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Combat Artificer
Combat Artificer - 42

Combat Artificer - 42

Still nothing had changed on the front. The spring had slowly faded from the soldier’s steps, and the drudgery of living through a siege returned. Xander began his next construct, which was not human shaped at all. He created an eight-legged killing machine. He scaled up spider construct that he’d first made, and, instead of a levitation sequence of runes in the center of the body, he replaced the center of the body with a large, carbon fiber tank. He layered it several times with runes for strengthening and fire resistance. It connected to a similar apparatus and nozzle as his own flamethrower, giving the construct its own ability to spit seventy-five-foot bursts of flaming, sticky tar. Two additional legs in the front of the construct were designed not for walking, but to be used as weapons, similar to his own spider-like legs on his [Automaton] backpack. Xander had also managed to replicate that with his new [Golemancer] ability, and he now had a permanent pack attached to his armor, also made of carbon fiber, and layered with all the same runes as the rest of his armor. The flame spitting spider he created was the size of a horse, most of which was dedicated to the large tank of dragon’s tar that made up its rather bulbous body. With another twenty days’ worth of [Golemancer], the spider was capable of responding to just about any combat situation.

Still nothing had changed. News from the front was hard to come by, but what Xander did hear was not good. Thrask had continued its push, and Dardin’s forces were still on the backfoot. Their victory at Ilbek had not had as great an effect on the war as had been hoped. Gabrelle had been reduced to tears, ashen faced, as she was given the news that Anlet had been taken. Xander hoped that the city had not put up too much of a fight, allowing Thrask to take over without too much destruction. It was not a city that was designed for defense.

Three months after they’d arrived to the city, Xander and his teammates were called to the central keep once more. Dressing in his armored suit, Xander left Juniper and Freyja, along with his unnamed spider tank, and followed his teammates to the keep. There, they were one again confronted by a table containing Lord Vard, Lord Etras, and a variety of officers and aides.

“Xander.” Lord Vard greeted him as he entered. “Atrax. Graffus. Gabrelle. Frazay.” He greeted each mercenary by name as they entered the room.

“What service can we offer, Lord Vard?” Atrax asked the man.

Lord Vard heaved a deep sigh. “We are close to surrendering. Supplies are dwindling, and no reinforcements are coming. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the front has not been holding up well. Thrask has pushed past Anlet, and we’re far too deep in Thraskian held territory to have any hope of anyone from Dardin making it to us. We originally thought that Thrask would stop once they claimed the farmlands and vineyards surrounding Anlet, but…” Vard took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thrask has not stopped. Instead, they have angled for the capital. They aim to claim the whole country, and plan to do so by cutting off the head of the kingdom. The crown cannot be allowed to fall into Thrask’s hands. I’ve been ordered to send any mercenaries under my control to make their way to the capital. There, they are to aid the defense of the king in any way required of them. If the city cannot hold, which is likely, considering the pace of the war so far, then King Nartan, Queen Yetrelle, and their children must be escorted out of the country, so that the lineage may survive, even in exile. Thrask may control the territory of Dardin, but they must never be allowed to stamp out the line of the true king of these lands.”

Xander and his teammates looked at each other in surprise. None of them had realized that things were so bad. For Ilbek to have given up hope, and the capital to be threatened so, then things were more dire than even the rumors purported.

Vard continued, saying, “The other mercenary teams are being informed of this same order as we speak. Due to your team’s exemplary service, however, I wished to tell you in person. I have also signed a commendation for each of you. You are now no longer simply auxiliary forces, but commissioned officers of Dardin.” Lord Vard reached into a small box on the table and placed five small insignias of the Dardian kingdom on the table. “May they bring you luck. You, along with the other mercenaries, will meet at the gate at once. There, you will ride out, and break through the thinned lines however you see fit. Gather your things. May the gods grant you speed.”

Xander was stunned. They were just supposed to… ride out of the city? Break through the thousands of soldiers that encircled the city? It had taken an entire army for them to break through to the city three months ago. His teammates were similarly speechless as they grimly filed out of the room. The crown was so desperate for mercenary reinforcements that they would assign them to a suicide mission. Xander shook his head, disgusted. What else was there to do. He wasn’t sure about the rest of his teammates, but he’d killed many of the Thraskian forces, and was the architect of the new siege weapons that had pushed them back. He doubted that he would be well treated if he was still in the city when the army surrendered. If they even allowed him to live. For the first time in his life, Xander truly understood the phrase ‘between a rock and hard place.’

Silently, he and his teammates walked back to the inn, and gathered their things and their mounts. Finally, Graffus broke the silence. “Well, it’s been an honor serving through this short war with every single on of you, and with any luck, we’ll continue serving past tonight.”

“It has,” Xander agreed. “You all have given me a home and friends in a world I came to with neither of those things. I refuse to let his be the last day our team does a mission.”

At the Southern gate, grim mercenaries were beginning to gather. Xander and his teammates echoed their demeanor, a mixture of anger, betrayal, and resignation. Graffus had explained to Xander that higher-leveled skill users were generally difficult to contain or jail, and that if they were taken as prisoners, there was a real chance of summary execution simply because there was no easy way for Thrask to keep them captured.

Soon, all thirty-four mercenaries had gathered. Those that had not come with a horse had had one provided to them, a final thank you for their participation in the battle three months ago. The gates were cracked open just enough for them to slip through, and then they were off. A mad dash was started, headed straight to the Thraskian forces, a mile distant.

As Xander took to the air, rising above the rest of the mercenaries on their mounts, he saw that the Thraskian forces were already moving into formation, having spotted the small party rushing towards them. The distance that had been created by his mortars was now turning against his allies. He sped ahead, hoping to disrupt the forces that had begun to line up against the incoming charge. Xander held nothing back for this endeavor and materialized a soul ripper grenade in each hand. Arrows began to plink against his armor once again, and he zigzagged between skills that were fired at him. He swooped over the line of pikemen that was formed up to counter the mercenaries’ charge and dropped the first grenade. He continued to drop his soul rippers through the line, and as they detonated, cries of alarm began to ring out. Men were simply dropping dead behind Xander, silently falling to the ground, followed by the small pop of the grenade destroying itself.

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Xander turned around, preparing to make a second pass, when he felt something impact one of his wings. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, colliding with soldiers on the ground. He heard a distant shout of “Xander!” from the riders. But Xander had other, more pressing concerns, now. His new carbon fiber spider legs hoisted him quickly to his feet, clawed grabbing arms and round tipped shield arms fending off blows. He quickly dropped a pair of conventional grenades directly at his feet, detonating them and killing the soldiers nearby that were attempting to strike him, and setting off several secondary explosions. He looked over his shoulder and found that his left wing had been sheared off halfway down its length. Whoever had done it had to be an order of magnitude more powerful than Xander. Xander was surrounded by Thraskian soldiers. He couldn’t fly. But there was one thing he could do. Create such a distraction and kill so many soldiers that his allies would have a chance to make it through the lines. Another man rushed at him, and instead of impaling him with his spider legs, Xander used [Improved Ferrokinesis] to lift the man by his armor, quickly bringing him within reach and touching him, casting [Reactivity] as he did so. He threw the man at his comrades, and activated the ability, shredding the man into a bloody spray and killing the soldiers that had been bowled over. He cast [Reactive Armor] on himself and began throwing grenades in every direction he could see enemy soldiers. He even began throwing out the itchweed smoke grenades.

Men screamed in pain all around Xander. Some were blinded by the smoke that was filling the area around him. Others were bleeding out from shrapnel wounds caused by the bones of their former allies that had detonated from [Explosive Effect]. Xander had turned his section of the battlefield into a hellscape, and now that his spider tank had arrived, it began to truly look it. He ordered the construct to hose down any soldier it saw, and soon, burning, screaming figures were seen running and flailing as they fell to the ground. The mercenaries were riding past now, the enemy too occupied with Xander to be able to mount a defense. He’d done his job. Now it was time to get out of here. He stowed his mace in his inventory, and as he clambered up on top of his spider, he felt another tremendous blow strike him. He tried to climb further up the spider, but found that he couldn’t. Looking down at his shoulder, he found that he was pinned to the steel of one of the spider’s legs by a long, obsidian black, stone spear. As he began to use his abilities to meld the stone and break the section that was pinning him, another struck him, this time in the back.

Xander couldn’t feel his legs. The stone spear must have struck him in the spine, he thought, panicking. Another one hit him, though he couldn’t feel it. Just the impact as it shook the spider tank, pinning him further. He couldn’t even get a look at whoever was hitting him with these things, as he was pinned down face first against his construct. Sluggishly, he ordered the thing to turn around. He could feel the blood dripping over his body under his armor. The intelligence guiding the armor’s construct twitched and spasmed as it tried to wrench its creator free of the spears to no avail. As the spider finally finished turning, Xander was able to get a glimpse of the man who had impaled him three times already. He was red eyed and coughing, but Xander could see another spear forming in his hands as he walked towards Xander. His next shot sheared the front of the flamethrower off the spider, rendering it useless as dragon’s tar slowly leaked from the now broken device. The man stalked closer to Xander.

“You fought well,” He said. He had dark brown hair and piercing, black eyes. An angular face, whose lines were unable to be hidden by the stubble that covered it. “A shame that we could not have a true fight.” His plain, grey robe rippled slightly in the wind as the irritating smoke blew over him.

“Who says I’m done?” Xander said weakly, struggling to get air into his lungs.

“I say you’re done.” The man said. Another spear appeared in his hands.

“And I say you’re done,” Xander replied to the man.

The man laughed. “Defiant even in defeat. You would have made an excellent opponent. It truly is a shame that you were distracted when I struck you. Die well, mercenary.” As he cast the spear towards Xander’s heart, his keenly attuned senses caught a small burst of mana from his defeated foe, as if he’d activated a low-cost skill. Looking down at the now limp arm dangling from the strange spider-like construct, he noticed a small, round object on the ground. “What is tha…”

There was a purple flash for a moment. The man dropped dead alongside Xander’s still warm corpse. Xander couldn’t hear the screams of fury from his teammates, who had been watching, waiting for him to escape, as they were sure he would. Couldn’t hear Gabrelle crying or the animal wailing of Freyja as Frazay dragged both of them onwards. After all, he was dead. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

~~~~~~~~~~Three Years Later~~~~~~~~~~

Xander woke up. This was not normal, because he was supposed to be dead. He clearly remembered being skewered through the chest by a stone spear. He tried to look around but found he could not, only able to see the wall across from him, which was covered in a velvet red wallpaper with gold trim. Panicking, he brought up his status sheet.

---You have defeated enemies---

---[Combat Artificer] leveled to 21---

---[Combat Artificer] level 21 skills---

[Maker’s Aegis] – Maker’s ward now applies to anyone or anything which the caster designates.

---You have created runes and runic arrays---

---[Rune Lord] leveled to 7---

---[Rune Lord] level 7 skills---

[Runic Kingship] – Power and efficiency of runes is further increased.

---For killing an enemy over 50 levels above you, you have been granted the title [King-bane]---

---[King-bane] – Damage against targets that are a higher level than you is extremely increased---

---For tethering your soul to the mortal plane and preventing it from passing on, you have gained the title [Revenant]---

---[Revenant] – Your soul may inhabit an item that has been marked to represent you. Your skills may be used even without a body, but if the last item that contains your mark is destroyed, your soul will finally pass beyond the veil---

Oh. Oh dear. Xander realized now why he was still ‘alive.’ Although he technically wasn’t, he was gathering. The array which he’d carved onto his mask to tie his soul to him had continued even past death. But he had no body, did he? He was simply… bound to the mask. He checked his status sheet and noticed that his mana was full, but seemed to be growing as if his maximum capacity was increasing with his rate of regeneration. Disturbingly, he no longer had a bar indicating his health. How long had it been? Clearly long enough for someone to have moved him to a new location.

If Xander was a ghost now, or rather, a ‘revenant,’ could he shift his perspective around the object he was tied to? He felt out his ‘body,’ which was amorphous at best to his senses, and tried willing it to move. Slowly, he drifted forward, out of the helmet. So that was a yes. He found that he could not move more than a foot away from his mask, though. He rotated his small, amorphous, and invisible body around to look at his helmet. There, on a pedestal, sat his helmet. He could see that it had been ripped, with what must have been great force, considering how well it had been attached, from the rest of his armor. Looking down at a plaque that was mounted on the pedestal, he read ‘Helm of Xander Jones, the final foe of General Terron Winter, third son of King Martin Winter.’