It was hot. Hot as Lavia’s crack, Baldr would add. It was on days like these that Baldr’s scars hurt the most. A phantom pain, true. But pain nonetheless. It wasn’t that bad, though, since it reminded him of the days he had been a foolish youngling, barely out of the family house. Why? To have a taste of life. Wanderlust was a strong impetus.
Baldr sighed. Why was he suddenly reminiscing? While one of the most devastating wars involving the Enlightened Empire was being waged, no less. His gaze hardened as his eyes detailed the map lying on a table. This was bad. They were not lacking in quantity but in quality. A competent Field Marshal; that’s what they needed.
There was a slight shift in the air. Barely a displacement. Baldr, however, was not called the best of the empire for nothing. With reflexes far surpassing the usual grunt’s comprehension, his sword was drawn and his stance, ready.
Upon seeing the intruder, his shoulders relaxed and he lowered his weapon.
“Oh, it’s you, Mike. Tell me, what’s the situation on the field?”
Baldr questioned his best Infantry Captain.
---------
After his uncanny encounter with these eerie god-kings, Mike found himself inside a tent. He felt a comfortable weight against his hip. Casting a quick glance downward, he found the origin. A sword. Now that he thought about it, he was supposed to be reborn as a soldier of some kind.
There was also a man in front of him. Maybe a general, or at least a highly graded soldier, given his various decorations. He looked kind of gruff, with a crisscrossing mass of scars marring his face, and piercing azure eyes. A gray beard was eating most of his lower face.
Baldr
Level - 510 (+/- 50)
He nearly jumped when he saw the text above the man. It would take some time getting used to it.
He asked a question which left Mike’s mind reeling.
He knew his name. Furthermore, he seemed to believe Mike was somehow one of his subordinates.
Diplomacy should be the best option here. However, Mike had no idea what would happen if he revealed that he knew nothing about any war, nations or any other basic knowledge of this world. Nothing good, he assumed.
If this were a game, it would have been the opportune moment for a tutorial, or some “Would you like some help?” option.
“Well?” The general asked impatiently, crossing his arms.
Think. Think about it rationally, Mike told himself. He could see a map behind the man. White pins and blue pins dotted the map. The white pins were superior numerically, but white arrows drawn on the map toward the East seemed to indicate a weakness of some kind. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the whole map. Part of it was hidden by the man.
“The situation’s not good. We are being pushed back on the western front. The problem is that we lack quality,” Mike told him, his face grim. He prayed to whatever gods these people worship that his analysis was correct.
The general growled, running a hand through his ashen locks.
“Dammit, that’s what I thought too. If only we had a skilled commander, on that front…”
And saved. Alright, time to fish for more information.
“If I may, Sir, what I know is only a small part of a whole. Could you give me an overview of the situation? That way, I could bring some more insight to better the situation. Two brains are better than one. Plus, we could have some synergy,” Mike added as an afterthought.
“The whole being better than the sum of its individual parts. Right. You know, that information is way beyond your pay grade,” the general said, challenging Mike with his piercing gaze.
“With all due respect, Sir, if we are defeated such considerations are useless,” Mike retorted carefully, his gaze clashing with the man’s.
After a minute of a silent contest, the man’s steely eyes were the first to break away.
“There’s something in your eyes that’s more potent than many commanders I know. Very well. Let this old Baldr tell you what the truth of the situation is.”
And Baldr told him everything. The reason for the war was the possession of the Honey Wells. It might sound silly like this, but Honey was the nerve of war in this world. It was not literally honey, but a substance which tasted like it. Once consumed, you could improve your stats by more than fifty percent. Therefore, a 10,000 soldiers battalion became worth 15,000 men, or more.
The kingdoms and empires had their set borders. They all possessed about the same amount of Honey. The problem was the area dubbed Honey Wells. It was a neutral area, inhabited by the ferocious Long-armed Tribe, whose population worshipped the Wells like they were gifts from the gods. The problem came when the Wager Empire made a bid to annex the territory, claiming that the Long-armed tribe belonged to their Empire due to various historical reasons.
Behind the scenes, they colluded with the corrupt leader of the Long-armed tribe. They promised him many gifts in exchange (Baldr said even he was not privy to it). And he accepted. Therefore, the Honey Wells would belong to the Wager Empire.
Naturally, this was an unacceptable outcome. The Enlightened Empire, their neighbor and the empire Baldr and Mike belonged to, gave them an ultimatum. They would either renounce their annexation campaign, or Enlightened soldiers would retaliate in the most severe manner possible.
Thus, the war which the folk had dubbed the “War of the Honey Wells” had started.
After having heard that, Mike took a few seconds to think, before saying, “First, I need to know what our quantity of Honey is, and how much one needs to improve their capacity, for what duration, and how it has been shared until now.”
And so, Baldr told him all the information he had been missing. After mulling it over carefully, Mike spoke. They were sharing the honey equally between every soldier of the empire. Obviously, to Mike, that was a huge flaw.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Think about it like that. Let x be the strength of a common grunt. Y would the strength of a commander. A captain, being ten times more powerful than a common grunt, we have the relation Y = 10x. Now, if you increase his capacity by 50%: 1.5Y = 15x. Therefore, you can see that the global power has been increased by 5x, whereas if you gave it to a soldier, it would have only increased by 0.5x. This is a very simplified calculation, but that’s the gist of it. It would be more beneficial to give a greater quantity to the best soldiers in descending power ranking.”
“I see what you’re saying, and that’s actually a fair point. The problem with this approach is twofold. First, the morale would drop tremendously. If we only gave boosts to the elite, the soldiers not benefitting from Honey would begin to ask questions. Are they willingly sending me to death? Also, the second and bigger concern is the quantity of Honey consumed. Stronger people need more Honey.”
Mike scratched his shaved chin. “Is it a linear increase?”
Baldr crossed his arms. “Not really. It all depends on the quantity of skills, bodily constitution, and various other factors.”
“Then why not do a ratio? Assess the strength of the soldiers on a 1 to 100 scale. Divide the increase in power induced by Honey by the quantity they need to improve their ability for a certain time. You have your efficiency ratio, then. Take people with the highest ratio in descending order and give them Honey. Keep 20% of the Honey and give it to random soldiers from the remaining pool. A lottery, if you will. Of course, you should also keep 5% for the best soldiers, even if they don't have the best ratio.”
If the government organizes lotteries with Green Cards, why not do it with Honey too?
“That is not a bad idea. The numerus clausus would encourage soldiers to do their best, while the lottery would make the pill easier to swallow for those without this potential and latent talent. This won’t solve all our problems though, I reckon. We are losing this war.”
“You know, a great man once said, ‘To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.’” Mike said, quoting Sun Tzu.
“And a wise man, certainly. I would like to meet him someday. What would you do?” Baldr asked. As they spoke, he began to reconsider what he knew about the man in front of him.
“A war of attrition. Cut down their supplies. Or better yet, eradicate the source of the problem.” Mike slammed his hand on the table, making the furniture groan. He pointed to an area in particular.
“The Long-armed tribe, you told me they worship Honey, right? Why is it so?”
Baldr answered immediately, “They call it the ‘Nectar of the earthen gods.’”
“Then, it is not farfetched to suppose that, if there were a manifestation, or several for that purpose, of the earthen gods’ wrath, they would think twice about allying themselves with the Wager empire. Am I correct in assuming that?” Mike asked, his brain formulating a plan.
“Of course, that would be the ideal outcome…” Baldr’s brain quickly caught up with Mike’s thinking. “You’re planning to generate earthquakes? No, that won’t work. The area is heavily warded against Earth Magic, we can’t do that.”
Mike took it in stride, readjusting his plan accordingly. “What about Water Magic?”
Baldr’s eyebrows shot up. “Water? What do you plan to do with water?”
Mike smiled, “One of the less known ways of inducing an earthquake artificially involves injecting and withdrawing huge quantity of liquid into the soil. This alters the stress of the rocks, and the subsequently generated stress will be relieved by way of earthquakes.”
Baldr stared at Mike mutely for a few seconds, his eyes widened and jaw slack at the man’s knowledge. Finally, he found his words again. “Brilliant. You sure you’ve not been possessed by the spirit of a great scientist?”
The thought struck him that Tryst would have been able to come up with a much sounder decision with much less uncertainty. And Mike would have grinned brightly, bumped fists and congratulated him for being the fucking genius he was. A pang of longing tore at him. As well as fear for him. He had been dealt a shitty hand. He just hoped he would manage not to get into too much trouble. He tried to dispel these thoughts, though they remained in a corner of his mind, stubbornly refusing to leave.
“More of a curse than a blessing sometimes, believe me. Rationalizing too much. If this plan succeeds, it should create a rift in the Long-armed tribe.”
Baldr nodded, scratching his scarred nose. “Two factions, the loyalists and the insurgents. If the insurgents win, the kingdom of Lothr would have no choice but to intervene. No, the Wager empire would have no choice but to back down, would be more correct. Besides, the only reason Lothr didn’t step in was that their reason is somewhat legitimate. If the tribe chooses to stay independent, their reason for annexation is null and void.”
Grinning savagely, Baldr added, “What are we waiting for?”
Mike nodded. Leaving the tent with the general, he looked upwards. Seeing the various stars shining brightly in the sky, he wondered aloud.
“Tryst, where are you?”
------------
“Are you a thief?” Trystan blurted out the first words which came to mind.
Long dark hard crowned the woman’s head, cascading down her back. She was wearing a form-fitting blood red leather jacket, black leather gloves with small silver buckles attached, as well as criminally tight black leather pants. Her jade eyes were piercing, though not as much as the wicked twin daggers strapped to her brown belt. There was something peculiar about her, though. She was exuding a dark aura. A crest with a hydra embroidered was stitched to the leather jacket right above the left breast.
She smirked. “An assassin. Close enough.”
“Careful. She’s way beyond your league,” Drak’Thul warned mentally, watching the woman with thinly veiled apprehension. Losing his partner this early in the game would be rather problematic. He slithered toward Trystan, wrapping around his ankle.
“Oh, a pet Wyrm. How cute,” she cooed.
Drak’Thul hissed.
Sensing his partner’s irritation, Trystan got straight to the point. “Look, lady. I appreciate your help. I really do. But if it doesn’t bother you too much, we’re going to be on our merry way.”
Trystan cursed his own hot-headedness when she drew a dagger. Her aura had receded, though, so perhaps it was a good sign? She twirled the dagger expertly, showing much more dexterity than what was humanly possible. To Trystan’s surprise, she did slash her weapon, but at her own wrist. Blood flowed down her arm.
“You might want to take it quickly. My regeneration rate is quite high.”
“She wants to form a binding contract with you. You would effectively be her subordinate. That’s the last condition for your evolution. First was evolving a spell. Second was defeating an enemy. Third is forming a contract. And no, ours does not count. It needs to be a subordination contract, not a partnership. Master and minion. The question is, would you trust her? To me, she looks like the kind to dispose of her toys once they outlive their usefulness. She is a head from that Hydra, after all.”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? If I refuse, you could easily obliterate me,” Trystan said pragmatically.
“How very astute,” she chuckled. The wound was nearly closed and blood had begun to dry and flake off, falling from the skin like snow.
Trystan brought a hand forward and with his finger bone, soaked his finger in the source of the wound. She did not even wince.
“If you are certain, say the words, “I accept the contract.””
To be perfectly honest, there had been some hesitation before he said the words. Who else, though, would he form a contract with? A monster? He felt a tingling in his entire body after he had finished speaking.
“This is not good…” The wyrmling trailed off uncertainly.
“What is it?” Trystan asked, worry beginning to color his tone.
“Here, have a look.”
Congratulations! Due to your actions, a special path has been unlocked. You have become an Intermediate Shadow-weaving Skeleton Mage.
Your actions have been noticed by the God-king of Prescience.
Your actions have been noticed by Drak’Nokhtal.
Good luck. You will need it.
“Who are these fine folks who noticed my actions? Not amenable people, judging by your reaction?” Trystan asked, dread beginning to creep into his being.
“The blind God-king of prescience, Muk’Thal, is too far beyond your league to worry about it. If he wills it, he will find you. You won’t like it when he does though, I can assure you.”
“What about the other one?” Trystan asked, rubbing his jawbone. Yep, definitely a bad feeling.
Drak’Thul uncoiled from his ankle and slithered a few feet away.
“Oh, him? He’s my father. And he rules this dimension.” Drak'Thul squeaked sullenly.
And Mike was not even there to say "Don't worry, you've got that. Believe in yourself and everything's going to be alright."
Goddamn.