The swords though, have been an utter failure. Perhaps I should get a close up look at Legosia’s own blade to mimic what properties it has, but the man won’t let me. Says I’ll “take it apart like you do with all your toys.” An unfounded claim, I assured him, but he still sent back a letter disallowing me.

As the king, I should feel offended. As his friend, I will let him have his way only this once.

And perhaps even ask Lune to go steal it for me instead.

-From The Last King of Elneshe’s 8th Note.

“You need to swing with your whole body, General Feranz. Or else your blow will be deflected,” Dolish ordered the man as he took down another soldier on the field. Dolish had stood by close while Merin fought, flinching every time a slash or a kick came too close to him.

“I know, Dolish! You can stop lecturing me and fight instead!” He shouted. A ring of hallowmancers surrounded the both of them, closing them off from the greater battle and letting them practice.

Dolish held his dagger in his hand instead, slashing away at the soldiers that came for him. He didn’t need to much try with random soldiers, but it was a good idea to keep his guard up. After all, even the most normal of men could slit a Bladeborn’s throat.

Merin lowered his blade from the target and breathed out heavily, while Dolish stood over him.

“I… You haven’t even broken a sweat, have you?” he asked the old general.

“You can’t compare yourself to me, Merin,” Dolish replied.

“It’s hard not to, old man, when you’re walking around like you’re on a stroll,” Merin scoffed, putting his talwar on his shoulder and wiping his forehead. A soldier broke through their ranks and Dolish whirled his dagger behind him. A second later, the soldier was holding his throat and spluttering as he fell to the ground.

Dolish clicked his tongue in annoyance and glared at the Bladeborn who’d let him slip through their ranks. They gave an apologetic nod and returned to their positions, Dolish turning to face General Feranz.

“I don’t understand how you can bear to get so close to them,” Merin said, grimacing at the sight of the soldier.

“The soldiers are not at fault, General. They’re just following orders from their nobles.”

“Not that, Dolish. I don’t harbour any particular hatred for the Phasgorians. It’s just…” he glanced back at the man twitching on the ground.

“That close. With my talwar, I can at least keep my distance. It lets me detach in a way, I suppose,” he said, turning his blade in his hands as the battle raged on around them.

“Daggers are better for Bladeborn. The swords are long, but they bend too easily for us,” Dolish answered.

“Too strong for your own good, huh?” Merin replied.

A sound came from ahead of them and they turned, finding the front line of Bladeborn struggling.

“Soldiers, hold the line!” Merin shouted at them as he advanced, Dolish keeping up beside him. But the fighting seemed too intense, too wild, and Dolish placed a hand on the young general’s shoulder.

“General, I think you should stick to the backlines,” Dolish told the boy. Merin twitched a bit, looking down at the strong grasp Dolish had on him.

“What kind of general stays away from the fray, Dolish?”

“The kind who knows stratagems are more valuable than an extra set of hands,” the General replied.

“I can provide both,” Merin countered, shaking off the hand and walking forward. Dolish sighed in annoyance, but cycled the bewl through his body despite it.

The line broke just as they arrived, a group of soldiers piercing through their defenses and pinning down their Bladeborn. Merin crossed blades with the first of them, the soldier raising his blade unnaturally fast to deflect it.

Dolish was about to intervene, when some other soldiers surrounded and started prodding him with spears. He growled, the Phasgorians surrounding and pushing him away from the general. One of them took out a fire lance and fired it in Dolish’s face, the older general flinching backwards.

The hot spray of stones burnt him, but he opened his eyes despite it. He caught a spear that was about to plunge into his stomach, pulling the holder forward and impaling him on his own weapon. He tossed the body aside, bewl coursing through his body and closing up the wounds on his face.

When the others caught sight, they seemed to flinch. One of them, a brave man, ran forward and tried to catch Dolish, but the general sucker punched him. He didn’t give the others an opportunity to react, rushing forward and slicing a second man’s neck. A third tried catching him on the back, but Dolish side stepped his assault. He grabbed the spear, chopping down with his hand to break the shaft, then plunged the tip into the man’s eye.

Blood sprayed onto Dolish’s face, but he wiped it away as he assessed the rest of the battle. Merin was further down from him, and the boy was struggling. Blood was dripping down a line from his forehead, and he was clutching his sword hand with his other arm.

“General!” Dolish shouted after him, rushing as fast as he could. The Phasgorian in front of him froze, letting Dolish land a clean punch on him. He went sprawling backwards on the ground, unconscious.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Behind Dolish, a talwar fell to the ground. He looked back to see Merin crouching and clutching a bleeding arm, but giving him a smile despite it.

“It’s just a flesh wound, Dolish. Don’t worr-”

A blue pillar flared around Dolish. The brilliant radiance blinded the young Merin, who shielded himself with his other hand. Dolish caught the spirits of the soldiers around him, screaming the orders into their mind.

CONVENE ON ME! Protect the Armon’s son at all costs!

Immediately, more troops arrived to their location. Afterburners landed in front of them, Devourers surrounded them, and Planars created rips in space to get closer. The General’s heart pounded in his chest, darting around at the Bladeborn and assessing their positions.

More to the centre. Don’t leave any space empty for a Planar to transport in. This is your primary objective. Dolish ordered, even as Merin’s arm tugged at him.

“General, what are you doing! These troops could be used elsewhere!” he shouted at old Venastian, but he wasn’t listening. A solid thought had entrenched itself into the General’s mind.

Too close. Much too close. The impromptu formation of soldiers left the other fronts of the battle undefended, forcing Dolish to ignore the cries of Merin in favour of commanding them. He telepathed orders into their minds, pushing harder and harder against the enemy.

The sudden organization of troops left the Phasgorians scrambling to get a hold. Something that sadly didn’t happen, as they were forced to retreat not much later. Dolish only let out a breath when he saw the last of their Planars force open a portal and jump through it.

He grabbed the minds of the closest four Afterburners he could trust, signalling them down towards him.

“Get the Armon’s son medical attention. Now. And go as fast as you can!” he intoned, the soldiers saluting and grabbing Merin. But when they tried to take him, Merin shook his arm out of their grasp.

“General Venastian, what’s with you? What’s gotten you wound up?” Merin asked him.

“You almost died out there, General Feranz. I apologize. It was too dangerous to bring you along with me. I should’ve thought better of it,” Dolish explained, but Merin’s face only grew in confusion.

“A simple breach of soldiers, yes. But we weren’t in as much trouble as you seem to think!” Merin replied.

No, not if you knew what I did. Dolish looked back at the bottom of the hill, where their formation had been broken and Merin endangered. Had it happened on any other day, it could’ve been written off as simply an unfortunate turn of events.

But after what Dolish had learned, about the suspicious deaths happening around the camps. Was it really an unfortunate turn of events? Or had someone turned it that way on purpose.

“Look, I’ll head along with the soldiers if it’ll ease your mind, General. But I don’t want you redirecting troops from vital positions like that again,” Merin exclaimed. He turned to leave, hand resting on the Afterburners, when Dolish perked up once more.

“General Feranz…. Please, try to keep an eye out. Some of our enemies aren’t on the other side of this war,” Dolish warned. That was as much as he could give the boy without endangering him further. If he knew him as well as he thought, Merin would be the first to try against their hidden enemies if he knew, something he couldn’t risk when he had no hallowmancy to call his own.

Merin gave him a slight nod and took off into the skies with the Afterburners, leaving Dolish to manage the cleanup. He walked among the battlefield, but stuck chiefly to the area where he and Merin were, trying to eke out clues that could help in his endeavour.

Sadly, whatever there could’ve been for him to find was long gone. And even after interrogating the soldiers who were set to guard them, he couldn’t find anything relating to sabotage. Admitting defeat, Dolish retreated from the field and returned to the camp, a surprise awaiting him there.

He visited Merin first, and found the Armon beside him with a quivering gaze. There was no one else in the tent apart from the staff and them. No emotion showed on his face, none except that slight shaking. The entire tent was in silence, the Armon setting everyone’s pace down to the breaths they took. All except his son, who looked unimpressed and laid-back.

“Your Sharpness, I didn’t know you’d be here. The danger I put your s-I mean, General Feranz through. It was a mistake for me to even bring him along,” Dolish said, all the while the Armon stood and kept his gaze away from him. He fixed Dolish with his grey eyes once he was done, freezing him in place.

“You’re going to be positioned at Latren Stronghold, General Venastian,” The Armon told him.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s one of the most important assets in this war, General. Which is why I’m trusting you with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Dolish? Never listen to my son again.”

“….yes, sir.”

He obeyed, his eyes cast down until the Armon finally left the tent and took his authority with him.

“My apologies for my father’s behaviour, General Venastian.”

Dolish met the young man eye to eye, holding his hands up. “No, you don’t need to, General Feranz! I should be the one asking for your forgiveness.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Not when you’ve done anything wrong,” Merin said, rubbing the spot between his eyes. Staff attended to his side, keeping their eyes downcast and pretending not to hear the conversation.

“He gets overprotective in these cases, despite appointing me to the position of General himself.”

“It’s a father’s duty to worry,” Dolish reasoned.

“Worry? Yes. Lash out? Not so much,” Merin replied. A nurse tied a band a little too tight around his arm and Merin shot her a glare, but she simply walked away.

“It was my idea to go along with you, General Venastian. My idea to join the fray and fight. There was no reason for the blame to be put on you for accommodating me,” Merin told him.

“Still, I shouldn’t have let trouble come to you in the first place, Merin.”

“Neither of us can really predict where and when danger comes, General. Our jobs are just to deal with it once it does,” Merin reasoned. He laid his head against a pillow, grunting a bit as he did.

“I read that in a book once. Can you believe it? Being a General when all your wisdom comes from the penmanship of some scholar?” Merin asked.

“Those old tomes offer wisdom for any time, General Feranz. The fact that you studied them at all should be applauded,” Dolish countered.

“And yet all of what they talk about still pales in comparison to the raw experience you’ve hammered into your brain. Tell me, General, which kinds of leaders really make history? My kind, or yours?” Merin asked him.

“….I’d rather not say.”

Merin chuckled. “Suit yourself. But that’s answer enough. I’m a liability in this war, and we both know it. Staying that way isn’t going to help Ravenishtan, no matter how much you may deny it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to become like me, General Feranz. You could help in other ways… perhaps from the sidelines, even?” Dolish asked.

“Wars need commanders. And commanders need wisdom. I can’t quit now, General Venastian, not even because of these wounds. I need this.”

Dolish wanted to reply, keep the boy out of danger, but he couldn’t find the words for it.

“I understand. I’ll be taking my leave now. I hope you recover quickly, General Feranz.”

“Suppose I should rest. Thank you, General Venastian. And one last thing, before you go,” Merin said, quieting his voice, “You should stand up for yourself a bit more. Not let my father or any other General simply do what they want around you, understand?” Merin told him.

Words of an idealistic age, they were. They cemented Dolish’s resolve to not reveal what he’d found to Merin, lest the boy do something just as drastic as he urged others to. After all, Dolish had a position in the country, and he had to make sure he was an exemplary model of it, lest he compromise His Sharpness’ authority.

But still, Dolish found himself smirking as he left the tent into the night, cursing the boy for making him feel inspired.