When General Tybalt read the messenger pigeon's note, he tore it in half. He never imagined Camp Bear, built up over the years to bottle the tide of undead, would be crushed. His research on Level 100 heroes failed to indicate this level of power.
At the very least, in consideration of the exhibition, he felt the reports on Lady Elin regarded her as a melee-ranged fighter. He couldn't imagine a melee fighter, no matter how strong, taking a keep that once repelled a dragon assault. In close-quarters combat, Lady Elin enjoyed an overwhelming advantage, but castle walls should stymie her. Both heroic champions under Bartgor's thrall needed proper sieging technique.
The general reasoned multiple factors engineered the destruction of the camp. Firstly, the strategic advisors considered the capture a poor decision. Wilmand now needed to split their forces to control both Camp Bear and Camp Wolf, and Camp Wolf still languished for proper engineering. If they ignored Camp Bear and destroyed Camp Wolf before returning home, they might complete their mission in record time. Secondly, since no one believed Wilmand Kingdom would attack Camp Bear, the camp's commander disregarded his responsibilities. If the man lived, General Tybalt swore to hang him.
But, the situation weighed on General Tybalt's mind. Survivors reported the camp fell within minutes. The heroine's squire, a mage, used magic multiple times, without apparent feedback injury. This unexpected development shocked the general. Without this wizard, Camp Bear, taking into account their laziness, might have resisted Lady Elin's assault long enough for the army's arrival.
"We're changing direction," General Tybalt ordered, "Turn the army south. We're going directly for Camp Wolf."
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"You're sure this will work?" Walter asked Prince Wilhelm. "How do you know the general will go for Camp Wolf?"
"It's his primary objective because he intends to weaken the kingdom by breaking the Necropolis quarantine. I applaud your suggestion to attack Camp Bear, and you performed admirably. The assault would have failed without you and Lady Elin. The rewards will equal the achievements, I promise."
Walter's eyes drifted over the horizon.
Should I be rewarded for killing so many people?
The Gruesome Hatchet received their pay and left. Wilmand soldiers crawled over Camp Bear, stripping out supplies, gear, and valuables. Walter overheard someone report the lack of enchanted items, and it seemed Rangville practiced contingencies to keep them out of enemy hands.
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After sabotaging the gate, the army marched.
When Walter imagined war, he visualized one-hundred-thousand soldiers marching in formation. He didn't do a headcount, but he believed the current numbers were less than two-thousand. Most existed to support the smaller percentage of actual fighters.
Magic is a ridiculous advantage, even when it's this nerfed. Only those with it can fight and protect, and so they end up in charge.
"Walter?"
He looked up at Elin's extended hand before he mounted behind her on the warhorse. The animal trotted with disciplined enthusiasm, no matter how tiny a tug Elin used on the leash.
When Elin directed the horse to separate from the marching army, guards attempted to follow. She rebuked them, then commanded them not to eavesdrop.
"It's cold today, Elin."
"Yes, it is."
Hooves clopped.
"We did the right thing, right?"
"Yes," Elin said, "I wouldn't have let you, otherwise. Hold tightly; don't fall, please."
Walter hugged her and rested his cheek on her shoulder.
"Your breath tickles, Walter."
He turned his head, "I guess that's how this world is."
"Someone will change it one day."
"I don't think I'm the man for that."
Elin nodded, "You don't have to shoulder that responsibility. If you want to quit now, I won't think poorly of you."
"Well, I'm not making you fight alone if that's what you're suggesting."
"If you want to run, I'll run with you."
Walter tightened his arms around her waist, "Whatever happened to that paladin that wanted to fight for her home?"
"She found one."
Walter shifted his eyes without moving his head off of Elin and gazed at the army next to them.
"Let's get married," Walter said.
Elin cleared her throat. "If you wish."
"You don't sound enthusiastic."
"It pleases me to hear you make the request, but, disregarding the reversed roles, I think this proposal is the same as the last one. It's a distraction."
Walter nodded. "I have more ideas about how to use Magic Missile. I don't feel proud of it anymore. You know, most games I played back home keep track of statistics. It's not reality, but I was happy about grinding out a million monsters in Sorcery Chronicle MMO, and I thought of it as a badge of honor. Some stories talk about being haunted by the faces of the dead, too. But, I didn't see any faces, not clearly. I'm happy not to go back and look. Does that make me a bad person? How many times did I cast Magic Missile, six or seven times? Should I have kept track? My magic is far too strong. What if, one day, I end up killing over a million--"
"Don't do that, Walter. It doesn't feel like it right now, but your actions saved lives. People who don't fight. Children, as well. Hold on as tight as you can, and you'll be fine. I promise."
The leather around Elin's midriff creaked.