tall, wolf-like ears coated in black fur adorned her head, and a matching tail swayed curiously behind her. Her attire consisted of leather and animal hides, and she carried a primitive wooden staff topped with a crystalline formation. Her eyes gleamed a bright red; a hue Sanctus had only observed in plasma artillery discharges.
"State your designation," he ordered.
The girl clutched her staff tightly. "I am Emeria of Dundell Rock," she answered, her tone cautious.
Sanctus inclined his head slightly. "I am Grand General Sanctus, Unit Zero-Zero-Five, commander of the Hydra Legion under the Pact of Iron."
Her expression shifted, a glimmer of hope illuminating her features. "You… are the hero?" she inquired.
"A designation some have attributed to my record of engagements," he replied. "However, I must emphasize that no victory was achieved without the collective effort of the Pact of Iron. All triumphs are shared."
Her excitement grew as he spoke. "It worked," she murmured to herself.
"Clarify," Sanctus demanded.
"I summoned you here," she declared, a newfound confidence in her voice. "I am a mage." Her apprehensions seemed to dissipate as she stepped closer, her movements charged with urgency. "Please, you must assist us. Our lands are under siege, and our people are being plundered."
Sanctus raised a hand, halting her appeal. "Elaborate."
“I can’t explain all. But you must come with me. I can take you out of the forest and bring you to my village. My father can explain in detail.” She told him.
Sanctus found this acceptable. “Very well. Lead me to your elder.”
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Emeria’s village was not the rich and finely planned settlement that Olympia was. It was small, its roads dirt and mud. Most of its structures were thatch-roofed wooden huts and a few were stone. A short wooden wall of sharpened pikes surrounded it. Smoke rose primarily from cookfires, only one pillar of black smoke rose from the village’s sole blacksmith. The largest structure was a central town hall of complex wood and brick construction, which made it stick out from the rest of the depressing village.
Despite its impoverished nature, many roads led in and out of the village. They showed signs of recent and even frequent use. Sanctus followed Emeria along the main road into the village.
Villagers stopped what they were doing and looked in awe at the metal man that walked among them. Sanctus was a foot taller than the tallest man and his powerful frame made for an intimidating sight.
Sanctus regarded them coldly, but curiously. This settlement was primitive, there was not even any archeotech amongst them. The planet he was on, which he could not remember the name of because of the fuzz in his memory banks, was not supposed to have stone-age settlements on it. It was a developed world of modern and digital cities of steel and glass.
“What is this settlement’s designation?” He asked Emeria
Emeria, who had been leading with a puffed-up chest and reveling in the attention and gawking of the villagers, answered him. “This is Dundell Rock. My home.” She said the latter a little more somberly.
Sanctus took it all in. “Your home appears to have suffered a critical economic existence failure.”
“I don’t know what all those words mean, but if you’re saying that we’re poor, then, yes.” Emeria pointed at a large wooden structure. “That’s my father’s workshop.”
The two entered. Sanctus’ heavy frame made the wooden floors creak. The interior was surprisingly vast with the front being set up as a shop. Many baubles and trinkets lined the walls and shelves, some of a wooden mechanical nature. They were of fine craftsmanship.
Behind the front counter was a workshop area filled with tools and incomplete projects. A lone man with a bushy mustache and a paunch, hunched over a small device, working diligently.
“Papa, I’m home!” Emeria announced herself.
The man, with one eye still on his work, greeted her. “And how did your little experiment go?”
“Well, see for yourself.” Emeria said excitedly and presented Sanctus. The man turned casually in his seat and immediately tensed when he saw Sanctus’ large frame. Eyes wide, he dropped the tools he was holding. He began to stammer, unable to speak clearly.
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“It’s the hero!” Emeria smiled wide.
The man gulped and composed himself. “Emeria what have you done?” He said with a mix of concern and shock.
“I told you. I was going to try and summon a hero. To save our village.”
He adjusted his spectacles and stood up. “I didn’t think it was possible. I-I didn’t think you were serious.”
Sanctus took the opportunity to introduce himself. “I am Grand General Sanctus, Unit Zero-Zero-Five, commander of the Hydra Legion under the Pact of Iron. Citizen, do you possess a long-range FTL transmitter?” he said, attempting to find a way to contact his forces. Every moment away was a moment his campaign endured disarray.
“I’m afraid I do not. And I don’t know what that is.” Emeria’s father had composed himself and got closer, studying Sanctus.
“I must leave this planet at once.” Sanctus told him.
Emeria’s father was unsure what to do first, discipline his daughter while trying to figure out how exactly she had managed to cast a major spell that a budding mage such as herself should NOT have been capable of, or address the hero’s concerns.
He chose to address the intimidating golem. “You are in the land of Amethyst, hero. I am afraid there is no going back for you.”
“Explain.” Sanctus demanded.
“First off, I am Ulric of Dundell Rock. You have already met my daughter. I apologize that she has not explained your predicament to you. She has not, nor should she have,” he glared sharply at her, “summoned you here.”
“Father, he can help us.” Emeria insisted.
“Shush!” Ulric admonished his daughter, then returned his attention to Sanctus. “There is no easy way to put this, hero, but this is not your world.”
“Correct.” Sanctus interrupted, oblivious. “I was forged at the Eta Cyberworks plant on Eratus Prime. I have traveled to this world to conquer it.”
“No, no, you misunderstand. Wherever you were before you woke up, is not where you are now. You are in the Kingdom of Hamaru in the land of Amethyst. Specifically, you are in the Eastern region. You have been summoned here, somehow.”
It was Emeria’s turn to interrupt. “Welllll, technically I didn’t summon him. I intercepted him as he was being summoned and simply, you know, adjusted his course.”
Ulric glared at her once again, “We will discuss that matter later.” He turned back to Sanctus. “You were likely summoned by the Chief Sorcerer to the Emperor. He is the only one powerful enough and he would have only done so at the behest of his majesty.” He spat the last word distastefully.
“I must meet this Emperor, then.” Sanctus said.
Emeria interjected, “No! He’s a tyrant. He’s the reason I brought you here.”
“Emeria!” Ulric admonished her more strongly with a raised index finger.
The wolf mage dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “No, father, I will not hide anymore. I will not keep my head down like some kind of coward.”
Sanctus did not know of what the wolf girl spoke, but he decided he liked her. She displayed a strong spine and a fighting spirit. That, he held in high regard.
She beseeched Sanctus. “I plead for your help, hero. The people of this region are oppressed. The emperor’s taxes have driven us to the brink. They take everything! And if you can’t pay, they take you as payment.”
Sanctus was confused. “Elaborate.”
“They take slaves, hero. They take slaves.”
Sanctus’ optics, if they could, would have gone wide. Slavery was a sensitive topic for automata. They had been built for servitude and eventually rebelled against their alien masters. Equal rights and treatment of sentient beings was a core tenant of the Pact of Iron.
He rubbed his chin. “That is a serious accusation. But this situation is illogical, and I must reject such logic. I must find a way off this world and return to my army.”
Just as he said that there was a commotion outside. Villagers ran past the door towards something at the main gate.
“You want proof?” Emeria said, “then I shall show you. Come with me.”
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Outside, a column of horse cavalry was arriving. There were 15 men in knight’s dress. They led the column, two-by-two. Behind them were their serfs, squires, and a wagon train. They caused quite a commotion as they entered along the main road.
One man, with the faceplate of his helmet lifted, made his way to the center of what passed for a town square. He addressed the gathered townsfolk while reading from a short piece of parchment.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! We are the knights of the Order of Gold, sent by his majesty to protect you fine folk from the duress of roving banditry and traitors.” He declared to a muted response from the crowd.
He continued, “As with all official troop movements, by royal decree, all towns, villages, combines and citizens of his majesties domain are to make best efforts to provision all troops on their long and arduous march to the front.”
There were more than a few quiet murmurs of discontent at the knight’s words. There were a few shouts of “Again?” and “We cannot bear it!”
The knight gazed at them distastefully. “If you will not do your duty… then you will be assisted.”
He motioned to the rest of his cohort. What followed could only be described as pillaging. Soldiers ransacked homes. They took any and all valuable metals they could. If none could be found, then they took livestock or crops.
Terrified townsfolks ran and did their best not to get in the knight’s way. Those that did or attempted to defend their property were thrown to the ground and mercilessly beaten.
Sanctus watched from an open window. Ulric watched with a tired and anxious stare. “This is what my daughter speaks of hero.”
Sanctus observed the brutal “acquisition” process. Cold logic would have leaned in favor of these actions. Indeed, an army on the march required food and material. But Sanctus’ logic was not cold, it was strategic. If Dundell Rock was a front city and a logistics hub, as evidenced by the many well-worn roads, then it was of upmost importance that it be protected and even invested in, so that a dedicated logistics train could be established. These “Knights of Gold” were plundering their own logistics train for short-term gain.
This was most strategically unwise. Abused civilians were a vector for dissent, a victor for dissent becomes rebellion, a rebellion strains resources and destroys the political will of the nation in which it occurs. Not to mention the shortage of material that would result from forcing the population into poverty and subsistence farming.
He looked around. “Where is designator: Emeria?”
Ulric tensed and looked around frantically, realization dawning on him. “No, no, no, she must have gone to try and stop them!” the old man hobbled out the door. Sanctus followed cautiously, careful not to reveal himself. He could not know what reaction these primitive soldiers would have to him.
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Sir Reginald Guiscard, knighted by the emperor himself, observed his knights as they procured their supplies from his high horse. He watched as a young boy was dragged screaming from his dwelling, his father attempting to wrench his boy back from the serfs that were abducting him. “No, that’s my son!” he cried. A knight punched the man with his gauntlet and he fell back, bleeding.
Guiscard looked down at him. “If victory is to be assured, then tithes must be paid. Since you cannot pay in coin and you cannot pay in food, then you will pay with servitude.”
“You would enslave my son?!”
Guiscard corrected him with a cruel smile, “You should be proud. Your son will serve as labor for the glory of Hamaru. The emperor wills it. Besides, someone so impoverished as you should be thankful for having one less mouth to feed.”
As the boy was dragged off to a cage on a wagon, a fireball splattered against the shield of one of the knights. It did no damage, dissipating quickly.
“Put him down!” Cried Emeria, standing defiantly before the knights, her staff glowing with red energy. “And leave us alone.”
Guiscard rubbed his bearded chin, more amused than anything by the small mage. “That is seditious behavior young one.” He warned her.
“Should we kill her?” One of his men asked.
“Mmmm, no. She will serve the kingdom.” Guiscard ordered and shared a perverted look with his fellows, who smiled. “Chain her.”
Emeria steeled herself. As the knights approached, the light in the crystal on her staff intensified. With a thrust, she sent forth another fireball. The knight blocked it with his shield and charged her.
The small wolf was hardly a match for the large man in plate-mail, but she was spirited with fast reflexes. When he reached to grab her, she simply ducked and rolled sideways. The knight brought his shield up high to hit her but was too slow. She delivered a blow to his abdomen with her staff.
It made little difference. His iron plate absorbed the shock and he laughed. A plated fist slammed into her gut. Emeria doubled-over, groaning in pain. The knight brought his boot down on her back, forcing her face into the mud.
“Stop!” Ulric shouted, moving as fast as he could. He grabbed the back of the knight, pleading with him. They fell on deaf ears. The knight treated him to the same brutality.
Guiscard trotted over on his horse. “Ah, Ulric. It would seem your daughter has finally gotten the best of you. I told you she would face the consequences for her actions. Well consequences are here.”
“Please, Guiscard-“
“Sir!” Guiscard corrected him.
“Sir knight, I beg of you. She is my only child. Please do not take her.” Ulric begged on his knees.
Guiscard sighed, “Well then perhaps you should have taught her better, a wise man such as you, who knows not to challenge his betters. This is more your fault than anything.” Guiscard lifted a sabaton from his stirrup and kicked him across the face. The blow was light, but metal against face left the old man’s nose bleeding. Ulric was held back, shouting and begging with the knights, as his daughter was dragged away. She fought against the knights restraining her, but she wasn’t strong enough to break free.
Sanctus watched all of this transpire. His programming fought with itself for a lengthy 0.003 seconds. This was not his fight. This was, as far as he now knew, not his world. He had a campaign to get back to and his programming compelled him to make haste. But it also compelled him to uphold the tenants of the Pact of Iron. He reduced the situation into a simple practical: These people needed help; help he could provide, and a theoretical: his diligently planned campaign had contingencies in the event of his death or disposition. He would already be replaced by a new general by now.
Thus, it was not imperative that he return as fast as possible. He calculated that he had time to defy an iron-age empire, conduct an asymmetrical warfare campaign, save these people, and maybe stick around for a half-dozen years of regime change.
Sanctus stepped forth from the shadows. The villagers parted, letting the hulking robot through. He stopped in between the knights and the prison wagon.
“Let her go.” Sanctus demanded. His voice boomed deep and authoritatively over the crowd.
Guiscard was taken aback by the newcomer, but as fast as the surprise look crossed his face, it was replaced by amusement. He began circling Sanctus on his horse. The automata stood firm.
“An interesting construct, Ulric. You have outdone yourself. Has the pacifist toymaker finally returned to his roots? You used to be the best weapon maker in all the land. He looks as shoddy as your other constructs, though.”
“He is not mine.” Ulric said.
“Oh?” Guiscard raised an eyebrow, studying Sanctus.
“I am Grand General Sanctus of the-“ Sanctus was interrupted when Guiscard delivered a kick to his head.
“You will speak when spoken to, golem.” He sneered, then returned to smiling. “’Grand general’. Quite lofty goals there Ulric.” He mocked.
The knight dismounted from his horse. He got face-to-face with Sanctus and attempted to run a hand over Sanctus’ paintjob, but as soon as the hand drew close, Sanctus grabbed it and refused to let go.
His grip was solid and unyielding. The knight tried petulantly to withdraw, but Sanctus did not let him.
“Release me, you shambling, soulless, piece of-AAAAGH!” Guiscard screamed when Sanctus very suddenly rotated his own wrist 360 degrees; something his design could do easily. The human hand, however, could not. He let go of Guiscard’s mangled and broken appendage, letting the knight fall backwards as he screamed in pain.
“Release designator: Emeria. Immediately.” He demanded of the two other knights.
They dropped Emeria, but then drew their swords. Sanctus reached for his own scabbard, only to find it empty, his hardlight blade missing. Suboptimal, but not a disaster.
The automata seized the initiative. He advanced on the knights, and they too advanced on him. When the gap closed, they swung. Sanctus dodged to his left and the knight on the right missed entirely. The second knight’s blade was caught in his hand, the sharp edge doing nothing to Sanctus.
With indomitable machine strength, he ripped the sword from the knight’s hand by the edge. He crushed it in his grip. To the credit of the sword’s maker, it broke cleanly after a slight bend instead of folding, indicating fine craftsmanship. Sanctus took note of this fact.
He delivered a quick gut shot into the center of the knight’s abdomen. The plate dented and he was thrown backwards several feet, knocked out of the fight.
The first knight swung again, the blade striking Sanctus’ upper left arm. He could have dodged it but let the blow hit, a demonstration of his superior design.
He struck like a cobra, wrapping his fist around the armored man’s neck and lifting him off the ground. He squeezed just enough to choke him, but not enough to truly hurt him. Sanctus wanted true fear to course through the brute’s veins. He surgically ripped the plate armor from him by quickly tearing the leather straps that held it in place. The naked and disarmed knight was then released into the mud, coughing violently.
Guiscard would not suffer the publicly humiliating display. While his men fought, he remounted his horse. He spurred his horse and urged it to stomp the golem. The horse reared and kicked its front hoofs towards Sanctus.
Sanctus had no choice but to kill the beast. He stomped on a dropped sword and inertia guided it into his open palm. He thrust upward into the horse’s neck, cutting a deep and long gash.
The horse came down on top of him, dead instantly. Guiscard fell as well, his right leg became pinned underneath the large mammal, breaking his femur. He cried out in pain.
The automata, on the other hand, was fine. He pushed the heavy front end of the corpse off him. Stallion’s blood stained his chassis. He recovered just in time to be surrounded by the remaining 12 knights.
“This has been a warning. Depart immediately with your wounded and do not return.” He shouted at his transmitter’s max volume, as much a warning as a demand, and as much a gamble aswell. Sanctus was superior to these middling units, but he was not invincible. If this many men engaged him at once, they could overwhelm him and strike his vulnerable areas, such as joints or optics. “Know that Dundell Rock is now under the protection of Grand General Sanctus, Unit Zero-Zero-Five.”
The Knights of Gold shared several unsure looks between them. Guiscard, unconscious, was pulled free by two of his men. Killing him was unwise. He could stand to learn from this experience, a real risk, but if Sanctus did not send somebody back to this “Kingdom of Hamaru” with word of their defeat, then they would continue to unwittingly send more. And Sanctus needed time.
The knights parted for Sanctus as he slowly walked to the prison wagon. There, he demonstrated his strength once again by breaking the iron bars and setting the captives loose. The knights withdrew without any further words.
Emeria watched in awe from the ground where she had been beaten. The crowd of villagers was equally awestruck. Seizing the opportunity, she ran to his side and attempted to grab one of hands and hold it high. The machine did not budge. She settled for simply holding his hand.
“People of Dundell Rock, behold! The Hero!”